Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale (21 page)

“He and Jeff
have been mates since high school. Jared disappeared to London for a few years
and returned with a wife and another degree but they always kept in contact.”

We take a canapé
from a passing tray and I nibble on the edges of mine before popping the
remainder into my mouth. “And he has two boys?”

Angela swallows
her mouthful of food. “Yes. The eldest, Nicholas, is the same age as our boys.
They’ve had a tough time, this last year or so. I’m not surprised they’re acting
out. It’s only natural.”

I don’t like to
pry but she has me intrigued. “Why? What happened?”

“Polly ran off
with Jared’s colleague. It turned out the nights Jared was working late to
establish the practice, his partner was porking his wife. The boys suffered
dreadfully. It was hard for them to understand. Especially when she up and went
back to London, virtually deserting them. Heinous cow.”

“How could
anyone leave their children like that?”

“Don’t ask me. I
guess the call of her libido was stronger than the lure of motherhood. She
tried to blame Jared, naturally. Said it was his fault for dragging her to live
in Australia in the first place and making her give up her career. But he was
in no way to blame. He tried so hard to get her to stay
—
counselling, cutting back his hours. He forgave
her for the affair, too, but their relationship was never the same. Then one
day, he came home from work to find the babysitter minding the kids and a note
on the kitchen bench.”

“Far out.”

“He was
devastated.”

“I can
imagine.” Seems Dr. Hanson and I have more in common than my breast
reconstruction.

“Since then,
he’s been a bit of a lad, new girlfriend every week, that type of thing. Loads
of gorgeous statuesque blondes.”

My mind goes
back to the first day I met him. The woman coming from his office was way too
familiar to be a patient.

“But it’s not
him,” Angela continues. “Jared’s not like that. He’s been frightened off women,
that’s all. He needs to learn to trust again.”

“And yet you
thought it might be nice to thrust him in my direction?”

“Well, I can
hardly be seen thrusting with him, can I?” She throws her head back, laughing
boldly. “But seriously, I thought you two would be perfect together.”

I knew it.

“You’d cure him
of his trust issues. You’re the most dependable person I know.”

“I’ll take that
as a compliment.”

Forgetting that
we intended to dance, Angela and I continue gossiping until Jeff appears,
carrying a tray of Bellinis.

“Where’d you
steal those from?” Angela asks. She looks somewhat appalled that her husband
has managed to conjure a tray of drinks when others are clearly parched.

“The waitress
looked sad, so I relieved her of her burden.”

Jeff puts the
tray down on a table near us and hands out the first round. I take a glass from
him, though I know I probably shouldn’t. We’ve drunk non-stop since we arrived
and those teeny things they’re serving, masquerading as food, don’t soak up
alcohol well. Also, alcohol and Tamoxifen appear to set off weird menopausal-type
reactions in my body, which I probably should have considered
before
I drank six champagnes.

“What are you
two gossiping about?” Jeff asks. Unlike most men, the idea of two women
chatting about waxing or bras does not send him running for the whiskey bottle.
He’s in touch with his ‘feminine side’.

“We just saw
Jared,” Angela replies, giving him a nudge in the elbow.

“He’s here? Did
he bring that blonde he’s been seeing?”

“No. I’m pretty
sure they split up. I had every intention of setting him up with Sophie but it
turns out he’s her plastic surgeon.”

Jeff’s eyes
glow with mischief. Sometimes he can be as bad as Angela. “That could be
awkward. Or exciting. Depending on which way you look at it.”

I give him a
look. “It was awkward when he twigged who I was. The man has seen me topless.”

“A sight I’m
looking forward to once your reconstruction’s complete. Now I know Jared’s your
surgeon, I might see if I can get a bit of input into future cup size.”

Angela slaps
his bicep. “Jeff!”

“What? You know
I’ve always had a love affair with Sophie’s breasts. I’ve been feeling a little
lost since one of them went away.”

“You’re insane.”
I laugh.

“I was actually
serious. This cancer thing of yours has been very draining on me. I mean, whose
breasts am I going to look at now? We both know those fillet things enhance Ange’s.
When the bra comes off there’s nothing there.”

Angela slaps
him again. “Can we change the subject please?”

“Of course. How
about a dance? I think I’ve consumed enough wine that I won’t care if I look
like a complete tosser. You come too, Soph. I’ve always wanted a threesome.”

He puts his
drink down on the table and, taking us both by the hand, drags us to the dance
floor.

Dancing with
Jeff and Angela is an experience, to say the least. Having had little of it in
recent times, I’d forgotten why he likes to have a few under his belt before
venturing into this territory. Rather than relying on skill, Jeff, it seems, has
perfected the attention-grabbing, tacky dance move. The Sprinkler, the Lawn
Mower and a step that involves mimicking the Amish
—
I think it’s called the Butterchurner
—
are part of his repertoire. He knows how to
raise the roof like he’s recently ported out of a dance video from 1982, which
makes me wonder if maybe Angela and I are the ones who should have had more to
drink. He’s very embarrassing and to make it worse, Angela is totally egging
him on. In fact, she’s suggesting moves that even I’ve never heard of. And I graced
a fair few clubs in my earlier days.

As Jeff begins
to demonstrate his version of the Macarena, or it could be the Bus Stop, I feel
a hand on my shoulder. I turn, almost falling because my feet are tied in knots
from his attempt at instruction.

It’s Dr.
Hanson, I mean, Jared.

“I’ve come to rescue
you,” he says. “Would you like to dance? On the other side of the room away
from this dope?” He gestures to Jeff who has moved on to some form of 50’s
swing dancing with Angela as the swing.

