The Right Time (41 page)

Liz didn't know or care about Damien and Cressida, they sounded like made-up people anyway. She was not comfortable at all about leaving it even one more day, but it was the only window she was going to get.

‘Friday it is then, we'll meet at my place, I think six is good, you know, just come straight from work,' she blurted all at once before Emma could have second thoughts. Then she hung up.

Now she had to get the other two on board. Evie was a pushover; Liz concocted a story about Emma feeling ignored and that they needed to rally around her, and Evie gobbled up the bait without question. Then Liz rang Ellen.

‘I'd love to,' Ellen responded when Liz outlined what she had in mind. ‘But I have the kids.'

‘They're old enough to stay on their own, Len.'

‘I know that, but I only get alternate weekends with them, Liz, and they're busy with their friends most of the time. Friday nights are usually all we get to spend together.'

‘Look, I wouldn't ask normally, but this is an emergency.'

‘What do you mean?' said Ellen. ‘You just said we were having drinks to cheer her up? And I think that's great, really, I do. But isn't there some other time we could do it?'

‘No, there isn't.' Liz had hoped to avoid talking about it over the phone, but she had no choice. ‘Ellen, I found a mole on Emma's back when I went for her dress fitting. I had it tested and it's a melanoma. It's malignant.'

‘What?'

Liz had gone on to explain everything, including the promise she'd made to Emma.

‘I need you with me when I break it to her, Len. We have to convince her that she has no choice, she has to have treatment as soon as possible, and we have to hope like hell that it hasn't spread already.'

Evie had taken the news badly, as expected, even though Liz had tried to reassure her that as long as they had caught it early, it was highly treatable. She didn't share her greatest fear that indeed they hadn't caught it early at all, and that it had metastasised. Liz
hadn't even told Ellen that if it had, the survival rate was grim. It was basically considered incurable. She knew the chances of that were small, but without further tests any prognosis was still possible. And even if it had only spread as far as the lymph nodes and was in fact far more treatable, melanoma had a high incidence of recurrence, and survival rates reduced dramatically with each recurrence. This was the downside of being medically trained: Liz knew too much. She had to calm herself down and focus on taking it one step at a time.

When the doorbell sounded, everyone froze. Liz looked at her sisters. ‘Let's try and act normal, natural, okay?'

They nodded and she went to open the door. Emma breezed in, pausing to air-kiss Liz, then swooping on the other two.

Liz had bought good champagne so that Emma would have nothing to turn her nose up at; besides, it felt like it was the least she could do. She popped the bottle and filled their glasses, before raising hers.

‘To Emma and Blake, may you enjoy a very long life together.'

Oh God, she shouldn't have said that. Evie was tearing up already.

‘Oh Evie,' Emma chided, putting her arm around her sister's shoulders. ‘You're always so emotional.'

Ellen gave Evie a stern older sister glare, and she sniffed, composing herself before gulping down some of her wine.

‘So let's sit down, relax,' suggested Liz. ‘Tell us all about the madness, Em.'

‘Madness is an understatement,' she replied, before launching into an animated, blow-by-blow account of the preparations she was immersed in at the minute. Liz found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying, and she could tell Ellen and Evie weren't even trying. Ellen's eyes kept darting from Emma to Liz expectantly, and Evie was barely holding back the tide of tears threatening to burst any minute. Her face was all pinched and she couldn't stop fidgeting. Liz knew she wouldn't be able to put it off much longer.

The banks finally broke, and Evie started to weep. Emma put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I'm only talking about wedding cake and photographers, Ev. You're going to be a mess by the wedding at this rate.'

Evie looked plaintively across at Liz, and Ellen's eyes were still darting anxiously back and forth, her forehead knotted with tension.

Emma glanced around at her sisters, tracking the looks from one to another. ‘What's going on here?' she said finally.

‘I can't stand this any more,' Evie gasped. ‘Please tell her, Liz.'

‘Tell me what?'

‘Evie, you need to calm down,' Liz said, keeping her voice level. She turned to look at Emma. ‘You know the mole I removed from your back? Well . . .'

