Jess put a mug of coffee on the table in front of me, passed another to Steve, and then sat down opposite me at the kitchen table.
‘Thanks,’ I said as I lifted it. I took a sip, and blurted, ‘Oh feck, your coffee is still terrible.’
‘It is,’ Steve agreed, laughing. ‘Stuff will kill you.’
I saw Jess’s immediate reaction of horror, before Steve clicked on to what he’d said and started to stammer. ‘Sorry, Colm, I mean… I didn’t mean… em…’
I put my hand up in a conciliatory gesture and smiled. ‘It’s fine, honestly. Don’t worry about it. I’m far more likely to get run over by a bus.’
The two of them laughed too much, grateful the awkward moment was over. It was one of thousands in the last few months and I’d developed pretty good brush-offs for all of them. People made innocent comments or jokes, realized they could have significance to a dying man and all of a sudden you were sliding down a chute of discomfort to a whole big pit of mortification.
Steve stood up. ‘I’m off, anyway,’ he said. ‘Need to pop into the office for a couple of hours.’
He shook my hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Colm,’ then headed out the door. Even a blinkered, socially unaware, emotionally stunted man like me found several things odd about this situation.
He had barely looked at Jess.
He hadn’t said goodbye.
No kiss.
No details about when he’d be back.
And he was going into the office on a Sunday afternoon.
He was some kind of property developer – not an occupation that normally required weekend shift work.
‘Is everything okay with you two?’ I asked tentatively, aware that none of this was any of my business and Jess and I had kept our conversations purely about the kids for the last decade. It was only in the last few weeks, since we’d broken the news to the boys, that I’d started popping in when I dropped them off or picked them up. Sometimes just for ten minutes, other times I’d have a beer and pass an hour or so.
‘Yeah, he’s just under a bit of pressure right now. Things have been tough with the whole financial crisis. Rubs off at home a bit when he’s got a lot on his plate. Not that it’s anything compared to what you’re going through. I mean… erm…’
There it was again. Two said-the-wrong-thing-squirms in the space of five minutes.
I halted her right there. ‘Jess, you need to get over the whole “worrying about offending me” thing. I promise they didn’t replace the bit that was cut out with a sensitivity chip. I’m still pretty much unoffendable.’
‘Thank God, because Steve and I seem to be doing pretty well at testing that theory.’ I noticed the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ I asked again.
‘Positive. How were the boys this weekend?’ she asked, changing the subject.
The boys. That made them sound like kids. The reality was they were both over six feet tall, and thanks to a fondness for the gym, almost as wide.
‘Great,’ I told her, honestly. ‘We stayed in a lodge out by Henley. Just played football all weekend and chilled out at nights. They’ll tell you all about it but they were on good form.’
‘Any more questions?’
‘Nope, and I know it’s not because they’re afraid to ask. I think they’re just okay with the details for now.’ I shrugged my shoulders, grinning, ‘Jess, they’re my sons. They don’t have the DNA for emotional depth and introspection.’
‘That is so true,’ she replied. ‘They’ve been the same here. Obviously the way we told them helped. They seem to be handling it really well, but I’m keeping an eye on it. Have spoken to the university as well, just flagged it up in case there are any issues there.’
It struck me that I should probably have thought of that and been the one to broach it with the others involved in my sons’ lives, but as always, it hadn’t occurred to me. What did occur to me was how lucky I was to have married two smart women. In many ways they were so alike and that had shown over the last few months. Shauna and I had been careful about what we told Beth, settling on a sanitized version of the truth, omitting the ultimate detail that the tumour was incurable and I could… well, you know. I didn’t like to even give that thought headspace. Quite literally. It went along the lines of ‘Daddy had a sore head, doctors have fixed it, so we hope it won’t get sore again.’ At which point Beth kissed the top of my head ‘all better’ and skipped off to watch Frozen for the 3321st time.
Jess and I decided to take the same approach with the boys, only the language being more teenage-appropriate. Brain tumour. Operation. Radiotherapy. Chemotherapy. Feeling great. Hoping it’ll stay that way for a long time.
