Glad of the chance to escape, Lewis rushed off.
‘We’ve just been to the Lake District,’ she said pleasantly, as if talking to someone she’d just met on the bus or at the hairdresser. ‘It’s very lovely up there. We hadn’t been on holiday in a long time.’ She didn’t tell them of the reason for her visit, her gorgeous farmer with whom she was falling in love, or how she was holding a marriage proposal in her heart. They’d have to earn those confidences and, right now, it didn’t look as if they were even interested in trying.
‘He looks like his father,’ her mother said, curtly.
‘Yes. A lot. Sometimes I turn round and it’s just like seeing Toby.’
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t turn out like him,’ she added. And that really set the tone for the rest of the evening.
Anita served dinner and it looked delicious. Her sister was a wonderful cook. The biriyani smelled divine, the rice light and fluffy, the lamb tender and succulent. Anita’s chapatis were second to none, but Nadia could hardly touch a thing due to the acid swirling in her stomach. Conversation was worse than stilted and every comment felt deliberately hurtful and personal. The boys were eating in the kitchen together, so at least Lewis wasn’t subjected to it. She could hear the chatter and laughter from them and was glad that he was having a nice time.
‘It’s a shame Tarak is so busy,’ her mother said. ‘You know how much I love to see my son-in-law. He’s been a wonderful husband.’
They praised Tarak to the roof and Nadia wanted to tell them what her brother-in-law was really like. He was a deceitful man who liked to cheat on his wife – even with her own sister given half the chance. Nadia smiled sourly to herself as she remembered how Tarak’s relentless pursuit of her had turned out. She still had the photographs, locked away at home, that proved just how far he was from an ideal husband: Tarak in a very compromising position in a hotel room – one of Lucy’s hare-brained plans. She wondered what her parents would think if they got a glimpse of those candid shots or knew that in the past he’d been guilty of propositioning Nadia? Why, when they’d seen every fault in Toby amplified, were they seemingly blind to Tarak’s failings?
‘Your boys are so clever, Anita.’ Her mother again. ‘Always top of the class. I’m sure Daman will be a doctor or a lawyer.’
Even Anita looked discomfited and she never missed an opportunity to talk about her beloved sons.
‘They’re great kids,’ Nadia agreed, refusing to be lured into competitive boasting.
‘I’m sure it’s down to you being at home for them.’ Her mother dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. ‘That’s where a mother should be.’
Nadia bit down a retort. The subtext was there all the time. Anita was wonderful. Nadia wasn’t good enough. She hadn’t realised that her mother could be so vindictive. By the end of the first course, she’d certainly seen her in a different light. When Anita brought in their favourite family dessert of creamy milk and rice studded with cashews and raisins, Nadia felt so nauseous that she couldn’t eat a mouthful. Only her father looked slightly abashed, but he didn’t speak up in her defence and Nadia’s heart felt sad at the loss of him. Once, he could have been smiling and rubbing his considerable stomach at the thought of his favourite treat; now he ate the pudding in grim silence with the rest of them.
It was the longest dinner of her life. So different from the chattering affairs with all the family gathered round their parents’ dining-room table that they used to enjoy so many years ago. How heartbreaking that she seemed destined never to have that with them again.
By the end of the meal, she was longing to leave. If she’d had more courage, she’d have stood up and left earlier. This hadn’t been a family reunion, it had been a character assassination. She’d never thought the evening was going to be easy, but she didn’t think they’d still be so set against her. Clearly, her mother felt that the honour of the family had somehow been besmirched and could never again be scrubbed clean.
‘We’d better be going,’ Nadia said, standing. ‘Lewis has to be up early for school tomorrow.’ She turned to Anita. ‘Thank you for a lovely dinner. It’s been a pleasant evening.’
They all knew it was far from that.