A sense of gratitude
sweeps through me. “Oh, could we, please? As much as I love Jeff, I’m worried
he’s going to do a Cyclone or something and I’ll lose a tooth or get a black
eye.”

Jared chuckles
fondly and we thread our way to the other side of the small dance floor. “It’s happened
before. You’d think he’d learn but he’s operating under the same assumption he
was at Uni.”

We begin to
dance.

“Which is?”

“Women like men
who dance.”

“They do, but
not like that. He looks like a rotary clothes line.”

“Which is how
most accidents involving Jeff happen. Once, I had to patch up Angela’s face
after he swung at her.”

“He hit her?” I
gasp.

“As he was
demonstrating the Lawn Mower,” Jared explains. “He was wrenching his elbow back
and got her front on in the upper lip. He didn’t know she was standing behind
him. She was lucky not to have lost a tooth.”

“He’s a menace
to the dance world.”

“Lovable menace,
though. We’ve been mates for years.”

“Angela said.”

“What else did
she say?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Not much.”

I’m certainly
not going to tell him she was trying to set us up or that I know about his
wife. That’s private business. Besides, he might be one of those types that get
offended if others know things they shouldn’t. I can’t risk offending him.
 
He has to like me so that when he’s
reconstructing my body he’s completely on the job, not thinking about how he
wished I wasn’t his patient. I need him to concentrate on his cutting and
sewing.

“What about
you?
 
What’s your connection to the
Byrnes?”

“Their son,
Hudson, is in the same class as my son, Rory. We’ve been friends for a couple
of years.”

We move around
a bit and Jared takes a step closer. “And yet I’ve never met you before, other
than at the surgery?” he ponders, leaning in closer so he can talk over the
music. “Strange, considering she’s always trying to fix me up with her friends.
But you do have a partner, so I guess that’s why.”

I stop dancing.
My feet are suddenly nailed to the timber floor. My mouth is making a flapping
motion that would normally be associated with speech but nothing is coming out.
This is uncomfortable, to put it mildly.

“Um, I don’t
have him anymore. He left me.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I
reply, knowing that even if my face is burning, it’s nowhere near the colour of
his, now he knows Angela
was
attempting to play cupid before she discovered our connection.

“So this was a
set up?” He sounds peeved. “I wish she wouldn’t do that.”

“I think I need
some water. Do you mind if we stop dancing?”

“Of course not.
Are you all right? I haven’t offended you?” He’s looking at me oddly and I know
he can see the flush that’s spreading across my cheeks like a grassfire in a
field. He’s assumed it’s from embarrassment but it’s not. It’s the bloody
Tamoxifen having its nasty way with me. Even my eyelids are going red. I’m
certain they are, because they feel like someone’s set a blowtorch to them.

I fan my hand
in front of my face, which is utterly pointless. I mean, it’s a warm evening. A
limp wave isn’t going to cool the expanding inferno.

“I haven’t
embarrassed you, have I?”

“It’s the
Tamoxifen, I keep getting hot flushes at the craziest moments. Last week I got
one in the middle of a trip to the dentist. She thought I was having a reaction
to the anaesthetic.”

At least I have
an excuse other than being mortified that my friend has attempted to hook me up
with my doctor.

“Do you want to
go out onto the terrace where it’s cooler? I’ll get you some water.”

I smile gratefully.
“That sounds fabulous.”

I go outside and
find a spot in the corner overlooking the garden. The breeze is cool against my
skin but I
so
wish I could take this
top off. The sweat is forming a rivulet down my sides and the fabric is
starting to cling in places where clinging is not good.

Jared returns
with a large bottle of icy water and a beer for himself. I take it and stick it
on my chest, letting the cold of the bottle and the condensation seep into my flaming
chest.

“Aren’t you
going to drink it?” he says.

“In a minute. At
the moment, it’s doing a great job as an icepack.”

“I can get you
another to drink if you like.”

“No. This is
fine. But thanks. I feel heaps better already.”

He nods. “Your
colour’s starting to settle.”

We stand for a
minute facing the city lights and gazing out into the night. Both of us are
deep in thoughts of some kind or another. Then Jared turns to me. “Did you know
that Angela was trying to hook us up?”

“Heavens, no!
She didn’t even know we knew each other until I told her in the auction room. I
had an inkling she was up to something earlier in the week but you know Angela.”

“She won’t take
no for an answer.” He shakes away a frown. “One day she’s going to get me into
dreadful strife.”

“I hope you
don’t think I had anything to do with this. If I’d been aware, I would have let
her know I wasn’t interested. I mean, you’re my doctor. There’s a law, isn’t
there?”

He steps a metre
away from me, indicating that indeed there is and that maybe, for a tiny moment
he may have forgotten that we’re not simply two people.

“Look, we can go
back inside if it’s bothering you,” I say.

“I’m not bothered,
Sophie. You seem like a nice girl. And I’m allowed to have a life, as long as
it doesn’t involve a relationship with a patient.”

“I wasn’t
insinuating…”

“I know you
weren’t.”

I look up into
his amazing eyes and I think to myself, oh, but I wish you were.

Chapter 21

For some reason,
Tuesday’s always a busy day in the shop but today we’re having a busier day
than usual. It started before lunch when a bride came in looking for a vintage
cocktail hat to wear instead of a veil and moved rapidly on to three very picky
women on the hunt for the right shade of red handbag. By the time they left, the
pile of handbags on the daybed we have for customers to relax on was almost to
the ceiling and I was so drained, I was tempted to swish them to the floor and
lay there for a bit. The whole experience was worsened when, after half an hour
of back and forth, they bought the cheapest one I had in stock. And it wasn’t
red. It was black.