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The Other Life of Charlotte Evans by Louisa George (4)

It was amazing how quickly things moved when you had money. No matter how much Charlotte had refused, her mother had pushed for a quick appointment, so here they were, the very next afternoon, pushing open the heavy wooden door with the golden plaque bearing the name West London Breast Clinic.

The place looked like a hotel, not a private hospital. With blonde stone and marble floors it oozed grandeur and wealth. It was everything the NHS GP surgery wasn’t: plush, spacious, tidy. In any other situation Charlotte might even have been excited about going into such a place. ‘Wow. Very glam. If only I wasn’t feeling quite so nervous. All the gilt and marble is a bit intimidating.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ Ben squeezed her shoulder, but the tremble in his hand gave him away. ‘Look at the sculptures and the artwork. Now you know where half the consultation fee is going.’

There were huge, comfortable chairs in the waiting room and in each of them sat women a lot older than Charlotte. All of them looked glum. Anxious. Which made Charlotte’s worry quota escalate a hundredfold.

‘Miss Evans?’ A lady with a smart chic French knot smiled across the reception desk, her voice rich and welcoming… and the loaded seriousness of her words made Charlotte’s heart race. ‘Dr Carter is waiting for you. Room two. Down the corridor, third on the left.’

‘Okay.’ She gripped Ben’s hand, sounding a lot more confident then she felt. ‘Let’s do this.’

A short consult. A wait. A mammogram. A wait. An ultrasound. A wait. And now a something-something biopsy. There was a lump. Yes. Yes. They had to see what was in it.

She was lying on an examination couch with Ben seated next to her. To her right was a huge ultrasound machine that beeped and whirred and clicked and made the room too hot.

‘We’ll do a fine needle aspiration…’ The room phone rang. Dr Carter peered at them over his half-rimmed glasses and frowned. He wore a tartan bow tie and a charcoal three-piece suit; very old-school with his speech and mannerisms and clothes. Charlotte hoped he was very new school with therapies and treatments and diagnostics. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to them, pointing to the phone and picking it up. ‘Yes. Yes. I see.’

When he finished he put the receiver down. ‘Excuse me again, Miss… er…. Evans. A query. Outside. Not about you.’

Then he left the room leaving Charlotte and Ben wordless. Being here and seeing the blurry pictures on the screens made everything feel so much worse. She’d always imagined the first ultrasound she’d have would be about a baby growing inside her. Not this.

‘I feel like I’m staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.’ Charlotte finally managed to get words out through a tight throat, keeping her voice low because everything was hushed here. ‘It’s like I’m in a dream. Or it’s happening to someone else and I’m watching.’

Ben gave her a half-smile that tried but failed to reach his tired eyes. ‘I am watching and it’s no better this end, believe me.’

Trying to break the tension she laughed a little, although it sounded forced, even to her. ‘To be honest, I’ve never had so many people touch my boobs, and definitely not all in one day.’

‘Serves you right for flashing them to anyone who asks.’ He winked and tugged her gaping gown across to cover her left breast. ‘Hussy.’

‘Well, I’ve been asked a lot today. A lot of people seem to want to look.’ She paused. Wondered whether to say what she was feeling. Decided, what the hell. ‘I’m scared, Ben.’

That was the truth of it. She felt utterly out of control. Utterly at the mercy of the stars, or fate. In a strange limbo land that had stripped her of the ability to enjoy anything, no matter how much she tried. That had made her see herself in a new light. As something mortal, fragile, vulnerable, and she didn’t like it one bit.

It was, as she’d felt so many times when hanging out to see whether she’d landed a role in a show or the corps or a solo, the waiting that was the worst part.

‘I know, me too. Shit scared with custard on top.’ Ben gave her another half-hearted smile. That was a huge admission. Something she’d never heard him admit even when he’d been posted to the riots a few years ago. Or when he’d been caught up in a stabbing and nearly got hurt himself. Even when his father got sick and it had been touch and go whether he was going to pull through.

