The Heartbroker (16 page)

“No way. I want to be there, so I’m going to be. End of story.”

I smile to myself in admiration of Grace’s conviction, resolving to be there with her tomorrow myself. “Me too. Sod work, as you might say.”

She gives me a grateful, damp kiss on the cheek. “She goes in at nine.”

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

Early the following morning my phone rings, waking me from my slumber. I get a thrill when I see it’s Logan.

“Hey, honey. How are you doing?” he asks as soon as I answer.

Tears sting my eyes at the sound of his voice. “I’m all right, I guess.”

“Convincing.”

“I’m a bit over talking about it, to be honest. I just want the surgery done now. How about you? I need something to distract me. Tell me about all the fabulous things you’ve been doing in San Francisco today.”

“I’ve been sitting in my office, looking at the beautiful view, thinking about you most of the day, actually.”

A smile creeps across my face. “That sounds like a pretty unproductive thing to do. But I like it.”

“What can I say? I’m a man obsessed.”

“You certainly have good taste, I’ll give you that,” I tease.

“I did do one thing, though. I booked my flights to Eastern Europe. I go Monday.”

“How long are you away?”

“It should be about a week, all going to plan. Unless I meet a woman I fall in love with and decide to stay on, that is.”

“You’d better not,” I warn.

After saying our reluctant farewells I get out of bed, preparing myself to face whatever the day brings. I’m considerably lighter, knowing Logan’s thinking of me, even if he is ten thousand kilometres away.

I ARRIVE AT THE hospital the following morning just before nine. I’m met by the entire family, waiting nervously outside the pre-op ward. Only Jeremy is missing from the Mortimer clan this morning, and he has the rock solid excuse of living on the other side of the world. Even so, he did call last night.

“Hey, everyone.” I hug each of them. “What are you doing standing out here?”

“Morning, kiddo,” Dad says quietly. “Jennifer’s in with the doctor right now. I thought it best we give her some space. Sleep well?”

“Ah, no. But it doesn’t matter.” I had spent a fitful night, bizarre and unusual thoughts pinging around my head, until I had finally fallen asleep sometime in the wee hours. “How is she today?”

Dad smiles. “She’s doing okay.”

“Yeah, less whacko,” Dylan adds, rolling his eyes.

“Dylan,” Dad reprimands as Grace nudges him.

“What?” he protests, arms out, shrugging. “It’s not like you didn’t all think it.”

“She has had a lot on her mind,” Dad concedes.

Dad’s phone rings. He looks at the screen. “I have to take this.”

“Sure, Dad,” I reply. I turn to my sister. “How are you doing, Grace?”

She lets out a deep sigh and attempts a smile as tears well in her eyes. “I’m okay.”

“That bad, huh?” I give her a long hug.

“I’ll be better once this is over.”

“Yeah, we all will.”

I look over at Dad and notice him pacing from left to right as he talks hurriedly into his phone. He looks so stressed he could explode in spectacular fashion at any moment.

A few more minutes and a kilometre or more of pacing he returns to our little group.

“Bloody work,” he says by way of explanation.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Bloody Sydney Garrett’s poached my best guy.”

Sydney Garrett has been his long time property development rival. They’ve come up against one another on numerous projects in the past and there’s not exactly a lot of love lost between them. And that’s putting it mildly.

“I can’t believe he would do that to me. Not now.” His mouth forms a thin line. I can tell he’s working hard to contain his emotions, to appear strong for his family when we need him most.

The doctor approaches us. “Gosh, there’s certainly a few of you here,” she comments, taking in Dylan, Grace, Dad, and myself. We’re all standing, huddled anxiously together. “You can go in. We’re just about to prep her.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Dad says.

We gather around Jennifer’s bed, Dylan hanging back from us all. She’s dressed in the unattractive regulation hospital gown, her hair pulled back, her face pale but otherwise serene: quite the opposite from her almost feverish appearance last night.

“What are you all doing here?” she asks, taking in the large group gathering at the end of the bed. “I told you not to come,” she scolds, shaking her head, her face nevertheless breaking into a smile.

“Brooke, darling, come here,” she says, her arms outstretched.

I obey, giving her a hug and kiss.

“How are you doing?”

“Actually, I’m doing great.” She looks surprised herself.

