In retrospect, I can see it was right after the hospital appointment that Oakesy’s behaviour, as if it wasn’t bad enough already, took a turn for the worse. The next morning, when I was still half asleep, he leaped out of bed as if he’d been bitten, disappeared into the bathroom and stayed there, in the shower, for almost an hour. When he came out he looked awful, just awful, his skin all grey and damp as if he had a virus. He wouldn’t speak to me, just slunk around looking really shifty, pale and uncommunicative, finding every excuse to keep a distance from me and Angeline, not meeting our eyes, sitting at breakfast with an uncomfortable, drawn-up look on his face, shutting himself in his room upstairs the moment he had a chance.
‘What did the doctor tell you?’ he asked me, later that night. We were in bed. ‘What were you talking about? When you said you saw calcium on the X-ray, what did that mean?’
I tipped my head sideways and frowned at him. It was almost the first thing he’d said to me all day. He was staring at the ceiling, really unhappy seeming, moving his tongue around as if he’d found something foreign in his mouth.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘There’s only one thing it could be.’
‘What?’
‘A tumour. But the only tumour I know that’s got bone in it is…’
‘Is?’
‘A teratoma. And if it was that she wouldn’t have survived. They go malignant, teratomas. I’m sure I remember reading that somewhere – they go malignant.’
‘Then what? What is it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must have an idea.’
‘No,’ I said.
‘But you must.’
‘No,’ I said, irritated. ‘I haven’t got a clue.’ Up until now Oakesy couldn’t have cared less what was wrong with Angeline. Now all of a sudden he was showing this interest? And expecting me to have all the answers? ‘I just told you, I don’t know. We’ve got to wait for Mr Radnor to call.’
It wasn’t until much later, when he’d gone to sleep and I was lying awake listening to that ghostly wind coming across the playing-fields and rattling the windows, that it dawned on me what was going on in Oakesy’s head. I rolled my head sideways on the pillow and looked at him, hunched up, the duvet pulled over his head as if he wanted to shut out the world. He must have seen the growth, like I did, in the MRI room, with its slightly unreal, rubbery-looking skin. Suddenly everything made sense – the way he’d gone around all day yellow-faced and distracted, the way he couldn’t meet Angeline’s eyes. I stared at the bulge of his shoulders, the duvet rising and falling as he breathed, and I pushed out a dry, irritated laugh. How typical of a man. How bloody typical.
Overnight a wind came up from the Irish Sea and pounded the west of Scotland, blowing round the house, rattling the windows and shaking drifts of leaves from the trees at the edge of the estate. When I went downstairs in the morning the kitchen was dark as if winter was already here. Out of the window, rain pelted the road, dark clouds trailed long fingers down to stroke the roofs and the flame-effect gas-fire in the living room barely took the chill off the air. In the night someone had left a shopping trolley on the pavement outside the boarded-up house opposite. It just sat there, occasionally moving a few inches in a gust of wind, the chain at the coin slot dangling back and forward.
‘You know,’ I said, when Oakesy came down for breakfast. It was just the two of us: Angeline was still asleep, her door closed tightly. He sat opposite me, not meeting my eyes, pretending to be reading the proposal he’s putting together for Finn. ‘You know it would behove you to hide your feelings a little better.’
He looked up at me. His pupils opened and closed a couple of times, as if he was struggling to take me in. ‘What did you say?’
‘Oh, come on.’ I gave a short laugh. ‘I know you so well. You’re really upset. And it’s not just because of Malachi Dove. It’s her.’ I jerked my head in the direction of the stairs. ‘It’s her too.’
He stared at me then, as if I was a complete stranger, as if I was someone who had just wandered in off the street and sat down opposite him at the table.
‘Don’t look so embarrassed, Oakesy. I do know. I know exactly what’s going on in your head. I’m not stupid.’
He kept looking at me – so hard that a vein in his forehead rose and began to pulse steadily. ‘Lexie, I know you’re not stupid, I never thought you were, and I…’ He trailed off. There was a pause, then he said, ‘What’s going on in my head?’
‘You’re disgusted.’ I laughed. ‘You don’t like even sitting in the same room as her.’
‘Disgusted?’ he repeated, like a mantra. ‘Disgusted.’ Slowly, not taking his eyes off me, he laid down the manuscript and stood up, rather woodenly. He went to the sink, turned on the tap and scooped some water into his mouth.
‘There’s one basic rule, Oakesy,’ I said to his back. ‘One fundamental guideline for decency not only for medical professionals but for all human beings. You should try as much as possible to conceal your disgust. Especially from the person you find disgusting.’
He straightened then, his back still to me. He took several deep breaths, as if he was trying to control himself. Water ran down his arms and dripped off his fingers on to the floor. Just when I was about to speak he raised a foot and slammed it into the cupboard door, sending a crack shooting down to the bottom.
‘For God’s sake.’ I stood up, stunned. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
He didn’t answer. He stood there, arms dangling, head down, staring at his toenails where lines of blood had appeared at the edges. He turned, not meeting my eyes, and came to the table, dropping into his seat. He sat there in a heap, shoulders slumped, staring dully at the coffee-pot. He looked terrible.
I sat down cautiously, a little knot of anxiety tying itself in my stomach. He knows something, I thought. He knows something about Dove. ‘Joe? What is it? What’s going on?’
‘Alex,’ he said, not looking at me. ‘I love you. You know that, don’t you?’
I opened my mouth, then closed it. ‘What? Well – yes. Of course I know. What’s that got to do with anything?’
He breathed in and out, very, very slowly, as if the effort of just sitting upright was too much. For a long time he didn’t speak. The only noise was the sound of rain pounding against the window. ‘Nothing,’ he said eventually, in a strained voice. ‘Nothing’s going on. I just want you to know that I love you.’
Well, that was it – he wouldn’t say any more. He went upstairs and locked himself into the third bedroom, leaving me sitting at the kitchen table and looking in stunned silence from the broken cupboard to the stairs and back again. Now, I thought, putting my hands to my head, now I know the world has gone mad.