Seven Days of Us(45)

“Put who first?”

“Everyone! Everyone other than you, and your boyfriend,” she said, looking at George for the first time. “This is a public health issue. We shouldn’t even be out here. You definitely shouldn’t be going wherever you’re going.”

“How come I saw your dad out on Christmas Eve?” said George.

“What?” said Phoebe and Olivia together.

“Andrew. He was walking to the beach, day before yesterday. We spoke.”

“Daddy! He kept that quiet,” said Phoebe.

“Oh my god,” said Olivia, clasping her forehead dramatically. “This whole family is so—so fucking self-absorbed. What’s wrong with you all?”

“We’re the self-absorbed ones?” Now that the hilarity had faded, Phoebe felt quite clearheaded—and angry. Who was Olivia to come and play chaperone?

“Yes! The fact that you can’t even see it says it all. Utterly, utterly self-absorbed, self-obsessed bunch of egotists.”

“Us? Just because you’re always doing your missionary work, doesn’t mean you’re Mother Teresa. You’re so busy freaking out about the Third World you don’t even notice what’s going on with your own family.”

“What do you mean, what’s going on?”

“Mummy has cancer! And if you were a good doctor, you’d have noticed.”

She knew she had gone too far. But shocking Olivia into silence had been irresistible.

“What? What kind of cancer? How long?”

“Ladies, I’m gonna leave you to it,” said George, turning and walking down the road.

“Wait! Where are you going?” said Phoebe.

“Yours. Weyfield. Can’t be ‘risking public health,’” he shouted without looking back.

Olivia glared after him.

“Mum has cancer?” she asked again.

“Yes. Non-Hodgkin’s lymp . . . lymphno . . .” She couldn’t remember how to say it.

“Lymphoma?” said Olivia.

“Yes. She found out just before Christmas. She has to have chemo in the New Year.”

“Shit. What stage is she?”

“What? I don’t know, she didn’t say anything about that. She just said she’s having more tests.”

“Why didn’t she tell us?”

“She didn’t want to ruin Christmas. For us all to be worrying. She said it’s treatable.” Her voice had gone shaky. “She has a really good private doctor.”

“It’s OK,” said Olivia, putting an arm round her, and trying to support her bike at the same time. It felt unnatural, her head level with Olivia’s neck. “NHLs have a good recovery rate. Which consultant is she with?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.” She hoped Olivia wasn’t going to go off about the evils of private health.

“But didn’t this consultant advise her not to—I mean, it’s a risk, for her, being around me this week.” Olivia looked scared. Phoebe realized that she hadn’t heard her sound uncertain about anything for years.

“Is it?” said Phoebe. “She didn’t say that. I bet she didn’t tell him. She was so excited about you being home, all of us being together. You never come home for Christmas.”

Olivia said nothing. Phoebe hoped she’d made her feel guilty. She should feel guilty. Everyone came home for Christmas. That was just what you did.

They started walking home in silence. Olivia kept her bike torch on. Its beam, spotlighting the road ahead, made the woods on either side seem even thicker and darker.

“Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell Mummy I told you, will you? She didn’t want me to say. She hasn’t told Daddy.”

“Really? How come she told you?”

“She just needed a shoulder to cry on, I guess. She’s only told me and Nicola.”

“Nicola?”

“Your godmother.”

“Oh, right. That Nicola.”

“Which other Nicola would it be?” She felt the anger bubble rise up again. “How can you just not know who your godmother is? Who Mummy’s friends are? It’s like you’re proud of being crap. It’s rude.”

“Phoebs, can you give me a break? It’s not OK to just pick and choose when you do quarantine, but I’m not having a go at you, am I?”

“You are! That’s exactly what you’re doing. You followed us here! Because you don’t have anything better to do than spy on me and George.”

Phoebe remembered the party. She didn’t feel like it now anyway. Her shoes were already killing. But still.

“Believe me, I have better things to do than chase after you and your boyfriend.”

“Fiancé.”

“Christ. Sorry—how could I forget that you’re getting married?”

“Just because you don’t care about that stuff doesn’t mean I can’t. Most girls, people, want to get married, you know? It’s not, like, a weird thing.”

“Right. God forbid I suggest you’re weird.”

Phoebe couldn’t think of a comeback, so she said nothing. This used to be how childhood arguments always ended, Olivia taking the last word, while Phoebe stood opening and shutting her mouth like a furious fish, before shouting, “I hate you!”