Sleight of Hand (45 page)

“Can we play a game?”

“A game? Sure. What sort of game?”

“A funny game,” Sarah says.

“A funny game,” I repeat, thoughtfully. I wiggle a finger at her. “What about the tickly finger game?”

Sarah looks unimpressed so I try again. “Then how about the deep sea diver game?”

Sarah looks intrigued by this one, so I laugh and lay her down on the sofa before picking her up by her ankles. She immediately starts to shriek and Ricardo catches my eye, winks, and vanishes upstairs with the computer.

“OK. Now. Listen,” I tell her.
“Listen!
Because there's a little song.”

“Under the water
,

under the sea
,

catching fishes for my tea
.

Dead or alive or a tickle?”

Sarah fails to respond. She seems quite happy hanging upside down.

“You have to choose,” I explain. “Say ‘dead' and I drop you on the sofa. Say ‘alive' and I put you down. Say ‘tickle' and you get a tickle.'”

Sarah thinks for a moment and then says, “Alive!”

When I flip her over and put her on her feet though, she looks thoroughly disappointed.

“It's better if you say ‘tickle,'” I say. “Or ‘dead' even. Alive is the boring option.”

“Again!” she says.

I lift her onto the sofa and reach for her ankles but am interrupted by Jenny's mobile. “Hang on,” I tell her, crossing the room. The screen is showing,
Incoming Call: Florence
so I hit the answer button.

“Hi there Florent,” I say. “It's Mark. Do you want to speak to Jenny?”

“Yeah. If I can,” he says.

I glance outside. “She's all wrapped up, snoozing in the sun,” I tell him. “She looks like some film star on a cruise.”

“I bet,” he says. “Especially with the Monroe hair.”

“Yes. Especially with the hair. Hang on, I'll hand you over.”

I give Sarah the phone. “Here, take this to Mummy,” I tell her, “but be careful not to hit any of the buttons, OK?”

I slide the window back and watch her run across the pebbles, the phone raised high above her head for some reason.

“Mum, tephelone,” she says. “Muum! Tephelone.”

I watch her shake her mother's elbow, but Jenny doesn't wake, her hand simply drapes to the floor. And then Sarah turns back to face me, gives an amazingly adult shrug, and runs back inside. “She's asleep,” she says breathlessly.

I take the phone. “She's a gonner Florent,” I say. “I'll get her to call you back when she wakes up, OK?”

“Sure. No hurry,” he says. “But I do need to talk to her.”

“Right,” I say, looking out at Jenny and realising that she hasn't visibly moved for some time. “OK. Laters.”

I end the call and put the phone down on the arm of the sofa before carrying Sarah upstairs to Ricardo. “Can you look after Sarah for a second?” I ask him.

“Um?” he says distractedly looking up from the computer screen. “Sure Chupy. What's up?”

“I don't know yet …” I say, plopping Sarah on the bed, and closing the bedroom door behind me.

I run downstairs and open the window a little wider. And then I take a deep breath and cross the pebbles to Jenny's side.

I crouch down and peer in at her face. She looks incredibly pale. I can see myself reflected in her sunglasses. I look down at her chest, but beneath all the blankets, I can't detect any sign of movement. I touch the back of her draped hand gently with my own – it is icy cold.

“Jenny?” I say sharply, but she doesn't stir.

I glance back at the house and see Ricardo standing in the front bedroom. I can see that he has understood what is happening because he turns Sarah to face the other way. With a nod of my head I beckon him to join me.

Within seconds he is by my side. He tests Jenny's hand for a pulse and wrinkles his nose and then reaches out and senses her cheek with the back of his hand. “Cold,” he says.

I'm not sure if he means ‘out cold,' or ‘freezing cold,' or ‘stone cold.' I cover my mouth with one hand and hold my breath.

Ricardo crouches down in front of her to remove her sunglasses and then takes her head between both hands and lifts her eyelids open with his thumbs.