That made her feel doubly worse. ‘He’s a bit grumpy, though, isn’t he? Dr Carter. Very serious and pompous. I think I’m more scared of him than I am of the needle aspiration thingy.’

‘Imagine him naked or something, that’ll make you feel better.’

‘Ugh. He’s ancient. Like, over seventy or something.’ That would definitely not make her feel better.

‘I meant, he’s just normal like you and me. He’s nothing to be scared of.’ Ben leaned across the space between them and ran his fingers down her cheek. His mouth close to her ear. ‘You’re going to be fine. I can feel it. You’re going to be okay. And when he tells you there’s nothing wrong…’

Charlotte sighed. ‘When they get the results of the what was it…? The cyt… cytology. It’s a whole new language. Which won’t be for another three days… another whole weekend of worry. Again.’

‘Let’s run away instead of going to work and doing jobs, then. And eat marshmallows and salt and vinegar crisps. Just you and me and no one else.’ Ben’s voice was soothing and deep and warm.

‘And drink chardonnay from a bottle. Okay. Where will we go?’ She fitted her hand into his. Where it was always meant to be.

‘Fiji. The Maldives. Hawaii.’

‘Oh, yes. Somewhere exotic with cocktails. Sun and sea and… you know what?’ She daren’t say that word out loud. Not in here where everyone was so prim and proper. A little panicky giggle started to bubble up from her tummy. Gallows humour probably. ‘I almost said the “s” word.’

‘I’m looking forward to the “s” word more than you can imagine.’ Ben’s eyes flared with warmth. Not quite heat. Because how could he fancy her when she was lying here like this? Vulnerable and pathetic and half scared to death. ‘Should we just forget all of this and go right now?’

But the door swung open and Dr Carter stepped back into the room.

***

Unfortunately, life had a habit of getting in the way, and absconding to Fiji for the weekend wasn’t quite as easy as Charlotte hoped. Instead of sun, sea and the “s” word, she was stressed from work, corseted up and putting on a brave face in front of her best friend.

‘I look like a big meringue.’ Lissa’s hands were on her hips as she twirled in front of the Bliss Brides dress shop’s huge, gilt-edged mirror. The dress was an off-the-shoulder sheath of palest lavender silk that hugged her slim dancer’s frame. In true elegant-fashion tradition, the designer had given it a cutesy name: Isla. Which was reminiscent of the wilds of Scotland and so not inner-city London or goth-inspired Lissa with her mess of raven hair and liberal use of black eyeliner. Still, it worked. She rocked it. Actually, Lissa would have rocked a paper bag.

Charlotte grinned at her friend in the mirror. ‘You look adorable. There’s no way you would ever look like a meringue. Actually, could you try to look a little less amazing, please? It’s my wedding, but everyone’s going to be looking at you, not me. Your bottom might even get its own Facebook page or something, like Pippa Middleton’s.’

‘Honey, I don’t even have my own Fake Book page, so my backside isn’t getting one, that’s for sure.’ Lissa was in the too-cool-for-social-media camp rather than the how-does-it-work one. She rearranged her boobs inside the built-in cups in the dress and winced. ‘Ouchy.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Charlotte frowned. Was everything about boobs these days or was she just hypersensitive?

Lissa growled, ‘P.M. bloody T. Worst I’ve ever had it. Sore boobs and I’m grumpy as hell. Hence the meringue reference and the huge swollen belly. Ugh. Who’d be a woman, right?’

‘The day you have a huge belly will be the day mankind walks on Mars. There’s nothing of you.’ But Charlotte had to admit her friend was looking paler than ever. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Sure.’ Lissa shrugged, unconvincingly. ‘Nothing a couple of wines won’t help. Did the assistant mention bubbles? There’s usually bubbles at dress fittings, right? There were last time.’

‘Julia – she’s the assistant – said she’d bring some out when everyone gets here.’

‘Excellent. Trying on dresses is thirsty work. Who knew?’ Lissa stopped frowning at her reflection and turned to take a proper look at Charlotte. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, you look… just wow. Stunning.’

