And Laura is trying to manage her own things and, OK, using quite pitiful methods in my opinion, but me too, probably me too. I have to rely on semi-strangers calling me up and harrying me with sympathy, or whatever, and remedies of that type. Laura ought to have my sympathy, empathy, decency.
But then I never get too much decency from me, so why should she?
‘Hello.’
And Meg listened to Carole insisting on being given information about Meg’s well-being in the way that concerned people did. This was a demonstration of friendship and should be appreciated. ‘It was fine … I’m sorry that I didn’t call …’ Carole was functional and a woman and about Meg’s age and in an apparently happy relationship — she was therefore someone who felt like several types of threat when you were with her in person. Even though she was nice. She was extremely nice. She was bothering to phone and that was nice.
I apologise to her five or six times in every conversation. Unless it’s a long conversation, in which case it’ll be more: including the apology for taking too much of her time.
‘No … yes … well … but I am sorry, and anyway, and, yeah …’ It wasn’t quite possible to tell the truth yet. It wasn’t quite safe. ‘I didn’t like it but it was fine and they’ll tell me the results in a while — it was ten weeks last time, but it might end up more … and then I’ll know.’
There were days when you would hold on to almost any voice and there were days when you wanted a particular one, because you imagined that would be the best to help you keep a grip.
‘They seemed happy, though. Nobody had a look round in there and screamed and, I don’t know, said they had to cut everything out by this evening. I think visually that it seemed clear, but they’ll check the cells to be certain … They’re always evasive. That’s why you’d pay to go private — because then they’d tell you things. If only to get more of your money. My GP doesn’t speak any more except for Hello and What do you think is the matter? When if I knew that I wouldn’t be there, would I? And then all he does is write down what I think the matter is — so really I get to be the doctor and the doctor gets to be my secretary and where that gets both of us is beyond me … Sure, sure, I want them to be certain …’
I want the National Health Service to be certain and to be my pal, like it was when I was a kid and Dr Miller would come to the house if I was really poorly and he’d take time and he was like an uncle, or a friend.
And the point of talking to a friend is that you tell them what’s on your mind instead of the first rush, the pelt of irrelevant pieces you throw out to keep things at bay.
‘It’s waiting, which I don’t like. It’s that I know I have to wait again and I have been waiting a while with the whole process and the thing today … it was uncomfortable at the time and … you know, I got a bit upset. A bit.’ Hector, aware she was getting rattled, had stood and snuggled over to her and was letting her scratch at the crown of his head. He huffed softly, approving. ‘No, don’t send me a hug.’
Carole was known to offer verbal hugs when no others were available and it was easily foreseen that she would pitch in with the usual if she was phoning after you’d been prodded at, invaded and also threatened — a bit threatened — with cancer, which was to say pre-cancer, which was to say pre-death, which was to say pretty much where we all had to operate every day, but that didn’t imply we’d be happy to be interfered with and then forced to remember different threats.
And nobody did ask, nobody bloody asked, nobody this morning fucking asked at any point why I was so upset. Nobody.
I can’t shake the fact of that.
I wouldn’t have told them, but I’d like them to have tried.
Carole is asking, of course.
Fuck her.
‘It’s … Thanks … Thanks, Carole …’ She was merciless, Carole: she said precisely what would make you cry. Meg didn’t think she really needed more weeping today. ‘It’s … It was only that, you know …’ Carole didn’t know, because Meg hadn’t told her the details. Carole was guessing, but guessing well and Meg could have done without it — the guessing wandered about in her interior, once released, and she didn’t like that. Not today. ‘It’s fine, though. Thanks …’ Meg swallowed and made a bad job of it, just as Laura returned.
Fuck.
I need to swear less.
Fuck.
At some point.
‘I have to go, though, but thanks and I’ll see you tonight, I think. When the other stuff is, or when I’ve, that’s …’ Her sentences came out like broken biscuits, spoiled. ‘You know …’ Meg was tired. ‘Yes. We can talk then.’
Meg hung up and was aware that she might appear dishevelled. She pre-emptively announced, ‘Laura, I’m fine. I’m fine. I was … telling somebody about that greyhound.’ Which sounded a complete lie.
‘Oh, yes.’ Laura leaned in and — pat — shitting, bollocksing, bastarding — pat — did the patting thing. ‘That was so terrible. I was really upset for ages.’
‘Yeah.’
Mustn’t be sour about it. Laura’s never seen me cry before — I’m not completely weeping, I’m only wet-eyed — and I’m under control now, I am. This is the aftermath of my morning and won’t ever happen again. This isn’t unmanageable.
She cares about the animals, which makes her a good person and I should cut her some slack. The caring is something of quality that we can have in common and that I can respect in both of us.
Don’t ask me if I’m OK, please don’t.
She will, though. She’s going to, here it comes.
‘Are you all right now? Is there something I can do? I have some tea with St John’s wort and passion flower.’
Of course you do, naturally you do — you’re as big a nailed-together-badly and faking-it monster as I am. Which means you are a victim of some kind and therefore a member of my club, except that I don’t want to be a member any more and am getting by fairly well with moving on and cultivating therapeutic rage, cleansing rage, rinsing rage, the energy that’s in rage — I like it — and meanwhile you get on with Laura doing whatever the hell works for Laura and let’s go with that — you keep over there with that — let’s go with our survival strategies for this afternoon and being separate but equal.
‘You look tired, Meg. Valerian tea would cure that — you could take a couple of bags for tonight and get a real rest.’
Which is more attention than anyone normal would pay to a woman who treats you curtly at best and can’t honestly be hiding how big a fool she thinks you are.
So that’s sad. Laura isn’t well, or whole, and she is reaching out to me, keeps doing it over and over, and that’s the sort of detail I should take on-board and it’s an ice-breaker, it is.
When breaking the ice is mentioned it’s given a positive meaning. But I find that when the ice breaks I am walking on it and then I drop and I am in bad waters and out of my depth.
That isn’t positive.
‘What’s a wort?’ Shit, that sounded sarcastic. I didn’t even know I was going to ask and now I sound like a bitch.