I didn’t know there was a top ten of cancers you most want to have, but I guess you learn something every day.’
‘And what if—’ I stop myself. I don’t want to ask the question, but Kate asks it for me.
‘What if it’s spread?’ she says evenly.
I look at her mutely, almost shamefully. I feel disloyal for even thinking such a thing.
‘Well, we have to deal with that if it happens,’ she says pragmatically. ‘We’ll have to go through the motions – radiotherapy, chemotherapy. I’ve been reading up on everything, but even for me, with my medical background, it’s a whole new learning curve.’ She’s being incredibly calm. Spookily so.
‘You’re being so calm about everything,’ I say to her in amazement.
She shrugs. ‘There’s no point bringing emotions into this. We need to deal with the facts. When it comes to medical matters, the body is like a car that’s broken down and we need to figure out the best way to try to fix it.’
‘But this isn’t a car we’re talking about – this is Jeff,’ I say passionately.
‘I’m acutely aware of that, Lucy,’ she snaps, the strain showing for the first time.
I fall silent. I’m not sure what to do or what to say to try and comfort her. I know she’s upset, but she refuses to show it. She refuses to put down the big, strong sister act and let anyone in, least of all me. It’s so frustrating. I feel so helpless.
‘How is Jeff dealing with it?’ I say after a moment.
‘He’s been better. Obviously. His main concern seems to be that after the operation he’s going to be flying solo.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘But the doctor explained to him that you can get an implant.’
‘An implant?’
‘Apparently. I don’t know if they come in different sizes like with breasts. My hus’reaan>
We both laugh, but it’s a hollow sound. This is cancer we’re talking about, this is Jeff, and this is something that threatens the rest of their lives together, but she’s refusing to go there, and so I don’t go there either.
After lunch I leave Kate insisting she’s OK. ‘Don’t fuss,’ she protests. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘I know, of course,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I didn’t mean . . . Look, if you need anything, anything at all. If you want me to come with you to the hospital, keep you topped up with bad vending-machine coffee . . .’
‘I’ll call you.’ She nods curtly, in a way that says she has no intention of calling me, or anyone for that matter.
She hitches her bag on to her shoulder and is about to turn away when instinctively I reach over and give her a big hug. I can’t help myself. Despite her steely demeanour, she feels tiny and fragile beneath her cotton jacket.
She stiffens and awkwardly pulls away. ‘Oh, and, Lucy, don’t mention anything to Mum and Dad. You know how they worry about stuff.’
‘Yes, of course.’ I nod, thinking how that’s so typical of Kate. Never wanting to be any trouble. Always determined to handle everything herself. ‘I won’t breathe a word.’
We say our goodbyes and I walk back to the subway and begin descending the steps, then pause. I don’t feel like going back to the apartment, I feel like walking, and so, turning round, I climb back up again. I’ve no destination in mind, no clue where I’m heading. I just start walking aimlessly, paying no attention to my surroundings, the people who walk by, the shops that I pass, the neighbourhoods that I enter. Staring at the ground, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, the rhythm propelling me forward, like a musician with his metronome.
I think about Jeff and Kate. About my sister’s stoicism, her flippant remarks, the sarcastic humour that hides the true depth of love she has for him, but couldn’t hide the shadow of fear I saw in her eyes. About Jeff and how he must be feeling. I try to imagine it, but of course I can’t. How can I? This is life or death we’re talking about. Not some silly legend about soulmates. I feel a stab of shame. Talk about putting things into perspective.
I’m not sure how long I walk for, but after a while I become vaguely aware that my legs are beginning to ache. As I slow down, I find myself outside a large art gallery: the Whitney, on Madison Avenue. It feels fortuitous. Galleries are where I always