Paul came up, then promptly disappeared—presumably to the bar across the road for a little hair of the dog.
After a time, the woman next to her drifted off to sleep. Her son, Alice noticed, was about Alice’s age, with a crop of thick, sandy hair and blue eyes made bluer by his thin, periwinkle V-neck sweater. All of this Alice happily registered from her seat, comfortably aware that as a bald, forty-year-old cancer patient, she was hardly going to attract his attention.
But then, he looked up and said, “Oh, hello.” His smile was as earnest as it was lovely. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Alice said. “I think I was staring. You start to lose social graces in here. Like being in an old folks’ home. Or at a kindergarten.”
He laughed.
“Is this your mom’s first session?” she asked.
“My aunt,” he corrected. “And yes. You?”
“Oh, I’m an old hand,” she said with faux pride. “Anything you want to know, ask me.”
“Is that right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So what do I need to know?”
Alice was in a good mood. It had been a while since she’d chatted with anyone socially except Paul. She told the man—Andrew was his name—about the good nurses and the bad nurses, the secret parking spaces across the road (free!), the coffee carts to avoid. Andrew, as it turned out, was a doctor in the hospital—a hand surgeon—so he didn’t need her tips (he had his own parking space) but he was very polite. Alice told him not to mention that he was a doctor when her brother arrived because he would probably try and get him to write out a prescription for morphine for him. Andrew laughed. Alice told him not to laugh, she was serious. He laughed more. He was one of those people who laughed easily. A lovely trait, Alice had always thought.
“If you think that’s funny, get this! He drops me off here, then goes to the pub on the corner and gets loaded. We usually share a cab home!”
Now he looked like he wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh or not. But Alice was laughing so much, he joined in. “Family,” she said. “Who’d have ’em.”
“So what kind of cancer does your aunt have?” she asked when the laughter died down.
“Breast,” he said, after glancing at her quickly and finding her still dozing. “But they caught it early. Her prognosis is good. Yourself?”
“Ovarian. Stage three.”
A cloud passed over his face.
“No, it’s not great,” Alice admitted. “But it could be worse. I could be … trampled by a herd of elephants. Or dragged through a town square by my feet.”
He chuckled.
“Hung, drawn and quartered,” she continued. “Tarred and feathered!”
By the time she was finished he was laughing helplessly and so was Alice. It felt fantastic to laugh with another adult. A normal non-drunk male adult.
She kept talking.
*
After what only seemed like minutes, Iris came over and unhooked her IV bag.
“You’re good to go now, Alice,” she said.
“Already?”
“Can you call Paul and tell him to come up?”
“Paul doesn’t have a phone. But it’s all right. I know where to find him.”
“Well,” Iris said, shaking her head. “I really don’t know what to do. I need to release you to a person.”
This was a first. Alice had never had to be released to a person before. Besides, Iris knew all about Paul. She had an uncle, she’d told Alice last time, who was the same way. At previous sessions she’d been happy for Alice to head on downstairs to find him.
“Perhaps if someone could take you to him?” Iris said, glancing around.
“Can I help at all?” Andrew said.
“Oh, Andrew, would you?” Iris exclaimed. “Alice just needs someone to deliver her to her brother.”
She met Alice’s eye. Oh, Iris. You naughty, naughty thing.
“I’d be happy to,” Andrew said. Which was exactly what Iris was banking on.
Iris waved a little too brightly as they walked away. Alice made a mental note to thank her later. But in the elevator, alongside a couple of nurses and an old lady in a hospital-issue dressing gown, conversation suddenly dried up between Alice and Andrew. A few potential topics crossed Alice’s mind but she couldn’t seem to project any. She, as Zoe would have said, literally choked. (A stupid saying, Alice thought, because if she literally choked, she’d be dead. If they had to specify, why not say figuratively choked?) The elevator stopped on every floor—one person off, one on. Alice became very aware that soon this lovely little encounter would be over.
With one floor to go, they were alone. Alice knew she had to act fast. But to do what? All she knew was that she had enjoyed today. And she didn’t want it to end.
“Andrew?” Alice said, and when he turned to her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, quickly, on the lips. She didn’t know who was more startled—she or Andrew. Mercifully, in the very next moment, the doors opened.
“Thanks for escorting me down,” Alice said, and burst through the doors.
“Wait!” Andrew called.
Reluctantly, Alice turned.
“I … promised Iris I’d hand you over to your brother,” he said.
Alice scanned the foyer. Through the glass she saw the back of Paul’s oval head as he slumped against the wall outside. Always a class act, her brother.
“There he is.” Alice pointed vaguely. “Anyway, nice to meet you. You’d better get back to your aunt.”
He nodded uncertainly. Alice had well and truly bewildered him.
“Sorry,” she said. “About that. I needed to know that I still had it in me.”
He smiled. “You do.”
They looked at each other for a moment. Then finally, he turned and walked away.
Alice watched as he headed back to the elevator. When he turned to face her he was still smiling. And when Alice skipped out of the foyer toward her drunk brother, so was she.
55
Sonja’s gaze had been fixed on the glass door of the diner for ten minutes when Agnes finally walked in. It had been years since she had seen her sister. Apart from a few more gray hairs, she looked the same. Sonja stood to greet her, but Agnes’s gaze continued right past her.
“Agnes!”
“Sonja?” Agnes’s jaw dropped. “I would never have recognized you.”
Sonja had chosen a diner in the neighborhood where they’d grown up, thinking it would be a) convenient for Agnes, and b) a comfort to Sonja. The former might have been true but the latter was not. In fact, Sonja doubted she’d ever felt more out of place.
Agnes crossed the floor slowly and slid into the booth opposite her. There was no hug. No kiss. Not even a handshake. And although Sonja hadn’t expected any of these things, she felt a little disappointed.
“What happened to your face?” Agnes asked, timidly, after a few silent moments.
It took Sonja a moment to realize what she meant. “Oh. Botox.”
“Ah,” Agnes said, pulling at her face as if she could smooth out the wrinkles with her fingers. “I could use some of that stuff.”