The glass too many, p.13
An Impossible Choice: Utterly gripping and heart-wrenching family life fiction, page 13
Tara looked mildly surprised but shook her head. ‘I’m OK.’
‘Good. Well, I spoke to Doctor Ford today and she has seen your X-rays.’ Honour willed herself to keep her voice steady, not give Tara any hint of the inner turmoil that was making Honour light-headed.
‘Uh-huh.’ Tara yawned, her arm stretching above her head.
‘She told me that there is a small growth in your knee, at the top of the tibia. That’s the bone that runs up the inside of your shin.’ Honour pointed at Tara’s leg. ‘It’s what causing your pain, so Doc wants to do another test to see what the growth is made of so she can decide how to treat it.’ Honour watched her daughter’s face, the sky-blue eyes trusting, taking in every word as gospel.
‘What kind of test?’
Honour shifted her elbow back. ‘It’s called a biopsy. They’ll give you some medicine to make you sleepy, then they’ll make your knee numb, then put a needle into the growth to get a little sample that they’ll send to a lab. I’ll be with you all the time and you’ll be in and out in about half an hour. It’ll take a week or so until Doc Ford gets the results.’ Honour found a smile. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, Tara, and hopefully we’ll be able to get some answers.’
Tara frowned, her fingers going to her mouth. ‘I won’t feel it, will I?’
Honour shook her head. ‘No, love. Your leg will be numb, so you won’t.’
Tara looked dubious.
‘If we can get you out of pain, that’s the main thing. Won’t it be good to get back onto the pitch and play again, and not be hurting?’ Honour felt herself wandering into the realm of untruths, but her need to soothe Tara’s fears was bigger than her resolve to be honest.
Tara’s eyes slid to the left and she sighed, her chin beginning to tremble. Each tiny quiver tugged painfully at Honour’s heart.
‘What is it, love?’
Tara slowly sat up, shoving her ponytail behind her before she leaned back against the headboard. ‘If I don’t play football anymore, will you be cross, or disappointed?’
Honour’s chest tightened as a spark of shock at hearing Tara confirm what Honour had overheard a few weeks earlier overtook her. ‘Tara, I could never be disappointed in you. You know that Dad and I supported you with the football because you loved it so much. If you decide you’d rather not play, or maybe do something else instead, that’s fine, and totally up to you, sweetheart.’ Honour sat up and drew Tara into her side, catching a waft of toothpaste. ‘You can always talk to me and must never be afraid to tell me what you’re feeling, about anything.’ She rocked her daughter, feeling Tara lean in to her ribs.
‘OK.’ Tara sniffed, her nose turning rosy, as always happened when she was emotional. ‘Do you think Dad would be upset?’ Tara lifted Honour’s hand and wove her fingers through her mother’s.
‘I think Dad would have understood. He only ever wanted you to have fun with it and be happy. He was so proud of you, Tara, but not just because of the football. You know that, right?’
Tara nodded, her fingers tightening around Honour’s. ‘What if they find something bad in my knee?’
Honour fought the shudder that crept up her back at the candid question. She had suspected that Tara would have questions, but her going straight to a dark place was Honour’s worst fear. ‘Whatever they find, we’ll be in a better place than now, where we don’t know why you’re in so much pain. If we know what’s going on, we can make a plan to get you better.’ She paused, unsure whether she’d said enough, or whether Tara would challenge her further. ‘It’s natural to be a bit scared, but Lorna says the doctors at the Victoria are the best. They’ll do a really good job of taking care of you.’ Honour forced a swallow. ‘Do you have any more questions, love? You can ask me anything.’
Tara took a few moments to look up at her mother, then she shook her head. ‘No. But don’t tell Cal. He’ll only get all weird and wobbly about it, and it’ll make him more of a pain.’ She eyed Honour, then a smile tugged at Tara’s mouth. ‘He’s such a drama queen.’
Honour felt a lifting inside – a surge of love and pride so powerful it rendered her speechless. Rather than reply, she simply nodded, cupped Tara’s chin and kissed the top of her head. How was it possible that she, Honour, had had a hand in making this magnificent creature, a child that, on the outside, looked to be in perfect health.
