Chapter 5

“Has George got a job out there?” They were sitting in the waiting room of the doctor’s surgery.

“No, Mum. It doesn’t work like that. He’d have to speak Greek, and anyway, there aren’t any jobs in his line of work on the island.”

“But what do you do all day, then?”

“Well, we listen to music, cook, eat, read. It’s all very relaxing.” Susanna glanced around her at the other waiting patients. Nobody seemed to be taking much notice of their conversation or to have guessed how they spent much of their time. “Actually we have thought about starting a little business; more a hobby, really. There must be delicatessens and specialist shops in the UK that would sell things like olives, honey and goats’ cheese that had a sort of home grown, locally packed and quality-controlled sort of brand. I may try to call on some businesses while I’m here.” Susanna was not being exactly truthful. It was a half formed plan in her mind that she had mentioned to George half-jokingly and he had received without any noticeable enthusiasm but it avoided seeming completely at a loss about the future and gave their waiting room companions something to relate in the bus queue. “Anyway, we don’t really need much money. We live quite simply. George has enough from his investments – I told you, didn’t I, that he inherited some money a year or two ago – and I have my savings and the money dad left me.” The dog-eared copies of Woman’s Own and Cosmopolitan quivered slightly in front of their readers.

“Are you happy?”

“Well…” The number display over the door marked ‘surgery’ clattered and a buzzer sounded. “Ah! That’s us, Mum.”

“Sit down. Sit down, Mrs. Parson. And this is…? Ah, yes, of course, your daughter, Susan.”

“Susanna”, corrected Susanna. The doctor’s hand was soft and his handshake was limp. She decided he was creepy.

“Yes, yes. Well, Mrs. Parson, I have the results of your tests. I am afraid we are not out of the woods quite yet. To come straight to the point, it looks as if the lump in your breast is very probably malignant so it should be removed. Probably the surgeon will carry out a mastectomy – to remove your breast – but he will decide that after he has examined you and seen your results. Do you understand?”

“Are you sure? Isn’t there any other way?” The doctor was already writing notes on a card. “We could do some more tests but as the condition is quite well advanced the only way to be certain we can stop it spreading is to operate. It is a fairly simple operation – a few nights in hospital and I think… my opinion is that all will be well, but, of course, we must make sure, Mrs. Parson, so there will be regular checks afterwards.”

Susanna glanced sideways at her mother. “It doesn’t look as if you have any choice, Mum. When should mother have the operation? How soon does it have to be, Doctor?” Susanna wanted George to be with her when her mother went into hospital. “Could we talk this over and ring you later?”

“Of course, but we should do this without delay, you understand.”

“Anyway, they’re going to remove it – probably next week. We’ve got to talk to the hospital about dates.” Susanna had ignored her fatigue to ring George. “I’m trying to persuade Mum to go private. She has kept up the cover that dad arranged but she doesn’t want to use it.”

“Why on earth not? Surely this is serious enough to use it now? And which breast is it, by the way?”

“Left. She says that she wants to keep the cover for emergencies and she doesn’t like the idea of queue jumping or something. I can’t seem to get through to her on this. But look, I can’t talk for long.”

George pushed aside the thought of Valerie’s left breast. He forced away the shocking thought that breast cancer might be inherited and changed the subject. “Is she with you now?”

“No. That’s why I’m ringing. Mum has gone to Iceland.”

“What! As in the North Atlantic?”

Susana joined in the joke. “No, you idiot. As in the High Street. Something about giving me my favourite tea; fish fingers probably.”

“Knowing your mum, it’ll probably be ‘Fishythauraus’ and spaghetti hoops. She still thinks you’re eleven.”

“Look, George. This is her phone bill so I’d better not chatter. Come to that I’m bloody tired. I only got a couple of hours’ sleep last night, on the plane. And I only just got here in time for lunch and we’ve had the doctor’s since then.”

“Why? Was the flight delayed? The guy at the ferry said something was happening at the airport.”

“Well, actually George, I missed the flight.”

“Why? You had stacks of time.”

“I know but there was a sort of hostage incident.” She took a deep breath. “And you had better hear this from me; I was the hostage.” Susanna overrode George’s spluttering and expostulations, touched by his alarm and concern, to summarise the events of the previous afternoon. “Anyway, it was all over in a couple of hours and nobody was hurt except Stanislav. I’m just very tired. And, look, I’m not going to tell mum about any of this so don’t you say anything to her. That’s why I waited for her to go out before ringing you.”

“I wondered why I hadn’t heard from you,” said George, his concern subsiding to be replaced by a sense of guilt at having been in the taverna eying up a waitress while Susanna was being held at gunpoint.

“Actually I did try to ring last night but there was no reply.”

“I didn’t fancy facing the empty house so I stopped at the taverna for a beer. I had an omelette,” he added unnecessarily.

“George. I want you to do something for me.”

“Of course. What?”

“Natasha and the other girls who were being smuggled need help. They are the victims in this but I’m afraid they will be the ones who suffer. Would you try to find them and see if you can help?”

“I don’t know what I could do. I probably couldn’t even get to see them, even if they are still being held on Corfu.”

“I know, George but will you try? Please. For me. Oh! Mum’s back. Please, George.”

“Okay. No promises but I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you. I knew you would. Talk to you soon. Love you. Bye.”