It was the third fitting, so it was hardly new to either of them, but her comments made Charlie smile for the first time in what felt like forever. She twisted from side to side to get a better look in the mirror. ‘Thanks. It’s nice, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a bloody marvel. You are a bloody marvel. You look like something out of the magazines. In fact, I’m going to take a photo right now and – wait, did you just say nice?’ Kicking off her unfastened sparkly silver sandals, Lissa plonked down on the dais in front of the mirror and tugged Charlotte to join her. Which was pretty difficult in a bone-corseted, white-and-silver, strapless, lace-and-tulle gown with fishtail train. Cutely named Angelina in the brochure. ‘Okay, kiddo.’ Lissa nudged her gently. ‘This is so unlike you. You’ve been going on nonstop about this wedding since the day you met the guy and now you’re all kinds of flat and the dress is… nice? What’s the matter? Did you two have a fight or something? And… while I’m at it… I want to know where you were on Friday and why Shelley took your classes – she said you’d called her late Thursday with no proper explanation. What’s going on? Spill. Now.’

‘It’s…’ What was the point telling anyone until she had a concrete result? Monday. They had an appointment on Monday. Which felt like a lifetime away, as if her life had been put on hold. Charlotte shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. ‘No, we didn’t fight, I just had some things to do. You know how it is with organising weddings and running a business. There’s always a job to do.’

‘Like what, exactly? Because the best-friends-having-no-secrets thing only works if it’s two-sided, you know.’

‘I do know. It’s just…’ At times over the last week or so Charlotte had felt as if she might explode; the panic was so heavy and so real. And once or twice she’d dialled her friend’s number to tell her everything, but had held back. Because what was the point of everyone fretting if it proved to be nothing?

And yet…

There were ten minutes before everyone else joined them for the bridesmaid-dress fittings so she told her best friend for ever about the lump and the appointments and waiting for the results, and even managed not to cry, and felt a whole lot better just getting it off her chest.

Lissa, however, had gone paler than ever as she squeezed Charlotte’s hand. ‘Shit, shit and double shit. Shit again.’

‘You have such a way with words, but yes. That. In a nutshell.’ Charlotte breathed out slowly. It felt as if she’d been holding her breath ever since Ben had told her he’d felt a lump and now she was able to let just a little bit of it go. It truly did seem that a problem shared was also halved. Or quartered at least. ‘But you mustn’t say anything to anyone. Please. Promise me. I don’t know what it is and I don’t want to have to talk about it until I’m sure either way.’

‘Pinky promise.’ Lissa spat on her palm and offered it to Charlotte. Something they’d done since they’d met on that first day at ballet school. ‘Bugger.’

Charlotte shook Lissa’s hand. A little reluctantly, because hadn’t they grown out of that yet? ‘Yes. It has put a downer on things. And nothing’s definite yet so I feel like I’m in limbo land. But forgive me for not getting all excited about my dress. It is nice. Nice is about all I can muster.’ Charlotte pulled the sculpted strapless top away from her chest and looked down at her boobs, at the purple and yellow bruise where the fine needle had proved not to be so fine after all. She’d never really paid her breasts much attention, but now she was looking at them every other second. ‘I don’t know if I’ll even have these puppies to fit into it by the time it’s aisle-time.’

‘Silly cow. Of course you will. You can stop that kind of talk right now.’ Lissa slid her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. ‘I don’t know why the heck you didn’t tell me.’

‘My head’s been in a whirl. It’s like a bad dream and I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I didn’t want to believe it and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.’

Lissa shook her black locks. ‘I don’t, actually. You’re a survivor, Charlotte Evans, and a fighter. So if it came to it, that’s what you’d do. You’d fight like hell. And I’d fight along with you. Pity doesn’t come into it.’

‘Thanks.’ This was what made her cry. Not the cancer. Not the lump. But this support and love and friendship.