But, despite appearances, deep inside the cells that made up her daughter’s bones, was it possible that something had gone horribly wrong?
20
Ten days later, Honour’s hand was shaking as she stared at the word osteosarcoma on her phone. When the call from the hospital had come in while she was at work, her boss, Tilda, had seen her crying in the break room and, without pressing her on what was wrong, had told her to go home.
Honour’s eyes were burning and her head pounding as, next to her, her mother was holding her free hand, Marion’s words soothing, but her voice fractured.
‘At least you know what’s happening, Honour. Early detection goes a long way, and these days, the treatments are much more effective. And she’ll get the best care. We’re here for her, and you.’ Marion released Honour’s hand and wrapped her arm around Honour’s shoulder. ‘Do you want me there when you tell her?’
Honour leaned in to her mother, letting the phone drop to her thigh. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It’s better if I do it by myself.’
Marion nodded, glancing at Kirk, who was hovering by the window, his face a mask of concern. ‘So, what’s the course of treatment?’ Marion asked.
‘The doctor said they’d probably want to do chemotherapy first, to see if they can shrink the tumour, then surgery to remove it.’ She swallowed. ‘Then, depending on how big it is and how much it’s affected the knee, she might need a knee replacement.’ Honour winced, picturing her precious child on an operating table, the intrusive procedures she’d have to undergo and the uncertain outcome.
‘When you get back from the school, I can take the wee man out for a wander on the beach. Get him an ice cream or something,’ Kirk offered. ‘Whatever is most helpful.’
Honour couldn’t muster a smile, but she nodded at her father, grateful that, once again, no sooner had she phoned to tell them the news than they’d turned up on her doorstep an hour later.
Honour had known that her daughter had cancer for less than a day, and in that time Honour’s world had imploded again, for the second time in three months. Every resource that she had been drawing on to get the children through losing their father had run dry, and now she only had a few hours until she’d have to pick them up from school. She had no notion of how she was going to keep it together enough to ask them about their day, focus on driving, listen to them talk about homework, or hear them ask her what they were going to do this weekend, all the while hiding her terror.
Typically, needing something to do, Kirk circled the room and collected their empty mugs, taking them into the kitchen. She watched him go, then Honour looked down at her legs, her scrubs today covered in ladybirds. The bright design seemed to burn her eyes. The happy colours, the normality of the tiny insects, and the ridiculousness of being covered in them, when she knew what she knew, felt unbearable. ‘I have to change.’ She stood up, gathering her hair behind her neck. ‘Can you come up, Mum?’
Marion was already standing. ‘Yes.’ She followed Honour to the stairs and walked up behind her, Honour sensing that her mother’s hands were hovering behind her shoulders as if Marion was afraid that Honour might topple over under the weight of what she carried.
Honour lifted one leaden leg, then the other, until she could not support herself anymore and her knees gave way. She knelt on the step ahead of her, her stomach contracting as she let the tears come. Marion sat on the step beside Honour and stroked her back as Honour shook, every fibre of her being quivering with fear and dread at what was ahead of them.
‘Just let it out, my love,’ Marion whispered. ‘I’m here, and so is Dad.’
An hour later, Honour had showered, washed her hair, tidied up her face and put on a clean shirt and jeans. As she took in her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her eyes were puffy and her nose was still pink, but otherwise there was little evidence of the meltdown she’d had. She brushed her hair, feeling the bristles of the brush sharp against her neck, then closed her eyes, the rhythmic strokes calming her jangling nerves.
Her father had walked round to Green’s and picked up some provisions, and now, downstairs, her parents were talking in hushed voices.
Honour checked the time, her throat catching as she saw that she had only a few minutes until she needed to leave for school. She made one final check in the mirror, then took a deep breath, shook the hair from her eyes and spoke quietly to herself. ‘This isn’t about you. This is about Tara, and what she needs. So, get it together. Be the parent your daughter needs. Be strong, like Kenny would have been.’ She nodded to herself. ‘Your tears are over, for now.’ She blinked her vision clear, angry that her eyes were betraying her determination to be strong. ‘You can do this, for Tara.’
