The Chocolate Lovers’ Wedding (22 page)

We all stand in front of the rows of toilet bags on the shelves. Chantal looks at us anxiously. ‘It’s hard to know which to choose.’

Chantal gnaws at her lip. ‘Is that the image I’m trying to convey?’
‘The image you’re trying to convey is Clean Person in Hospital for a Couple of Nights. This works.’
‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Lucy.’
Laughing, I hug Chantal to me. ‘Of course, I am.’ I’ve already realised that this isn’t about us having a shopping outing to get Chantal ready for her hospital stay, it’s about bolstering her confidence, providing a distraction so that she doesn’t really have to focus on the operation that’s looming large. A few more days and she’ll be having a mastectomy, which still seems such a radical form of surgery. I keep my reassuring smile in place and gesture at the shelf. ‘My razor-sharp and stylish brain has already eschewed the others as unsuitable. Tartan – says old biddy, might smell of wee. Black with silver piping – too chav. Powder-blue paisley – too boring. No one wants blue paisley. The designer should be shot. Pink cupcakes say youthful with a frivolous side.’
‘She’s right,’ Nadia agrees.
‘As always,’ I remind them.
Chantal knows that resistance is futile and shrugs her acceptance. ‘Pink cupcakes.’ She puts the toilet bag into her shopping basket.
‘Have you got all your toiletries? Shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste?’
‘I think so.’
‘Now what?’ I ask.
‘Pyjamas,’ Chantal says. ‘Which floor are they on?’
‘Up,’ I say. So we all troop off towards the escalator. We stand in a line, holding the rail. The store is busy and I want to put a big cordon round Chantal to protect her so that no one knocks into her, even though she’s no more fragile than the rest of us.
Autumn, behind me, taps my back and mouths, ‘Is she doing OK?’
I nod in confirmation and whisper, ‘She’ll be fine.’
A moment later we’re faced with racks and racks of nightwear and lingerie.
‘Nothing with cartoons,’ Chantal warns. ‘No one over the age of ten should go to bed with Minnie Mouse on their chest.’
‘You’ll have a hospital gown on for most of the time,’ I remind her.
‘Not if I can help it,’ she says darkly.
We fan out and flick through all the unsuitable pyjamas and nightdresses until Chantal holds a pyjama set high. ‘This,’ she declares. ‘A perfect blend of sophistication and functionality.’
They’re non-crease cotton in the palest of pinks: roomy, cut boyfriend style. They are, indeed, perfect.
‘They’ll be comfy,’ Autumn says.
‘And they match your toilet bag.’ My input.
‘You’ll be the most colour-coordinated patient they’ve ever had,’ Nadia says.
‘No point in letting standards drop just because they’re going to cut bits of you off,’ Chantal jokes. But I hear the catch in her voice.
The pyjamas go into the shopping basket.
‘Anything else?’
She lets out a wobbly breath and says, ‘The nurse said that I should get a couple of post-surgery bras too.’
‘Do they have them in here?’
‘Yes. I Googled it last night.’ We drift off in search of the lingerie department and, tucked away in a corner, find the post-surgery bras. To be fair, they might not be that easy to locate, but there’s quite a range.
‘They’re even worse in real life than they were online. Some of them look like something my grandma would wear,’ Chantal says, disdainfully.
It’s true that a number of the bras seem as if they’ve come straight from a 1950s underwear catalogue. They’re enormous great things with wide straps and cups like buckets. Chantal could use one as a hammock.
‘But there are good ones too,’ I point out. ‘This is pretty and super-soft.’ I turn to show a little lacy white bra to Chantal and see that her eyes have filled with tears. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t cry,’ I soothe. ‘We don’t have to do bras.’
‘I’m scared,’ Chantal says. ‘I’m going to have to wear a bra with a prosthetic because one of my own boobs will be gone for good.’ She folds her arms across her chest.
‘It will be temporary,’ I offer. ‘Livia said once they’re sure it’s all gone, you’ll have your reconstruction.’
‘It could be months yet. Longer. I thought I was coping well,’ Chantal says with a tearful sigh. ‘But, occasionally, it hits me all over again. It all seems so real now.’
‘You’ll be glad when it’s all over. Not long to wait.’
‘It’s the waiting that’s the worst thing,’ she agrees. ‘It’s so stressful.’
‘Let’s get these things.’ I take the shopping basket from her. ‘That’s enough for today. Don’t try to do too much at once. Small steps, small steps. Coffee and cake is calling.’
‘We’ll be with you every inch of the way,’ Nadia says.
‘You know we’d move into the ward with you if we could,’ I add.
Autumn looks close to tears. ‘Don’t ever think you’re alone with this.’
Chantal fills up again too. ‘I couldn’t manage without you all.’
Then words run out. I drop the shopping basket to the floor and we all have a group hug in the middle of the shop. If I’m honest, we’re all scared for her too.

The next few days pass in a blur and Chantal goes in for her mastectomy. It’s a scant two days after the operation and she’s already out of the hospital and recuperating at home. That has to be a good sign, right?