The truth of the matter was, as they’d aged, her parents had become small-minded and judgemental. They were so entrenched in their opinions that they didn’t even consider those of others. Did she need them in her life if all they wanted to do was undermine her efforts and belittle her? If they had embraced her again and welcomed her back into the family fold, then she would have found it hard to break free. As it stood, it was clear that she was here on tolerance. Apart from one token effort from her father, neither of them had said a single kind thing to her all evening. There’d been no offer of condolences – no matter how belated. No praise for their grandson or how she’d managed by herself. It was as though, if they didn’t mention it, then they could forgive their own shortcomings. She couldn’t imagine a time when she’d ever be able to behave that way towards Lewis, no matter what he did.
She called her son in from the kitchen and they prepared to leave. Anita brought their coats and Nadia helped Lewis to button his up, feeling pride in how well he’d behaved.
‘Say goodbye to your grandparents, sweetheart,’ she said.
‘Bye-bye, Grandma.’ He gave a shy little wave. Still as much a stranger to them now that they were going as he had been when they arrived. ‘Bye-bye, Grandpa.’
Even though her face was set as stone, she thought she saw her mother choke down a sob. Nadia sighed inside. How easy it would be for either of them to scoop Lewis into their arms, hug him and make it all right. Even now, it wasn’t too late. But neither of them made a move.
Taking her son by the hand, she walked to the door.
Anita followed her, and at the door she mouthed, ‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’
‘That’s OK,’ Nadia said. ‘You tried.’
‘Speak tomorrow, sis?’
‘Yeah. I’ll call you when I’m home from work.’
‘I love you,’ Anita said. She ruffled Lewis’s hair. ‘Both of you.’
Walking down the drive, hand in hand with her child, Nadia held her head high. That was an ordeal that she never wanted to repeat. She thought she could feel her parents watching her through the window, but she didn’t look back.
The sad thing was that it would now make it easier for her to leave the area. She wouldn’t have wanted it this way, but it had given her some kind of closure on their relationship. Her parents wouldn’t be the ties that bound her here; it would be her friends. The Chocolate Lovers’ Club ladies who’d stuck with her through thick and thin. They were the ones who’d always been there for her. They would be the ones it would be difficult to leave.
Then she realised, with a smile to herself, that she was thinking of leaving.
Chapter Forty-Four
We all stand in front of the rows of toilet bags on the shelves. Chantal looks at us anxiously. ‘It’s hard to know which to choose.’
I pick one up. ‘Pink cupcakes. No contest.’ Chantal gnaws at her lip. ‘Is that the image I’m trying to convey?’
‘The image you’re trying to convey is Clean Person in Hospital for a Couple of Nights. This works.’
‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Lucy.’
Laughing, I hug Chantal to me. ‘Of course, I am.’ I’ve already realised that this isn’t about us having a shopping outing to get Chantal ready for her hospital stay, it’s about bolstering her confidence, providing a distraction so that she doesn’t really have to focus on the operation that’s looming large. A few more days and she’ll be having a mastectomy, which still seems such a radical form of surgery. I keep my reassuring smile in place and gesture at the shelf. ‘My razor-sharp and stylish brain has already eschewed the others as unsuitable. Tartan – says old biddy, might smell of wee. Black with silver piping – too chav. Powder-blue paisley – too boring. No one wants blue paisley. The designer sho
uld be shot. Pink cupcakes say youthful with a frivolous side.’
‘She’s right,’ Nadia agrees.
‘As always,’ I remind them.
Chantal knows that resistance is futile and shrugs her acceptance. ‘Pink cupcakes.’ She puts the toilet bag into her shopping basket.
‘Have you got all your toiletries? Shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste?’
‘I think so.’
‘Now what?’ I ask.
‘Pyjamas,’ Chantal says. ‘Which floor are they on?’
‘Up,’ I say. So we all troop off towards the escalator. We stand in a line, holding the rail. The store is busy and I want to put a big cordon round Chantal to protect her so that no one knocks into her, even though she’s no more fragile than the rest of us.
Autumn, behind me, taps my back and mouths, ‘Is she doing OK?’
I nod in confirmation and whisper, ‘She’ll be fine.’
A moment later we’re faced with racks and racks of nightwear and lingerie.
‘Nothing with cartoons,’ Chantal warns. ‘No one over the age of ten should go to bed with Minnie Mouse on their chest.’
