Neil
He held the phone in his hand for a good minute or so after Helen had hung up. Even after all these years, he still ached for his daughter like a missing limb. He just needed a moment.
Once he’d gathered himself, he’d go back through to the living room, where Barbara would be doing the crossword or sudoku; denial tap-tapping from her pen as she drummed it on the newspaper, fingertips dancing under the shadow of her neat, treacherous breasts.
He put the handset back into its cradle and opened the living room door.
‘Shall I put a brew on, love?’
She nodded towards the cup at her elbow, her hands not even slowing.
‘No, thanks. I didn’t finish the other one, and it’s barely cold.’
‘Right.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Do you mind if I sit with you?’
‘Why would I mind, you daft bugger?’
He took a few steps, crossing the floor towards her, then reached out a hand to take the paper from her.
‘What are you doing? I’m about to get one.’
‘Put it down, love, eh? Just for a minute.’
She sighed, but did as he asked, laying the paper and pen to one side and folding her arms. He sat down beside her and placed a hand on her knee, half expecting her to brush it away.
‘I told our Helen.’
‘But we agreed we weren’t going to worry her.’
Neil shook his head. ‘We were wrong, love. I know what we said, but—’
‘Well, if you’ve done it then you’ve done it.’ She cut him off briskly and went to pick up her pen again. Neil pushed her hand gently down.
‘Barbara …’ his voice was shuddering, ‘… oh God, Barbara. You know I love you so, so much.’
To his surprise, she turned in to him and opened her arms to hold him.
‘And I love you, Neil. Always.’
After their embrace, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and she leant in against him, although she’d picked up the paper again, making a show of concentrating on her little scribbled sums. Her shoulders felt narrow, almost bony, and he pictured the cancer already leaching her strength, growing with parasitical single-mindedness.
‘I love you,’ he said again, almost apologetically.
‘So you said. And you’ll have plenty of time to say it again, whatever happens.’
‘I know.’
He counted to ten in his head.
‘Barbara?’
‘What?’
‘I love you!’
He peered over the newspaper, wondering if she’d laugh or just glare at him, but the look in her eyes was one of pity. His own laugh caught in his throat.
Surely Barbara was the one more in need of sympathy? But then his wife had never been one to conform to expectations.
Helen
The drive from London to Lancashire was a total nightmare. They sat in solid traffic for much of the way up the M6, even though it was only Thursday. Alys mostly slept, but Barney barely closed his eyes at all and whined about everything, from the dropped toy he couldn’t reach, to the fact that Helen wouldn’t turn up the sound on his DVD, to the abandoned trip to Gambado that she thought he’d forgotten about. When they finally arrived at her parents’ house, Helen had a pounding headache and a voice hoarse from singing ‘Wheels on the Bus’.
‘You do look very pale, Helen,’ said Barbara, on the doorstep, as though Helen was the one who was ill.
Helen scrutinised her mother carefully. She looked the same. Quite a tall woman, she still stood poker-straight, with her hair neatly coiled into the tight bun that Helen couldn’t remember seeing her without, and her brown eyes that always seemed to be somewhere else. While superficially nothing had changed, Helen could see that she’d lost weight, and Barbara had never had that much to spare. Her collarbones looked coat-hangerish and her hands, which were on the large side, looked even more out of proportion. There was a trace of a shadow around her eyes, but when Helen bent slightly to hug her, Barbara responded with her usual tight but perfunctory squeeze. She smelt of ink and mint imperials.
In the fuss of coats and comforters and Alys leaving a shoe in the car, Helen only noticed the envelope on the doormat because she actually stood on it. It was pale green and unsealed, clearly hand-delivered because it simply said ‘Barbara’ on the front, in what looked like black felt tip.
‘There’s a card for you here, Mum,’ she called.
Both children settled easily enough at bedtime. As usual when they visited, their beds were made up in Helen’s old room that they now thought of as theirs. As Helen bent to kiss Barney’s head, she remembered vividly lying in that bed, curled up to face the window as he was now.
Ten minutes later, she was downstairs in the living room, clutching a mug of gritty instant coffee. She breathed in deeply and could almost feel the steam easing out her frown lines.
‘So …’ she turned to Barbara ‘… how is everything?’
‘I’m fine, Helen, really, I am. I’m sure it’ll all be a fuss over nothing.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Helen echoed, ‘but I’d rather be here all the same.’
‘We don’t know much more than when I spoke to you,’ put in Neil, who was nursing his cup of tea and standing anxiously by Barbara’s shoulder rather than taking a seat of his own. ‘We’re visiting the hospital tomorrow. She’ll see the consultant and get the results of the biopsy they did.’
‘I see.’ She knew all this already, but it seemed right to hear it again, in person.
‘You’ll come?’ he asked.
Helen looked at her mother. ‘Do you want me there?’
Barbara hesitated. ‘Well, it might be difficult … with the children and so on.’
‘I want you there,’ said Neil. Barbara opened her mouth, but he waved a hand and, uncharacteristically, she shut it again. ‘No, Barbara. You know we struggled to remember everything they said to us last time. It’ll be good to have Helen with us. She’ll know what to ask.’
Helen nodded. ‘Of course I’ll come.’
The appointment was early the next morning, so Helen put down her coffee to make arrangements for the children. Christine, her mother-in-law, was kind as ever – her voice heavy with regret over the reason for their visit – but Helen could hear a reserve in her tone too. They weren’t on quite the same team any more. Dropping the kids off would be the first time she’d seen either Christine or Adam since Darren left.
A little later, with the children’s visit to the Harrisons sorted and the three of them sitting glazed in front of a detective show that nobody was actually watching, Helen’s gaze caught the two greetings cards on the fireplace. They were both floral designs, with no wording on the front. If it did turn out to be cancer, they’d soon start to multiply.
‘What was that note that came in today, Mum? In the green envelope?’ She was making conversation as much as anything else.
‘Oh, that. It was a card from Jackie at work.’ Barbara nodded towards the fireplace.
‘Why didn’t you put it up?’
‘I