The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

different. I look frantically from the doctor to Mum and back again, and then I start to cry.

‘I didn’t know. How didn’t I know?’ I sob.

‘Some people just want to deal with things like this themselves. They don’t want to burden their loved ones,’ she says, and presses a tissue into my hand. ‘We’re going to do some tests, just to check, and when her notes get here … Did she use any other name, do you know? Alice Armstrong isn’t coming up, and as you weren’t able to give us her exact address …’

I shake my head.

‘Well, she never married again. Her maiden name was Lacey; you could try that I suppose, but I don’t think she’s used it in decades. And I’m so sorry about her address. I know that seems really weird but as I said last night, we’ve been apart a long time until recently, so I’ve never had her home address and I didn’t think to ask. It didn’t matter because she’s moved in with me for a while and … I’m sorry. I’ll call my half-sister and get it for you.’

‘That would be useful, thank you.’

It had been a question I’d been asked last night. The nurse taking details from me had looked a little bemused when I couldn’t give her my own mother’s home address. I’d rung Liv but she hadn’t picked up, and I hadn’t wanted her to hear such horrible news from a voice message. I needed to call her again, and soon. I was sure she’d be on the next train to Cheltenham and I needed her.

Does she know? I think. Does she know, or did Mum keep it from her too?

‘How serious is it? Kidney cancer?’ I ask abruptly. The doctor’s standing up, ready to leave.

‘Until we do more tests and get her notes, it’s hard to say what stage she’s at,’ she says. She looks at the nurse who’s tucking Mum’s arm back under the white sheet and smoothing it with her hands.

‘But, well, radiotherapy in kidney cancer is generally used when the disease isn’t suitable for or hasn’t responded to other treatments, or has spread to other areas – the bones or brain maybe. She may not have started it yet, possibly? The tattoos look new, so she may be just about to begin treatment; they usually do those in advance. I’m sorry, Mrs Holland. This must have been a dreadful shock, and as I said, this is just speculation at the moment, but, well …’

She shrugs. I nod and thank her, and now I’m thinking about Mum’s ‘special announcement’ again and I realise that this must have been it. This is what she was going to tell us all; this is why she wanted to get everyone I love and care about back together.

She knew I’d be devastated, I think. She knew I’d need their support. She was thinking of me, and look at her now. And if she’s already sick, if she really does have cancer, then this is even worse. So very, very much worse than I thought it was …

I’m crying again now, rocking backwards and forwards in my chair. I cry for a long time and then somehow I fall asleep, and when I wake, head drooping, neck cramping, the doctor and nurse are back in the room. I realise they’re saying my name and that’s what’s woken me up.

‘Oh … I’m sorry. I need to call Liv and get that address. I fell asleep; I’ll do it now,’ I mumble, and try to get to my feet, but the doctor’s holding up a hand.

‘Don’t worry. Take a minute. You must be exhausted,’ she says. I sit back down gratefully, rubbing my eyes and trying to clear my head. Then I look at Mum, still lying silently in her bed. The nurse is gently wiping her face with a blue cloth, pulling down her gown to run it over her neck and chest. I watch for a moment, and then I lean forward, staring. Something’s not right.

‘Her tattoo,’ I say. I stand up, moving closer to the bed and leaning over my mother. ‘Her tattoo. Where’s her tattoo?’

The nurse looks up at me, frowning, and I point, my hand shaking now.

‘Her collarbone. She has a tattoo. Three little stars … Where the hell is it? What’s going on?’

The skin on her collarbone is bare, exposed, the green hospital gown pulled away from her body. There is no sign of a tattoo. I look at Mum’s face and back to the nurse, and then whirl around to face the doctor.

‘Where is it?’ I shout.

I’m going mad, aren’t I? This is a dream. It must be …

‘Oh, that.’ The nurse is talking now and I spin back in her direction. She’s looking confused, peering down at Mum’s chest.

‘She did have a tattoo when she came in – one of those temporary ones? I had one for a fancy-dress party once; they’re pretty good. They last a couple of weeks nowadays. It came off when we were washing the blood off, but she’ll easily be able to pop another one on when she’s better.’

She’s smiling reassuringly at me.

‘No!’ I feel frantic now. ‘It was real. She had a real tattoo, there on her collarbone. She’s had it for years, for decades, since I was a little girl. It’s real. Where is it?’

They’re both staring at me now, both looking bewildered.

‘And this is definitely your mother, right?’ says the doctor, and now there’s an edge to her voice, along with a hint of suspicion.

‘Of course it is!’ I say. I know I sound rude and exasperated, but I don’t care.

Does she think I’m making it up, that I’m pretending this poor woman is my mother?

‘Of course it’s my bloody mother. I just don’t understand …’

The doctor looks down at her notes, and then back at me. The nurse has moved to stand beside her now, and she’s looking uneasy, her eyes flitting between me and her