9
“Will you come and get Dork Dog off me before he destroys this cake,” Ben calls, dropping his satchel and trying to hold the cake he’s bought for dessert out of Bart's reach.
An excited Bart is barking and jumping on Ben, trying to lick his face and get his nose in the sweet-smelling box at the same time.
Alex appears wiping his hands on a dishcloth and behind him, to Ben’s surprise, is Allie.
“Mom, you’re already here,” he hands Alex the cake and hugs her, “I thought I was going to beat you.”
“I finished up early,” she says, kissing his cheek.
He hangs his jacket in the cupboard in the hall and with an arm around his mother, follows Alex toward the kitchen. Once the cake is safely out of Bart’s reach, Alex pours drinks. Ben lets go of his mother to slip an arm around Alex’s waist and kiss the side of his neck.
“Hey, you, how was your day?”
Alex turns and smiles, gives him a soft kiss, and hands him a glass of scotch.
“It was okay, come sit down.”
Bent takes the glass with a happy sigh and lets Alex lead him to the living room where Bart is resting his head on Allie's knee. A Gibson is on the coffee table, untouched.
“God, I hope you didn’t let him make that,” Ben says nodding at the glass. “He can barely manage putting scotch on ice.”
He smacks Alex’s hand away from his glass with a grin. Stretching his legs out so his feet are on the coffee table, he puts an arm along the back of the couch behind Alex and studies his mother.
“You look tired, mom. You still having problems with that builder?”
Instead of answering Allie gulps her Gibson, and when she puts the glass back down, he can hear the ice cubes clinking together. Why is she shaking? Some of the pale liquid splashes on to the table and Alex leans forward to push a napkin toward her. When he sits back, he squeezes Ben’s hand. Ben looks from one to the other, unable to read either of them. Disquiet rises in him and he sits up.
“Is something wrong? Mom?”
“Ben,” Allie starts and falters. Looks at Alex, eyes wide and fearful, then drops her head so her words are muffled. “Alex, I can’t.”
Ben pulls his feet off the table and leans forward.
“Mom? Is it Polly? Is she okay? Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Polly’s fine.” Alex takes a deep breath before grasping Ben’s hand again. “Your mom’s sick.”
Ben looks from Alex to his mother, trying to make sense of what Alex is saying to him.
“What do you mean sick? Mom?”
He goes to crouch by her and takes her hand in his own. Tilts his head so he can look in her eyes.
“Mom?” He hates how nervous he sounds.
“I’ve been feeling unwell for a while and then I started feeling really off,” she says as she combs her fingers through his hair. It reminds him of when he was little and she would tell him stories, stroking his shower damp hair, before bed. “Then I couldn’t shake that food poisoning I got a month ago so I figured I’d better see Doctor Adams. Turns out it wasn’t food poisoning.”
Ben shakes his head; refuses to believe what he thinks they’re trying to tell him.
“So, they’ll treat you, give you antibiotics or something, and it will be fine, right?”
Alex kneels next to him and puts an arm around him, taking Allie’s hand with the other.
“Ben, it’s in her pancreas and it’s advanced,” he says. Ben searches his face for reassurance he doesn't find and tries to make sense of what he’s saying.
“What does that even mean? You keep saying the word it like I know what you’re talking about and I don’t,” he says, trying to swallow his rising fear.
“I’m so sorry, kid, I really am,” his mother says and when he turns to look at her, there are tears on her cheeks.
Unbelieving he looks from one to the other and back again.
“Mom?”
This can’t be right. There must be a mistake. Mistakes happen all the time in medical labs; he’s defended enough of them to know. Alex takes both his hands and shakes his head.
“Ben, it’s not a mistake. I’m so sorry, but it’s not.”
“What about a second opinion?” he says, legal mind already hunting for solutions, some piece of information he can hold onto.
“I’ve had a second opinion,” the defeat in her voice drags even that pale hope away from him, “it’s advanced and it’s inoperable.”
“But there must be something they can do, some sort of treatment” he insists. Desperate he turns to Alex. “Baby?”
“There’s chemo, but with pancreatic cancer this advanced it is really just about ensuring quality of life.”
Ben feels as though he's taken a physical blow and falls back against the coffee table. The ice cubes in his mother’s drink clink and clatter together.
“That can’t be all. There has to be something, some treatment, an alternative.”
“Ben, stop,” Allie says, her voice firm. “We don’t know what the chemo options are yet until I go back to the oncologist tomorrow, but Alex is right, they’re limited.”
“No!” Ben refuses to accept what they’re saying. He stands and turns on Alex. “There must be something we can do; someone we can talk to. How can you be so fucking calm about this?
“Ben, that’s enough!” Allie puts herself between the two men. “This isn’t Alex’s fault. It isn’t anybody’s fault.”