We heave a collective sigh of relief as it becomes clear she’s back to normal.

I let out a little nervous laugh. “Good. You’re going to be fine today.” I sound considerably more positive than I feel.

“What did the doc say, darling?” Dad asks her, swapping places with me.

Grace stands nervously beside me and Dylan looks down, kicking his feet.

“She talked me through the procedure and told me they’ll be in to prep me soon. It all sounds pretty straightforward, nothing we haven’t been told before. I told her I’m ready for it.”

Grace raises her eyebrows, shooting me a look that says, “Yeah, it’s only
cancer
surgery”. I dart her a sympathetic look. Jennifer may have come to terms with what’s happening to her today, but the rest of us continue to struggle with it.

The curtain is pulled open with a screech, causing Grace and me both to jump and for Dylan to almost stand up straight, abandoning the slouch he is so dedicated to these days.

“Hi, Moira. Welcome to the madhouse,” Jennifer says to the nurse.

“It’s like Grand Central Station in here,” Nurse Moira comments, looking around us all.

Jennifer beams.

Nurse Moira looks for a way through the narrow space to Jennifer. With an exasperated look on her face, she says, “Righto, you lot. Time to get your things and head out. We’ve got a procedure to prepare for, here.”

She’s a no nonsense kind of woman, with her hair in a ponytail pulled so tight, an image of her face dropping a good few centimetres when she loosens it pops into my mind. Despite the tension in the room, I let out a muffled laugh at the thought and realise I’m only a hair’s breadth from hysteria.

“I love you, Mum,” Grace says, her voice wavering as she gives Jennifer a peck on the cheek.

I follow suit, pulling her in for a ginger hug. I’m hit afresh by the enormity of the day, and my eyes well with tears. “I love you, too, Mum.” I try out my new name for her.

She regards me with momentary surprise, before her face creases into a beautiful smile, her hand on mine. “I love you too, Brooke.”

My tears spill down my face.

“Yeah, ditto,” Dylan mutters, peering at Jennifer through his straggly fringe before sloping out of the room.

Pulling myself together, I turn to my siblings. “Let’s head out. Give Dad a moment with her, okay?”

“Don’t you worry about your mum,” Nurse Moira says to me quietly as I shimmy past her. “She’ll be right as rain.”

“Thanks. Please take care of her for us. She’s precious cargo.”

I glance back at the woman sitting in the bed, smiling cheerfully at Moira, and am hit by a mix of emotions: concern and sadness, but most of all love.

She’s my mum, pure and simple.

* * *

“The surgery went very well, very well indeed,” Doctor Chan says, smiling at us.

We’ve been waiting in one of the sparse hospital waiting rooms while Jennifer’s been operated on, and we all jump to our feet—even Dylan, who doesn’t seem to do anything with speed these days—the moment the Doctor walks into the room.

“That’s great news,” Dad replies, letting out a sigh of relief.

We hug one another in relief, glad the waiting is now over.

“What happens now?”

“Right now she needs to rest,” the doctor replies. “Once she’s recovered from the surgery in about a month, she’ll need to start radiation therapy to give her the best chance of a full recovery.”

“And is that it?” Grace asks, hope in her eyes.

“No. The type of cancer your mum has is hormone receptor-positive, which means she’ll have hormone therapy too. But that’s further down the track.”

“Oh.” I’m struck by the fact the surgery is only the first step in her treatment, and that she has a long road to full recovery. A very long road.

“How long will all that take?” Grace asks.

“The radiation therapy will be for five to six weeks and she’ll have to have it every week day.”

“She’s aware of all of this. She knows what she’s in for,” Dad says. “She’s strong. She’ll be able to cope, especially with our help.”

I nod grimly as Grace hugs herself, looking forlorn, and Dylan kicks the ground.

“Someone will let you know when you can go in to see her,” Doctor Chan adds before she turns to leave.

“Thanks, Doctor,” Dad says. “For everything.”

She smiles and nods at us before leaving.

* * *

A few days later, with Jennifer safely ensconced at home and Dad fussing over her, I take my team to The Tasting Room, a lively bar in Wellington’s restaurant- and bar-packed Courtenay Place, to celebrate the partnership deal.