Downstairs, her parents were in the kitchen, her father at the table flipping distractedly through a House and Garden magazine, while her mother dried up the few dishes that had been on the draining board. Honour stood in the doorway and took them both in, their gentle, steady energy, their practised calm that she knew was for her benefit, and she was overcome with love for them both. Feeling as if she could draw on their strength, she said, ‘I’m going to be OK. Don’t worry. I can do this. Whatever happens, we will get through it, and I know that I can come to you if I need help.’
In sync as always, they turned to look at her, both sets of eyes glistening reflections of their own inner turmoil. ‘Always, Honour. Whatever we can do, we will.’ Her father held his hand out to her, so she moved over to the table and stood next to him.
‘Thanks for understanding that I’d rather tell them alone.’ She watched her mother’s brow knit, then Honour glanced at her father, who was nodding. ‘We need to talk as a family, and I’ve decided to include Callum in the conversation. I think it’s important that we share this with him from the start.’ She paused. ‘He’s too clever to keep it from for long, and I don’t want him to feel excluded, or that we hid something this big when he finds out later.’
She watched her mother round the table and sit next to her father, Marion’s face grey and her mouth pinched. As Kirk took Marion’s hand in his, Honour continued.
‘They are so much closer since Kenny…’ She swallowed the words that were still hard to say out loud. ‘They’ve formed a new bond, and I think it’ll help Tara to know that we are all in this together. Taking it on as a team.’
Marion blinked several times, then nodded. ‘We support you one hundred per cent.’ She tipped her head to the side in question. ‘Are you sure you want us to go, though?’
Kirk released Marion’s hand and stood up. ‘I think Honour is right. She knows we’re here if she needs us, but she knows those children and what they need better than anyone.’ He gave a half-smile, as Marion slowly stood up. ‘We’ve always knows how strong you are, Honour. That was never a question.’ He drew Marion into his side, the mismatch in their heights, as ever, endearing. ‘Kenny knew it, too, and he’d be so proud of how you’ve coped, these past few months.’
Honour felt her new-found resolve waver. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Absolutely.’ Her father nodded. ‘He always said that you were the one with the backbone of steel.’
Honour felt a bolt of surprise run through her, her belief that Kenny was the rock was something that had existed for most of their relationship. That he had thought this about her was surprising, and yet it was precisely what she needed to hear. Her father had given her the very thing that would help her get through the next phase of what the universe was throwing at her. If Kenny believed she could do this, she would not let him down. Not again.
As soon as she’d found the right moment, Honour went up to Tara’s bedroom to break the news.
Tara was initially, and understandably, shocked, pushing Honour away when she tried to hold her, but after a few moments, started asking questions about the chemotherapy.
‘What’s a port? Will I have to stay in hospital? Will I miss school?’
Honour battled to keep her voice steady, and explained as calmly as she could everything she understood would be happening, until Tara eventually leaned into her mother and cried in Honour’s arms.
As Honour pushed her own worries aside and found words of comfort from a source deep inside that she had never tapped before, Tara stopped crying, angrily swiped her hair from her damp cheeks and pulled her shoulders back. ‘Why did I get cancer?’ She stared at Honour, her eyes on fire and her mouth pinching. ‘It’s not fair, because I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Honour fought her tears again, taking Tara’s anger as fuel for her response. ‘It’s not fair at all, and you definitely don’t deserve it, my love. But you are so strong, and fit, and healthy otherwise that you will win this fight.’ Honour made a fist and punched her own thigh, the spark of pain sending a bolt of power straight into her aching heart.
Tara took in her mother’s expression, a depth of understanding in her eyes that robbed Honour of her voice for a few moments. Eventually, Tara walked to her chest of drawers, wrapped a band around her hair and tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, all the while sniffing loudly.
Honour handed her a tissue. ‘Do you have any more questions, sweetheart?’