She'd had to give this news before, many times. It was always difficult, but this . . . this was something else altogether. This was her sister. She took a breath.

‘I'm afraid it's malignant, Em, and more advanced than we would have liked.'

Liz gave that a moment to sink in, but Emma was just sitting there, passive. So she pushed on.

‘The results we have so far are not conclusive, we need to do more tests. But it appears to be at least a T3, which means the melanoma has penetrated the dermis, or worse. We need to test your lymph nodes as soon as possible to see how far it's spread, and to stop it spreading any further.'

Emma's expression didn't change. Nothing. She didn't flinch, she hardly even blinked. Eventually she spoke.

‘I told you I didn't want to know, Liz. We had a deal.'

‘I realise that,' said Liz, ‘but when I agreed to that, I thought even if it was a melanoma it would be in situ, which is when it's all contained in the actual mole and hasn't started to penetrate the dermis yet. In that case, removing the mole is all that's needed. I didn't expect it was going to be a T3. If I did, I would have had you at the hospital that afternoon.'

Emma still remained strangely unmoved. ‘Well, no you wouldn't have,' she returned. ‘I had an engagement that evening, I wouldn't have let you go carting me off to the hospital, and now I wish I'd never let you talk me into removing the mole.'

‘Emma, how can you say that?' said Ellen. ‘Don't you understand what a melanoma is? It's cancer!'

‘Enough with the drama.' Emma rolled her eyes. ‘The fact is,
if I hadn't asked Liz to my dress fitting, we'd be none the wiser.' An edge was creeping into her voice. ‘So, that being the case, I would have gone ahead with my plans, feeling perfectly well, as I do now, until perhaps, just perhaps, Liz might have noticed the mole on the day of the wedding, when she was helping me adjust my veil or some such thing. And she might have had the same level of concern, but not even Liz would have thought she could whisk me away for a quick biopsy before the ceremony. And then I would be off on my honeymoon the next day, with a promise that I would have it checked out on my return, which is what I suggested last week. I should have stuck to my guns.'

Liz shook her head. ‘But don't you see, Em, this is good news that we've caught it early, it's a stroke of luck. Between now and when you come back from your honeymoon is enough time for the cancer to spread, but we can arrest it now, before it has the chance.' She hoped.

‘You're talking about a few weeks,' said Emma.

‘It'll be more than a month,' Ellen pointed out.

‘This is just scare tactics.'

‘You want to be really scared, Emma?' said Liz. ‘If it's already gone into the subcutaneous layer, every single day counts after that. We act now – hopefully before it's made it to the lymph nodes – and your survival rate is very high. We leave it, it can spread anywhere, to your liver, your lungs. And the fact is, melanoma that has metastasised . . .' She took a breath. ‘It's terminal, Em.'

‘What?' Ellen said, alarmed. ‘But you are talking worst case?'

‘I'm talking inevitable, if it isn't treated promptly,' said Liz. ‘Melanoma is one of the most dangerous malignancies, we need to get things moving as quickly as possible, get you to the hospital at the very latest tomorrow morning. They'll do a scan, and then a surgeon will perform a sentinel node biopsy, as well as a wide excision to remove a margin of tissue from around the site of the original tumour, the mole. The biopsy results will take at least a few days and you might need further surgery after that to remove any affected lymph nodes. But the sooner we know what we're up against, the better.'

Emma was shaking her head. ‘It's not possible, I just don't have
that kind of time, Liz. You've obviously got no idea how much there is to do – weddings don't organise themselves, you know.'

‘I can help,' Evie piped in. ‘I'm completely available to do whatever needs doing.'

‘I have to work,' said Ellen, ‘but that still gives me plenty of time to help as well.'

‘It's not that simple,' said Emma. ‘Things are too far along now, it'd be more work getting you two up to speed than it would be to do it myself. Any way you look at this, it's simply impossible.'

‘Nothing's impossible, Emma,' said Liz. ‘This is too important.'

‘Look,' she returned, clearly getting frustrated, ‘if I go ahead with this now, I presume I'll end up with a big ugly gash across my back from that wide incision. And then you said there could be more surgery if it's in the lymph nodes? Have you forgotten, Liz, I'm wearing a strapless dress? It's way too late in the day to be altering it now.'