“To new and exciting beginnings.” I raise my glass.

The whole
Live It
team is there and the atmosphere is one of excitement and expectation for the future.

The small group echoes me, sipping their respective drinks.

Jocelyn collects me up in one of her maternal bear hugs. “You must be stoked, love.”

“I am, I
so
am. It’s everything we wanted, and now it’s about to happen.”

I know I’m grinning from ear to ear, but what with being in love, signing this agreement,
and
having Jennifer come through her surgery with flying colours, life is pretty darn good. “Can I pour you a glass of bubbles?” I ask, noticing Jocelyn’s cradling a Coke.

“No, I’ll just stick with my fizzy. Ta, love.”             

I smile, thinking if Logan were here I would have to act as translator.

As though reading my mind, Jocelyn asks, “Have you heard from Logan lately?”

“Logan? Ah, no,” I stumble, lying poorly.

She gives me a crooked grin. “Oh, you can’t slip a fast one by me, Brooke. I know you have eyes for him. And he does for you, too.”

We have more than
eyes
for each other. I dither over how to respond.

“Did you bonk him?” she asks with characteristic candour, and I spurt out my mouthful of drink onto the floor, thankfully missing my colleagues by a whisker.

A look of guilt must flash across my face, as she answers her own question with a grin on her face. “Oh, Brooke. You did. You corker.”

I’m unable to suppress a laugh at this woman I think of as a mother, congratulating me on having sex.

“He’s a looker, all right, that Logan. And a keeper, I’d say.”

“He is. Please don’t mention anything, Jocelyn. We want to keep it quiet. At least until the partnership is set up properly.”

“Mum’s the word.” She taps her nose.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Stefan asks. He wraps an arm around each of us, providing me with a reprieve.

“The contract, of course,” Jocelyn replies immediately. I flash her a thankful look.

“I’ll drink to that,” Stefan says, taking a deep gulp of champagne. “Boss, we have to hold a Sydney seminar first, got it?”

“Why?” Although I already know his answer.

“All those gorgeous boys over there, of course, waiting for us to fix them.” He smiles lasciviously.

Jocelyn shakes her head at him. “Stefan, you’re like a bitch in heat.”

“And that’s a bad thing, how?” he asks her, arching one eyebrow.

She shakes her head. “Ooh, would you look at the time?” She looks at her watch. “I’ve got to rattle my dags. My granddaughter’s school play is on tonight and she’ll have my guts for garters if I miss it. Bye, loves.”

She downs what’s left of her Coke and gives both Stefan and me a kiss on the cheek.

“Bye,” we both say as she farewells the rest of the team and heads out the door.

I order another bottle of champagne for the troops, thankful the
You: Now
buyout of fifty per cent of my business is about to provide me with a decent injection of cash.

We’re a small, close-knit, hard working team: treating them to the occasional drink is but a small token of my indebtedness to them.

After we’ve polished off the second bottle I announce I’m going to head home. It really has been quite a week, and I’m suddenly exhausted.

“I’ll go with you,” Stefan says as we put on our jackets.

“Thanks. I would have thought you’d have somewhere fabulous to be on a Friday night.”

“Oh, I do.” He holds the door for me to walk through. “But I’ll walk with you on my way.”

“You are generosity itself,” I jest as we dodge the hordes of revellers congregating in Courtenay Place.

As we round a corner I stumble over a prostrate figure slouching against the wall, kicking him or her in the leg by accident.

Stefan shoots out a steadying arm and I flash him a grateful look.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”

The prostrate figure raises its head.

I rear back in shock. “Dylan? Oh, my god! What are you doing here?”

I squat down next to him, brushing the hair from his face. He stinks of cheap wine and cigarettes.

“Brooke? Hey, Brooke. Look everyone, it’s Brooke,” he slurs to no one in particular.

“You know this street kid?” Stefan asks with more than a hint of distaste.

“Yes. And he’s not a street kid. He’s my kid brother.”

“Eeeugh,” he replies in revulsion.

“Don’t be such a princess, Stefan. Help me get him up.” I hook one of Dylan’s arms over my shoulder. “We need to get him out of here.”

Stefan leans down and begrudgingly hooks Dylan’s other arm over his shoulder, holding his scarf over his mouth in protest at his stench.