Juliette
Winter – three years earlier
There was a saying that the old folks in Ellesmere would often speak of. ‘You can always count on a Cole.’
Its origins were sketchy, years of storytelling slightly bending and twisting the truth, but essentially it came from one of Ellesmere’s founding fathers and Juliette’s great-great-something-or-other grandfather. William Cole was a surveyor and along with stockmen Miles Kendall and James Darbyshire came into the area in search of new valleys north of Kempsey and the Macleay River. In the mid eighteen-hundreds, the area was being inhabited by the Gumbaynggirr people, who like many Aborigines at the time were not too enthused about the arrival of the Europeans and didn’t make life easy for them.
Long story short, William Cole became an unofficial peace broker between the new settlers and the Gumbaynggirr people and was instrumental in instigating the rapid growth of the area, with Ellesmere being the government centre of the valley. Had it not been for William Cole, Ellesmere might never have existed. William Cole settled and had a family in Ellesmere and his peacemaker skills seemed to be a family trait passed on to each generation that followed in one way or another. Even Juliette had some skill. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d played arbitrator between Sera and Anna when they were growing up. Both strong-willed and set in their opinions, neither of them would listen to the other, but somehow they’d listen to her.
So it seemed peacemaking and grudge-settling was in her blood; being there for people was in her blood. When her grandmother Maisey opened The Bookworm bookshop in the nineteen-fifties it became the place where the locals converged to hash out their minor matters, usually over a cup of tea, and it was a tradition that had carried though when Juliette had taken over the business.
When she’d lost Chris three years ago, then Maisey a year and a half after, the townsfolk came in to check on her and make sure she was doing okay. They would bring scones and cakes and sit with her as she went about her working day. The Coles took care of the town and, it seemed, the town took care of the Coles.
But after today, no amount of scones or cakes or tea or sympathy was going to be enough to get her through.
On a sunny winter morning, Juliette was lying in a hospital bed hearing those four dreaded words.
‘I’m sorry, it’s cancer.’
She looked at Doctor Randall, a man in his mid fifties with fashionable glasses and a receding hairline, and waited for him to retract his sentence. He couldn’t possibly be telling her she had cancer at the age of twenty-eight. It had to be some mistake. When she’d gone to see her GP, Doctor O’Neill, a couple of weeks ago, it was because she’d been constantly feeling tired. Juliette had initially thought nothing of it. She was in the middle of renovations, adding a café to the bookstore, and was burning the candle at both ends. Of course she was tired. But then there’d been the persistent back and abdominal pain, and when the doctor noted she’d also lost weight, she was sent to Coffs to get it checked out. Never in a million years did she think it was cancer, let alone ovarian cancer. When she first saw the oncologist she almost apologised in advance for wasting his time because obviously there was nothing wrong with her. But that wasn’t the case.
Juliette wondered why she’d been so foolhardy as to believe nothing was wrong. The writing had been on the wall. They’d taken blood that showed elevated levels of a certain protein, CA 125, indicating that cancer may be present. A CT scan showed similar concerns, but it was the operation, a laparotomy, that had confirmed it. She had still been groggy from the surgery when the doctor had walked into the room and it took her a moment to wonder if she was awake or dreaming. She was no longer in a state of wonder; she was in a state of shock.
‘As I explained to you before the surgery, in order to remove all visible disease we performed a procedure known as optimal debulking. We needed to remove the ovaries, fallopian tubes, the uterus, the omentum, which is the fat pad around the organs in your abdomen, the appendix and some of the lymph glands in the area. Samples of the tissue removed were sent to a laboratory for further examination. The results show you have stage three ovarian cancer.’
Juliette felt her whole body go numb and it wasn’t from the drugs. That one word swirled around in her mind like a sandstorm.
Cancer.
The doctor had just informed her that she had cancer. Cancer. Stage three. What did that mean? Was she going to die? How long did she have to live? What happened next?
‘Do you have any questions?’ Doctor Randall asked.
Juliette blinked. Yes, she had questions, she had about a thousand of them, but her brain was not affording her the capacity to form a comprehensible sentence.
‘Am I…I mean will I…’ she trailed off, unable to utter the word die. Funny that. When Chris died, she often wished it had been her, not him, that’d been taken, but it was different when her own mortality was in question, when it was presented to her like a punch in the guts. Ha! Except right now she couldn’t feel her guts.
‘Will you die?’ The doctor finished Juliette’s question with such a lack of emotion that she wished she wasn’t lying down, still numb from the anaesthetic, so she could deck him.
