Will You Remember Me? (12 page)

Taking her shampoo bottle, Poppy covered her palms and began to massage the suds onto her scalp.

The two things happened simultaneously.

As Martin came into the bathroom to grab his pyjamas from the hook on the back of the door, Poppy lowered her hands and stared at the clumps of hair that sat like wet, tawny animals in her palms. She felt her knees go weak as she gazed at them. The shock rendered her speechless as she slumped forward.

‘What, Poppy? What’s the matter?’ Martin pulled open the shower door and stared at his wife’s face, contorted with tears.

Poppy sank down to the shower floor, raised her knees and rested her head on them. Her hands she kept clenched tightly shut. Martin crouched down and placed his hand on her back. She jumped as if she’d been cut.

‘It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here.’

‘I can’t do this, Mart,’ she whispered.

‘Can’t do what? What’s going on? Are you hurt? Is it your back again? Talk to me, Poppy.’ He sounded angry, panicked.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so… sorry! I thought if I kept busy, I could stop it, but I don’t think I can and I’m really scared,’ she stuttered.

‘What are you sorry for? What’s going on?’ He reached into the cubicle and peeled her hands from her sides. ‘What the fuck?’ He stared at the wet clumps of hair that she dropped into the tray by her feet.

Martin’s breath came heavily. ‘What have you done? Are you shaving your head? For God’s sake, tell me, Poppy. You’re scaring me now.’

‘I’ve got cancer.’ She stared at the floor; the water ran in steady streams from her chin and elbows. Her voice was level.

‘What?’ He must have misheard.

‘That’s what’s wrong with me.’ She lifted her face and looked at her husband. ‘I’ve got cancer.’

‘When? How? I don’t…’ Martin swayed as the strength left his core and his bowels went into spasm. He sank down at the edge of the shower tray floor. The water soaked his head and shirt. He tried to catch his breath. It was some seconds before he reached up and flicked the shower tap to the ‘off’ position.

The sounds of Poppy’s crying and his breathing seemed extraordinarily loud. She wished he’d turn the water back on again.

‘I don’t understand.’ He shook his head and wiped the water from his face with the back of his hand.

‘When I went to the doctor’s before—’ she started.

‘Before when? You went where?’

‘Before, a few weeks ago. I told you I went to the GP’s. It was because I’d found a lump.’ She looked at the floor.

‘You what?’ he snapped as his chest heaved with all that it was trying to contain.

‘I found a lump, Mart.’

He stared at her. His head twitched as if it had been struck, his mouth hung open. ‘You found a…?’ He needed it repeating. Though he’d heard her with perfect clarity, he still hoped he had got it wrong.

‘A lump. Just here.’ Poppy’s hand flew to the space between her breast and armpit, a small area that was now as familiar to her as her face.

‘And you didn’t tell me?’ He placed his hand across his mouth as his eyes widened.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. ‘No.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have come with you, sorted it out.’

‘That’s
why
I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to get in a state and start worrying until I knew we had something to worry about.’

Martin ran his tongue over his lips. His voice was quiet, his speech slow. ‘And do we, Poppy? Do we have something to worry about?’ He looked like a child, pleading as he edged closer to her.

She nodded and leant forward, resting her face on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him. ‘Yes, Mart. Yes we do.’

He pulled away from her, his face inches from hers. ‘Are they sure it’s cancer?’ He was struggling.

Poppy nodded.

‘And the thing is, Mart…’ She swallowed. ‘They don’t think I’m going to get better.’

‘I feel sick,’ he murmured as he fought to stop the rise of bile in his throat. ‘I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I don’t believe it.’

Martin stood slowly and left the bathroom.

Poppy scrambled from the shower and wrapped her head in a white towel and her body in another. She opened their bedroom door. Martin was standing stock still, facing the window. He had his back to her and he didn’t turn round. She pictured the hair that had come away from her scalp, weightless, like nothing, as it slipped through her fingers free of its anchors.

Poppy crept from the room. She jostled Peg up the stairs and kissed Max as she got her sleepy boy into his pyjamas and laid him in his bed. ‘Night night, sleep tight, my darlings.’ She blew kisses from the landing and walked back into their bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Martin was where she had left him, staring out into the dead of night. Poppy sat on the bed, pulled back the duvet next to her and patted the space by her side. ‘Come here, Mart.’

