Lingerie For Felons (25 page)

‘Okay. What's going on?'

But Mom, as ever, was the master of diversion. ‘We're just wondering how you're feeling about tomorrow, sweetheart. We hate not being there. Are you worried?'

Why is it that people who love you have the power to undo you with a few words? It's like when you're feeling sad, or worried, and you're totally holding it together and then someone really nice, or someone that you love, says in a really soft, concerned voice ‘are you okay?' and suddenly you're blubbering and spluttering like the world's about to end. That's what this was like. One moment I was determined to find out what's going on with Mom and Dad, the next it was all pouring out.

‘Oh, Mom, of course I'm worried. I'm so scared. I know jail's a pretty slim probability, but I couldn't bear to be away from Eve, not even for a minute.'

Before I realized it, I was crying. Not the kind of crying you see heroines do in movies, either, where their eyes remain clear and elegant while little tears roll down their somehow-amazingly-still-made-up cheeks. Big, ugly bawling. I once had this friend who was a social worker for children's protective services and she always said that anyone can fake a cry, but no-one can fake a snot cry.

‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' I snivelled. I absolutely hate crying in front of people. I hate knowing people are feeling sorry for me.

‘Don't be silly, my darling,' Dad said, pulling me to him. ‘Of course you feel like crying. You've been through so much…'

And then I was really undone. My Dad always had the capacity to unravel me with his kindness, and his gentle, gentle way. Fluid started leaking from every hole on my face. I was pretty sure I was even dribbling amongst it all. It was like a giant floodgate had been released, and everything came pouring out.

‘It's not just court,' I managed to get out between great, shaky, shuddery sobs. ‘It's more than that. It's the whole thing. My life. I'm such a dismal failure.' And then I found myself reprising my lament to Wayne and Heidi from earlier in the day. ‘I've achieved nothing. All this trouble, all this stress, all this potential for disaster. And for what? I really thought I was going to change the world, you know? There were so many things I wanted to fix, and…'

I blew my nose noisily on the handkerchief Dad passed me. ‘Don't look at your snot after you blow your nose, dear,' Mom chastised me. I guess you never stop being a mother.

‘Sorry,' I apologized automatically. I guess you never stop being a contrite five year old. ‘And…what have I done? Nothing except getting arrested. I'm such a failure…' I honked loudly into the hanky again, but resisted the temptation to examine it afterwards.

Mom waited until I finished with the nose blowing, then she turned my seat around towards her. Very gently. She looked me in the eyes and held my hand.

‘My darling girl,' she started. ‘You've been a little busy for the last five years, don't you think? You've been building a person. From the ground up. And you've done an amazing job. Against all the odds. And the rest of your contribution to the world has barely even begun. But already you've changed it. You change it every time you meet someone.'

I looked at her and frowned.

She went on. ‘Every time you meet someone, and they fall in love with you, and come to understand things differently through you, because of you.'

Huh. She sounded like Wayne earlier in the day.

‘Not to mention how you've changed the world by making Eve. And you keep forgetting that lesson.'

‘Huh?' I'd become incredibly inarticulate. ‘What lesson?'

‘Everyone can make a difference and
together
we can change the world. Together, Lolly. It's not all your responsibility. You need to let people in, let people help. You have this amazing network of people who love you. Use them. Plan with them. Now that life is settling down…'

Dad cleared his throat as if to say ‘well they're not really so settled right now'.

Mom corrected herself. ‘Well, you know what I mean. It will settle down, after court… But I meant with Eve. Now that things are improving, think about what it is you want to do, what feels right. And let the people close to you help you work through it.'

I closed my eyes and nodded. She was right. What would I do if I could choose anything? And why couldn't I choose anything? What was I good at? What could I offer? I began to feel something stirring inside me.

‘Now,' Mom went on briskly. ‘Enough self-pity, sister. Should we have some chocolate?'

Mom broke out the really good gear too, the Bollinger of chocolate, and even Dad got in on the act. He would have preferred cake, but he's nothing if not adaptable.

