Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale (23 page)

“Fine.” My voice
matches his for coldness. It’s so cold I could freeze icicles with my breath.
“If that’s the way you want to play this, I want the dinner set back that you
took when I was out last week. And the linen.”

“Why? They’re
old and used. You have the new ones we bought the other month.”

“I bought the
linen with MY money and that dinner set was a gift to ME from MY mother. If you
want one, buy your own. After you take every cent I have, you’ll have plenty.”

“Fair enough.”

“And I want our
photo albums.”

“What for?”

“So I can burn
every single photo of you. After I’ve made a dartboard from your face, that
is.”

And with that,
I hang up the phone.

Then I ring the
telephone company and get my numbers changed. It’s a pain and it takes ages to
ring and text everyone else and let them know but by the end I feel a sense of
finality.

Chapter 22

When I get to work
the next morning, I haven’t slept a wink; I’m running on adrenalin. It’s as if
the blow-up at Brendan has cleared the cobwebs away and the negative things
about his personality that I’d considered quirky or swept under the carpet have
shown their true colours. They’re quite dirty in the light of day. I’m glad we’re
not together anymore. Let him find another girl to control.

I flick the
switch on the lights, turn on the computer and head out the back to stow my
handbag and lunch. Then I seat myself on the chair behind the counter and look
up the Yellow Pages. First job this morning
—
new locks for the house. If Brendan thinks he
can swan in and out to his heart’s content, he’s got another thing coming. I’m
over being nice.

With the number
of a local locksmith located, I give him a call. After giving me the exorbitantly
pricey estimate to do the work straight away, he agrees to meet me at the house
at lunchtime and I hang up. Then I go to my contacts and scroll through to find
the number of my friend, Cameron. He’s a lawyer and seeing as Brendan’s decided
I need one, and Cameron’s the only one I know personally, he seems a logical
choice. I dial his number and wait while his assistant puts me through.

“Hi,
Sophie.
 
How are you?” Cameron
asks.

“Good thanks.”

“Everything
going well on the cancer front?”

I haven’t seen Cameron
since the split and talking about my cancer journey doesn’t seem the thing to
do. In general, most of the men I know tune out after they hear the word
‘mastectomy.’ They want to know you’re okay but not the intricacies.

“Yeah, fine. The
reconstruction process begins shortly.”

Cameron lets
out a sigh. “You’ve had a tough trot recently. Hope it goes well.”

“Thanks. My
treatment isn’t the reason for the call, though. I wanted to ask if I could pop
by and get some legal advice? Not as a freebie. I need the services of a
lawyer.”

There’s a
definite shuffling of papers on the other end of the line and when Cameron
responds, I can hear the underlying tension. “Uh, I gather this is in relation
to Brendan and the house?”

“Yes. I…”

He shuts me down.
“Not a wise move, Sophie. Brendan’s my mate.”

“You were my
‘mate’ before you were his. Are you saying you’ve taken sides?” I can’t believe
this. Cameron and I were friends for years before Brendan entered the picture.
I introduced him to his wife. Rory’s father is his best friend.

“No. I’m still
your friend but in this matter I can’t represent you.”

“Why?”

I’m hoping he’s
going to say because he doesn’t want to get involved, because it’s too close to
home and our friendship might suffer or something.

“Because my
firm’s representing Brendan.”

The letterhead
on Brendan’s demand
did
ring a bell.
Now I know why.

“Right. I
forgot about the Boy’s Club.” No matter what’s happened or what’s gone before,
boys always stick together. I attempt to swallow the feeling of nausea that’s
suddenly rising from the pit of my stomach.

“Please don’t
take this personally, Sophie. He asked me. I said ‘yes’.”

“But I do take
it personally. I take it very personally. Brendan has drawn a line in the sand.
Apparently, we’re down to choosing teams and one of the people I considered a
close friend has defected to my ex’s side of the court.”

I hang up the
phone.

So. It looks
like I’m finding a different lawyer. And possibly revising my Christmas card
list.

At this moment,
Lani strolls into the shop. Today, she’s wearing a midnight blue tutu skirt
with a peacock appliquéd on the front. It has real feathers sewn along the hem
that are winding their way up her hip. More surprising than her choice of
outfit for the day, however, is her hair. The baldness that liberated her a
month or so back has begun to grow out. She’s been to the hairdresser and is
now sporting a hot pink spiked do with an orange Minnie Mouse style bow clipped
into the side, though how she’s managed this with a minimalist cut is beyond
me. She looks like the Kewpie doll I won on the clown game at the Royal Show
when I was six.

“Nice outfit,”
I remark. “Love the new hair.”

Lani does a
twirl. “My head was starting to get cold with winter coming on.”

Not that you
could call winter in Perth winter. People wear t-shirts.

“It’s a lovely
shade.”

“I thought so.”

Lani shoves her
enormous shopping bag under the counter and stares at me. “You look like the
Cadbury factory’s closing down.
 
What’s up?”

“I rang Cameron
to see if he’d help me clear up this stuff with Brendan and he said he can’t
because his firm is representing Brendan.”

“You’re
kidding, right?”

“Wish I was.”

“But wasn’t he
on the scene way before Brendan? Didn’t you introduce them?”

“Who knew
they’d end up jumping into bed together? You don’t know a good lawyer do you?”

“Not off hand
but I’ll ask my sister. The bloke she got when Harry did the dirty on her was a
pitbull. Ripped Harry to shreds.”

“That’s what I
need.”

I’d like to see
Brendan laying in bloodied pieces on the timber floor.