For a moment, only the sound of Ben’s ragged breathing breaks the silence. Then he pushes past her, strides to the bedroom without a word, and slams the door behind him hard enough to rattle the glasses on the coffee table.
#
Bart lifts his head from his paws and whines. Alex scratches the puppy’s ears to soothe him and looks at Allie. The unasked plea is visible in her eyes. Help him.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No,” she says, and he squeezes her shoulder before following Ben to the bedroom.
Ben is at the dresser, his back to the door, tugging at the buttons on his shirt with sharp, futile movements. Keeping his touch firm but gentle, Alex turns him so they’re facing each other, pulls Ben’s hands away and takes over the unbuttoning. When he turns his attention to the buttons on the cuffs, Ben clears his throat.
“How long?”
Alex finishes unbuttoning both sleeves before answering.
“Everything will depend on what the oncologist says and what the treatment options are and how she responds to them,” he says, pulling his own U2 tee-shirt out of his drawer and easing it over Ben’s head as though dressing a child. “She could have as long as two years, maybe three.”
He helps Ben put his arms in the sleeves, letting the slow, simple actions give him time to process the information.
“But?”
Pulls the tee-shirt down and straightens it. Unbuckles Ben’s work trousers, and while he takes them off, finds a pair of jeans. When they’re zipped up, he looks him in the eye.
“Pancreatic cancer only has a seven percent survival rate and that’s only in cases that are caught early,” he says and leans his forehead against Ben’s. “She wasn’t caught early, Ben. Most people aren’t.”
Ben’s face crumples and he wraps his arms around Alex’s waist, hands balled into fists in the small of Alex’s back. Alex tightens his arms around the already shuddering shoulders and says nothing as Ben lays his head against his chest and cries.
When the storm of tears calms, Alex moves them to the bed. He sits against the headboard and pulls Ben back against his chest, stroking his hair.
“Ben, we need to help your mom tell Polly.”
Ben tenses against him.
“I said we’d go with her to the oncologist and then back with her tomorrow. She’s okay with the first bit but wants us to wait until Friday to go to the beach,” he says. “Can you get the time off on such short notice?”
“She can’t drive down there tomorrow by herself,” Ben protests.
“Yes, she can,” Alex pushes Ben up to a sitting position. “Look at me. She’s quite capable of driving and you need to let her do that.”
“But that’s insane, she’s sick.” Ben rests his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands.
“Ben, she’ll cope much better with everything that’s coming if you let her retain what independence she has for as long as she has it,” Alex says, rubbing his back. He’s struck by the realization they have somehow swapped places; usually it’s Ben stroking his back, reassuring him. Ben nods and Alex, seeing he’s on the point of tears again, pulls him back into his arms.
There’s a tap at the door and he calls for Allie to come in. Despite being pale and red eyed, she's calm and Alex smiles at her over Ben’s head; he pats the bed next to them. Without a word, she sits behind Ben and slides her arms around him, resting her head on his back. Alex nudges him around so she can hold him properly and when he sees Ben lean into her, slides off the bed.
As he pulls the bedroom door shut, he can hear her whispering something low and soothing and beneath it the quiet sound of Ben crying again.
#
Rubbing his eyes and sniffing, feeling like a child, Ben sits up. Tries to smile at Allie and can’t quite make his mouth obey.
“Mom,” he starts to say but can't get any further.
“I know. It fucking sucks, kid,” Allie says. “Trust me, I know.”
He takes her hand and tries to remember the last time he cried in front of her.
“Alex says it’s okay for us to come tomorrow to the oncologist,” he says, and waits to see if she agrees. When she nods, he continues. “When we’re done, we can drive you ho –”
“No, that’s not how we’re going to do it,” she interrupts. “It’s going to be a big enough shock for her when I tell her, if we all show up tomorrow she’ll know something is wrong.”
“But –”
“No, Ben. Listen, it’s not just about Polly. I need some time to think about whatever they tell me tomorrow, and about what we’re going to do, and I need to get that clear in my head before we talk to Polly.”
Allie stands and runs a hand through her silver hair.
“I know this is hard for you kid, but I need you to let me do this my way, okay?”
“No, not okay,” Ben says, mouth pulling down. “None of this is okay, none of it. But if that’s what you want, then we’ll come down on Friday.”
Allie smile and holds her hand out.
“Come on. I need to find out what that boy has cooked that smells so damned good and I need another drink. One that actually is a Gibson.”
In spite of himself Ben chuckles.
“I told you not to let him make the drinks. He’s good in the kitchen and the bedroom but he shouldn’t be allowed near a cocktail shaker.”
Allie opens the door and swats his rear as he goes past.
“Oh God, you are so your grandmother’s grandson.”
Ben grabs her hand before she can leave the room and swallowing the tears that are threatening again, pulls her into his arms.
“I love you, mom.”
“I love you back, kid.”
#