When I got up to make coffee to wash it down, I noticed the little appointment slip. It was wedged under a stack of bills and a ‘Don't blame me, I voted Democrat' paperweight. I don't know what it was that drew my attention to it. It was for a medical center, and I think it was the universal Red Cross hospital logo at the top that drew my eye. My internal radar had become finely attuned to all things medical over the last few years.

I picked it up.

The appointment was made out in Mom's name — Millicent Murphy — and the subheading at the top, under the name of the hospital in which the clinic was situated, read ‘Specialist Oncology Center'. Huh. Oncology. I've been around hospitals enough over the last five years to know what that means: cancer.

Suddenly I had an awful feeling about the funny vibe that I hadn't been quite able to grasp, and why Mom and Dad had look so strained when I insisted Mom would not have had a tragic secret to share with Benson down at the precinct.

‘Mom,' I whispered. ‘What's this?'

‘Oh, Lola,' Dad answered.

Mom looked away and said nothing.

Dad came over to me, and put his arms around me. I smelled his ironed shirt and heard his voice through it. ‘We've only just found out in the last couple of days ourselves. We wanted to wait until tomorrow was out of the way before we talked to you all about it. We know you've got enough on your plate.'

‘Dad,' I said shakily. ‘Don't be so ridiculous. If there's something going on, I want to know about it. Now.'

Mom was back on her game. ‘Look, Lola. We don't know that much yet. But we do know I've…' A slight hesitation. ‘I've got cancer.'

‘What kind of cancer?' Okay, maybe not the most sympathetic response I could have mustered, but I'm just after facts at this point.

‘Bowel cancer.'

She waited for me to take it in. But I couldn't. It didn't seem possible. Mom never got sick. And she can't bear hospitals, and doctors, and the whole medical thing. I know she used to really steel herself when she would go in to spend time with Eve, to make sure there was no way Eve could tell she was absolutely revolted by the whole place.

‘What does it mean?' I was still whispering. I took my glasses off and leaned them on my t-shirt. It was hard to find a clean spot after the day's events. ‘Is it big? Is it bad?'

Dad sighed. ‘Yes, sweetheart,' he confirmed. ‘It seems it's both. Big and bad. But Mom's scheduled to have some exploratory surgery initially, the day after tomorrow. We'll know more after that.'

‘But why did you get it?' I shook my head, willing my brain to catch up, and rammed my glasses back on my nose. Doesn't the cancer know what it's up against? No one takes on my Mom.

‘Huh, don't even get me started on that one,' Mom sniffed. ‘Your father's been hearing my views on that issue for the two days. Who knows why? It's outrageous, really. So many horrible people in the world, and it happens to me.'

‘Yes,' Dad agreed. ‘We've been drawing up a list to make ourselves feel better. People who really deserve to get cancer. Your Mom keeps waking up in the night to add names to it.' He laughed. ‘Really, though, I think some of them are harsh. Just because you voted for the welfare-to-work bill, doesn't mean you deserve to get —'

Oh my God. Were they actually joking about this?

‘Yeah, okay Dad,' I interrupted. ‘As noble and all as that is, I'm really much more interested in what it all means. I mean, what's the prognosis?'

They were both quiet. They looked sad, and smaller than normal. I couldn't bear it.

‘They think the cancer's quite advanced. Your Mom's been tired and not really well for a while. I've been telling her —'

‘Oh Jesus, don't you dare start this lecture,' Mom warned darkly.

‘No, no, I wasn't going to,' Dad lied. ‘Anyway, they think, but they're not sure, that it's quite advanced. They're not sure how far it's spread.'

‘Worst case?' I demanded.

‘Worst case they can't get it all, even with a colostomy. If that happens, there are very few other options.' Dad looked bleak.

‘Okay,' I went on, trying to brighten my tone. I really should play some part in trying to make them feel better, rather than sitting here thinking about my own fear and misery. ‘What about best case?'

‘Best case,' Dad continued. He seemed to have been elected chief discusser-of-the-detail. ‘Best case they can get it all. But it will still be very radical surgery. Your Mom will have a colostomy bag. And she'll have a pretty serious course of chemotherapy.