‘No problem. Now… put your game face on, the girls are here.’

So she did, grateful to have a straight talker like Lissa in her life.

She faux-grinned as Eileen, Sonja, Niamh, Niamh’s little daughter and wedding flower girl, Poppy, Shelley and Mia all crammed through the door, chattering and giggling, and there wasn’t any opportunity to feel anything other than blessed as they all commented on how beautiful and bride-like she looked in her dress. How excited they were about the hen party and the wedding and God, I wish I looked like that as they all stared at Lissa in her dress, completely and utterly non-meringue-like.

Champagne flowed. Eileen was holding up her end; there’d been no mention of the lump. But Charlotte was aware of her mother’s eyes on her, watching her – or rather, watching over her – and there was an air of sadness around her. Black shadows under her eyes.

Then there was Lissa, grinning outwardly, but every now and then her concentration seemed to dip and she went pale and wrapped her arm over her stomach. And with a smile that was more bravado than anything else she’d wink and nod – you’ll be fine, girlfriend.

And she was.

Loosened by the champagne, Shelley was mooning over the forthcoming nuptials. ‘Well, we all look bloody amazing. It’s going to be just amazing. I’m soooo jealous. I want to get married too. I want someone to marry me. It’s just my typical luck there’s a man drought as I hit thirty. Or rather, a decent-man drought. Plenty of losers out there, though, unfortunately. When did you know Ben was The One for you, Charlie?’

Ben’s older sister, Sonja, snorted. ‘Our Ben? The One? The number-one eejit at the party, perhaps.’

But Charlie couldn’t forget how her fiancé had held her hand during her procedure the other day and how gentle he’d been with her ever since. Still no lovemaking, though… despite what he’d said in the consultation room about looking forward to it. And only barely-there touching when he absolutely couldn’t avoid it. Which made her heart hurt. This lump had pushed a wedge between them at a time when they should have been closer than ever. ‘Actually, I knew he was The One the moment I met him.’

Shelley’s hand covered her heart. ‘Oh, that’s so romantic. Love at first sight. Really? So it does exist, then?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’ Lissa, ever the realist, jumped in. ‘Lust at first sight, maybe. Wanting to jump their bones at first sight, absolutely. But love? Real, deep-down, forever love? I doubt it.’

Charlotte tried to remember when exactly she’d known. ‘Well, not actually the second I laid eyes on him. But that first evening, there was something there. A spark I hadn’t had before with anyone else.’

‘The only spark our Ben would make is if he rewired the light fittings the wrong way, which could happen. Believe me.’ Sonja looked over at her sister, Niamh, and they both shook their heads, helpless with laughter.

But Charlotte’s heart pinged. There was still a spark there, wasn’t there? Yes. Yes, there was. She was just going to have to work a little harder to rekindle it. ‘You don’t know him like I do.’

The two sisters looked at each other and pulled faces. ‘Eugh. No thank you.’

More laughter filled the room. The conversation was going rapidly downhill.

As always, it was Mum to the rescue. ‘When I met your father I knew instantly that I’d marry him.’

‘Ooh? How did you and John meet, Eileen?’ Shelley filled everyone’s glasses with the last of the bubbly. The shop assistant’s attention had been taken up by a phone call so there was little harm just sitting here a bit longer.

‘I met him at a concert. On the way to a concert, to be precise. Nineteen-sixty-nine. The Beatles. On the roof of the Apple Records offices. Last concert they ever did.’ Mum’s eyes were dancing at the memory. ‘I skipped lectures to go. I was so scared I’d get found out and lose my place at teacher-training college.’

‘Mum! I always thought you were such a goody two-shoes.’ Charlotte was aghast. Well, impressed, actually. Who knew her mother had been such a rebel? Funny, but Charlotte had only ever seen her mother as old. Not as anyone with a life before she’d been presented with her baby.