Jenny snorts loudly and her entire body jerks in an enormous spasm. I jump, and Ricardo falls backwards onto his arse.

“What the fuck?” Jenny says looking shocked.

Ricardo and I look at her and then glance at each other and then I snort and break into embarrassed laughter.

“Fuck!” Jenny says, looking horrified. “You thought I was dead. Didn't you? You thought I was dead!”

“We … we couldn't wake you,” I say.

“I was
asleep,”
she says, looking completely outraged. “I was dreaming. I dreamt you were calling me actually. Jesus!”

She stands and her blankets fall to the ground as she storms towards the house. But just as she reaches the threshold she turns back. “God!” she says. “Honestly.”

“Jenny!”
I protest. “You were out cold.”

“No,” she says. “Fuck you! Fuck you
both!”

It takes a couple of hours before Jenny calms down enough to come and sit in the same room as me. Even then, she looks profoundly annoyed. ‘I can't believe you guys,” she says as she slumps on the sofa.

“I'm sorry,” I say again. “Anyway, what's the score with Florent? I meant to ask you when we got back, but I forgot.”

Jenny sighs deeply.

“That bad huh?”

She glances around the room.

“She's upstairs with Ricardo,” I say. “He has found some kids' games on the internet. So?”

“Well he's not gay, for one.”

“Ricardo?”

“Florent.”

I laugh. “I was never that convinced that he
was
. That was more
your
theory.”

“Well he
isn't
. He tried it on when you were up at Mum's. God, I have to stop calling it that. In
Camberley.”

“Florent tried it on?”

“Yeah.”

“What do …”

“Don't make me go into details Mark.”

“OK. But you're sure?”

“Yep.”

“Is that why he left early?”

“No. No, he really did have to leave. But I was quite relieved really. Things were a bit sticky by then.”

“Sticky?”

Jenny rolls her eyes. “Not that kind of sticky. Awkward.”

“So did you … you know … at all?”

“No,” Jenny says, frowning.

“OK … why not?”

“Well …”

I shrug. “Well …”

“Well, it's a bit pervy isn't it.”

I pull a face. “Is it? Why?”

“Well it's like … necrophilia. Not necrophilia. But I'm sure it's a something philia.”

“What is? You're not actually dead are you? Oh my God. You're a ghost!”

Jenny rolls her eyes. “You two wouldn't be surprised if I was.”

“Anyway … so … explain the philia business?”

“Well he's a nurse, isn't he?”

“Yeah … and?”

“A cancer nurse. So if he's getting off on women with cancer … that's a bit pervy.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I don't think Florent likes you
because
you have cancer Jenny. I think he just likes you.”

“Mark. Get real,” Jenny says. “I'm ten years older than him, I have no hair left and I've lost so much weight that my tits are sagging like … like something really really saggy.”

“Nice simile,” I say. “I like it.”

“Thanks. But you get my point.”

I nod and shrug at the same time.

“What?” Jenny asks.

“Well. That's just silly, isn't it.”

“Why is it
silly?”

“Well you just have a body image problem. Because you have cancer. That seems logical enough. I mean, it's understandable. But …”

“You think?”

“Well yeah. But that's not what other people see when they look at you. They see someone who is witty and rude and funny and vivacious.”

Jenny grimaces.

“Well, until you pull
that
face they do,” I say.

“Well, I still think it's dodgy,” she says.

“I think you need to work on that. Because if I got a chance for a bit of slap and tickle with angel-face I wouldn't hesitate for an instant.”

“You wouldn't?”

“Well no. Not if I was
single
. And not if I hadn't had a shag since … when
did
you last have a shag?”

“Don't ask,” Jenny says. “I'm not sure I remember. I'm not sure I want to.”

“Was it that stockbroker guy?”

“Mark,” Jenny laughs. “I said don't ask.”

“Well anyway. That's what I think. Go for it. Do him.”

Jenny nods and sighs and then shakes her head.

“What now?” I ask.

