The Sisters (26 page)

Richard groaned as he thought about what he’d have to go through again. ‘And radiotherapy. If the tumours have reduced in size as I’m hopeful they will, then we’ll discuss surgery, ok?’

Richard said nothing as he thought back to what he’d been researching online as he slowly ate his pizza the night before.

‘What about alternative therapy? I was looking up some stuff online.’ This time it was Dr. Marcus’ turn to groan. He had nothing against alternative treatments and he supposed that if he was the one sitting in that chair he’d want to consider all of his options, but still, he was a doctor of medicine. He believed in the science not in chanting, crystals and mythical herbs that were probably no more than dried coriander leaves.

‘There are treatments, medication from America.’

‘That has mostly likely not been approved by the FDA, but go on.’

‘You’re probably right. I’m not sure how shark cartilage would be a cure for cancer. I might as well swallow a pack of Tic Tics but even so…’

‘Even so, you want to consider your options. I understand that.’

‘So, you don’t mind if I give them a go?’

‘I do mind actually, but I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re stubborn and will probably do it anyway. So, take this. I don’t want you going to any old snake charmer.’ Dr Marcus took a card from his desk drawer and handed it to Richard. ‘That’s Dr. Stone. He’s a friend of mine and has a practice on Harley Street. I’ll let him know to expect you.’

As Richard drove home with the card of Dr. Stone in his wallet he suddenly felt the urge to turn the car around, drive to Brighton and do a Reginald Perrin. He knew that it was a stupid idea, as Felicia would find him in five minutes. He’d tried to avoid this for as long as he could. The same way that he harboured the fantasy that Dr. Marcus would call him up one day and tell him that it was all a mistake, but he knew that day wasn’t going to come. He could hear their voices before he’d even put his key into the front door. The laughter and excited chatter of his three grandchildren floated through the open window of the front room. He didn’t want to be responsible for stopping that laughter.

‘Hey Pops,’ Reece said as he walked out of the living room as Richard closed the front door behind him. He gave his grandad a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, which made Richard laugh. He couldn’t believe how tall he was. He’d run up and down the hallway when Paul had called him to tell him that the first twin to be born was a boy. He and Rachel were twins so he wasn’t at all surprised when Lucinda had first called him to tell that she was pregnant with twins but it’d been so long since there had been boys in the family.

‘Where’s your grandmother?’ Richard asked as he kicked off the black air force ones that Reece had persuaded him to buy when he’d decided to take his grandfather to Westfield one afternoon.

‘In her office talking to Uncle Noah on Skype. They’ve been talking forever.’ Reece rolled his eyes, as he knew better than most what it was like to be caught up in a conversation with his great uncle who had a habit of turning up on their doorstep unannounced, even though he lived in Toronto. Richard put his arm around his grandson and led him back to the living room.

‘Come on, I need to you talk to you all.’ Reece took a look into his grandfather’s eyes and knew that the delights of the biscuit tin in the kitchen could wait.

Lena’s large eyes widened and filled with tears whilst Katelyn squinted her eyes and began to chew on her bottom lip as she processed what her grandfather had just told them.

‘Are you dying?’ Reece asked. He was like his father and didn’t believe in beating around the bush. He needed facts. He could deal with facts.

‘No…no I’m not. But the odds aren’t good,’ Richard answered truthfully. The three grandchildren had squeezed themselves onto the two-seat sofa as if to insulate themselves from the news.

‘And they’re sure?’ Katelyn asked.

‘Yes, they’re sure.’

‘I told mom that you’d lost weight and she told me not to be rude.’

‘Does my mum know?’ said Lena who’d finally found her voice as she blew into a tissue that Richard handed her.

‘Yes, she knows. They all know.’

‘Oh great, so we’re the last to know?’

‘Well, I haven’t told the dog yet,’ Richard said with a grin. He wanted to take the sadness away from their faces. His grandchildren were so precious to him. Lena had been the first one and he remembered the mixture of emotions that he’d felt the first time he’d seen her in the hospital. There was intense love and then the realisation that he was being confronted with his own mortality, when he wondered if he’d ever see her graduate or be at her wedding when he saw her in Jessica’s arms. It had made him wonder how much time he had left but he’d dismissed it, but now as he watched the faces of his three grandchildren he found himself asking the question again.