‘It’s a good question. It depends.’
It depends? Juliette hated ambiguity at the best of times and this was definitely no exception. He began to ramble on about stages and percentages of survival rates and chemotherapy, but all Juliette wanted him to do was shut up. She wanted him to leave the room so she could curl up in a foetal position and sleep. She didn’t want to hear about the best way to administer chemotherapy drugs or about how with the combination of surgery and chemotherapy she could possibly live another five years. What was the point? She was twenty-eight, had cancer and, most notably, she no longer had a uterus, ovaries or fallopian tubes. She felt incomplete, only partly female. And it wasn’t that she was missing the components required to have a child. No, it wasn’t that.
When Chris died she had been incredibly heartbroken, but she sought comfort in knowing he died doing what he’d loved; serving his country. When Maisey passed away it was in her sleep and the doctor assured her that her grandmother hadn’t felt any pain.
But this was different.
For the first time in her life Juliette Cole felt sorry for herself. And after a lifetime of being a Cole and being someone people could rely and count on, Juliette wondered: just who she could count on?
* * *
Noah Bradley had never been one to write lists of any sort. He usually did things by feel, on the fly. Whether it was to do with what groceries he needed, what bills needed to be paid or what he wanted to achieve professionally, he liked to let life and nature take its course and couldn’t understand why people would be interested in, let alone commit to, writing bucket lists and lists of things to do before they died.
That was until three months ago, before he was diagnosed with a brain tumour. Now he was sitting in the waiting room of the oncology department reading an article in a travel magazine titled ‘Top 50 places to see before you die’ and realising he could only tick off three of them.
His prognosis was good. Surgery had been successful in removing the tumour and chemo was making sure all signs of the disease were eradicated. While he wasn’t about to jump on a plane and travel the world in order to tick off the remaining forty-seven, it did get him thinking.
Would it be so bad to have a think about what he wanted in life? Not necessarily write a full-blown bucket list, but he could chose a couple areas of life, say, personal and professional, and have some loose goals. There was nothing like one’s own mortality to make you change your ways.
When he thought about it, the ‘professional’ part was actually dead easy. His family had been on him for years to get a website up and running. His sisters, especially his older sister Nerida, had argued that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with his art if he wasn’t online. They had a point; a website would definitely increase business.
Personally? Well, shit, that was a hard one. His philosophy regarding love had always been that if he was meant to find someone, the universe would let it happen, that he didn’t need to look for ‘the one’. If they existed, they would find him.
Yeah, how’s that working for you, Noah?
The answer was not that great. Admittedly he wasn’t looking like his usual spiffy self with the shaved head, and the weight loss due to the chemo and steroids and all the other drugs. But he was still kayaking and keeping as active as ever. When the chemo was all over…
The sound of the department door swinging open caught his attention. There she was. The blonde bombshell. He’d first seen her two chemo sessions ago. Her name was Juliette. He knew that much, but little else, except that she was a voracious reader and always had a different book each time he saw her. She kept to herself. He only knew her name because he’d overheard it being called by one of the nurses.
He watched as she took a seat across from him and fiddled with the scarf around her head. Today she had a royal blue one with some kind of bird print on it, swallows perhaps. Noah wasn’t quite sure. Losing hair was part and parcel of chemo and while it was hard for him as a guy, Noah could imagine that for women, especially one with gorgeous long locks like Juliette’s, it would been devastating.
Peering over the top of his magazine, he watched as she pulled out a book, flipped it open at the bookmark and started reading. He couldn’t tell what this one was called, but he’d seen her read all sorts of genres from classics to paranormal to crime with the occasional romance novel thrown in. She fiddled with the chain around her neck as she read and Noah noticed it had what looked like an engagement ring on it. Was Juliette engaged? He’d never noticed a ring on her finger before, wasn’t that where girls usually wore them? Not on a chain around their neck? He’d never seen anyone come with her to the sessions, so maybe it was a family ring?
‘Noah Bradley?’
He stood up when a nurse called his name.
‘You know the drill,’ she said as she led him to the bed and started to prep the intravenous drip.
‘Yep, indeed I do.’ He pulled out his Sudoku and mints and settled himself in for the four-hour therapy. At about the thirty-minute mark he saw Juliette walk in with a nurse and settle into the bed next to him. Noah wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly he felt like the geeky kid at school getting excited about the hot girl sitting next to him. Maybe it was because Juliette was hot, but he really couldn’t claim to be geeky, not now, or back in high school. He was more likely to be found sneaking into the art room and pilfering supplies for his studio at home. His parents had always been supportive of his interest in art; they’d been ecstatic when he’d scored a placement at the Collage of Fine Arts at the University of New South Wales, but not so ecstatic when they realised he was doing a Bachelor of Art Education. He could almost see his mother’s lips disappear into a thin line.
