Louisa George – The Other Life of Charlotte Evans (страница 6)

It was a line that made Charlotte feel a little distanced from her parents. Distanced a little from everyone if she was honest. As if tiptoeing was always the way to go… always keeping real feelings locked in to save hurting someone else, to save rejection.

Being given away did that to people sometimes, she’d read. Gave them a feeling they didn’t quite belong anywhere. But she knew she belonged here, didn’t she?

Knowing and feeling were two different things.

Charlotte squeezed her mum’s hand. ‘Thank you. Safety in numbers and all that.’

Eileen smiled. Another one of those brave smiles Charlotte kept on seeing. ‘These things are always scary, love. But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Just a cyst or something. Lots of women have lumpy breasts.’

Just hearing this gave her hope. ‘That’s what I keep telling myself. And Ben. That’s what we keep saying.’

‘Hey, you two, what happened to the dips?’ Lissa burst into the kitchen. ‘I’m starving. Oh. Are you both okay? You look upset, Eileen. Was it me? Was it what I said? Because I was only joking. I know John was your one and only for ever. I was just pulling your leg about finding a man.’

Finding a smile, Eileen stood and picked up the plate of vegetables. She had her don’t mess with me teacher voice on. ‘Don’t be silly, Melissa. I know you were just playing. Charlotte and I were just going through a few things, that’s all. We got distracted…’ To everyone else Eileen probably looked her usual self, but Charlotte could see the way her mum bit down on her lip, the hitch in her shoulders as she gave herself a silent talking to, and then the shaking off of emotion, bringing herself into party mode again. Or, as much as she could muster under the circumstances. There was a moment when she caught Charlotte’s eye and there was a flicker of anxiety there, then it was gone, replaced by a determination that everything was going to be okay. That she would make it so. ‘Right, where are we going for this hen party? Have you girls got any further with our plans? Please don’t tell me it’s a naked cruise to Mykonos?’

‘Hey! Everyone!’ Lissa bustled back into the lounge, her voice loaded with Prosecco. ‘Eileen’s got this stellar idea about a cruise…’

Allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts Charlotte put the paper back in her pocket. She didn’t know if she could share her mum’s optimism. But she had to try.

Chapter Three

Charlotte scanned Dr Montford’s face for giveaway clues as the medic examined first her left breast, then her right. Then back to the left, concentrating on the area Charlotte had shown her.

‘It’s quite bruised,’ the doctor said. ‘Do you keep checking it? Prodding it?’

‘Yes.’ Charlotte’s voice was so small, her throat tight with fear. She coughed, tried to stop the drumming in her ears. Of course she’d kept on checking it, hoping that this time she wouldn’t find it. ‘Yes. I can’t help it.’

‘Well, you’re going to make it sore. I understand why you’d do it, but try not to prod too much. In fact, I’d suggest you keep your hands off it completely until we get it checked out.’ Dr Montford smiled warmly, infusing her voice with a kindness Charlotte hoped wasn’t pity. It was probably something she’d learned in her training; lower the voice and it keeps the hideous blow from being too sharp and blunt. That was how it felt: a sharp sting of panic and the bluntness of realising her own mortality. I’m not finished yet. I have so much more to do.

In her dancing she’d always pushed her body to its limits, enjoying the challenge and the strength and the way she felt extending herself. But maybe she wasn’t infallible after all. Maybe there was a limit and this was it? It was only a lump but it felt as if she’d been knocked sideways – her overactive imagination stripping joy and replacing it with panic. Scary how one thing could change your perspective.

‘So there is definitely a lump, right? It’s not my imagination?’

‘Yes, Charlotte. There is a lump and I think I can feel the edges. But there’s no swelling in your lymph nodes so that’s a good sign. Women have lumpy bits for lots of reasons. It’s not always cancer, although it is often the first thing you think of.’

Charlotte shuddered at the word. It was the first time it had been said out loud. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘I’ll do a referral and you’ll go have a mammogram – but at your age the breast is quite dense and clarity isn’t great on the films. So there’ll probably be an ultrasound too… and an appointment with a specialist. There is a protocol we follow and things move quite quickly once you’re in the system. Usually, for someone under thirty they suggest a non-urgent referral. As I can actually feel a lump I’ll see if I can hurry it along for you, but it might be a couple of weeks or so. Hop off the couch and let’s have more of a chat. I’ll check your blood pressure and ask a few routine questions.’

