Seven Days of Us(64)

“Quack?”

“Misinformed.”

“About what?”

“Her diagnosis!”

“Oh,” said Phoebe. The last thing she wanted to discuss now was cancer. Mostly she managed to push any tumor thoughts down, like a horrible jack-in-the-box. She wished she’d never told Olivia. She kept thinking of how Nicola’s e-mails had referred to a “growth.” Just the word made her feel sick.

“I mean, I overheard him in the kitchen saying she could ‘beat’ cancer with superfoods. Even talking about refusing chemo. And he has no medical training. It makes me so angry.”

“What? She’d never refuse chemotherapy, would she?”

Olivia flopped back against the eiderdowns. “You never know. We see it all the time, patients self-diagnosing, believing any old rubbish online. It drives us insane.”

“Wait—how come Jesse knows anyway?”

“She told him when they met at the airport. Because she’s mad like that. And Jesse told Andrew, so everyone knows now.”

“Oh. I thought she didn’t want to talk about it yet.”

“She didn’t really tell me anything. She was just like: ‘I’m still waiting for results, so we’ll cross that bridge . . .’ It’s not unusual, in cancer patients. They all have different ways of coping.”

“But she’ll talk about it to Jesse?”

“Sometimes patients find it easier to talk to strangers. Frustratingly, since I am actually a doctor. I acted surprised, by the way. Didn’t say you’d told me.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She felt a bit mean for letting Olivia feel like the last to know. She traced the swirls on the eiderdown.

“At least it’s out in the open now,” said Olivia. “I’d like to be some use. Stop her listening to Jesse.”

“Ugh, he’s such a dick. Why is Mummy being all nice to him? If I was her I’d tell him to piss off.”

“I don’t know. I thought he was OK at first. But now I’m wondering. It’s dangerous, the stuff he’s telling her.”

“But—won’t she listen to you, if you tell her it’s dangerous? It’s your job.”

“Not necessarily. She was lapping it up, googling faddy diets. Plus she can’t see me that way. Like, an authority on anything. We’re just ‘the children’ to her.”

“Can’t you talk to Daddy about it, ask him to speak to her? She’d listen to him.”

“Um. Not sure that would work.” Phoebe looked round at her. Olivia was staring ahead, the bulb above casting shadows under her cheekbones. She was now “worryingly thin,” thought Phoebe, enviously.

“Why not?” she said.

“Just. Me and Andrew, we, you know, it’s not like you and him,” said Olivia. “We don’t talk much.”

“Maybe you should. He hates alternative medicine. He’s obsessed with this book called Bad Science.”

“Is he? I love that book!” said Olivia, turning. She looked pleased, as if she had no idea she and Andrew had anything in common.

“You two are too alike, that’s the problem,” said Phoebe.

“How d’you mean?”

“Stubborn. Obsessed with the news and the Third World. Don’t talk about feelings.”

“Hey, I told you about me and Sean.”

“Only when I asked you straight out. Do you miss him?”

“Just wish I could talk to him. Hearing his name everywhere, like he’s just this phenomenon, it’s so weird.”

“D’you think you’ll get married?”

“What? I don’t know. Why does everything have to be about getting married?” Phoebe could see she was trying not to smile.

“You do! You’re going to marry him!”

Olivia was grinning now. Phoebe took the chance.

“Liv, I’m sorry, but I only found out about Mummy being ill by accident. I saw this e-mail on her iPad about it and asked her. I should’ve said. It wasn’t cool.”

Olivia said nothing. Phoebe didn’t chance looking at her.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I was just really pissed off you’d followed me and George,” she added, the words rushing. “But I get it, we shouldn’t have left the house. It was his idea, by the way.”

“S’all right. She told me you found out by mistake. But thanks.”

“Oh. OK then.” Phoebe’s cheeks burned. Why did she still get herself in these situations at twenty-nine years old? She felt better for apologizing, though. Her phone pinged, and she grabbed for it.

“No way! I had no idea I got signal up here!” she said, her voice coming out squawked. It was a text from George. All it said was Sorry. She tapped back. You can make it up to me. But don’t go pinching my banana again x and told Olivia she was going to find him, relieved to escape the awkwardness of confession.

Since Jesse’s arrival, the bungalow had become their refuge. It was fun, playing house down there with George, even though he was so anal about mess. He was always huffing about her leaving clothes on the chair. His army dad had made him weirdly OCD. One day, she fantasized that they’d live in one of the big white houses on Primrose Hill, and she’d have a dressing room. But when she got down to the bungalow, hopping on her good foot, it was dark. She opened the door and switched on the lights. It looked different, and she realized that all George’s stuff, even his bag, had disappeared. There was a piece of folded paper on the Ping-Pong table. Something about it chilled her. She opened it and read, in his cramped schoolboy handwriting: