Never Say Goodbye (18 page)

Smiling his understanding, he said, ‘The pathology shows that your cancer is HER2 positive. HER2 is a protein which promotes the growth of the cells, but we can treat it with a specific targeted drug . . .’

Promotes the growth
. Josie was too stunned even to react any more.

‘It’s the aggressive nature of this type of cancer,’ he was saying, ‘that made the scans particularly important. We needed to find out if it has spread to any other part of your body, and from what we can see it’s still not clear whether it has.’

Josie was barely breathing. A strange noise was buzzing in her ears, making it hard for her to hear. She wanted to pass out, or wake up and find she was dreaming.
Please God don’t let any of this be real
. An aggressive cancer, spread to the lymph nodes and they couldn’t even tell her if it had gone any further.
It’s all treatable
, he’d said.
Hang on to that Josie, just hang on to that
.

‘I realise how upsetting this is for you,’ he said, seeming upset himself, ‘but I promise we’re going to be doing everything we can to beat this into remission, starting with a course of chemotherapy in order to shrink the tumour.’

Josie’s mouth went dry.
Chemotherapy. Tumour
. She hated those words, didn’t want to accept that they were being applied to her.

‘. . . the end of the treatment,’ he was telling her, ‘is when I’ll operate. In your case I’m afraid this is likely to mean a mastectomy. I want to warn you of that now to give you some time to come to terms with it before it happens.’

Josie tried to speak, but could find no words. This was so much worse than she’d allowed herself to imagine. Chemotherapy; mastectomy; scans with no proper results.

‘Yvonne, the senior breast-care nurse,’ he continued, ‘is going to talk to you in a minute about what happens from here, but basically we’ve already made an appointment for you to see the oncologist so she can go through everything with you. If I’m right,’ he checked his computer, ‘you’re booked in for next Monday at eleven.’ His eyes returned to hers. ‘The sooner we start the treatment, the sooner we’ll be back in control, and that’s where we want to be. In control.’

Josie’s voice was hoarse as she said, ‘My daughter – my daughter’s getting married in August.’

The darkness of his eyes seemed to deepen. ‘Then I promise to schedule the operation so it won’t clash with the wedding.’

As though caught in his magnetism, Josie continued to regard him. She wondered how hard it was for him to break this sort of news, how many times he did it in a day or a week, how many women went to pieces when they heard the worst. It was where she was now, in pieces, shattered to her very core, but he was a busy man. He had lots of other people to see, so she mustn’t take up any more of his time.

Holding her handbag close, she rose to her feet. ‘Thank – thank you very much for seeing me,’ she stammered. ‘I should probably . . .’ As she swayed, he caught her and sat her down again.

‘Did you come alone?’ he asked gently.

She nodded.

‘Then sit here for a while. There’s no need to rush.’

‘I have to go to work,’ she told him.

‘And where’s that?’

‘At the Seafront Cafe, down on the Promenade.’

‘I know it. I take my boys in there from time to time.’

‘That’s nice. I’ve got a son too.’ As the words were swallowed by a sob, she pushed a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m making a fool of myself. It’s just a bit of a shock. I’ll be right as rain in a minute.’

‘As I said, there’s no rush. I’m sure your employer will understand if you’re a little late. Would you like to call him?’

‘Her. It’s a woman. She’s ever so nice, but she gets a bit stressed when she’s rushed off her feet and there’s no one to help her. Her little boy was killed in an accident a few years ago and her husband blamed her because she was driving the car. It was terrible. The things some people have to go through. If she can survive that, then I can definitely survive this. I mean, it’s not as though it’s happening to my daughter. I wouldn’t be able to stand that, I really wouldn’t. Or if it was my son.’ The mention of Ryan brought more tears flooding to her eyes. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to tell them,’ she choked.

‘All in good time,’ he said soothingly. ‘You need to assimilate the information for yourself first, and feel free to ask as many questions as you need to . . .’

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ she broke in helplessly. ‘You don’t think you might have got my results mixed up with someone else’s?’

He shook his head sadly.

She looked at him and found herself wanting to ask where he was from, if he’d been born here, if he’d ever ridden on an elephant, because they had them in India. If that was where he was from. She’d like to go there herself and have her picture taken in front of the Taj Mahal, like Princess Diana. Someone else whose husband had gone off with another woman.

At least Jeff had stayed.

What was he going to say when she told him about this?

Hearing the door open, she glanced up to see Yvonne putting her head round. ‘OK to come in?’ she asked.

Josie stood up again. ‘I have to go,’ she told them. ‘You’ve got lots of other people to see, and I’ve already taken up enough of your time. My next appointment’s on Monday at eleven, you said?’ She must have blanked for a moment then, because the next thing she knew Mr Beck was telling her that she must call Yvonne at any time if she had a question, or if she simply needed to talk.

Then Yvonne was steering her back along the corridor to a small waiting room and encouraging her to sit down. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she offered.

Josie shook her head. ‘Where do I have to go for my appointment on Monday?’ she asked, still clutching her bag.

‘You can come here to the unit for that,’ Yvonne replied. ‘The treatment itself will be at the oncology centre, over on Pixashe Drive, so not far away. I’ll write it all down for you.’

‘How often will I have to have it?’

‘Dr Pattullo will go over all that with you when you see her, but it’s likely to be every three weeks for six months.’

Six months!

‘And what about the side effects?’ she managed. ‘We can’t afford for me to be out of work. I’m supposed to be going to the jobcentre today, because I lost my cleaning job a couple of weeks ago. It wasn’t my fault; my employer wanted someone to live in. We’ve been skint ever since, and my husband’s getting fed up with it. So am I. I have to bring in some money or we’ll fall behind with everything and . . . Sorry,’ she said, putting a hand to her head as she realised she was ranting on. ‘I was asking about the side effects.’

With a comforting hand on her arm, Yvonne told her, ‘They can vary according to the individual, some suffer more than others, and you may find you’ll be able to work at least some of the time.’

‘But what if I can’t?’

‘Then you’ll be given other drugs to help you combat whatever the chemotherapy is doing to you.’ Waiting for Josie to absorb that, she said, ‘One of the really big issues for most women is the loss of their hair. Again, it may not happen to you, but if it does you’ll receive plenty of infor-mation about wigs and scarves, where to get them, how to dress them, even how to help pay for them.’

Josie stared towards the door. She wasn’t taking this well; she needed to get a grip and make herself understand that Yvonne was trying to be helpful. But Yvonne didn’t have to face breaking this to her husband and children, or deal with what it would be like to lose her hair, or her breast, because it wasn’t happening to her.

What did I do wrong to make it happen to me?

‘How much time off will I have to take for the chemo itself?’ she asked, bringing her head up.

‘For the actual treatment, you’ll be at the oncology centre for a couple of hours,’ Yvonne replied. ‘If they can schedule you in on a Friday, it could be that you’ll be ready for work again by Monday. Obviously, no one can guarantee that, but . . .’

Josie wasn’t listening. She couldn’t think beyond being too sick at the weekends to go and see Ryan, and if she didn’t go no one would, apart from Lily. It was already breaking Josie’s heart to think of her babies in that miserable visitors’ room without her, worrying about her and not knowing what to do to help.

‘I have to get the bus now,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘You’ve been very kind giving me so much time. Thank you. I’ll come back on Monday. What did you say the doctor’s name was?’

‘Pattullo,’ Yvonne answered. ‘Emma Pattullo.’

‘What about Mr Beck? Will I see him again?’

‘Of course. When you’re getting ready for surgery, and he’ll be kept informed of your progress throughout the chemotherapy.’

Wishing he was the only doctor she had to see, Josie attempted a smile and was just starting for the door when she heard someone screaming,

‘No! No! Please, no!’

Tears immediately stung her eyes. The poor woman, whoever she was, had obviously just been given her own bad news. Josie longed to be able to comfort her, but what on earth could she do when she was in the same state?

Unless the woman had just been told she was terminal.

Dear God, please don’t let that be the case,
Josie prayed inwardly as she hurried out of the unit.
Please help her, whoever she is. Please God, please, help her.

She was feeling like she’d got off a train, and no one had noticed. Life was rushing on by, impervious to the fact that everything had changed for her. Except that wasn’t true, nothing had changed really, and she was still going along as normal, looking no different to what she had before and actually feeling quite glad to be at the caff. It was like stepping into comfortable old shoes after someone had tried to force her into something that didn’t fit. They were still trying, but she was having none of it for now.

‘Make that three,’ Rod Grimshaw, one of the caff’s regulars, instructed as Josie cracked two eggs into the frying pan. ‘I’ve got a sizeable appetite on me today.’

‘Tell me a day when you haven’t,’ she retorted wryly. ‘How many rashers?’

‘Four,’ he replied, rubbing a hand over his giant belly, ‘and a couple of bangers. Got any black pudding and hash browns?’

‘Would we ever let you down?’

Treating her to a playful wink he went to join his truck-driver mates, who were already enjoying their own lunchtime breakfasts in a corner booth next to the steamy windows.

‘Do you want toast, Rod?’ Josie called after him.
See, it was easy. All she had to do was be herself and everything was fine.

‘No, fried bread for me,’ he called back. ‘Fliss, over here with the coffee when you’re ready.’

After topping up a table full of hikers, Fliss collected an extra mug and took it to Rod with a long-suffering sigh. ‘I don’t know what your last slave died of,’ she grumbled, ‘but I bet it was something to do with coffee.’

‘Bet it wasn’t,’ he guffawed in a way that got the others snickering too.

‘Hey Jose,’ Pete Little called out, between bites of his bacon buttie, ‘just remembered, saw your old man this morning. He said you were looking for another cleaning job. Our Cath’s about to finish up at the brewery down Flintock Lane if you’re interested.’

‘What are the hours?’ Fliss demanded. ‘I don’t want it interfering with what she does here.’

‘Monday to Friday, eight till midnight,’ he replied. ‘Hard graft, and hard on the old social life, but the pay’s good. You ought to give them a call, Jose. Get in before anyone else does.’

‘I will,’ Josie promised, sliding Rod’s eggs on to an oval china plate.
How on earth was she going to take on more work now?
The brewery wasn’t an option. She didn’t know what was any more. ‘What’s your Cath going to do, then?’ she asked.

‘Oh, she’s got herself fixed up with some delivery company. She has to use her own car, and she only gets paid on the amount of parcels she delivers, but the hours are good and one of her mates is doing quite well with it.’

Wondering if that might be a better job for Jeff than cabbing, Josie was about to ask more when Pete’s mobile grabbed his attention. ‘There you go,’ she said, delivering Rod’s meal. ‘OK for ketchup and everything?’

‘Looks like it,’ he replied, checking the bottles.

‘So when are you going to divorce that miserable old git of yours and marry me?’ Steve Vickers – Carly’s ex – wanted to know. He was a good-looking bloke in a weighty, Alex Ferguson sort of way, but he’d never held any more appeal for Josie than she was sure she did for him.

‘I’m working on it,’ she promised, ‘but there’s a long line in front of you, I hope you know that.’

‘You’re breaking my heart,’ he groaned, clasping his hands to his chest. ‘Fliss, don’t you turn me down too.’

Fliss wasn’t listening; she was busy seating an elderly couple who’d just come in from the rain with a pushchair containing a small dog and several bags of shopping.

‘Hi, Joy and Fred,’ Josie called to them. ‘I’ll bring your usual egg on toast and will it be a sausage for Scruffy today, or a slice of streaky?’

‘I think we’ll have the bacon,’ Fred replied, patting his dog. Though they weren’t really supposed to allow pets inside the caff, Fliss always turned a blind eye to Scruffy, as long as he stayed in his pram.

‘You realise I could have you up in front of the law for that,’ Josie warned Steve as he gave her bottom a playful slap on his way to the Gents. ‘It’s called sexual harassment in the workplace.’

‘I’m even better at it in the bedroom,’ he assured her, and laughing along with his mates he disappeared through the swing doors.

Shaking her head, Josie set about Joy and Fred’s all-day-breakfast of choice, whisking up the eggs, slotting bread into the toaster and heating up more butter ready for the scramble. The usual midday rush was only just starting, and as far as she was concerned the more customers she had to cook for today the better. Left to herself she’d probably be getting into a terrible state by now, and that wasn’t going to get her anywhere, was it? No, far better to have this chance to practise hiding everything away, which was definitely what she wanted to do, at least for now, anyway.