‘You’ll have a hospital gown on for most of the time,’ I remind her.
‘Not if I can help it,’ she says darkly.
We fan out and flick through all the unsuitable pyjamas and nightdresses until Chantal holds a pyjama set high. ‘This,’ she declares. ‘A perfect blend of sophistication and functionality.’
They’re non-crease cotton in the palest of pinks: roomy, cut boyfriend style. They are, indeed, perfect.
‘They’ll be comfy,’ Autumn says.
‘And they match your toilet bag.’ My input.
‘You’ll be the most colour-coordinated patient they’ve ever had,’ Nadia says.
‘No point in letting standards drop just because they’re going to cut bits of you off,’ Chantal jokes. But I hear the catch in her voice.
The pyjamas go into the shopping basket.
‘Anything else?’
She lets out a wobbly breath and says, ‘The nurse said that I should get a couple of post-surgery bras too.’
‘Do they have them in here?’
‘Yes. I Googled it last night.’ We drift off in search of the lingerie department and, tucked away in a corner, find the post-surgery bras. To be fair, they might not be that easy to locate, but there’s quite a range.
‘They’re even worse in real life than they were online. Some of them look like something my grandma would wear,’ Chantal says, disdainfully.
It’s true that a number of the bras seem as if they’ve come straight from a 1950s underwear catalogue. They’re enormous great things with wide straps and cups like buckets. Chantal could use one as a hammock.
‘But there are good ones too,’ I point out. ‘This is pretty and super-soft.’ I turn to show a little lacy white bra to Chantal and see that her eyes have filled with tears. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t cry,’ I soothe. ‘We don’t have to do bras.’
‘I’m scared,’ Chantal says. ‘I’m going to have to wear a bra with a prosthetic because one of my own boobs will be gone for good.’ She folds her arms across her chest.
‘It will be temporary,’ I offer. ‘Livia said once they’re sure it’s all gone, you’ll have your reconstruction.’
‘It could be months yet. Longer. I thought I was coping well,’ Chantal says with a tearful sigh. ‘But, occasionally, it hits me all over again. It all seems so real now.’
‘You’ll be glad when it’s all over. Not long to wait.’
‘It’s the waiting that’s the worst thing,’ she agrees. ‘It’s so stressful.’
‘Let’s get these things.’ I take the shopping basket from her. ‘That’s enough for today. Don’t try to do too much at once. Small steps, small steps. Coffee and cake is calling.’
‘We’ll be with you every inch of the way,’ Nadia says.
‘You know we’d move into the ward with you if we could,’ I add.
Autumn looks close to tears. ‘Don’t ever think you’re alone with this.’
Chantal fills up again too. ‘I couldn’t manage without you all.’
Then words run out. I drop the shopping basket to the floor and we all have a group hug in the middle of the shop. If I’m honest, we’re all scared for her too.
Chapter Forty-Five
The next few days pass in a blur and Chantal goes in for her mastectomy. It’s a scant two days after the operation and she’s already out of the hospital and recuperating at home. That has to be a good sign, right?
We all put little personal notes in her overnight case for her, but we barely had time to visit her in hospital. The pink pyjamas and the cupcake toilet bag, so carefully chosen, hardly got a look in. But we all let out the relieved breath that we didn’t realise we were holding. She’s through another hurdle.
After work, we all meet up at the Tube station and head off to visit Chantal at home. I’m anxious as we stand at her front door and there’s a collective nervousness as we wait for Jacob to let us in. It’s all very well coming out of hospital quickly but it’s a different kettle of fish once you get home and have to cope with everything yourself.
We are, in the time-honoured fashion of patient visitors, bearing flowers and chocolate. I picked a lovely box of Chantal’s favourites from Chocolate Heaven – nothing better to help get you on your feet. Nadia is clutching them to her while I ring the bell.
‘Hey,’ Jacob says as he lets us in. He looks tired, drawn and has a very lively Lana wriggling on his hip.
I give him a hug. ‘How’s the patient doing?’
