Games People Play (28 page)

The temperature began to drop noticeably as we lay in each other’s arms on the balcony floor, until all of a sudden it felt like January again.

‘Let’s go inside. I’m freezing,’ I said, and we staggered back to our feet. ‘You didn’t pull out,’ I added, trying not to sound accusatory.

He glanced sideways at me, almost sheepishly. ‘I know. Still, I’m sure it’ll be OK. You ovulated two weeks ago.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ I opened the balcony door and the heat from inside hit us, finally welcome. ‘Oh well, if I’m pregnant, we could always call the baby Storm. Or Rain. Good old hippie names.’

‘Don’t even joke about it,’ he snapped suddenly, ruining the mood. ‘It’s not funny.’ He walked naked over to the fridge for another beer, leaving wet footprints on the floorboards. I was pleased to see a nasty-looking splinter embedded in one of his buttocks. Ha, I thought, serves him right. Hope it hurts so much that he’s begging me to tweeze it out for him.

Then I felt a tiny strange flutter in my lower abdomen, an almost subliminal impression of movement, of development. It was a split second’s prescience, but I kept it to myself.

The temperature continued to drop that night, and for the few days following it. By the time the next sunny day came around, I was already seven weeks pregnant.

Gordana

So many machines in our lives already. Usually I understand how they work: coffee machine, ticket machine, ball machine, sewing machine. In here, I don’t understand how any of them work, but I’m surrounded by them. I have been in them, on them, next to them: X-ray machine, mammogram machine, MRI ...The MRI doesn’t hurt at all but it scares me: the thudding boom-boom in an enclosed space, the throbbing of a giant artificial heart, much stronger than mine. They have injected me with something radio-active for ‘tracking’. Perhaps it make me glow in the dark, so they can keep an eye on me. All in one day: needles and machines. And then Mr Babish draws all over my chest with a black marker. I feel foolish, and am surprised that I do. What does it matter if I am being drawn on? This man’s going to save my life. But I look like one of those maps Ted brings on long walks, with the dotted lines showing us where are the hills.

As if we can’t tell. The hills are the bits which are hard to walk up, I tell him. Anyway, I have grade three tumour. It is three centimetres wide, and Mr Babish says it’s about seven weeks old and growing fast. He makes it sound like a foetus, an evil little baby in the wrong place.

It’s all very tiring, if I let myself stop to think about it.

Ted’s with me. He holds my hand and talks about this blasted puppy. It’s the only time he smiles, so I suppose we must keep the wretched thing. It will be a good way to make Ted take exercise. But I tell him, as they wheel me off into surgery, that he has to promise he will clean up all the little mistakes. I do not wish to find dog mess under my sofa. And if that puppy eats any of my shoes, it will have to find a new home.

Ted smiles again, with those teeth of his. He’d look like Dracula, if Dracula was a kindly count. His crooked smile was the first thing I ever noticed about him, when he turned up on my parents’ doorstep, at the wrong party. That was a very long time ago now. I was young and stupid then, and so grateful to Ted. I’m still so grateful to him.

I hope the puppy doesn’t try and jump up on me when I come out of hospital. Lord, it makes me weary just thinking about going home again: there is not only the puppy, of course, but I need to keep an eye on Ted, and Ivan. There will be court appearances and journalists and all sort of nightmare things. Ted already looks like his heart is beating fast, all the time, and even when he’s smiling, he’s grey. Rachel is a lot better, but I still worry about her. Ivan, I think, is about to explode at any moment. Susie will be at home too, and I am fond of her, but she wants to talk to me all the time, to tell her what to do with her life, like I’m some kind of expert. I can’t do that anymore. I will have to tell her she must decide.

These people must learn to look after themselves, I think. Let me get today over with, before I start worrying about getting home. First things first.

I feel a needle in my hand, am told to begin counting backwards, and I give myself permission not to think about it all. Ted’s white hair wavers into a misty cloud, and then his face become a blob...

I wake up again, and Ted is with me, his head still a little blurry. When I reach out to touch his face, I’m surprised to find it wet.

‘Have I only got one breast now?’ I ask, and then I go back to sleep again before he tells me yes or no.