‘We’re only just getting to know you,’ Katelyn said softly. He could feel his heart breaking at Katelyn’s words.

‘Hey. I’m not gone yet. Who knows how long I may be around for?’

Lena got up from the sofa, went over to him and sat on his lap just like she used to do when she was younger when she’d curl up and cocoon herself in his arms.

‘I don’t want you to die, grandad,’ she whispered into his ear.

Richard swallowed hard and held onto his first grandchild. Memories flashed back of Lena climbing into his lap when she was three-years-old in her pink pyjamas and straggly toy rabbit, which had lost an ear and whose leg was barely hanging on and insisted that he read
Winnie the Pooh
for the hundredth time.

‘Come on you three. I don’t want you all sitting there depressed and miserable. I’m still here and the good news is that the chemo is working. The cancer hasn’t grown.’

‘What about alternative therapy?’ Katelyn said as she looked up from her mini iPad. She’d been busy googling once she’d decided that she must do something to help her grandfather.

Richard began to laugh. She was so much like him and so much like her mother. She knew how to be practical and get things moving.

‘What are you talking about?’ said Lena.

‘I’m looking at options for grandpa. There’s all sort of things that he could try. Homeopathic remedies, acupuncture…’

‘Yeah right, like putting needles in grandad’s stomach will be the miracle cure…’

‘Oh my God. That’s gross,’ Reece said as he read over his sister’s shoulder. ‘Hey grandpa how about this. Shark cartilage. An actual shark.’

The three grandchildren looked at their grandfather wondering why he’d burst out laughing to the extent that tears were starting to escape from his eyes.

‘It wasn’t that funny,’ Reece said as he stared at his grandfather.

LUCINDA SIGHED again as she took another look at her surroundings. If it wasn’t for the ticket machine and the traffic warden sitting under a tree on a partially collapsing brick wall as he occasionally looked at his watch there was no way she’d believe this was a legitimate car park. She didn’t want to get out of her car. During the entire drive from Notting Hill to New Cross she’d tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach and the bile in her throat. She definitely wasn’t pregnant so the only thing she’d put it down to was nerves and she’d never suffered from nerves before, not even when she’d stepped out on stage at Wembley Stadium in front of ninety thousand people. She had literally felt electricity flow through her whilst Beatrice always had to have her head down a toilet before she went on stage, and it wasn’t unknown for Jessica to knock back a Jack Daniels and coke before she picked up the microphone.

She pulled down the sun visor and looked into the mirror. Hair, makeup, everything was perfect and she’d taken care with her outfit but it wasn’t about the outside it was all about the inside. The last time she’d stepped into a recording studio was almost 14 years ago in Atlanta. She and Paul had arrived in a back of a limousine at the ridiculously sized mansion of the pint sized Booker Heritage, the twins had been left with the nanny whilst Booker and Paul had tried to mould her into something that she wasn’t. She didn’t want to compete with Aaliyah or Brandy or Monica and she had no intention of reinventing herself like Mariah Carey. She knew her sound and she was her own competition. Her voice was her power but Paul and Booker didn’t think that was enough. It was no surprise that her second album flopped and found its way to the bargain bins of record shops.

Notting Hill had been filled with sunshine when she’d left her house that morning but a dark cloud had followed her and the skies in South East London darkened. She was determined that the dark cloud wasn’t going to be an omen but then she remembered that it had poured down with rain more than 25 years ago when she, Jessica and Beatrice had got off the train at Deptford train station and walked to a narrow Victorian building behind the halal butchers, which laughably had a brass plaque on the door that said that they were at the music academy. Adam, the owner, had unconvincingly told them that Bros, Squeeze and Mica Paris had recorded in his studios. Just five minutes up the road was the Deptford Albany where Euterpe had performed at numerous talent nights before there was even a hint of a record deal. The arrival of a text message pulled Lucinda out of her daydreams. It was from Owen telling her good luck. He was the one surprise she hadn’t been expecting when she’d made the decision to return home. It made things so much easier knowing she could talk to someone who didn’t question her truth. Maybe she should have been more honest in the beginning instead of trying to put a gloss on everything.

