Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale (19 page)

“Mummy?” he
says again.

I look down at
my son and I know, even though I want to cry and scream and fall into a
pathetic heap on the floor, I have to keep it together for him. I have to be strong.
“It’s okay, baby.”

“But where’s
our furniture?”

“I think
Brendan may have taken it.”

“Why?”

“I think he
might have gone to live in a new house.”

“Why?”

Please Rory, I
think, please don’t start the ‘why’ game now.

“I’m not sure
but I think he was a bit unhappy. Maybe he didn’t know how to tell me.” I can’t
say ‘us’. I can’t hang part of the blame on my child. It’s not his fault
Brendan’s gone. It’s mine. I should have seen this coming. I should have done
something to prevent it. I should never have gotten cancer.

Rory gives a
slow nod. His face shows a great deal more wisdom than anyone would ever give a
child credit for. He reaches around and hugs my hips, his cheek nestles into my
side. “I don’t care if you look different, Mum. I still love you.”

And that’s all
I need to rally. I ruffle his hair and give his shoulder a squeeze.

“I love you
too, Mr. Rory. Now grab your stuff and put it in your room, get some work
clothes on and we’ll clean up this mess. Then I think a picnic in the family
room might be in order for dinner, what do you reckon?”

He brightens.
“Like with a rug and the picnic set?”

“Yep. I might
make some oven chips and chicken fingers too.”

“Yum! Can we
watch a DVD while we eat?”

“Only if you do
your homework first, so you’d best get cracking.”

Rory lets go of
me and sidesteps the puddle of milk before racing down the hall to his room. “You’re
the best Mum ever,” he calls over his shoulder. “The best in the whole wide
world.”

Looks like I’m
also going to be the solo mum from now on.

Brendan’s left
me.

Chapter 19

“He did what?”

Lani has this
look of utter horror on her face as I tell her about the missing furniture over
our morning coffee and a huge block of Cadbury Popping Chocolate. I’m feeling
the need to comfort eat today. Everything that touches my lips is smeared with
chocolate.

“Has he even
contacted you to tell you why?”

Breaking a row
of squares from the block, I put them into my mouth before shaking my head. Little
bubbles of fizz burst on my tongue and I feel somewhat soothed by the sugar
hit.

“Not a word. He
just took his stuff and left.”

Yesterday was
rough. After our TV picnic, I bustled Rory off to bed and spent the evening
alternately texting Brendan, downing glasses of wine and sobbing. I became so
desperate when he wouldn’t answer my calls, I contemplated getting Rory out of
bed and bundling him into the car so I could get to the shop before it closed
and buy every piece of chocolate in the place. Thank heavens sitting in the
pantry was a box left from when Mum came to stay. I would have done it
otherwise.

Then, as I was
about to put a load of washing in the drier, I came across two of Brendan’s new
shirts. In his haste to escape, he’d left them behind. After a renewed bout of
sobbing, I did the most unthinkable, yet cathartic, thing. I took those shirts
into the family room, sat on the floor with a pair of scissors and a rerun
episode of
Desperate Housewives
and
cut the shirts into strips. Lovely, straight, baby blue and white ribbons of
shirt which I bundled into a plastic bag and put in an express envelope to be posted
to Brendan today. The evening rounded off with me challenging myself to see how
many golf balls I could throw and hit at a target made from the photo of Brendan
and I that used to stand on the beside table. It’s amazing how dexterous I am,
especially after two bottles of wine.

Now, in the
glaring light of my hangover, I understand. I don’t feel angry
—
I disposed of that emotion while hurling things
—
I’m simply
incredibly sad and hollow. Brendan’s wiped me from his memory as if I’ve ceased
to exist. He’s left me because he can’t deal with the changes to my body. He
wants the perfect partner and I’m no longer perfect. I’m damaged goods. I always
assumed he loved me and maybe he did, but not enough, it seems, to accept these
imperfections.

I’m also beginning
to think I misjudged him, that Mum was right. Brendan’s affection was simply
another display, an outward show of our seemingly perfect life. Our
relationship was merely a marketing exercise.

I guess I’ll
never know. What I do know is my eyes are like puffy slits from the tears and
my head is hurting so much I’m beginning to wish I’d saved the repeat prescription
of painkillers Dr. Downer gave me, the one I so cheerfully threw in the bin a
month ago because I was ‘back to normal’.

“Is there
someone else?”

We both know
Lani’s scraping the bottom of the barrel with the question. Brendan would never
have an affair. After the disaster that was his childhood, he vowed he would
never make someone else suffer the way his mother suffered. I admired him for
that. I loved his conviction to stay true.

“You know there
isn’t.
 
He simply can’t deal with
the fact that I had cancer and now I only have one breast. Heaven knows, how he
would have coped if I’d had chemo and lost my hair.”

Lani reaches
over to cover my hand with hers. “I hate to say it, but it might be a good
thing he’s gone.”

 
“At least I can fit the car in the
garage now he’s taken that stupid canoe.” I laugh. I know I’m making light of
it, sounding like I don’t care, but seriously, what else can I do? Humour is
the only thing that might save me from a breakdown.

“The funny
thing is, if he’d hung around a bit longer, he would have seen you looking even
more perfect than you do now.”

“Oh Lani, you
don’t have to be nice. I know I look a fright.”

“But you don’t.
You look healthy, glowing even.”

“Not in Brendan’s
eyes,” I say, sadly. “To him, I’m no longer perfect and you know how he is
about everything being exactly the way it should be. He used to rearrange the
cushions after I did the housework, for Pete’s sake.”