‘Don't worry, darling,' Mom reassured me. ‘I'm sure it can't possibly be as bad as morning sickness.'

I wanted to say something cutting back, but it didn't seem right. In fact, I wasn't sure at all about the right thing to do. Or the right thing to say. My brain just kept getting stuck on
it isn't possible it isn't possible it isn't possible
.

For all her wildness, her contrary moods, her shamelessness, my Mom was still the most impressive person I knew. She had this astonishing clarity of vision. She frightened the hell out of people, sure, but they also adored her. When something happens to me, I want to tell her to make it real. With her, I always feel like I can navigate my way through the world. Without her, I'd be rudderless. I knew in that instant that, even if she died when I was a hundred years old, I'd still feel lost.

And God, the idea of her being sick was even worse. Eve sometimes used to go and visit the sick people when she was in the hospital for a while. She'd make friends with everyone, and she seemed to feel a special empathy for those who were really sick. The idea of my big, brave mother lying in some hospital bed, intubated and frightened, made me feel cold all over. And there was something else too. Something small and mean.

Something I recognized but that made me feel ashamed.

A bit of me that was saying
oh no, not more, how much more can I take
?

I was so tired of being worried, so tired of being sad. We'd just gotten through the worst with Eve. The idea of watching my mother become sick, of resuming my daily pilgrimage to the hospital… It all just seemed like some cruel joke.

‘Mom,' I tried to say, but my voice wouldn't come out properly. I got up and wrapped my arms around her. I squeezed her hard in my embrace. I wanted to hold on to her forever. Already she seemed to feel more delicate in my arms. I could feel the bones in her shoulders and arms. I couldn't decide if I was just imagining it because of what I now knew. I imagined myself ripping the filthy cancer right out of her body there and then. I wanted to reach my hands inside her, like how magical healers always do it in bad fantasy films, and pluck the thing out. And then stomp on it. Many times.

How dare it even be there, where it had no right to be?

‘Oh, Lola' she soothed. ‘Don't worry, my darling. It's not going to get me. I've far too much to live for. And I've got this wonderful doctor. Well, actually, he has this incredibly irritating facial tic and a bad hairpiece, but that aside…'

With that, Mom seemed to switch channels.

She started telling me all about the oncologist, and his habits and his atrocious method of delivering bad news. Poor Dr Klaus sounded like a man who had not been smiled on by God in the looks, charm or humor departments. But he did sound like a very good and well-qualified specialist. And God knows, I could not imagine my mother to be an easy patient. I sent up a small prayer to the universe, as had become my habit since the whole Eve thing. I asked for blessings on Dr Klaus, and maybe some extra patience and wiles for him when it comes to managing my mother, too.

I felt the story come alive as Mom told it, felt like I was in the clinic with them. Before any of us knew it, we were all laughing. When we stopped and were wiping tears from our eyes, I got down to practicalities.

‘Mom, Dad, seriously. I don't think I should leave Eve here tomorrow. You guys have enough going on.'

‘Don't you dare take her. Cancer's not catching, you know.' Mom was talking loudly, but I could hear the break at the back of her voice. ‘I'll write you out of the will if you dare take her away. Fancy denying a dying woman her small moments of pleasure.'

‘Mom,' I pointed out, trying to act normal, trying not to hear that her big, booming, bossy voice was cracking. ‘You don't have any money.'

‘You don't know that,' she hinted mysteriously.

‘Yes I do,' I continued. ‘I've been doing your accounts with Dad since I was seven.

‘Ugh, mathematicians,' she complained. ‘Far too many of them in this family.'

I didn't mention taking Eve somewhere else again. But when I left that night I held onto them both. Mom could sense my hesitation. She pulled back from my embrace, looked into my eyes and offered me some Yeats as a parting gift: ‘Don't worry darling. “I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.”'

And I left, thinking
I love you Mom
, because I knew I couldn't speak without crying.

Winds of change — Lola's apartment; later that night