‘Liz…’
‘Grace?’
We are standing over a Komodo dragon that doesn’t even flinch. He just stares into space wondering the purpose of his existence. I hope what I say next will add some excitement to his day.
‘Tell Carrie about what’s happening with Ross. She’s your friend. Do the right thing by your friend…’
The colour in her face drops immediately, almost in the style of a chameleon. I think the Komodo dragon is smiling.
‘You saw us that night, on the docks.’
‘The night you took a photo of me and my friend and told everyone I was pansexual.’
Panic consumes her eyes. ‘That was all Ross. It doesn’t mean anything with him. Are you going to tell people?’
‘No. Because it shouldn’t come from me. I’m just seeing it from Carrie’s angle,’ I explain. ‘The longer your affair goes on for, the more hurt, the more grief she will feel. No one deserves that.’
No one. I pout my lips and decide at that moment to make a semi-grand exit into the shadows, backing into a bench. Classily done, Callaghan. Liz stands there, confused, and watches me as I scuttle away. Was that the right thing to do? Who knows? My mum would have told Carrie. Meg and Lucy would have raised merry hell. But Tom would be proud, I think. You’ve said something. You’ve tried to make that better. As I exit and break out into the sunshine again, I flinch and see Doug standing there by some giant boulders with a confused toddler and two giant cardboard cups.
‘Latte, two sugars.’
I exhale loudly, grabbing the cup from him.
‘Did you slot them and feed them both to the boa constrictors?’ he asks.
‘Of course. I’m a fricking ninja, me.’
He grins at me widely. ‘Those girls get it all from you. Trust me.’
I don’t know how to begin to reply to that but I take my cup and tap it against his.
‘Now macaques. Joe and I checked the map, they have those here. Let’s go and make up some facts about monkeys.’
A squeal comes from the stroller. I hope that’s excitement.
‘Lead the way.’
19
‘Your balls can get cancer?’
‘Well, yes. The biopsy from the lump in your right testicle is cancerous, I’m afraid. But in your case, I’d like to do more tests. The pain you have in your back and abdomen worries me so we just need to do these scans for our peace of mind.’
‘But I’m not even thirty. And you’re talking of removing one of my balls… like, do you just lop it off?’
‘Not exactly. But you will still have full function of the other. Are you Mrs Kennedy?’
‘I am.’
‘Well then, I’m glad you’re here. Tom will need plenty of support.’
‘Are you sure it’s cancer? Maybe it’s just a cyst? Maybe I am growing a third testicle and I am a marvel of medical science.’
‘Is he always like this?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I apologise in advance.’
It’s today. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, a towel wrapped around me, hair dripping onto my naked skin, the picture I keep by my bedside in the corner of my eye. It’s our wedding photo. I kept that dress despite the stain on the arm and the fact I’ll probably never wear it again. I could don that today. With a big shroud over my head? I don’t know how casual to keep this. Joyce sent a picture of her outfit for today. It’s bright and floral and I know Tom would have seen it and told his mum she looked radiant but, as an aside, he would have told me we could see that print from space. Next to me is my Huggly. Could I wear that? Maybe over my wedding dress? This was all a terrible idea.
