Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale (24 page)

“Easy apart
from the feeling of having wet my pants.”

“Eww.”

“You can say
that again.” My stomach lets out a final groan to tell me if I don’t feed it in
the next thirty seconds there will be consequences, so I unwrap my croissant
and delve into the chocolaty centre.

“So, no more
needle prodding until the surgery?” she asks.

“Nope. Everything’s
ready to go. I have an appointment with Dr. Hanson next week but that’s it.”

As we sit
eating, I spy a couple of large packing boxes that seem to have materialised
since I’ve been out. Usually my heart would begin to flip flop with terror at
such a sight, especially if Lani’s responsible for the order. This time,
however, it’s not my money at stake. I hope her instinct paid off and we’re not
going to be stuck with a pile of junk, like last time.

“We had some
arrivals,” Lani says, noting my glance. A moustache of icing sugar from her
pastry is clinging to her upper lip and she blows it free as she runs her arm
over a large cardboard carton, game show-style, ending with a flourish of her hand.

“Voila!” She
flings open the flaps of the first box. Bits of tissue paper fly around the
room like snowflakes on the wind. “The handbags arrived. Look, Soph. They’re
beautiful. I’ve already started taking photos for the website and we’ll have to
enter each one into the inventory and decide on what we’re going to charge for
the rentals.”

She’s talking
so fast I can hardly keep up and as she speaks her voice is getting more and
more excited; she’s like a wind-up doll on speed.

At last, she
pulls out what I recognise as a Hermes Kelly bag. She sits it on the counter
for me to admire. I can barely bring myself to touch it, it’s so gorgeous. It’s
the most gorgeous handbag I’ve ever seen.

“Are you sure
this is real?” I pick up the Hermes, turning it over in my hands, examining the
lock, the lining, sucking in the scent of the expensive vintage leather. This
is almost better than chocolate.

Then I see what
looks like a Fendi Baguette and a classic Chanel clutch that Lani has also
placed on the counter. I’m completely lost for words. This is the accessorising
coup of the century. What girl wouldn’t want a handbag like this on a special
night out?

“All verified.”
Lani hands over a piece of paper from the auction house, authenticating every
single bag in the collection.

“This —
this is amazing.”

“I know.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a VIP night for our regulars and their friends,
you know, to introduce these treasures and explain our new concept? I was
thinking champagne and canapés in true vintage style, you could be Audrey
Hepburn in
Sabrina
and I’ll do
Marilyn in
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”

 
As I listen to Lani describe her vision, I know
she’s been pondering it at length. It’s going to be a winner, I know it is. And
I want her to be a part of it. The solution would be for her to be my partner. She’s
been with me through everything. She has fabulous ideas
—
when they’re kept in check
—
and we work well together. Plus, given the financial
trouble with the house and everything, a partnership might help me along the
way.

“Lani?”

A muffled
‘hmm?’ emanates from where she has her head stuck somewhere inside the second box.

“Can you take
your head out of there? I want to ask you something.”

Lani
straightens and looks me in the eye. “Have I done something wrong again?”

I think she
thinks I’ll chastise her for spending so much money. “No, no! I think this
is
the new direction we’ve been
searching for, for the shop. You know how long I’ve been wanting this. What I
want to know now is, if you’d like to be my partner. I’d own the majority
share, say sixty per cent and you could invest in the other forty, part of
which you’ll have already paid for by buying this stock. Any profits would be
split that way which means you’d draw a higher wage. What do you think?”

Lani’s mouth
falls open.

“You want me to
be your partner?”

“Yep.”

“But the shop
is your thing. You’ve worked so hard to make it a success. And Heather gave it
to you.”

“And you’ve
given me a lot, too. I want to repay you. If you become my partner, you can
take on more responsibility, which will mean I can have more time with Rory.”

“And my share
of the investment will help you with the Brendan situation.”

“I’m not doing
this for monetary gain. I’m doing it because I love you and my priorities have
changed. If your idea takes off, like I think it will, I won’t be able to do it
alone. And it was your idea, why shouldn’t I reward you?”

“But I am a bit
of a dufus with ordering. You can’t leave me alone.”

“You think I
don’t know that? I don’t care as long as you run ideas past me first. No more surprises.”

“Really? You
mean it? I can be your partner?”

I nod.

Lani grabs the
Kelly bag from the counter and begins to waltz around the shop like an extra in
a fifties musical. “Oh thank you, thank you! I never dreamt I’d be a small
business owner.”

“And I never
dreamed my best friend would be a girl with a pink buzz cut. We make a good
team, Lan. We need to exploit that.”

“Alleluia,
sister. Now, how about we crank up the stereo while we start adding this to the
inventory? I feel the need for a little George Michael.”

“Sure thing,
partner. I’ll get the rest of our pastries and coffee.”

Chapter 24

Over the next ten
days, I’m incredibly busy. I hire Lani’s sister’s hotshot divorce lawyer who
warns me that he doesn’t like to lose and will fight for me tooth and nail. I
like him already. I also have one of his colleagues draw up an agreement
between Lani and I and the day before I’m due to go to hospital, she signs on
the dotted line, officially becoming my partner in
Heather’s Hats and Bags
, which we are also rebirthing under the
logo of
Vintage
. It was Lani’s idea
to sweep the old away and bring in the new and I like it. It fits the way my
life is going to be now.

On the weekend,
Rory and I begin to pack up the house and search for a new home. Funds will be
tight after Brendan takes his cut but we’ve narrowed our search area and our
needs and I think we can do it.
 
Surprisingly,
Rory is taking it in his stride. I keep waiting for him to break out in some
naughty tantrum as a result of the changes to his life but he doesn’t.
 