‘You don't do this, Emma,' said Liz, ‘your chances of walking down the aisle in that dress at all are slim at best.'

‘You don't know that, you don't know anything without more tests,' she scoffed. ‘And those tests are going to ensure that everything is ruined, aren't they, Liz? And won't that make you happy?'

‘What?'

‘Oh, come on, I know how pissed off you are that you're the last one not married. While Blake and I weren't married, you didn't look so pathetic, hanging around waiting for a married man who's never going to leave his wife for you. Instead you could point the finger at poor ridiculous Emma, in her ridiculous job, hanging on to Blake, who was obviously just waiting for someone better to come along. Except he wasn't. He just didn't care about having a big wedding, but he knew how important it was to me and that's why he finally proposed.' She got to her feet. ‘And that's why I'm going through with this wedding, and nothing's going to stop me, certainly not a stupid little mole on my back that's not even there any more!'

‘Emma, this is crazy,' Liz said. ‘You're not being rational.'

‘You have to listen to her,' Ellen insisted.

Evie could only sob, nodding in agreement.

‘Oh for godsakes, Evie, would you stop crying?' Emma snapped. ‘They've sucked you up into this little melodrama. For once in your life don't let them manipulate you.' She glared at Liz and Ellen. ‘This is my moment, my time, and you're not going to take it away from me. You'll all finally see what I can do, and maybe you won't think that my life is so pointless.'

‘I don't think your life is pointless at all,' Liz said seriously. ‘That's why I'm trying to save it.'

Emma looked unfazed. ‘Well I'm not going to let you ruin my wedding day,' she said, her voice quiet but determined. She walked back over to the coffee table and picked up her champagne glass, skolling back what was left. ‘Thanks for the drink, girls. It's been a blast. See you at the church.'

With that she picked up her handbag and walked over to the door, letting herself out without looking back at them.

Ellen turned to Liz. ‘You let her just walk out?'

‘What else was I supposed to do? Crash tackle her to the floor and tie her up?'

‘So you think it'll be okay to wait till after the wedding?'

‘Of course I don't.' She picked up the phone. ‘I'm calling Blake.'

After she'd pulled into her space in the basement carpark, Emma sat for a moment collecting her thoughts. Blake was already home, his car parked next to hers. She was wondering how best to play this with him. He was going to find out eventually, she was sure Liz would drag him into it. So it was better if it came from her first. She hadn't even mentioned the mole coming off yet, which had required a little subterfuge in the past week, mostly in the bathroom. Lucky they weren't having much sex at the moment, they were both too exhausted, so she had managed to keep herself covered up in bed.

So, she decided, offhand was the best approach.

‘Oh, by the way, I had a mole taken off last week, turns out it's malignant.'

No, she couldn't use that word offhandedly. Malignant. What an ugly word it was, it actually sounded malignant.

How about, ‘. . . turns out it was a melanoma. But it's all gone
now. I'll have some follow-up tests when we get back from our honeymoon, just to make sure.'

That was better.

She got out of the car and caught the lift up to their floor, rehearsing the words over in her head, practising the tone. The good thing was that she knew Blake wouldn't make a big deal about it. He would take her lead; if Emma was unconcerned, he would see no reason to be otherwise, and he certainly wouldn't waste energy stressing about it.

She stepped out of the lift and walked up the hall to the apartment. She let herself in, but before she had tossed her keys into the bowl or put her bag down, Blake was coming towards her up the hall.

‘Emma, I've just spoken to Liz,' he said urgently, still holding the phone in his hand.

She sighed. ‘Oh for goodness sake,' she said, making her annoyance plain. ‘She wasn't going on about the mole, was she?'

‘The mole?' he said. ‘You mean the malignant melanoma?'

‘Which is a mole by any other name,' she said lightly, walking past him out into the living room. ‘Isn't mole an ugly name, I wonder who came up with it. I mean, freckle is cute, you can spin “freckle”, you can't do much with “mole”.'