Next time I wake up, Ted has gone, but Rachel and Susie are both there. I wish they weren’t. I don’t want them to see me disadvantaged like this. I hope I am decent. I remember the time I came round from the anaesthetic after having my wisdom teeth out: Ted came to visit me and I could see he was embarrassed, because (he told me afterwards) my pyjama top had ridden up and was exposing my breasts, but I hadn’t even noticed. He could have told me!

But now of course there is no chance of me exposing my breasts. I don’t have breasts, plural, any more, and whatever raw unpleasantness is down there is all covered over with many bandages.

‘Pops has just gone to put more money in the parking meter,’ Rachel says, stroking my hand with hers. Her hand is like a man’s: short, square nails, large, dry-skinned. ‘How do you feel? Are you in pain?’

I smile at her. I always had such high hopes for her.

‘I feel fine. No pain,’ I say, automatically, although in actual fact I am rather uncomfortable. I feel as if I am lying on my front, on a bed of nails, which is strange, since I am propped up with my back against pillows. But it isn’t exactly painful.

Ted comes back in the room, looking happy. ‘Darling,’he says, reaching down and kissing my forehead. ‘You look much better. Good news. I just spoke to Mr Babish’ – we had all taken to calling him that – ‘and he said that only three of the twelve lymph nodes he removed from under your arm were affected, just with a little speck. He doesn’t think it has spread anywhere else!’

He is crying again. In fact, they are all crying.

‘Oh please,’ I say. ‘What are you crying for? I told you I was fine.’

The room I’m in has dark orange-coloured walls, almost terracotta, with patterned brown and orange curtains. ‘I think I may do the kitchen this colour,’ I say, and close my eyes again.

Mr Babish comes to see me himself soon after that. I make Rachel and Susie go home, telling them I don’t want that puppy causing the mayhem in my house without anybody to supervise it except Adele the cleaner, whom I am paying extra to dog-sit in the evenings so Ted can visit; even though she will probably feed it banoffee pie and then not clean up when it is sick. She is not terribly bright, bless her. I will use the same puppy/mayhem excuse on Ted later too. He looks like he needs an early night. Anyway, I don’t like all this fuss. And poor little Rachel has had quite enough of hospitals lately too.

Mr Babish tells me and Ted that, although it is very good news that the cancer hasn’t spread, I am still at high risk of it coming back. I must have six months of chemotherapy and five weeks of daily radiotherapy.

Five years was how long the possibility of recurrence would be highest for. Again, I feel tired. Five years is a long time to worry.

‘Then don’t worry,’ says Ted. Funny – I hadn’t realized I said that out loud. ‘Just focus on the next seven months. We’ll do something really special at the end of it.’

‘You are so practical,’ I tell him. ‘That’s why I love you.’

‘We’ll start your course of intravenous chemo in a fortnight,’ said Mr Babish briskly. ‘You should be able to lead your life fairly normally in between sessions, with perhaps a little nausea for a couple of days after each treatment. If you are tired, rest. If you have the energy, you can be up and about.’

‘Can I play tennis?’ I ask, quite seriously, but Mr Babish laughs. ‘Tennis? Well, I’m not sure you’ll have the energy for that.’

I feel cross. He’d just said I could lead a fairly normal life! Seven months without tennis is not a fairly normal life. Plus Elsie is taking lessons from that hunky new coach Ivan has just hired. It will be disaster if I come back to the tennis club and she can beat me. This is most annoying.

‘We will talk about the radiation nearer the time,’ he continues. ‘I’ll make sure you have the information you need about that, but the main thing to remember is that it’s almost always painless. The most awkward part of it is that you need to do it every day, five days a week, for the duration. So don’t book any holidays for that time.’

‘We won’t,’ says Ted, who was alternately beaming and crying. What was I going to do with him? Great big wet blanket, he is.

‘We have an expensive holiday afterwards, please,’ I say firmly. ‘I fancy a cruise. Or perhaps a party. Yes! We will have big party for our anniversary.’

‘Whatever you want, my angel,’ he replies, stroking my hair. Which remind me. It need setting.

‘What day does the hairdresser come round?’ I demand, and for some reason both Ted and Mr Babish laugh.