‘Right, Lou, let’s do this. What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?’ she said out loud. There was no answer to give because as she’d already concluded, the worst had already happened to her. She took her umbrella from her taupe Birkin bag and pushed the plastic bag of books out of sight, under the passenger seat. She was being forced into the position where she wasn’t only re-establishing a career but now had to make a living.

“If one direction doesn’t work for you then change the course of your life” was a mantra that her grandmother had tried to drill into her head the first time Euterpe had gone on a UK tour.

‘Always have an escape plan, Lulu,’ Grandma Celia had said as she kissed her on the forehead then wished her good luck. Lucinda finally got out of the car, paid an extortionate amount of money into the ticket machine, warned the traffic warden not to give her ticket and crossed New Cross Road that as far as she was concerned was in desperate need of gentrification. She found herself staring at a door with grey peeling paintwork and no door handle. It was nothing more than an exposed keyhole next door to a cafe that she swore used to be a Wimpy. The heavy drops of rain that had started to fall formed the question in her head about whether she should turn around and go home. Reluctantly she pressed the unlabelled buzzer and waited. No answer. She pushed again and waited, pressing herself against the door to shield herself from the rain. Suddenly there was a loud click and she fell into a dark hallway. She kicked aside a pile of pizza menus and minicab cards and stared ahead at the bare light bulb that starkly illuminated the steep staircase with its threadbare, stained carpet.

‘Come up,’ said a disembodied voice from somewhere upstairs.

‘Sal has sent me to a bloody crack house,’ Lucinda said as she wondered if her bag contained any anti-bacterial gel as she placed her hand on the banister barely held together by two rusty brackets. When Lucinda reached the top of the stairs she was surprised with what she saw and felt like one of Doctor Who’s assistants when they first stepped into the tardis. There was no door and she walked onto a brightly lit room with stripped back but scratched floors, the hallmarks of microphone stands and drum kits being dragged back and forth across the room. The rainstorm had been brief and streaks of sunlight shone through the large bay windows that were slightly open causing a cool breeze to circulate the room and the sounds of south London traffic to provide the soundtrack. There was a piano that reminded her of the one that occupied the good room in her parent’s house, keyboards, a drum set and on the left hand side of the room was a rack stacked with a bass guitar, rhythm guitar and a classic guitar. In the centre of the room there were three microphone stands. And to the right of the room she could see through to the recording booth.

‘Sal said he wasn’t sure if you’d turn up. Said you could be a bit difficult. I don’t get on with difficult.’

‘Difficult,’ Lucinda said as she turned around to face a tall, slender man who she suspected didn’t step out into daylight. He had thick, curly black hair and he kept his hands across his face as if he was still making up his mind about whether this meeting was a good idea or not. ‘I’m not difficult. I just have standards. Lucinda LeSoeur,’ She held out her hand, which he shook firmly.

‘I’m Carter.’ Lucinda raised an eyebrow as she waited. He huffed and finally said, ‘Carter Rea.’

‘It’s nice to meet you Carter Rea,’ Lucinda said with a smile.

‘Well, you’re here on time. I hate it when people take the piss. Would you like a drink?’

‘Just water thank you.’

‘That I can do.’ He disappeared into a small kitchenette and returned a few minutes later with a large glass of water and a cup of tea. He handed the water to Lucinda and sat down on the battered leather sofa in the corner of a room.

‘How old are you?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘Look, the last couple of producers looked like it was their first day wearing their big boy pants.’

‘So,’ Carter said, ignoring the question as he stretched out his legs and wriggled his feet. He wasn’t wearing any shoes or any socks. ‘Your last album was crap.’

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t know what you were thinking because that sound wasn’t you. Your first solo album was a lot better. Not great, but better. I liked the last four tracks.
Play it slow. The Angel. Like Clockwork
and your cover of
Sinnerman
was …well it could never touch Nina’s version…’

‘No-one could ever touch Nina,’ Lucinda said as she watched Carter carefully.