We all put little personal notes in her overnight case for her, but we barely had time to visit her in hospital. The pink pyjamas and the cupcake toilet bag, so carefully chosen, hardly got a look in. But we all let out the relieved breath that we didn’t realise we were holding. She’s through another hurdle.

After work, we all meet up at the Tube station and head off to visit Chantal at home. I’m anxious as we stand at her front door and there’s a collective nervousness as we wait for Jacob to let us in. It’s all very well coming out of hospital quickly but it’s a different kettle of fish once you get home and have to cope with everything yourself.

We are, in the time-honoured fashion of patient visitors, bearing flowers and chocolate. I picked a lovely box of Chantal’s favourites from Chocolate Heaven – nothing better to help get you on your feet. Nadia is clutching them to her while I ring the bell.

‘Hey,’ Jacob says as he lets us in. He looks tired, drawn and has a very lively Lana wriggling on his hip.
I give him a hug. ‘How’s the patient doing?’
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Not very patient. I might have to staple her to the sofa to keep her there. She keeps wanting to get up and help. Go on through. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Let me take Lana,’ I say. ‘Come to Auntie Lucy, you delicious thing.’
Jacob hands her over and I give her a big squeeze. ‘How’s my best girl?’ She answers me in her own scribble talk.
We head to Chantal’s living room and peep our heads round the door. She’s lying on the sofa in her fancy new pyjamas watching an old episode of
Antiques Roadshow
.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Can you cope with some visitors?’
‘Get in here,’ she says. ‘Hand over those chocolates.’
‘How did you know we had chocolates?’ I ask.
‘You’d better have them.’
I laugh. We are too predictable. I show her the chocolates and then put them on the coffee table.
‘Flowers, too,’ Autumn says, holding out the bunch we bought.
‘You’re spoiling me.’
We all go to hug her, gingerly.
‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘I’m not going to break.’
She’s pale and looks a little frail but, considering what she’s been through, remarkably well.
‘How are you doing?’ I ask.
‘Well. I’m sleeping a lot and my arm hurts like a bitch. I’m not allowed to lift Lana yet or anything else for that matter. She doesn’t understand why I can’t play with her, bless her.’ She smiles sadly at her daughter. ‘Other than that, I’m all right. Sort of.’
She pushes herself to sitting with a wince. There’s a noticeable flat space in her pyjama top where her breast used to be and it breaks my heart to see it. Chantal is holding her arm awkwardly, nursing it to her.
I sit down with Lana on my lap.
‘Considering what you’ve been through, you still look amazing,’ Nadia says.
‘Thanks. It’s fair to say that I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders, but I’m better than I expected to be. Clearly, Hamilton ladies are made of tough stuff.’
‘If anyone can breeze through this, it’s you,’ I tell her.
‘I hope you’re right, Lucy. There’s a long way to go yet until I’m out of the woods. The worst thing is that I’m bored out of my head already,’ she admits. ‘I’d forgotten how dire daytime television is. I’ll go mad if I have to spend the next few weeks watching
Jeremy Kyle
and
Homes under the Hammer
.’
‘We need to get you loaded up with box sets to keep you amused,’ Nadia says. ‘I’ve got plenty from my sad, single nights alone. I’ll bring some round.’
‘Good. Jacob won’t let me move.’
‘Of course I won’t.’ He comes in with a tray of tea for us. ‘Doctor’s orders.’
‘Livia has been great,’ Chantal tells us. ‘She says the operation has been a success and seems a lot happier now that I’ve had the mastectomy. I’ve just got chemo to look forward to.’
‘You have to keep that fighting spirit up.’ I bounce Lana up and down to keep her entertained. ‘We’ll help you.’
‘I am feeling like a warrior woman,’ Chantal says. ‘This isn’t going to beat me.’
Jacob serves our tea and says, ‘I’m going to grab a shower while you’ve got Lana. Is that all right?’
‘Good plan,’ Chantal says and Jacob beats a hasty retreat. ‘He’s been fantastic,’ she adds when he’s gone. ‘I couldn’t feel more cared for.’
‘Here’s to Jacob,’ Nadia proposes and we all toast him with our tea. Then I break open the chocolates and hand them round. Chantal nibbles one appreciatively.
‘Glad to see you haven’t lost your appetite,’ Nadia says.
‘As if,’ Chantal replies. ‘Never underestimate the restorative powers of chocolate.’
‘Isn’t chocolate full of antioxidants or something?’ I choose a particularly fine salted caramel. Yum. I give Lana a tiny taste too and she smacks her lips together. ‘I thought that was supposed to prevent cancer?’
‘Obviously we aren’t eating nearly enough,’ Autumn concludes.
I rectify that by having another one. Good job I brought a big box.
‘I’ve been told to take it easy. Nothing too strenuous. Livia wants me to start the chemo treatment as soon as possible and they’re hoping to fit me in some time in the next few weeks. So I need to be fit and healthy for then,’ Chantal says. ‘I’m going to have to do something to distract myself, though. If I just lie here doing nothing, I’ll go out of my mind.’
Then a light bulb pings in my head. ‘I have a cunning plan!’
Everyone groans.
‘It’s my best idea yet,’ I say. ‘You leave it with me. I just need to make a couple of calls.’
‘Your plans always worry me, Lucy,’ Chantal says.
‘They’re wonderful! And I don’t want you to fret about a single thing,’ I tell her. ‘Leave it all to me.’
‘Leave
what
all to you?’ she wants to know.
I bat away the question. My mind is in overdrive. ‘This plan is going to be just fabulous.’ I’m so excited I could squeeeeeee.