“I just still can't believe that you thought I was dead,” she says.

Of course, I wasn't really that shocked that they took me for dead. Most of my reaction was theatre. It quickly struck me as funny, and watching them trying to squirm out of it seemed even funnier. The truth is that we were all waiting for it to happen, because you can't wait for something not-to-happen.

People get confused between wanting and waiting. But to wait for something to happen doesn't mean that you want it – not at all. In fact, waiting for something you
really
don't want is a pretty good definition of
dread
. I had a friend who moved to California many years ago. In the early days, before we forgot to keep bothering, he used to write me these brilliant long letters. And I remember that he said that everyone out there was ‘waiting for the Big One.' The earthquake to end all earthquakes. And I didn't understand then how anyone could be ‘waiting' for something so terrible. But I understood it now.

Even when we weren't waiting for me to die, we were waiting for signposts along the way. We were waiting for the next brain scan after the chemo ended, and then when it came back OK we were waiting for the next one, and the next one. And when those were both OK as well, we switched to waiting for the first scan that
wasn't
OK.

And that process never ends. Because there's always another scan. And eventually, the mind assumes, there
will
be one that isn't OK. Especially in a case like mine. Especially when the therapy has ‘failed.' Twice.

So that's how we lived. Through the hottest January on record and the wettest February and on into the first gorgeous days of spring in March.

Mark continued to fill the lounge wall with his seascapes, and after a while we all admitted that they looked pretty good. He started to freelance again too – our financial situation made it necessary really. He would vanish into the bedroom with his laptop at nine in the morning and only reappear at five. He was incredibly disciplined about it. And then in April Ricardo found work too – two part time jobs, one in an STD clinic and one at the Beach Tavern filling in for the owner's wife who was away on maternity leave. Both jobs were beneath him really, but he never complained, or not to me anyway.

I finally sold Mum's house in June. It went almost the second I put it on the market. One of those instances where you wish you had asked for more. But I was glad, because from that point on, I could pay rent to Susan. I knew it made more sense to buy somewhere else, but I couldn't look that far ahead. None of us dared make any changes because we were all just living in stasis. We were all still waiting for the Big One.

One day at the beginning of August I woke up to the sounds of children screaming on the beach. I looked outside, and it was a glorious summer morning – the beach was already crowded. You could smell in the air how wonderfully hot it was going to be.

I looked out to the sea and saw with surprise, Mark and Ricardo and Sarah. They were laughing and splashing around. They were attempting to teach Sarah to swim. And I suddenly wanted to join them – I suddenly desperately wanted to feel the cold
seawater envelope my own body. I suddenly wanted to join in the fun instead of just looking on.

I put my wig on and sat for ten minutes trying to tuck my own hair – which had slowly been growing back – beneath the edges. And then I realised that I either had to cut my own, greying hair, or give up on the wig.

And that was what did it. That was my moment. Because the wig had been my cancer bravado. And it no longer fitted me.

I threw the wig into the wastepaper bin, but then fished it back out and hung it on the dresser. Perhaps for future use. Perhaps, and this was the first time I had had such a thought, as a souvenir. And I said out loud, “Enough!”

I dug around for my bathing costume and then put it on. I resisted the desire to check in the mirror if it looked OK. I simply put it on and ran downstairs to join them.

Because you just can't live that way. Because we will all pop our clogs at some point but it doesn't stop us from living. Because the fact that life isn't eternal isn't a reason to
stop
living, it's a reason to get on with it while you can.

I told Mark and Ricardo that I wanted them out later that morning. I told them that I wanted them to go and get a life. I told them that I wanted my own life back too.

They protested. We argued.

I promised that I would call them if I needed them and I said I would keep them updated on the scans and blood tests.

And eventually, after a respectable fight, they gave in. I think they were relieved. I think that they too had worried that this stasis would never end. That their lives would go on like this forever.

When they did move, I was relieved that they didn't go too far though. Actually relieved doesn't really cover it.