After we finish
our morning catch up, Lani hops off her chair and digs around in her bag. “I
want to run something by you. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and after the
huge influx of customers wanting quirky things yesterday…” She produces a piece
of paper she’s printed from the internet. “What do you think about handbag
rental? It’s quite big in the Eastern states and overseas. Basically, people
rent designer handbags for a minimal price. They cost a fortune to buy and I
don’t know about you but I get sick of my bags quickly, so this is a cost
effective alternative.”

She has my
interest. “Go on.”

“Well,” she
takes a deep breath like she does when she’s going to say something she thinks is
completely left of centre, “my idea is to do it in-store but with our vintage
collection. We’d have quite a good range now so we could put together
coordinated sets with hats and purses for special occasions, even bring in some
cool jewellery pieces to complement. It could run alongside the normal sales
part of the business. We could also give people an option to purchase the bag
at a discount if they liked it after rental.”

My eyes light
up. Lani has had some ridiculous ideas over the years but this is not one of
them. Those hours spent Googling might have been the beginnings of something.

“I’ve looked at
those sites heaps,” I say, “but I’ve never rented anything because I couldn’t
see the bag in person. What if I got it and didn’t like it? If we run the same
concept in-store, girls can see and feel the bags before they rent. I love it
Lan, I absolutely love it. The only problem will be buying extra stock. I can’t
afford to fork out more cash right now. Not given the exorbitant rates of
vintage purses. New ones cost an arm and a leg. Buying vintage is like snorting
money.”

“Yes… Well.”

I look at her. A
non-statement like that usually means she’s done something rather rash. “What
have you done?”

“I, sort of,
ordered a shipment of classics from the U.S. The seller went bust and needed to
shift them quickly. I spoke to her. It’s verified and legit. The merchandise
should be arriving, oh…” she glances the date on her oversized man’s watch, “today
or tomorrow.”

I leap from my chair.
“But I can’t afford it.”

“It’s sorted. I
used some of the money I’d put aside for my trip to India.”

“Nooo! You
can’t!”

“Well, I did
and I don’t mind. I seriously think this is going to be a winner. We have to
organise some advertising and a launch, of course, but you’ve been looking for
something to take the shop to a new level for a while. I think this could do
it.”

I shake my head
at the idea of her giving up her travel plans to help me out. I’m capable
helping myself in most circumstances. I simply haven’t figured out how to solve
the current crisis.

Lani sees the
look in my eyes. “Please take it. It’s a gift.”

“I have to pay
you back.”

“I know, but
there’s no rush. India will be there next year. Not so sure about the Dalai
Lama, though. He was looking peaky in his last interview. He must be bordering
on one hundred and fifty.”

 
I tear a strip of notepaper from the
back of my diary and begin to scribble ideas.
 
This is the most excited I’ve felt in ages.
 
With Lani’s help, I’m sure we can make
this into a raging success. “It’s going to be a lot of work setting everything
up. The website will have to be updated.”

“Uh, I did that
already. The guy from the web company is stopping by tomorrow.”

“When did you
organise this?” She’s been quite the sneaky little assistant.

“In between
your hot flushes and joint pain. You deserved a lucky break.”

“You’re a
star.” I reach over and give her the biggest hug ever.

“I know, remind
me when you’re rich.”

I know I’ve
said it before but I’d never cope without Lani.

Chapter 23

“What can I do
for you, love?” the newsagent asks.

“Slickpick 25
for Saturday, please.”

I watch as he
prints out my lotto ticket, then dig in my purse for some cash to pay him. How
does the saying go? Good things come in threes? In the last twenty-four hours
two good things have occurred, which can only mean a third is on the way.

The first thing
happened yesterday afternoon when the medical insurance company rang to tell me
they’d decided to waive the waiting period for my surgery. I still have to pay
the full amount upfront, of course, but I’ll be reimbursed for most of it
instantly, which will bring the cost down. I was so excited at this, I began to
cry and Rory thought something bad had happened. It took me ages to reassure
him I was okay, that sometimes adults cry when they’re happy. His response was
something along the lines of, ‘adults are weird.’

Then this
morning, I received a card from Mum. Among the assortment of pink and purple
glitter stars that flew down my front and stuck to my prosthesis when I opened
the envelope, was a cheque with my name on it. Apparently, Colin had a windfall
playing the Fruit Wheel game at Crown Casino and she thought I might like a
‘pick-me-up’ that totalled eight grand.

And before you tear it up
, the note read,
remind yourself that he won eighty thousand, so giving ten per cent to
our daughter is no hardship.

I deposited the
cheque on the way to the newsagent’s because one of the things I’m earning with
this illness is that sometimes it’s nice to let people help. I don’t always
need to be independent. And with that money, I won’t need the bank loan for my
surgery.

After stashing
the lotto ticket in my purse, I head along the road to the pathology place for
an MRI of my stomach area. Jared wants to see how my blood vessels are. I’ve
already informed him my veins are non-existent
—
I usually end up like a pin cushion when having
blood drawn
—
so I’m not holding out hope the blood vessels are going to be
wonderful. It’s a slim chance.

*****

An hour or so
later, I’m on my way back to the shop. I push the door open with my hip and
proceed to the counter, where Lani is ringing up a sale for two very young,
very hip-looking girls.

“How’d it go?” she
asks, coming from behind the counter to relieve me of the pastries and coffee
I’ve bought with me. Having had to fast for the MRI, I’m feeling like I could
eat the whole of the bakery by myself, but I’ve settled on a couple of
chocolate croissants.