CHAPTER 46
Carol, naturally, had prepared a solid and spicy meal for us all, and I settled down at the table with a sigh of anticipation. One drawback of bike rallies is the food, as it is almost always of the kind best suited for drunks: greasy, salty and usually in a bun. What Carol offered was heavily influenced by Indian cuisine, but there was always a surprising twist courtesy of Peter’s expert foraging. Nettle soup was a regular starter, and I experienced all sorts of seasonal surprises from them, such as different sorts of mushroom, or what he called the ‘cheese’ from thistle heads mixed into salads made up of leaves from a huge variety of plants.

It certainly made a change from an endless diet of cheeseburgers, and inspired my own experiments in the achingly empty house next door. After the meal, we settled down with a mug of tea each as Carol demanded all the gossip I could deliver.

“Any word from that doctor, love? The one in London?”

“Don’t know, do I? I’ll check the post later. There’s a pile of it on the mat. Mostly bills, I expect”

“They can wait, then. You’ve caught the sun, you know”

I laughed, remembering the dunes.

“Place we stay, Mam and Dad and me, a friend’s farm, up in Northumberland. Right next to the sea, it is, beautiful, beautiful beach, with some little dunes behind it. I lie there, out of the wind. Take a book and my personal stereo thingy. It’s really peaceful”

The memory savaged me, Mam rubbing cream into my back to stop the sun burning me, and Peter clearly noticed.

“What’s up, love? Your face clenched”

“Oh, it was just a memory, aye? Mam rubbing cream on my back, there in the dunes”

An eyebrow lifted, and he flashed a look at his wife. He was ever the sharper of the two, the quicker to pick up on hints, no matter how small.

“What’s up with them, love?”

I forced back the tears, as he took my free hand, the one that wasn’t clutching my mug.

“I don’t know, Peter. Could be nothing. Could be…”

Carol’s own expression was matching my own, I suspected.

“Ken or Lorraine?”

I shook my head, almost as if it would drive away the worry if I denied it was ever there.

“It’s Mam. Can’t really explain it”

I talked them through the night with the band, her loss of her dancing, the confusion, and watched Carol’s face change.

“She been getting headaches at all, love? Balance issues? Dizziness?”

“Don’t know, do I? Ever since I went on the wagons, it’s been a long while between contact. Keeping up, that sort of thing, it isn’t easy like this. Sometimes…”

I looked directly at the two of them, doing my best to shrug, smile, look happier with my lot than I would ever feel.

“I know why Dad sorted out the training for me, the job and that. He’s always got his eye on the future. I just wish things could go back to the way they were. Now, Mam’s unhappy, and I don’t know why”

Carol was looking more than a little stressed, and I realised she was aching to say her piece.

“You have an idea, Carol? About Mam?”

She nodded.

“I’m not a doctor, love, but I’ve been nursing long enough. It could be nothing. Could be some sort of mental thing; over-tiredness would fit. But…”

She drew in a long breath.

“It could be physical, and there are two things that could match what she’s saying. The first is a stroke, just a little one. Blood vessels in the brain go a bit wonky. There’s things that can be done for that”

I had to ask.

“And the other thing?”

Yet again, a grimace.

“A tumour, love. It’s one way they sometimes show themselves. A mini stroke might cut away one thing, depending on where it hits. Tumours, well, they can do all sorts of odd stuff. Not saying that’s what it is, not at all, but she needs a look at”

“Surely Mam would know that? I mean, she’s a nurse, was one, anyway!”

“Ah, too close to it, always the case when it’s yourself. You either imagine all sorts of nasties or you never realise you’re as ill as the people you treat. Hazard of being a medic. When are you next seeing them?”

“I’ll be off down to Wales for the Fumble in a few weeks. Wasn’t sure if I could, but sometimes life doesn’t give you choices”

“You really are growing up, love. Carl and Rosie be there?”

I just nodded, and she took my hand.

“For your Mum, love. Get her to see a doctor. Get herself checked out. It doesn’t have to be as nasty as you think. Not all growths are malignant; things can be done to work round stroke damage. And it might just be hormone balance, fatigue, The Change, all sorts”

“The Change?”

“Menopause, love. Tell me: how did you feel when your doctor moved you off the stuff Loz was giving you? Before the prescription kicked in?”

“Oh, hell: like shit! Hot flushes, night sweats, all sorts of crap, till it settled down again”

“That, love, is what menopause can be like. If that’s all it is, doc can give her some replacement stuff, and she gets back to normal. But she needs to get it sorted as soon as possible”

I made the promise she asked, and sent a letter off to them at Nigel’s place. I almost forgot to write it, in my selfishness, because only three days after our chat, I had another letter, this time from London. They had a slot for me in November, which left me giggling at the idea of a slot to get a slot, and that led to tears and far too much wine. It was a good job the next day was a Sunday, because I was fit for nothing that day, and certainly unsafe to drive. I prepared another letter, this time to Mr Knight, just to check that I really had enough money to cover Mr Simmonds’ services in Harley Street. I posted that one as I walked to the bus stop for a ride into the town centre, where I wasted a couple of hours clearing my head as I walked around a couple of van dealer’s forecourts pricing vans.

The Commer held so many wonderful associations, but it was really showing its age now, and despite arguments from Dad, I owed them, and what was mine was and always would be ours. I found a little café offering Sunday dinner, so I had a pretty ordinary plate of roast pork and trimmings before heading home, feeling so out of sorts, so alone.

I had a reply from Knight six days later, and immediately wrote to Harley Street to confirm my place. That added to my sense of isolation, for I was now running to someone else’s timetable. I saw Doctor Nugent for the check-up required by Mr Simmonds, being punctured and drained yet again, and she grimaced as she read the letter again.

“Going to be a rough ride for a while, Debbie. You need to go cold turkey on the oestrogen until after he operates, and I know you found that unpleasant the last time. No option on this one, as I am told it is a thrombosis risk. Blood clots”

She caught my expression, smiling at me once more.

“No, woman! A risk of clotting WITH the little pills. Once the surgery’s done, you’ll be back on them, as you will need them for your future health. Rest of your life, in fact. Now, I am done, and Maureen is insisting you sit and chat for a few minutes so she can catch up on stuff. She’s got the kettle on ready. You made a big impression on her, you know”

That brought my own smile at last.

“I thought she was going to have me arrested!”

“She does have a reputation, and she does her best to maintain it. Anyway, I have someone else to see, as always, so you keep looking after yourself, Miss Debbie Wells. Call us when you are back from surgery, and we’ll cover the scrip you’ll need”

Someone else’s timetable indeed. So much to squeeze into so few weeks, including a driving test for the next stage of my HGV licence, but at least Christmas would be at home--- I could hardly be off driving wagons and loading pallets after surgery; in fact, simply getting in and out of a lorry’s cab would be impossible. Mr Mossman had already promised to keep me on, and my spirits lifted a little more as that web of friendships and mutual obligations grew ever more evident.

So, once again, a train down to Cardiff, this time carrying my own, brand-new helmet. Gandalf himself awaiting me, on his Triton, which took us through the city traffic in short time and left me crouching away from fence posts on left-handers, as my old friend threw the bike about even more enthusiastically than Dad had.

Rosie awaiting me, Carl beside her, my emotions churning. Sam, wearing a prospect’s colours for the Culhwch.

And Mam and Dad, and an end to being alone, just for a while.