Susie

I told Rachel about me and Billy last night, on the way back from visiting Gordana. I couldn’t quite believe that it’s taken so long to get around to it, but she was very understanding. I think she’s so traumatized by her accident and by Gordana’s illness and Ivan’s arrest that my news sort of pales into insignificance for her.

After we left the hospital, summarily dispatched by a rather disgruntled Gordana, we decided to grab something to eat on the way home. Neither of us fancied going back to Ted and Gordana’s empty house, and the puppy was being babysat by their cleaner, so we didn’t have to hurry back to walk him.

I’ve been allowed to drive Gordana’s little Polo while she’s incapacitated – very generous of her, since I’m none too confident with a stick shift, on the wrong side of the road – so I took Rachel for a little drive in search of a restaurant, and we ended up in a country pub which had some painted rosettes on a board outside, and signs announcing that it was in the
Good Pub
Guide
. We were shown into a tiny front room, with just five tables, and a careworn woman smelling of cigarette smoke brought us two menus.

I was starving, as per usual. Why did stressful situations always induce hunger in me? It was most irritating. Just think of all the weight I could have lost by worrying instead. I hastily ordered a bottle of house white before the waitress vanished again. I needed a drink.

Speaking of looking worried, Rachel had a very long face.

‘Are you all right, honey?’ I asked, reaching out for her crutches so that I could lean them against the wall, safely out of tripping distance.

She gazed with unseeing eyes at the menu and sighed wearily. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘This all seems...too much.’

‘I’m sure it does. First your accident, then Ivan, now Gordana. It’s a lot to take in. But it looks like she’ll be fine. You know how tough she is, and fit too. She can beat this, I know she can.’

The waitress brought our wine in an ice bucket, already uncorked. She didn’t deign to show it to me, ask if I’d like to taste it first, or pour it for us, but I couldn’t be bothered to complain. I just needed a drink. I filled both our glasses, the bottle dripping water all over the table as I lifted it out of the bucket, its ice long melted.

Rachel was studying a series of seven plates hung in an arc on the wall by our table. The first one had a green apple painted on it, with the word ‘Pomme’ inscribed above. The next was an apple with a bite taken out of it, and ‘pomme’ became ‘pomm . . .’ and so on, until the second from last was an apple core, and the last, a few painted pips.

‘I wonder when I’ll have a place of my own,’ she said wistfully, taking a sip of her wine. ‘I’d like some plates like these, for the kitchen. They’re sweet.’

‘I’m sure Gordana and Ted would lend you money for a deposit on a little flat somewhere,’ I said, downing about half my glass. ‘You know how canny Gordana is with money. I would, if I had it.’

‘Thanks, Mum. I don’t know – I’ve always assumed there’s not much point in me buying a flat when I’m hardly ever there. But I don’t want to live with Dad forever, and Anthea hates me being there. I’ve got to think about it sooner or later.’

‘You could always live with Ted and Gordana. And the lovely Jackson,’ I added, to try and make her smile.

‘I don’t want to. I don’t want to be the guest all the time. I want some independence. I’m fed up with Dad running my life for me!’ She raised her voice slightly, and people at the other tables glanced over.

I removed my peach linen napkin from where it was arranged in a fan shape in my water glass, and spread it over my lap.

‘I know. But I suppose you can’t really make any plans until you find out . . .’ I gestured awkwardly towards her leg.

‘It’ll be fine,’ she said stubbornly. ‘That was the whole point of the operation – to make sure I regain full use of it.’

I sighed. ‘But, Rach, are you sure that’s what you want? I mean, you’ll have to do tons more physio to get back to your old flexibility. You’ll have to work really hard to regain your fitness. It’s going to be a while before—’

Rachel glared at me so ferociously I was almost scared. ‘Mum! Do you think I haven’t gone over this a million times? I’m twenty-three, but I know I haven’t got as far in tennis as I can go yet ...and anyway, what else would I do? I don’t want to follow in Dad’s footsteps anymore.’

I attempted to think like a life coach. ‘Well, what do you like doing? Aren’t there lots of other things in tennis you could do – marketing, for instance? Or you could be a personal trainer, maybe? I know – how about running a club? You could go and run Ivan’s club for him ...No, sorry, scratch that. Mad idea.’