We answered their few questions, at no point telling them the type of tumour, so that they couldn’t look it up on the web.
‘But it won’t kill you dad, will it?’ Joe asked.
‘I’ve no idea, son – I could get knocked over by a bus tomorrow. But I’m not worried. People live for twenty years with brain tumours.’ Absolutely true. No lies. People might think it was the wrong approach, but it’s what was right for us. I didn’t want the kids’ first thought every morning to be that I might die soon, didn’t want them worrying, fretting, getting stressed, treating me differently. So far it had worked. It helped that by the time the boys came back from the exchange trip to France, I was through radiotherapy, done with the first round of chemo, and looking so much better than I had in the midst of it all.
‘You know, you look great,’ Jess interrupted my thoughts with a point that was taken straight from my wavelength. There was an irony in there. Over a decade divorced and we still thought along the same lines. I knew she wasn’t bullshitting me because I agreed. I looked exactly the same as before, only with a bit of a tan from a few days on the golf course. As long as no one studied the back of my head, they’d never know there was anything wrong with me. That’s the way I wanted it to stay.
The liaison nurse had suggested a support group but I’d declined. I honestly didn’t need one. I was fine. Doing great. What was the point of talking about what was going to happen if I couldn’t change it when it did? And besides, maybe it wouldn’t. I understood the prognosis, I’d read the statistics, but if you looked hard enough, the internet was full of stories about patients with my tumour that outlived the odds by miles. I’d take that option, thank you, and in the meantime, I wasn’t going to worry about the alternative.
‘How’s Shauna doing?’ Jess asked.
‘She’s grand. She’s one of those people that no matter what life throws at her she just keeps on going. I got lucky with her. With both of you,’ I said, vocalizing my earlier thought.
‘I’m not…’ she stopped, as if the words had caught in her throat and I could see that her eyes had filled with tears. She hastily wiped them away with the back of her hand and sniffed. ‘Sorry Colm, it’s just that… fuck, I hate this. It’s so fucking unfair. After everything that happened to us and now this. How much heartache are we supposed to endure? I can’t stand that this is happening to you and not just because of how it will affect our boys but because you don’t deserve it.’ She paused, forced a smile. ‘Are you checking for the nearest exit yet?’
It was an old joke, one I couldn’t believe she remembered. Jess had always been quick to show her emotions, wore her heart on her sleeve, and she used to say that the minute I spotted tears, I’d scan the room for an emergency exit. There was admittedly a grain of truth in there, but not tonight.
I got up and went round to her side of the table, slid into the seat next to her and put my arm around her. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What are you apologizing for, you crazy person?’ she smiled, while still crying, a bittersweet combination that took me right back to fifteen years ago, when it seemed like we couldn’t have a conversation without heartbreak. Looking back, I probably let her down, not equipped or willing to deal with a relationship that was unravelling quicker that I could stop it.
Not that I’d suddenly become some kind of new man, enlightened and in touch with his inner soul, like that bloke Rosie used to date. Couldn’t remember his name. Not sure that I ever called him anything other than Yogaman. However, I’d progressed enough to know that she didn’t need me to fix this, just needed me to be here. No need for a swift exit this time.
Joe picked that moment to wander in the door, then froze when he saw us.
‘Has someone died?’ he asked suspiciously. Even I got the irony there.
Jess wiped her tears away again, with both hands this time. ‘No, darling, everything’s fine.
‘Yep, looks it,’ he said, with all the nonchalance and deadpan delivery of… well, me. Even if the brown wavy hair and the identical green eyes didn’t prove the case, there was no doubt that boy was my son. Momentary concerns swept aside, he went to the fridge, pulled out some ready-made sandwiches on a plate and headed back for the door, making a final show of both care and flippancy as he left.
‘Sure you’re okay, mum?’
‘I am, Joe. Just having a moment. I’m fine.’
‘Ok. S’pose at least it makes a change.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked him, bewildered.
‘It’s usually Steve that’s making you cry. At least this time it’s dad.’
Maybe it was time for a swift exit after all.