He turned and looked at her, staring as if seeing her for the first time.

‘Come on, come and lie down,’ she coaxed.

Martin reluctantly lowered himself down next to her on the bed, his actions stiff and unnatural, and she drew the duvet over his shivering form. She sat sideways and crossed her legs, resting her hands on her knees. As she stroked his chest beneath the covers, it reminded her of when they’d first got together. The simple joy of sharing a bed with someone she loved had been overwhelming. Poppy would wake in the dark and watch him sleeping, careful not to disturb his slumber. She would watch his mouth twitch and his eyelids flicker, until eventually, when daylight penetrated their room, he would open his eyes and reach for her and hold her tight, keeping her safe from all that lay beyond the bedroom door.

She laid her head on his hip. ‘The consultant I’ve been seeing, Mr Ramasingh, is the best, apparently. If anyone can help me, he can. He came up with a treatment plan for me and he’s monitoring how it’s going. You can come with me if you want.’

‘It will all be okay, won’t it, Poppy?’

Poppy closed her eyes and considered her words with care. ‘Whatever happens, it will all be okay. We will get through it.’

‘I don’t know what to say to you. I’m trying to take it all in, but I can’t. It’s like I’m having a dream, a really bad dream.’ He spoke to the wall, facing away from her.

‘Just hold me then.’ Poppy eased back the duvet and lowered herself into the warm space, wriggling down the bed and pulling at his shoulder until he twisted and she was in his arms. She felt her muscles relax against the solidity of his body. There they lay until morning, pressed together, matching each other breath for breath.

‘Here’s Mummy,’ Martin said as Poppy came down the stairs in her pyjamas the next morning. She had combed her hair back over the bald patches and tied it up in a scrunchie. He was looking at her in a way that she had never seen before, with a combination of fear and disbelief, as if he were committing her every move to memory, petrified that she might disappear in a puff of smoke. She could only smile and nod in his direction, reassuring him with her gaze.
It’s okay, darling. I’m not going anywhere. Not yet…
He looked ahead of her footfall, wanting to remove objects and clear her path, as though she were made of glass. Poppy realised it was this sort of treatment she had been hoping to avoid, knowing in that instant she had made the leap from wife to patient.

They had agreed to talk to Peg that morning, before Poppy went into hospital for more therapy. It would give them the whole weekend to answer any questions and calm her before school on Monday. Poppy dug deep to find a smile and tried to make it as sincere as she could. They had decided to give her a watered-down version of the truth, a baseline onto which they could add details as time and circumstances required.

Peg sat on the sofa with her bare feet resting on her dad’s leg. They were watching the Cartoon Network. Scooby-Doo was in a hurry. Peg chuckled as Scooby stood flailing his arms and legs, which were a blur. He stopped, gulped and looked straight at them as he realised that despite his efforts he wasn’t going anywhere at all – that darn tin of spilt grease! Martin reached for the remote control and the screen gave a tiny flash before disappearing into a black dot in the middle of the TV.

‘Daaad! I was watching that!’ Peg kicked her feet against him in protest.

‘I know, but Mummy and I want to have a word with you.’

‘Oh God.’ Peg sat up on the sofa and folded her arms across her chest. She looked and sounded like her great-grandma, Dorothea, and it made Poppy smile.

Poppy sat on the coffee table, opposite her daughter, and took her chilly little toes between her hands.

‘There is something that I need to talk to you about, sweetheart.’

‘Is it sexy stuff?’ Peg asked as she flicked her fringe from her eyes.

‘Sorry?’ Poppy blinked.

‘Is it babies and sexy stuff, because I know all about that already.’

‘You do?’ Poppy asked, while Martin coughed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘Yes.’ Peg sighed. ‘Jade McKeever had a book about where babies come from and I know it’s seeds and eggs, so you don’t need to explain it to me.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’ Poppy asked. ‘But no, it’s not about that. The thing is, I went to the doctor’s a little while ago and I am not very well.’

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Peg was, as ever, direct.

‘I have a problem with my blood and my bones and I am going to go into hospital in a few days, only for a day or so, so they can sort it out a bit. And then I will feel a lot, lot better, hopefully less achey and not so tired.’

‘What sort of problem is it?’ Peg’s nose twitched.