‘Really, Noah. Such a waste of talent. A teacher? Anyone can be a teacher. You could be someone…someone great.’
Well, he was someone great – he was a great teacher. He loved watching kids learn and, more importantly, he loved teaching them to learn. He knew he was one of the most popular teachers at school and when news of his cancer had gotten out, one of his senior classes declared they’d go easy on the substitute teacher if he promised not to die. Remembering it made him laugh out loud and Juliette looked up from her book.
‘Sorry, I just thought of something funny one of my students said a few weeks ago,’ he apologised, sending her a smile, hoping she’d smile back. She didn’t. He’d just revealed something about himself and normally people would see that as an ice-breaker, as a way to start a conversation, but not Juliette. She didn’t say a thing, sending him a look that showed she was both annoyed at being interrupted from her reading and baffled that he was laughing, as if it were a sin to do so in the treatment room. She turned her gaze back to the book in her lap. Despite her lack of interest in speaking to him, Noah continued on. ‘I’m a teacher,’ Noah explained as if revealing that he had students was not self-explanatory enough. ‘And Callum Barrett from my year eleven class stated that in light of my situation and the fact I’d be off work a while, they’d decided not to give the substitute hell.’
Still nothing. Not even a flicker of a gaze towards him.
‘They only catch is I’m not allowed to die.’ Noah chuckled and shook his head. ‘Kids, they say the weirdest things, right?’
He didn’t expect her to answer so he wasn’t looking at her, focusing instead with his pencil poised, ready to keep working on his puzzle, when he heard her speak.
‘Death is no laughing matter.’
He lifted his head up in surprise. ‘So the lady doth speak.’
She wasn’t looking at him and he doubted she’d looked up from her book, but nevertheless it was something. ‘Life may not be the party we hoped for, babe, but while we’re here we might as well dance.’
She looked at him now, her face pale and lips pulled into a thin line. ‘Don’t call me that, I’m not your babe.’ Her voice held an icy disdain. He didn’t expect her to react so strongly.
‘Okay,’ he said slowly, confused. It was a slip of the tongue. ‘I’m sorry, Juliette.’
‘How do you know my name?’ she asked warily, her eyes widening, and he could understand her suspicion. He’d been paying attention to her, whereas she didn’t know him from a bar of soap.
‘Ummm, I heard a nurse call you last time you were here.’
‘Wait, so you’ve been spying on me?’ she asked.
He went to open his mouth to defend himself, but the more he thought about it, the more suss his actions did seem. ‘Look, I’m sorry for calling you babe. It’ll never happen again. And I apologise if it might have appeared that I was stalking you. I just happened to hear you being called for treatment when I was here last and remembered your name because it’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.’ He closed his eyes as the last of his apology came out. He’d gone from apologising to appearing to hit on her.
Great going, Noah. ‘Shit. I’m sorry. I promise I’m not some crazed lunatic. I’m a pretty normal guy.’
Juliette smiled, a proper smile that made the corners of her gorgeous eyes crease. ‘You mean as normal as one can be with an IV full of drugs assaulting their system.’
Her dry humour had him smiling back at her.
‘Yeah, I call it my life juice. So you forgive me for calling you babe?’
Juliette shook her head. ‘There is nothing to forgive. I should be the one apologising. When you called me babe…’ she hesitated and fiddled with the diamond ring and chain around her neck, ‘…it reminded me of someone…someone who used to call me that.’ Sadness tinged her smile and it explained everything. She was wearing the ring around her neck because she’d lost her fiancée and it was also why she’d reacted to his comment about death.
He felt like a massive arse. She’d lost someone close and it couldn’t have been that long ago. She was young, probably about his age, mid twenties, and was facing a tough time too.
‘How about we start over? A clean slate, pretend we’ve never met before?’ he asked and she nodded.
‘All right.’
He extended a hand over towards her. ‘Hi, my name is Noah.’
She took his hand and as she did, he felt a zing of electricity pass through him. Her hand was soft, warm and was dwarfed by his.
‘Juliette,’ she said with a slow smile that doubled the effect of the current of energy flowing through him. ‘But since you’re my stalker, you already know that.’