Lani breaks the
last row of chocolate in half, giving one piece to me. “Don’t forget the time
he told you he didn’t want you to iron his shirts anymore because you put
‘train tracks’ up the arms.”

A reminiscent
laugh escapes my lips. “He had no clue I did it on purpose. I hate ironing
shirts.”

“He was such an
obsessive compulsive.”

“The most
annoying thing was the way he used to line the items up in the pantry in
alphabetical order and then put the oldest ones at the front so I wouldn’t have
out of date cans on the shelves. Angela and Jeff were over for dinner a couple
of weeks ago and she switched everything on her way back from the loo. Brendan almost
had a coronary when he discovered it.” I pause for a second, thinking back over
our life together. “You know, I never noticed those things in the beginning,
they didn’t bother me that much.”

“What is it
they say? The quirks you find endearing at the beginning of a relationship are
the ones that annoy you the most at the end?”

“I think so.”

“For all his
faults, and you know I was never that keen on him, I never expected Brendan
would be such a coward, to leave you without a word when you needed him most.”

I sniff and
blow my nose into my tissue. At this rate of consumption, I’ll be keeping the
Kleenex factory in business. “He wouldn’t see it as cowardly. You know he hates
confrontation and arguments. To him, this would have been the least painful
way.”

At this, Lani
hops off her stool and wraps her bony arms around me. Her armful of bangles
pokes into the back of my ribs. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Me neither.”

“You poor
thing. You don’t need this.”

No, I don’t
need it. Not now, especially.
 
Dealing with Brendan’s desertion would be hard enough if I were healthy
but now? I’ll need a very strong set of shoulders to get through this one.

*****

That night, after
finishing our dinner standing at the bench because Brendan took the table, I
tuck Rory into bed and settle myself on my own bed. I’ve dragged the TV in and
hoisted it on top of an old packing crate I found in the garage
—
there’s little point sitting in the family room
when it’s as bare as a boutique after a winter clearance sale. The TV’s sitting
at the end of the bed connected by an extension cord to the power point. One of
Brendan’s extension cords. I can’t believe he wasn’t thorough enough to have spotted
it in his clear out; he must have been in a hurry. Still, it’s worked in my
favour. I have something to connect the TV to power and, if Brendan ever
returns, I also have an implement to strangle him with. Because right about
now, the anger phase is kicking in.

Digging my hand
into the massive bowl of
Jaffa
balls
I have beside me, I toss two into my mouth, relishing in the sticky, orangey,
chocolaty taste. I can absolutely understand why separations get ugly. After twenty-four
hours, my sympathy for Brendan has worn off.
 
I want to punch him hard in the head. I want to smash every
last thing he’s left behind. I want to kill him for what he’s done to me. But
mostly for what he’s done to Rory. Brendan’s the only constant father figure
Rory has ever had and well, frankly, I think that we both deserve some type of
explanation. Not that I’d let him into the house to do it.

As my hand
reaches for a second clutch of chocolate, the doorbell rings. Suddenly stricken
that it might be Brendan, though I’m sure he’d use his key, I freeze and listen
as it rings a couple more times.

Shit. What has
he done to me? I’m too afraid to answer the door now in case it
is
him. I’ve no idea what to say. I was
never like this before. I always had a voice. It seems that years of being in a
relationship with him has robbed me of that and I never even knew. I remember
Mum telling me to stick up for myself, way back when, but I said she was
overreacting because she’d never been a member of the Brendan Fan Club. But she
was right. Brendan was stifling me. I did everything to make our relationship a
success and he never bent an inch in return. I’m conscious, now, that I’ve been
so concerned with making Brendan happy, I’ve turned into someone else. Someone
who never says what she thinks for fear of confrontation. Someone who would
hide the chocolate wrappers so she wouldn’t have to suffer the looks of
disappointment.

Well, not
anymore.

If Brendan is
on the other side of that door, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I
gather the courage to uncurl myself from the bed and go to the door.

It’s Lani.

I almost
collapse with the relief because despite my bravado, I don’t think I’m quite
ready for a showdown.

“Hey,” Lani
says. She’s carrying two faded beanbags
—
the sitting on type, not the school activity
type
—
and has a
large box of survival supplies at her feet.

“I was about to
ring the police.” She thrusts the biggest beanbag at me.
 
“Why are you not answering the door?”

“I thought it
was Brendan. If I see him I might stab him with the only knife he left me.”

“Understandable.”
She picks up the cardboard box and hitches the other beanbag over her shoulder
like a Santa sack. She pushes past me, heading towards the family room. “I
bought a couple of bits and pieces to tide you over until you can restock.
 
There’s these beanbags, obviously,
chocolate, wine, a lamp and some of my vegetarian frittata. I’ve got a camping
table and chairs in the car, too. We can bring them in later.”

“You’re an
angel, Lan.”

“I know.”

We dump the
beanbags in the middle of the room, in front of an old rug from our bedroom,
which Brendan has so kindly left me. Somehow, they manage to make the room look
even emptier than before. And the striped zigzag patterns of citrus green and magenta
could have the potential to cause headaches under the right circumstances.

“They go with
the décor,” Lani says, noting the lack of furniture. “Sort of early student
housing. The camping table should finish the look nicely.”

“I have a
packing crate for a TV console in the bedroom. We can bring that out to
accessorise.”

“Definitely. And
a couple of band posters and some plastic door beads.”

Laughing,
despite myself, I go to the kitchen and fetch a couple of wine glasses from the
shelf. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was about to sink into the depths of anger
and despair. And console myself with another kilo of chocolate. I was imagining
strangling Brendan with the extension cord.”