‘It’s a really horrible bug and it’s a bug that is going to make me very poorly and make me feel like rubbish, which is pants.’ Poppy grimaced. ‘It might make me feel weak and sleepy and all sorts of yucky things. So Daddy will pick you up from school more and maybe do a bit more of the shopping and cooking, that kind of thing.’

Poppy waited for her daughter’s next comment, but it wasn’t what she expected.

‘Can you or Dad get me some little cartons of Ribena? Jade McKeever has them for break time and I’d like some too.’

Poppy nodded. ‘Yes, sure.’

Peg hopped off the sofa and went to collect Toffee from his cage.

Poppy looked at her husband, who shrugged.

It turned out to be like any other Saturday, where the hours flew by twice as fast as they did on a weekday. They ate ham and pickle sandwiches and crisps from plates which they balanced on their laps for lunch, Max had a nap mid afternoon and Martin pottered in his garage, doing goodness knows what. Poppy wiped down the surfaces in the kitchen ten times and washed the same mugs and plates at least four times before drying them and stacking them in the cupboards, ready for use.

Aunty Jo dropped by, much to the delight of Peg, who insisted on giving her an impromptu makeover. Afterwards, as Poppy and Jo sat on the sofa – the remnants of blue eye shadow and a generous smear of red blusher still shockingly visible on Jo’s face – Martin thundered down the stairs, nearly slipping off the bottom step in his socks.

‘I’ve had a great idea!’ he announced.

‘Oh God, what now? I can think of several times when you’ve said that in the past and on one occasion you actually got me arrested!’ Poppy laughed.

‘Yes, my sweet, but you were never charged, and that’s the difference.’ He winked at his wife. ‘Why don’t we have a party?’

Poppy curled her top lip. ‘What, now?’

‘No, in a few months – in the summer!’ He was grinning like a kid.

‘What kind of party, love? The kind where Peg sits on the stairs and watches everyone get drunk and you wee in a cupboard?’

Martin laughed. ‘No, the kind where we hire the hall in Bulford and fill it with balloons and bunting and get a band in, do a really nice buffet, invite all our friends and all the kids’ friends and have a bash that they will never forget!’ He was brimming with energy.

‘Like the wedding reception we never had?’ Poppy asked. ‘Only don’t expect me to wear a silly white frock or anything.’

Martin beamed at her. ‘Exactly. Like the wedding reception we never had. What do you think?’

Poppy pictured the kids dressed up, her and Martin laughing with their friends. ‘I think you better give them a ring and see what dates they’ve got free. The whole thing, mind, Mart, not half the hall roped off like they do for kids’ parties. I’m not sharing my special do with the over-sixties’ dinner club or the Brownies’ indoor Olympics!’

Martin clapped his hands together and went off in search of the local directory.

‘Looks like we’re having a party, mate!’ Poppy smiled at Jo.

‘I’ll come back for it from wherever I’ve moved to.’ Jo swallowed at the horrible thought of having to start over.

‘Oh God.’ Poppy placed her hand on her friend’s arm. ‘You better had. It wouldn’t be the same for me if you weren’t there and I’ve a feeling his lordship will have you on balloon-blowing duties.’

‘My pleasure. Ooh, I think I might treat myself to a new outfit. I’ve got to grab every opportunity I can – the chances of meeting husband number two while wandering around Sainsbury’s are pretty slim!’

‘Oh, I don’t know, I’ve seen you eyeing up that bloke on the fish counter!’ Poppy raised her eyebrows at her friend.

Peg came down the stairs with her hairbrush and a collection of ribbons and sparkly clips. Jo groaned and looked at Poppy. Clearly her transformation wasn’t quite complete.

‘I know we’re joking, but in truth it’s all a bit soon for that. I don’t know how I’d ever trust anyone again.’

‘You will, mate, when the right one comes along.’

‘How do you know when the right one comes along?’ Peg asked as she arranged her hair accessories on the table.

Poppy laughed. ‘You know because your tummy goes flippy and your face goes all smoochy. Isn’t that right, Jo?’

‘Yep, that’s the way!’ Jo smiled at her friend. ‘And you know, don’t you, that I’ll come back whenever the kids need minding or you need shopping, or anything, anything at all. Just pick up the phone, Poppy, and I’ll be here in a flash.’

Poppy smiled, feeling very lucky to have a friend like Jo.