The Girl Who Cried Wolf(18)
‘Ooh you’re a genius, Isabel!’
I ran to hug her then started pulling my clothes out of the wardrobe.
To my absolute glee, the jeans that I had once shoe-horned myself into now slipped easily over my slim thighs and hung loosely round my waist. Izzy even indulged my euphoria and tried on the same pair to show me how much fatter she was in comparison. We screamed with laughter as she lay on the bed and I stood over her, pulling furiously at the zip until it popped.
All the fun and exertion soon took its toll on me, and I climbed under the covers half an hour later despite her ardent protesting.
‘Come have dinner first,’ Izzy pleaded. ‘Mum’s gone to a lot of trouble.’
I rolled my eyes and said I’d have a Pot Noodle later, then waited until Izzy left the room before I pulled my bag onto my lap and reached for the painkillers I had insisted to Mr Raj that I needed.
I could not simply lie there waiting for sleep. My thoughts would turn to Michael and the pain of losing him. I swallowed two, then another for good measure, and welcomed oblivion.
***
The next few days passed in something of a blur, but I remember spending a lot of time in bed. I would open my eyes at various intervals and see my sister’s concerned face, tell her to get lost, and she would agree to leave me alone if I just had a sip of this or a bite of that. I suppose they thought I was asleep one afternoon when I overheard their conversation regarding my lack of energy.
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘Yes, darling. He sounded surprised she was spending so much time in bed because the week before coming home she had significantly more energy.’
‘When she was looking after Michael…’ Izzy sounds worried. ‘I don’t know what happened and I’m too scared to talk to her about it. I asked her yesterday if she’d heard from him and she threw a protein shake at me.’
‘Well, we can’t focus on that now. We need to get her up and about. Maybe some fresh air or proper food will help. I’m trying, Izzy. I’ve been cooking food that will do her good. It’s not my forte but Lord knows I’ve tried.’
‘I know, Mum. We’ll give her half an hour then wake her up. At least she’ll be in a better mood when she hears that Father’s coming home today.’
I shot up out of my pretend sleep like a corpse springing up from its coffin, giving them both the fright of their lives. ‘When? When is he coming home?’
My father had been in New Zealand since before I was diagnosed. I needed to get straightened out before he saw me. A pang of fear washed over me. He would get such a shock when he saw his ‘used to be so pretty’ little girl.
‘Oh, so you are awake.’ Izzy looked cross but a little bit relieved. ‘I’ll help you get ready.’
I washed my face and sprayed on some deodorant, before letting Izzy do my make-up and pencil on some dark blonde eyebrows. She is the only one who seems to do this properly. I’ve taken to screaming ‘eyebrows!’ at the top of my voice if I need them done and she’s not in the immediate vicinity.
‘God, Anna,’ she’d said last week. ‘What must the staff think? I could hear you in the lift!’
‘Hurry up!’ I’d giggled. ‘I’m seeing Michael soon. I need my brows.’
A lifetime ago.
‘Why are your hands shaking?’ she now asked, as she carefully stencilled over the original arch above my eyes.
‘Because I have a brain tumour,’ I replied bluntly, reaching for my trusty pills as I felt my anxiety awaken when I thought about Michael.
‘They didn’t used to, that wasn’t one of your symptoms.’ Now she looked nervous. ‘Mum talked to Mr Raj earlier.’ She felt me stiffen but carried on bravely. ‘He says those painkillers you’re taking are only for emergencies; when you really can’t bear a headache. He said if you take too many they’ll make you feel very tired and depressed. He said they might even make your headaches worse in the end. So, err, perhaps you should cut back on them a bit?’
I looked at her defiantly and popped another two. ‘Mother of the Year has been talking to Mr Raj behind my back. Again. What a surprise. For your information, these tablets are the only things keeping me from wringing the woman’s neck.’
She finished my make-up in silence and I did not bother to thank her as I walked unsteadily from the room, holding tightly to the bannister as I descended the stairs.
***
My father did not show up until the following day. He said the traffic was so bad he had stayed overnight at a Traveller’s Inn. He listened patiently as I sobbed my heart out, and my pleasure at seeing him had been completely ruined by the fact my mother failed to wake me earlier. I woke up to see him sitting by my bed, looking horrified.
‘I tried to wake you several times,’ she said, but I in no way believed her. I knew she was jealous that I loved him dearly, but I could hardly believe she would have been so spiteful. You see, my father is terrified of sick people. He never talks about weakness or ill health, he thinks everyone should just be civilized and get on with things. Even when my mother was pregnant with Izzy, I heard Grandma tell Gramps how he was ‘repulsed’ at her growing belly and the concept of childbirth. So it was all the more important for me to be up and dressed and looking the best I could – I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, which, right now, he inevitably did.