‘Sure. Okay.’ Charlotte slipped her top down and crept back from behind the curtain before sitting down at the desk next to her mum, who was pale and clenching her hands in her lap. They gave each other a hesitant smile and then looked at the doctor. Dr Montford was a new GP in the surgery, but Charlotte wasn’t a new patient. She’d been registered there since just after her birth. ‘You’ll have all my details on there, I think?’

‘Yes.’ The doctor scrolled down through the computer notes. ‘Aha. All seems fine. You’re on the Pill, right? No other medications?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘How’s the Pill going for you?’

‘Fine. Really great. Pregnancy’s not an option for us at the moment. We’re just starting out, you know? Mortgaged up to the hilt and stretching ourselves quite a lot.’ Which was putting it mildly. Ben had it all worked out with a financial advisor and everything; a five-year plan of working hard to pay off as much as they could, before they contemplated a family. Their financial borrowing had been planned to precision. ‘A baby would be a disaster.’ She had another thought; so would cancer. ‘Could the lump be anything to do with the Pill?’

‘Well, the lower dose of oestrogen in the Pill you’re taking shouldn’t have any effect on susceptibility to breast cancer.’ The blood-pressure cuff squeezed tight round Charlotte’s arm, then released with a pffff. The doctor looked from Charlotte to Eileen and back again. ‘BP is fine. Is there any family history of breast cancer, though? Ovarian cancer?’

Family history. It was always this question that made Charlotte’s heart bump and her stomach contract tight. It seemed so lame not to have a satisfactory answer. And she felt somewhat lacking. Who didn’t know which diseases ran in their families? Who didn’t have a clue about their genetic history? All she had was a bit of paper with the same amount of information as she’d had contact with her blood family. Nil of note. She looked down at her fingers, at her mum, who looked away, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.

This wasn’t a subject they’d talked about since Charlotte had watched them crumble with panic at that kitchen table. More tiptoeing, more care not to upset. Even though she’d often wondered who she was, she’d never ever dared broach it with Eileen. ‘I… er… I don’t know. Is it important?’

Dr Efficiency looked up from the screen and smiled. ‘Oh? Well, family history counts for quite a lot in health. Genetics, yes? And we just don’t know the effects of the Pill on breast-cancer risk combined with a strong family history.’

‘Well, I’m adopted. I just don’t know.’ Charlotte shook her head, looking directly at the doctor, because it wasn’t something she was ashamed of, it was just what it was.

‘Is it important, though?’ It was the first time Eileen had spoken and her voice was shaky. Not something Charlotte had seen in her usually together mum. ‘We didn’t have many details, to be honest, on the adoption papers. Just a name and age of the birth mother. There were a lot of blanks.’ Blinking quickly she seemed surprised to have said so much. ‘It was all so rushed, you see. Unexpected. Lovely, of course. But we didn’t have the opportunity to ask questions. It was a long time ago.’

But Dr Montford just shook her head and smiled again. ‘It’s fine. It’s fine. Look, let’s go with what we know. You have a small lump in your breast. We don’t know what’s causing it, and right now I’m guessing it’s a cyst. Please try not to worry until after the tests.’

Easy for you to say. ‘Okay. I’ll do my best.’

‘I’m going to pay for you to go private,’ Eileen said, definitively. ‘Things will move faster then.’

They were outside now, blasted by a cool June wind – a far cry from the cloying artificial heat in the doctor’s surgery. People walked around them tutting as the two women stood in the middle of the pavement trying to make sense of things. Which direction to go in? Left to Mum’s, right to the dance studio? But neither of them seemed capable of making a decision. All that agony of waiting and still no real answer. Just more waiting. More agony.

But it was worth the wait to Charlotte if it meant her mum didn’t spend a fortune on private appointments. ‘You can’t afford it, Mum. Who knows how much all those tests will cost? You don’t have the money.’