And yes, Eileen had always acted old too. Growing up, Charlotte had fantasised what it would be like to have one of those younger yummy mummies at the school gate, with their fashionable clothes and make-up, rather than her dowdy mum. Someone she could be proud of – no, not proud, that was harsh – but someone everyone was impressed by, rather than scared of, with her teacher stares and high expectations. Hard to be at a school where detention was dished out by your mother. Charlotte rejoiced for more than one reason the day she was picked to train at the Royal Ballet School and leave that humiliation behind her.

Charlotte wondered what her birth mother would have been like at the school gate. A young girl of fifteen.

Who was she? What was she doing now?

Charlotte refocused. Maybe she should just be very grateful for what she had rather than giving any thought to someone who hadn’t wanted her.

As it was, youth – or at least the memory of it a time long ago – lit up Eileen’s whole face. ‘I wasn’t a tearaway or anything. I just so desperately wanted to see Paul McCartney up close. I had a real crush on him. He was… well, he was lovely. So talented.’

Lissa was beaming, as if she’d just discovered the best-ever secret. ‘You dark horse, Eileen Evans. Who would have known? You bunked off school to go to a pop concert.’

As always, poor Eileen was blushing and clearly regretting saying anything. ‘Yes. But. Well. Yes. I did. But only ever the once.’ She looked over at little Poppy, who was sitting on the dais playing with her Bob the Builder and Lofty digger set. ‘It’s not something I was proud of. It’s not something anyone should do. Ever. It seems so silly now.’

Niamh grinned. ‘She’s only three, Mrs Evans. I don’t think she understands what bunking off means. Yet.’

‘And how did you meet John, then?’ Sonja was on the edge of the pale-pink studded sofa. Glass empty. Smile large.

‘I was waiting for my friend Margaret, but she was running late. I didn’t know what to do – there were no mobile phones in those days and, to be honest, I was feeling a bit lost. We didn’t have tickets, you see. We were just hoping to get a good look at them all. A couple of men came over and started saying things to me… crude things, you know. Making me blush. Then another young man walked right up to me to check I was okay. Told the other two to bugger off and leave me alone. When they’d gone he said I looked a bit out of place and I felt it too – everyone was dressed in mini skirts, but they weren’t really my thing. He was in a suit that would have nicely fitted a bigger man, and his hair needed a good cut. He looked a bit out of place as well, but he seemed kind and had a nice smile, and he got rid of those other two who were harassing me. And when I looked into his eyes I forgot all about Paul McCartney.’

‘That. That right there, that’s what I want.’ Shelley was pointing at Eileen. ‘That absolute conviction. Undying love. I want me some of that.’

Eileen smiled softly. ‘You’ll get there, Shelley. And when you do, you’ll know. It’s… well, this might sound silly, but I felt like it was fate.’

‘I knew when I met Jaz.’ Sonja nodded, looking serious for the first time that day. ‘Pretty much straight away. I think you’re right, Mrs Evans; it did feel a bit like fate. Give it time, Shelley, you’ll meet Mr Right. And you too, Lissa.’

‘Not a bloody chance, thank you. I’m perfectly fine on my own and happy to stay that way.’ Charlotte’s chief bridesmaid hauled her dress up to her knees and levered off the chair. ‘Right, I’m getting out of here. All this talk about everlasting love is making me feel nauseous. And yet I’m starving at the same time. Weird. I think I see a Mammoth burger in my future.’

‘Same old, same old, then. You’re going to look like a Mammoth burger one of these days – no, never. No. Okay. Party’s over. Such a shame, we all look brilliant. It’s going to be a fabulous day.’ Charlotte looked at her friends and soon-to-be family all around her. They were here for her, to make her day special. And it was lovely. Only, she still wasn’t quite feeling it despite how much she was trying. It felt as if someone had stolen her ability to be happy.

She didn’t know what kind of a future she was headed towards. Funny how one random thing could derail so much. She ran a surreptitious palm across the beaded bodice of her dress. Wondered how she’d look with a scar. Or no boobs at all. Whether Ben would still love her like he said he would.

Two more days, then she’d know her fate.