‘Yeah. The fact that Dad’s not allowed in his own club makes me not want even to show my face down there, let alone take it over. He’s ruined everything.’

She was becoming petulant now, reaching down and scratching at the bandage under her loose jersey trousers.

‘Oh Rach, that’s a bit harsh,’ I said, wondering why I was defending Ivan. ‘He’s only banned until the trial. I’m sure it’ll all be OK again after that.’

She exhaled, in the exasperated sort of way that only a daughter irritated by her mother can.

‘I need to decide what to do with my life, too,’ I said suddenly.

Rachel jumped at the chance of changing the subject. ‘Oh yeah. You mentioned the life coaching thing. Are you still thinking about that? Why don’t you want to be an estate agent anymore?’

Here goes, I thought, taking a deep breath. Might as well tell her. I hoped she wouldn’t be angry that I’d taken so long about it.

‘Things have changed for me, Rach. I didn’t tell you before – well, I couldn’t at first, and then you had your accident, and there never seemed to be a good time for it…’

‘What?’ she said, just at the moment the waitress came back to take our order.

We scanned our menus perfunctorily, and I ordered seabass, because it was the first thing which caught my eye. Rach ordered a steak. As the waitress laboriously transcribed our requirements on to her pad, I found my mouth was dry and my heart thumping. Hold it together, Susie, I told myself. I was annoyed that I felt so uptight about confiding in my daughter – surely she should be the easiest of confidantes? I refilled and drained my glass.

‘Steady on, Mum, you’re driving,’ Rachel said. The waitress finally went away, having taken so long to write down that Rachel wanted her steak medium, with a rocket and parmesan salad, that I began to suspect she had been executing an intricate border of flowers around the edges of her pad to illustrate our order. But I didn’t mind. It all put off the dreaded moment.

‘So? What’s changed, Mum? Has Billy lost his job? Are you two thinking of moving?’

I twisted the bare skin of the third finger of my left hand, seeing the faint white stripe where my engagement ring used to be. ‘Haven’t you noticed something different about me?’

She didn’t follow my gaze. ‘Well. You do seem a little down. But I thought that was just because our holiday got spoiled, and now Gordana’s news...Is there something else?’

I wanted to laugh at the understatement of it. Yes, there was something else. I nodded towards my ring finger, and finally the penny dropped.

‘You’re not wearing your ring,’ she said cautiously.

‘Why not?’

‘Why might a woman stop wearing her engagement ring?’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘I thought it was because you were afraid of getting your opal damaged, or losing it.’

A fair point. Billy had bought me a beautiful old opal ring from Quantrills Antique Mall and Flea Market in Lawrence, but it was so fragile that I was always having to take it off to stop it getting soapy, or bashed. One terrifying time, the opal itself had clunked out of its setting when I’d been washing my hands after using the loo at a service station, and I’d just managed to catch it before it rolled down the sink plughole. In the end I only wore it on special occasions. I missed it, all the time. I missed the way I felt when I looked at it, the way the colours flashed crimson and green and turquoise, deep inside the stone. I’d thought it reflected the way Billy felt about me. The thought of never wearing it again broke my heart.

‘But I would never go away anywhere without it, would I?’

Putting it this way, it sounded like I was criticizing her for not having asked me why. Perhaps I was.

‘What happened, Mum? Have you had a row? I thought you hadn’t been on the phone to him much. I didn’t like to ask…’

I dropped my voice so the other diners were less likely to be privy to my confession. ‘I haven’t been on the phone to him at all, Rach. He left me for a PhD

student called Eva. They’re living together.’

Rachel clapped her hands over her mouth in horror, and fresh tears came to her eyes. ‘Oh
Mum
! When? Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, I’m so sorry. Not Billy. I can’t believe it.’

‘Nor could I,’ I said glumly. ‘A PhD student? I mean,
really
. How can that possibly last?’

To give her credit, Rachel didn’t even smile. ‘Poor, poor you. What a nightmare. What are you going to do?’

‘You’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?’

Rachel looked puzzled. ‘Of course not. I’m sure you thought I had enough on my plate.’

I nodded. ‘I was going to tell you in Italy . . .’

‘Have you told Gordana?’

I shook my head. ‘I wanted to talk to her. But not until I’d told you.’