He carries on, unperturbed. He’s like
his mother in that regard.

And now, B day
has almost arrived. I’m feeling nervous about the procedure; it’s far bigger
than any surgery I’ve ever had and the recovery time is significant but I’m
excited too. It’s the same way I felt when I went into labour with Rory. I knew
what the outcome would be, but wasn’t entirely sure of the road I’d take to get
there.

Jared’s been
such a gem through this whole thing. Though I have to admit, it’s becoming increasingly
difficult to concentrate on what he’s saying when he looks me straight in the
eye. Most of the time I can keep a lid on these silly feelings that explode
under his gaze but every now and then, he smiles a certain way and I melt all
over again.

And he seemed
to be doing an awful lot of that this morning, when I went to see him for my
pre-op visit. After he confirmed, as I suspected, that my blood vessels are so
tiny he’s going to need a mega-strength microscope to find them, he reassured
me that everything would be fine with a smile that awoke regions of my body
that have been dormant for the past few months. I almost went into a convulsion.
Then, on my way out of the office, his hand accidently touched mine as we both
reached for the door at once. At least, I think it was accidental. The rather
slow removal of his hand from mine and the lingering of his eyes on my lips could
totally have been in my imagination. The tingling wasn’t though. There was a
definite tingling.

Putting these
thoughts as far from my mind as I can, I drive into the car park at the airport
to collect Mum. Now that I’m effectively a single parent, she’s offered to care
for Rory during my hospital stay. She’ll also stay on for a few weeks until I
can drive again. After that, things should be fine. Slow but fine.

The plane is
late as usual. Finally, after forty minutes I see Mum coming down the corridor and
into the gate lounge. She’s beaming and holding what looks to be another care
package.

“Hello,
sweetheart,” she says, giving me a one-armed hug. “Are you ready? I bet you’re
excited.”

I nod. “Bit
nervous, too.”

She puts a hand
to the small of my back as we head to the baggage collection. “I’m here. You
don’t need to worry about a thing.”

It’s funny how
she sounds like she’s going to perform the operation herself.

We wait for ten
minutes while the bags are dispatched and Mum tells me about Colin’s latest
hobby
—
rock
collecting.

“He calls them
gems but we both know they’re coloured rocks. Last weekend he took me
fossicking. Can you imagine that? I was covered in dirt and my new Reeboks were
beyond help by the time we got home. And for the sake of two piddly little
rocks. He’s happy with them, of course. Jumped up and down like we’d found gold.”

I smile at her
description.
 
“And how’s the new
hair going?”

“He’s given up
on that. One of the women at the Golf Club asked him why he was wearing a toupee.
He was most offended. The next day he had the whole lot shaved back to a number
one. It’s re-growing in a lovely snowy shade. Far more natural.”

Mum’s leopard
print luggage appears on the carousel and we lug it out to the car.
 
She’s brought three suitcases, enough
for a six month stay in my opinion and a carry-on plus the box, which she’s
hanging onto for dear life. It’s only a short walk until we reach the car; we stack
her luggage and get in. Then she hands me the box.

“Just a little
something,” she says. “You can open it now, if you like. I don’t mind.”

Knowing the
impact her care packages have I’m unsure as to whether I should. They are quite
often shocking and I need my wits about me to drive home.

“Perhaps I’ll
wait till we get to the house,” I reply.

“All right. But
I wouldn’t open it in front of Rory.”

Oh no. What’s
she bought this time? Changing my mind, I rip the bow and wrapping from the
box.

It’s a pink hoodie
with the Breast Cancer ribbon logo and the slogan ‘I had cancer…. Sorry Sucker,
You Lose!’ emblazoned across the chest in silver diamantes. It looks like
something you’d wear to a Breast Cancer pop concert.

“Isn’t it
cute?” Mum says.

“In a pink sort
of way.”

“You could wear
it home from the hospital, after you get your new girls to put inside it.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“There’s
something else in the box I know you’ll absolutely adore.”

I reach into
the box again and pull out a jar of moisturizing post-surgery cream. Apart from
the fact that the label reads ‘My Girls’ and I currently only have one girl,
it’s a practical gift that I’ll use. I put it aside.

“Thanks, Mum,”
I say.

“My pleasure,
darling. Wait till you see the next gift. You’ve definitely saved the best for
last.”

 
My hand dives back into the box.

“Oh my God. MUM!”
This has to be a joke.

Her face is
deadpan. “A vibrator is a necessity for a single girl. You can get extremely
stressed if your needs aren’t met on a regular basis and you can’t afford to be
stressed. You don’t want the cancer coming back.”

I hold the box
containing the thing between thumb and forefinger. It’s disgusting. I can’t
believe she’s bought it.

“It’s a
vibrator, Mum!”

Her mouth bends
into a naughty smile. I think she’s enjoying this. “I’m well aware of that,
darling. I couldn’t have coped without mine after your father and I split.”

I want to put
my fingers in my ears and sing. Instead, I swallow and put the sex toy aside. I
delve inside the box again, wondering what other surprise is in store but this
time, it’s an envelope. Phew. At least I know it’s not another Advanced Hair
Studio voucher. Still, I’m too afraid to open it in case there’s more
pornographic content. The picture of my mother and her own pleasure treasure is
very fresh in my mind.

“Go on. Open
it.”

Gingerly, I let
my fingers tear the lip of the envelope and out comes yet another voucher, this
time in the blue tones of the dating site, eHarmony.

“I signed you
up,” Mum crows. She seems so proud but I’m not sure whether it’s because she
knows what eHarmony is or that she’s used the internet independently. “There’s
a year’s subscription. Once the reconstruction’s complete you can go about the
business of finding a decent man. I never liked that Brendan. He was so anal.”