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Not very patient. I might have to staple her to the sofa to keep her there. She keeps wanting to get up and help. Go on through. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Let me take Lana,’ I say. ‘Come to Auntie Lucy, you delicious thing.’
Jacob hands her over and I give her a big squeeze. ‘How’s my best girl?’ She answers me in her own scribble talk.
We head to Chantal’s living room and peep our heads round the door. She’s lying on the sofa in her fancy new pyjamas watching an old episode of Antiques Roadshow.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Can you cope with some visitors?’
‘Get in here,’ she says. ‘Hand over those chocolates.’
‘How did you know we had chocolates?’ I ask.
‘You’d better have them.’
I laugh. We are too predictable. I show her the chocolates and then put them on the coffee table.
‘Flowers, too,’ Autumn says, holding out the bunch we bought.
‘You’re spoiling me.’
We all go to hug her, gingerly.
‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘I’m not going to break.’
She’s pale and looks a little frail but, considering what she’s been through, remarkably well.
‘How are you doing?’ I ask.
‘Well. I’m sleeping a lot and my arm hurts like a bitch. I’m not allowed to lift Lana yet or anything else for that matter. She doesn’t understand why I can’t play with her, bless her.’ She smiles sadly at her daughter. ‘Other than that, I’m all right. Sort of.’
She pushes herself to sitting with a wince. There’s a noticeable flat space in her pyjama top where her breast used to be and it breaks my heart to see it. Chantal is holding her arm awkwardly, nursing it to her.
I sit down with Lana on my lap.
‘Considering what you’ve been through, you still look amazing,’ Nadia says.
‘Thanks. It’s fair to say that I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders, but I’m better than I expected to be. Clearly, Hamilton ladies are made of tough stuff.’
‘If anyone can breeze through this, it’s you,’ I tell her.
‘I hope you’re right, Lucy. There’s a long way to go yet until I’m out of the woods. The worst thing is that I’m bored out of my head already,’ she admits. ‘I’d forgotten how dire daytime television is. I’ll go mad if I have to spend the next f
ew weeks watching Jeremy Kyle and Homes under the Hammer.’
‘We need to get you loaded up with box sets to keep you amused,’ Nadia says. ‘I’ve got plenty from my sad, single nights alone. I’ll bring some round.’
‘Good. Jacob won’t let me move.’
‘Of course I won’t.’ He comes in with a tray of tea for us. ‘Doctor’s orders.’
‘Livia has been great,’ Chantal tells us. ‘She says the operation has been a success and seems a lot happier now that I’ve had the mastectomy. I’ve just got chemo to look forward to.’
‘You have to keep that fighting spirit up.’ I bounce Lana up and down to keep her entertained. ‘We’ll help you.’
‘I am feeling like a warrior woman,’ Chantal says. ‘This isn’t going to beat me.’
Jacob serves our tea and says, ‘I’m going to grab a shower while you’ve got Lana. Is that all right?’
‘Good plan,’ Chantal says and Jacob beats a hasty retreat. ‘He’s been fantastic,’ she adds when he’s gone. ‘I couldn’t feel more cared for.’
‘Here’s to Jacob,’ Nadia proposes and we all toast him with our tea. Then I break open the chocolates and hand them round. Chantal nibbles one appreciatively.
‘Glad to see you haven’t lost your appetite,’ Nadia says.
‘As if,’ Chantal replies. ‘Never underestimate the restorative powers of chocolate.’
‘Isn’t chocolate full of antioxidants or something?’ I choose a particularly fine salted caramel. Yum. I give Lana a tiny taste too and she smacks her lips together. ‘I thought that was supposed to prevent cancer?’
‘Obviously we aren’t eating nearly enough,’ Autumn concludes.
I rectify that by having another one. Good job I brought a big box.
‘I’ve been told to take it easy. Nothing too strenuous. Livia wants me to start the chemo treatment as soon as possible and they’re hoping to fit me in some time in the next few weeks. So I need to be fit and healthy for then,’ Chantal says. ‘I’m going to have to do something to distract myself, though. If I just lie here doing nothing, I’ll go out of my mind.’