Change of Life by Anne Stormont Page A

the beach with him. It was a lovely afternoon, the kind we often got in late May, a tantalising glimpse of summer but accompanied by a stiff easterly breeze. The sky was clear and the tide was well out. I threw a stick for Toby and, as we covered the length of the beach and back again, I was able to think. The astringent sea air cleared my head. By the time we were heading back to the house, I’d made some decisions.
    While I still had the house to myself, I made a few phone calls. The first was to my motherin-law, Evelyn, to see if I could go round to see her later. She seemed delighted to hear from me and said she looked forward to seeing me. She didn’t betray any curiosity about hearing from me in the middle of a weekday afternoon. Next I called Lucy to discuss her brother and his tenancy of my father’s flat.
    And after that I called Robbie. Jenny had said he’d be working at the supermarket that day so I wasn’t surprised when my call went straight to voicemail.
    I wasn’t consciously aware of what I was going to say to him. But there was a subconscious compulsion at work. I found myself leaving a message inviting him to join us for dinner the next day, if he wanted to, and if it was all right with his Mum. I tried to sound both welcoming and casual at the same time.
    After I hung up, the possible folly I’d just committed hit me. I hesitated. Should I call back and leave another message – withdrawing or postponing my impulsive invitation? The girls had been furious at Tom’s obliviousness to their feelings about confronting Robbie, and now here I was - acting without consulting them. And, as for what Tom and Adam might make of what I’d just done… But, I reasoned, Jenny had seemed happy to give me Robbie’s mobile number and Sam – well - she liked Robbie, and she’d surely understand my need to get to know my nephew. Wouldn’t she? No, it would be all right – it would be all right – I’d explain and hope they’d understand –and if they didn’t…
    The phone rang, forcing me to abandon my qualms. It was Angus Campbell’s secretary. She said they’d had a cancellation on the operating list for the coming Tuesday and that Mr Campbell would like me to come in then for my operation.
    And that was the moment when the full significance of what I was facing made its real impact. All my worrying about Robbie, about who to tell about my illness and what to say – none of it mattered - it was just so much displacement activity.
    Everything fell away from me. I felt I was on the edge of a void. I shuddered, touched all over by an icy coldness, my hands clammy on the phone. I struggled to breathe. The secretary’s voice seemed muffled, far away.
    “Mrs McAllister, are you still there? Can you hear me? I need to explain…”
    “Yes, yes I’m here. I’m listening.” I spoke quickly, just ahead of the nausea that was overwhelming me. I clamped my back teeth together, tried to concentrate on the woman’s words. She was saying something about fasting and anaesthetic. I couldn’t really make sense of it. I was terrified. I had cancer. A surgeon was going to slice off my breast…
    “So we’ll see you on Tuesday then?” The voice was as calm as ever.
    “Yes,” was all I managed to say, before hanging up and fleeing to the toilet to throw up.
    It was some time before I could get up off the bathroom floor, but eventually I did. I washed my face, cleaned my teeth, brushed my hair. Gradually I came back to myself. Slowly the panic subsided. But the underlying fear remained. I realised it would be a long time before that receded – if it ever did. But I also realised I couldn’t – mustn’t give into it. Doing nothing – hoping it would all go away was simply not an option.
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    Before I left for my motherin-law’s, I realised I’d better phone Mr Campbell’s secretary back. She didn’t seem surprised that I’d taken in very little of what she’d said before, and