In my mind, I saw the photograph of Billy and me at Clinton Lake, and pain zigzagged through me. It was funny how I rarely thought of him in the flesh now that I didn’t see him that way anymore. I only pictured him in the photos which had been on display on the sideboard: that Clinton Lake shot; a picture of us walking up a mountain, rucksacks on shoulders, grinning back at the camera; another, of us jumping hand in hand into a swimming pool. It was as if he’d been reduced from three dimensions to one.

‘So what are you going to do?’ she repeated.

‘I don’t know. I need to decide. I quit my job, though. And I’m not sure that I can stand living in Lawrence while he’s there with...her. I just can’t bear the thought that the second relationship I thought was permanent, isn’t. Thank God I didn’t marry him, eh? I couldn’t stand being divorced twice.’

Rachel leaned across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘I’d love it if you came back to live over here, Mum.’

I couldn’t speak for a moment. ‘Really?’ I managed eventually. We stared at one another, and I felt so many things: sorrow, loss, love, relief that we were close again. It was terrible to admit, but for a long time it almost felt as if I didn’t even have a daughter. It would be so lovely to have her back.

On the other hand, if I stayed in England, there would be no chance of a reunion with Billy. And, although it felt strange to acknowledge, England no longer felt like home, even though Rachel was here. I craved to be somewhere I belonged – but where was that place?

I’d thought it was Kansas, but without Billy, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe my best chance of finding a home was to stick near the only remaining family I had: Rach.

I missed my own parents then. But they were long dead, and my childhood home in Salisbury near the cattle market had been demolished to make way for a sports centre. They paved over what was our back garden to lay tennis courts ...There was a certain irony to that.

‘I don’t think I’ll know what to do until I know for sure it’s over. I kept thinking it was a moment of madness, and he’d wake up one morning and want me back. But it’s been over two months now, and he hasn’t been in touch. He may not even be aware I’m over here.’

‘Two months?’ Rachel looked even more shocked. ‘I wish you’d told me, Mum. I mean, I’m not cross or anything, but you could have let me know on the phone, even before Italy. I hate it that you thought you couldn’t talk to me. And there was me, wibbling on to you about how Mark broke my heart . . .’

‘It’s not that I felt I couldn’t talk to you, honey. It’s just timing. That’s why I wanted you to come skiing with me. I thought I’d tell you then, face to face.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ she said briskly. ‘We’re a right sorry pair, aren’t we?’

I smiled weakly. Now that the secret was out, I felt exhausted. And even more starving. ‘Maybe we can tell each other what to do with our lives,’ I said. I was glad now that I hadn’t told her sooner. The couple of months’ grace meant that at least I’d been able to hold it together. Even a month ago, I’d probably have sobbed my heart out in the telling, but in comparison to Gordana’s cancer and Rachel’s career-threatening injury, it no longer seemed such a tragedy. Hell, relationships broke up all the time. People got over it. It wasn’t even as if we were married.

‘Do you miss him?’ she asked me, as the waitress brought our food over.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I do. A lot.’

Luckily, my seabass had arrived needing a great deal of attention. It was the whole fish, cooked intact and put on my plate, so what with all the decapitating, de-skinning and deboning required, I was able to push Billy out of my mind, at least until I got some food inside me.

It turned into a bizarrely enjoyable evening, considering the circumstances. We talked and talked, through our main courses, through dessert (syrup pudding with custard for me – not a pudding you’d find in Lawrence, Kansas. It was delicious), coffee, and then more coffee. Rachel was telling me all about life on tour, and the friends with whom she had fleeting contact a few times a year in different places all round the world.

I was curious. ‘Is it hard to be friends with girls you know you’ll be playing against the next day? Do you ever hang out with the ones who’ve beaten you? Wouldn’t it be better to be really aggressive towards them?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘We’re all in the same boat. We all want to win. We can’t go round hating each other if we don’t win. Usually people are cool. Sometimes they surprise you. My last match, actually, was a weird one – you rang me straight after it, and I had to go and throw up, remember? I was in such a state. Mark had just dumped me. I was in bits. But I got through to the semi-finals; and this girl I beat in the quarters, Natasha, just spooked me—’