Another few days later, we are all standing outside Chantal’s house once more. It’s a warm, sunny day – just right for our escapade.

Autumn nibbles her fingernails as she turns to me and says anxiously, ‘Are you sure this is a good plan, Lucy?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’
‘I feel like a fool.’ Nadia throws in her two-pence-worth.
‘Don’t stress,’ I insist. ‘It will all be absolutely fine.’ I look down at my attire. I hope.
When Jacob opens the front door he looks at us in amazement – or maybe it’s disbelief.
‘Wow,’ he says. ‘You’ve surpassed yourself, Lucy.’ He laughs out loud. ‘Oh, my. I can’t wait to see Chantal’s face.’
‘Do you think she’ll like it?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea. I know she’ll think you’re mad.’
‘Is she doing OK today?’
‘She’s good,’ he tells us – which is a relief to hear. ‘Don’t tire her out, though.’
‘We won’t. Is she ready for us?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure
anyone’s
ready for you,’ he teases.
‘Yes, very funny. Ha, ha.’ Then, ‘You gave her the team T-shirt?’
‘I did. Just a few minutes ago. She looked very bemused but, as we speak, she’s upstairs putting it on.’
‘You didn’t tell her what was happening?’
‘No. Only that you were coming along today. My lips were sealed.’
‘Do you think she’ll kill us?’ Now I’m a bit worried.
Another laugh. ‘She might do. Let’s see. I’ll go and get her.’
We have a few minutes of fluffing our outfits and then our friend comes to the door. Chantal’s eyes widen when she sees us. ‘You are kidding me?’
‘Your chariot awaits, Madam,’ I say.
She takes in the wheelchair that I’ve pimped and bursts out laughing.
Tied to the chair are two bunches of pink helium balloons. There’s a glittery pink cushion to make it more comfortable. The arms are covered with pink and white ribbons and fake flower posies. I’ve bought sparkly tiaras for me, Nadia and Autumn. For Chantal there’s an especially glamorous jewelled crown from eBay. We’re all wearing pink T-shirts bearing the legend
BREAST CANCER MESSED WITH THE WRONG CHICK
and there’s a cartoon chicken doing kung fu beneath it. On the back, I’ve had it printed with TEAM CHANTAL. We’re all wearing white jeans and sparkly shoes.
‘I’m glad I’m appropriately dressed,’ she says, taking in our outfits and her mode of transport. ‘That’s one hell of a chair.’
‘I’ve borrowed it from the Red Cross for the day and we’re going on an outing. Yay!’
Her eyes are agog. ‘Where the hell are you taking me in
that
?’
‘Ah! It’s a surprise.’
She shakes her head in disbelief, but I’m relieved to see that her smile is still in place. ‘This I can’t wait for.’
I give her the crown – which fits her perfectly, I must say – and we’re ready for the off. Chantal’s moving better now and she’s got a full face of slap on. She looks so great that, if you didn’t know, you’d think that nothing was wrong. I hand round the tiaras and we all put them on. I also have a banner for her which says PATIENT ON BOARD.
Chantal turns to Jacob. ‘Do you know where I’m going?’
‘Not a clue. But if Lucy’s organised it, you’re bound to have fun. I wish I was a fly on the wall.’
‘I’m not going to remind you that Lucy’s outings usually end very badly,’ Chantal says.
‘I didn’t know that Ms Flipping France would call the police,’ I mutter darkly.
At that moment our taxi arrives, which is an excellent distraction from my shortcomings as an events organiser. ‘Oh, here we go. Can you manage to walk that far?’
‘I’m not
actually
an invalid,’ Chantal says. ‘I can walk.’
‘You’ll be glad of the chair,’ I tell her. ‘Just trust me.’
‘I’d be a fool not to,’ she says with a certain amount of sarcasm.
‘I admit that my previous plans may have involved a modicum of danger or risk or even a certain amount of unnecessary foolishness . . . ’ I know my faults. ‘But this will be just happiness all the way.’
‘It doesn’t involve drugs, having my photograph taken while wearing minimal clothing, driving a getaway vehicle?’
‘None of the above,’ I assure her.
‘I won’t end up in a canal or in a cell?’
‘Probably not.’
She grins at us. ‘Let’s do it then. I can’t wait.’
‘Right. Let’s load up.’ Nadia wheels the chair to the taxi and loads it in.
Chantal kisses Lana and Jacob goodbye.
‘Have a great afternoon,’ Jacob says. ‘Come home safely.’
I escort a very perplexed Chantal to the taxi and we all head off to Mayfair.