The One That Got Away. Annabel KantariaЧитать онлайн книгу.
bad news is it might take a bit longer than I thought.’
‘How come?’ Stell takes a sip of her drink and puts her glass down hard. A little wine slops onto the table. I stare at the splash on the dark wood of the table, and then I start to speak in a monotone.
‘She found a lump in her breast. She’s had a mammogram and a scan and it’s not looking good.’
‘Oh my God.’ Stell presses her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘The doctor was very concerned,’ I say. ‘They’re going to do a biopsy.’ Stell’s hanging on to my every word.
‘We’re hoping it’s early stages,’ I say, almost convincing myself. ‘But the main thing is, she’s in the right hands now.’ I hope she doesn’t question me further. What I’ve now said is the sum total of my knowledge about breast cancer.
Stell’s nodding. ‘That’s good. There’s a good chance of beating it if you catch it early.’
‘I know. I’m trying to keep her spirits up but obviously there are a lot of unknown quantities at this stage. The point is I just feel I would be a real schmuck to leave her right now. I just couldn’t live with myself. I think the doctor said that if treatment was needed, it would likely go on for a few months. So I need to be around for a while longer. Take her to appointments and look after her if she’s sick at home. She’s got no one else.’
As I say this, I’m thinking ahead to when the baby’s born. Then what will I do? I’ll worry about that later. Solutions always magic up from somewhere. The point is that, for now, I’ve staved off a crisis. And Stell is reacting just as I hoped she would.
‘Is this why you couldn’t come for my birthday?’
I nod. ‘Exactly. She’d just found out. She was in pieces. Understandably.’
She puts her hand on mine. ‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘I get it. You’d be a monster not to stay.’
‘Thank you, princess,’ I say. ‘Just say you’ll be there for me. Say you want me. That’s all I need to hear from you. We’ll get through this, I promise.’ I lift her chin so I’m staring into her eyes.
‘Yes,’ Stell whispers, and I touch my lips to hers.
‘I love you,’ she says.
Bullet dodged, Wolsey. Bullet dodged.
I practically skip to the Tube station. OK, I feel bad for Ness, but I don’t have the slightest doubt she’ll make a full recovery. As George says, she caught it early and she’s getting treatment. Knowing George, it will be with the best private doctors around.
But the news about Ness pales into insignificance when I think about the other things that George said. As I strap-hang home, the train throwing me about as it speeds through its tunnels, I’m barely aware of my surroundings. All I can think of is George’s words.
I want to have a baby with you.
These are the words I longed to hear, alone in my bedroom at eighteen with a ball of cells multiplying in my belly. They’ve been a long time coming and they fall on me like balm, unlocking something that lies deep inside me. While I try consciously not to nourish it, this seed George has planted starts to take root.
I want to have a baby with you.
I push it away but it comes back, bigger and stronger:
I want to have a baby with you.
*
We’re soon running at full speed again. If George is attending appointments with Ness, he shields me from them. We barely speak about her, and he never misses dates he’s arranged with me. Meanwhile, since the night he told me about her lump, something’s changed: we’re closer. I no longer feel like a mistress stealing moments, but a wife-in-waiting. We make love with our eyes open, drinking in each other’s face, and I feel like I can see into George’s soul. I feel myself softening; a sense of ice melting. I’m less obsessive at work – I delegate more while I let myself daydream about what it might be like to have a family.
Even George notices a difference in me. I’m kinder, more pliable and I start to feel that this life, this love, really could be mine. It’s like a shedding of layers – the layers of protection I’ve worn since the day George walked out on me. I start smiling at strangers. I find myself looking at other people’s children, noticing for the first time not their raucous screams but the joy in their smiles, the pearly whiteness of their tiny teeth and the pudginess of their squidgy little hands.
One lunchtime I’m in Boots, being jostled by the lunchtime crowd. The heating’s up too high; industrial fans are blasting hot air into the store. I’m sweating under my coat and suit, the air’s too dry on my skin, and my hair’s gone static. I find myself in the vitamins section. Before I know it, I’m holding a jar of folic acid supplements in my hand and wondering if I should buy them. I feel naughty, like I’m a teenager caught by my mum with a packet of condoms in my hand. Folic acid is for those respectable women who plan babies – to date it’s never featured in my life plans, but George’s words have pierced me deep inside: I can’t stop thinking about getting pregnant and, if I have a baby, I want it to have the best chances in life. I’m passionate about this: an apology, perhaps, to the baby whose life I prevented from starting.
I stand still, people pushing past me down the narrow aisle, and I remember the feeling of those first days of pregnancy: the tingling breasts, the unshakeable feeling that there was something growing in my belly. Back then, it caused nothing but horror but, now, I long to feel it again. I smile to myself: this time I’ll do it right. I put the tablets in my basket and take them to the checkout, where I catch the cashier’s eye. She doesn’t say anything, but she smiles, and I know she knows. I feel like I’m joining a secret club.
Maybe now the time is right.
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