Tara shook her head. ‘Not now.’
Aware that there was only so much Tara was willing to absorb at once, Honour said quietly, ‘How about we go downstairs and tell Callum what’s happening?’ To her surprise, Tara immediately nodded.
‘Yes, OK.’ Lifting her iPad from the bottom of her bed, as Honour’s heart twisted painfully in her chest, Tara followed her mother down the stairs.
Honour sat at the kitchen table and read to the children from her phone. Her need to get this absolutely right was making her teeth clench, her jaw aching with the intensity of the bite. Taking a moment, she continued where she’d left off: ‘“Osteosarcoma is a tumour made up of cancer cells that occurs in and/or around bone. It is the most common type of bone cancer in children and adolescents, and usually occurs when their bones are growing rapidly. The most common tumour locations are the lower end of the thigh bone or femur, around the knee and the upper end of the tibia.” That’s the shinbone, Cal, and where Tara’s tumour is.’ The words sounded toxic, their message now hovering above them like an ominous cloud that Honour felt she was absorbing with every laboured breath.
She looked at Callum, who was leaning against Tara’s shoulder, his glasses tight to the bridge of his nose and his mouth slightly open.
Afraid that if she stopped now, she might never be able to get through this, Honour read on. ‘“It can also occur at the upper end of the arm or humerus, all of which are the fastest-growing ends of the long bones.”’
She took a moment to check their faces again. Tara’s expression gave little away, her eyes flicking back and forth between Callum’s profile and the half-open window overlooking the garden.
The faint sound of voices floated up from the harbour and Callum kept looking over at his sister, as if a breeze might sneak in the window and whisk her away, the angst in his eyes breaking Honour in two.
‘Do you understand, my loves?’ She forced power into her voice as they both nodded, silently. ‘OK. It also says that when most osteosarcomas are diagnosed, they are localised, meaning the cancer cells have not spread to other parts of the body.’
As she read ahead, Honour knew that she couldn’t absorb, let alone share, what she was seeing there – the text referring to the situation where the tumour might have metastasised.
Desperate to find something positive to close with, she switched off her phone and stood up. ‘So, we’re going to get Tara’s special port fitted in a few days so the chemotherapy can start. It’s a device that will allow the medicine to go straight into her bloodstream. After a few weeks, once the tumour has shrunk, the surgeon will remove it and that could be the end of it.’ Willing with all her being for that to be the case, she dusted her palms against each other as if banishing some crumbs, and eyed Tara, who was chewing her bottom lip. Her eyes were clear, no sign of tears, and her right arm was draped around the back of Callum’s chair.
‘Will my hair fall out?’ She lifted the end of her long ponytail and studied it as if she needed to record the colour, texture, the way the ends twisted into curls of their own volition – feel the weight of it in her hand.
Honour hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Not necessarily. Not everyone’s does.’
Tara nodded, her mouth dipping at the edges. ‘I bet mine does.’
Honour walked around the table and hunkered down next to Tara’s chair. ‘Worst case, if you do, your hair grows like a weed, so it’ll come back so quickly, you won’t believe it.’ She scooped Tara’s free hand up, feeling the slender fingers warm to the touch.
Callum looked over at his mother, his eyes now full. ‘Is Tara going to die?’
Honour felt the question like a thump to her chest, taking a moment to collect herself and stand up again. ‘No. She absolutely is not.’ She forced power into her voice. ‘One – because I forbid it, and two because she’s far too loud and annoying to die and leave us in peace.’
Callum looked shocked, then a hint of a smile tugged at his eyes. ‘She is very annoying.’ He bumped his shoulder against his sister’s. ‘And she smells a bit manky, too.’
Tara shoved him off, gently cuffed the back of his head and stood up. ‘If I do die, you can’t have my room, Callumpty-dumpty. If you take it, I’ll be a ghost by then, so I’ll come back and haunt you. I’ll hide under the bed, come out once you put the light out and bite your bum.’ Tara made a gruesome face, and a pinching motion with her thumbs and forefingers.