* * *
Chemo was the pits. It was worse than she’d expected. It was bad enough her body was going through early menopause because of her hysterectomy and removal of her ovaries and fallopian tubes, but she was also dealing with fatigue and never-ending nausea and when you owned a café and bookstore, it was a problem. She had a couple of girls that came in from time to time throughout the week to cover the busy periods and over the weekends when there was an influx of visitors but she was going to need to rethink the amount of assistance she was getting because on most days by the time she got home, she was ready for bed. Yep, chemo really was the pits. But there was one thing about it all that was positive – and that was Noah.
Yes, she was a little freaked out that he knew her name before they’d even met, but Juliette had found herself actually tolerating going to chemo because of Noah. It wasn’t just because he was easy on the eye. She had to admit the man was a fine specimen with his tall, broad build and somehow he’d managed to make baldness ultra sexy. He was comfortable in his own skin, a quality Juliette admired and envied.
As she entered the oncology department Juliette found herself scanning the room for Noah and feeling a pang of disappointment when she saw he wasn’t there.
Maybe he’s already in treatment.
But when she realised he wasn’t, her pang of disappointment grew.
Stop grumbling, you have your book to read.
She chastised herself and tried to settle down, but it was no use. She couldn’t get comfortable and kept glancing at the door every time it opened, hoping Noah would walk in.
Seriously, Juliette, get a grip.
But she couldn’t. Plus the metallic taste was worse than ever today and Noah always had mints on hand.
She blew out a frustrated breath. Why did she want to see him so much?
Because he was funny, made her laugh, made her forget about the drugs that were being pumped into her; the life juice, as he called it. He made her forget she had cancer and that she could possibly die. For a few short hours in her week he made it all better.
And he was good looking. His eyes…they were blue but depending on the weather outside, they could appear a darker shade if it was grey and overcast or almost as blue as the sky if it was sunny.
‘Hey, your stalker’s arrived,’ said Lucy, one of the chemo nurses who was in on their joke, as she checked Juliette’s IV.
‘Really? Where?’ Juliette heard the eagerness in her voice and going by the smirk on Lucy’s face, so did she.
‘I’d be happy, too, if I was going to be hanging out with a hot teacher for a couple of hours. He’s just having some blood taken and will be in soon.’
Juliette felt her cheeks flood with heat. Pathetic. She only hoped they calmed down by the time Noah saw her.
He walked into the room a moment later, clapped eyes on her and Juliette felt her heartbeat quicken and the heat intensified.
‘I saved you a spot,’ she said, referring to the empty bed next to her.
‘Thanks. School assembly for end of term, compulsory attendance for students and teachers, then I had some of my year twelve students in for a career advisory session.’ He sat down as Lucy came round and started the process of setting up his IV.
‘Hey, Miss Lucy, how’ve you been?’ He beamed at Lucy and Juliette found herself feeling slightly envious that his smiles where not exclusively for her. It was childish for two reasons: firstly, Lucy was a happily married woman in her fifties and, secondly, she had no business being jealous or concerned about whom Noah flashed his pearly whites at.
‘Can’t complain.’ Lucy checked Noah’s IV flow before moving to Juliette’s side to check hers. ‘This young one here thought you’d stood her up. She lit up like a Christmas tree when I told her you’d arrived.’
Juliette closed her eyes and willed the earth to swallow her whole. She was beyond mortified.
‘Did she now?’ His lips tugged upwards.
‘I was just happy my mints had arrived,’ Juliette deflected.
‘Ouch,’ Noah clutched at his heart in a pretend show of pain. ‘She’s using me for my mints and here I was thinking she liked having me around ‘cause of my good looks and humour.’
‘One out of three isn’t bad, now hand over some mints.’ She held out her hand and waited but Noah wasn’t letting her off that easily.
‘Nope,’ he shook his head. ‘Not till you admit that you like having me around for more than just mints.’
She knew he was playing with her, but the truth was she did like him for more than just mints and it scared her.
Why?
He had cancer. She had cancer. He might die and she couldn’t go through losing another person she cared about. Not after Chris and Maisey. She might die and if she didn’t, she could never have children and she could never give him a happy life. No matter which way you looked at it, it was a lose-lose situation. The best she could do was to make most of his company during their chemo sessions. As long as she kept their friendship contained within the walls of the treatment centre, things would be safe.
‘Fine,’ she said, expelling an exaggerated sigh and rolling her eyes. ‘If it makes you feel better I like having you around and it’s not just because of the mints.’
He dropped a couple of mints into her hand before giving her a wink and allowing a wolfish grin to spread across his face. ‘I knew it. Ladies can’t resist the Bradley charm.’