Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [128]
‘Katherine, I know I’m supposed to be strong and nobody likes to see self-pity, but I have to say something,’ Fintan said.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m afraid of the pain. I’m terrified that I’ll die in terrible pain and that they won’t give me enough morphine.’
‘It’ll never come to that,’ Katherine said weakly. ‘Oh, here’s Sandro back.’
Sandro took one look at Fintan, put down the drinks, snatched up a brochure and quickly began to read, ‘Sans Souci Lido in Jamaica. All-inclusive luxury hotel, with private beach, extensive range of water-sports, reflexology, aromatherapy, Caribbean and European restaurants…’
47
‘Thomas, will you marry me?’
Thomas turned to Tara with shining eyes. ‘Tara,’ his voice was thick with emotion, ‘I hardly know what to say.’
‘Just say yes,’ she said, huskily.
‘In that case, yes! I’d be delighted. Honoured.’
Relief swirled around Tara in great gusts, and Beryl gave her a congratulatory smile as she stacked her Whiskas bowl in the dishwasher. But wait a minute – they didn’t have a dishwasher. And Beryl never smiled at her, she hated her. Just as Thomas exclaimed, ‘I beg your pardon, will I marry you? I thought you asked if I’d like all your money. An easy mistake to make.’ Tara woke up, her heart pounding.
Tara had been having nightmares, often while she was still awake. Centring around proposing to Thomas.
She blamed Fintan. And Katherine ‘Swinging Brick For A Heart’ Casey. But mostly she blamed the people she worked with. Especially Ravi. On Wednesday lunchtime, in the almost-deserted office, he brayed, ‘Cheer up. Care to lick my chocolate-mousse lid?’
‘Thanks.’ Wearily, Tara accepted the round of tinfoil, and licked it half-heartedly, while Ravi tipped his head back and shook the entire carton into his mouth, expertly guiding in any wayward lumps that strayed to his chin.
Next he tore open a honey-roast-ham bloomer sandwich. ‘Fancy smelling the paper?’ he offered deferentially.
Silently, she accepted.
Having made short work of his sandwich, he whipped out a Crunchie and declared, ‘Crunchies! Full of health-giving nutrition!’
Enviously Tara watched, as he scoffed it in two bites.
‘How’s Fintan?’ he mumbled, through a mouthful of honeycomb and milk chocolate.
Tara paused. Good question. How was Fintan? The knobbly swelling on his neck hadn’t reduced one bit. Nor had the nodes on his pancreas, which anyone could feel – not that they wanted to – simply by pressing hard on his left side. Should she mention how upset he’d got when he’d found out that the chemo was going to make him sterile? How the oncologist had implied that because he was gay it didn’t matter?
‘He’s getting out of hospital on Saturday,’ Tara opted for. It sounded positive.
‘So he’s on the mend. Bloody good.’
‘He’s not on the mend!’ Vinnie looked up from his work to glare managerially at Ravi. ‘It’s not like he’s broken his arm or had an ingrowing toenail removed. The chap has cancer, you don’t shake that after a few weeks in hospital. It takes months!’ He rubbed his balding scalp anxiously and returned to his screen.
They continued in quieter tones, their heads close together.
‘The MenChel pressure’s getting to Vinnie,’ Ravi observed. ‘His cock is finally on the block and he can’t handle it.’
‘Don’t mind him,’ Tara said softly. ‘And there’s always a chance Fintan might be on the mend. We just don’t know yet. It could take up to nine months of treatment before we know if it’s worked.’
‘So why is he getting out of hospital?’
‘No real need for him to be there. From now on he’ll have chemo twice a month as an outpatient.’
‘Twice a month?’ Ravi sounded doubtful. ‘That can’t be enough. Jack it up. Double it. That should do the trick.’
Tara had a heavy weight in her stomach.