Page 43 of Oyster

“Putain, Nico, of course I’d have wanted to be aware.”

“You say that, but you’re… you have a lot on. I didn’t want to be another…” I searched for the right word. “Pressure maybe?”

“Pressure?” She made a scoffing sound. “Have you seen my life? I’m a fucking spoiled footballer who’s never done a proper day’s work ever! A diva! I don’t know what pressure is! Étienne Salvador only has to imagine a cheese sandwich, and someone has cut one into perfect triangles and placed it in his hand.”

“Yeah, but… “

“No buts! What were you going to do when she… she deteriorates further? Say, um… sorry, Éti, can’t make it this weekend, I’ve got to stay at home and wash my hair?”

When she put it like that, I felt foolish. Iwasfoolish. “I know, I should have told you.”

At least Éti didn’t say she was sorry.Sorryhad begun to grate, no matter the underlying excellent intentions of the person saying it. I never knew how to respond.It’s not your fault,orit’s okay; you didn’t give her the cancernever seemed appropriate.

“How long has she got?”

Searingly honest, as usual. Éti lay down alongside me, head propped on an elbow. Making a pillow of my arms, I stared up at the ceiling. The familiar band of pain in my chest returned; as if she knew it must be there, Éti shifted to rest her head on it.

“Not long enough.” I weaved my fingers through the silky ends of her hair. “Days, weeks if she’s lucky. Or unlucky. It’s spread and hurts. Her belly swelled up this week—she had some fluid drained off. Her liver is failing. She’s not eating and she’s sleeping on a bed in the sitting room because she can’t climb upstairs anymore.”

“Was the cancer discovered too late to do anything about it?”

I let out a long exhale. “Sort of. Mostly, it’s a very aggressive version. The gene runs in the family. She’s had check-up screening every year for as long as I can remember. We always knew when the time for the mammogram swung around as she’d start being tetchy, you know? Losing her rag over nothing, when normally she is pretty even-tempered. And then afterwards, once the letter arrived giving her the all-clear, she and my dad would act silly around each other.”

“They were having great sex, probably.”

I made a face. “Probably.”

“Anyhow. Last year, we knew we had bad news without even opening it. Because the envelope was so thick. Too thick for the usual sheet of paper sayingno problem, see you next year. And although it said,don’t worry, most women recalled for furthertests don’t go on to have anything wrong, we knew. We just all fucking knew.”

Unloading felt good. Éti remained silent. Preferable to meaningless platitudes. She knew everything now. I wouldn’t say a weight was eased because my mum was still dying of cancer, and no amount of sharing would lighten that burden. But, nonetheless, I felt relieved. Florian had asked who was caring for me, and now I had someone who would. Even if this bed and Éti’s arms were no longer a refuge.

“Is there anything I can do? Financially, I mean. To… um… make things more comfortable?”

I managed a weak smile. “No. But thank you. She’s getting great care. The specialist nurse comes to the house twice a week. The hospital is excellent, too.”

“If you think of something, then you only need to ask.”

I knew that, but the room temperature had inexplicably increased by a few degrees. I focused on the blurry ceiling, or tried to, until the stinging in my eyes receded. And a little voice in my head pointed out that, actually, I hadn’t told her everything.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, not turning to meet her gaze.Terrifiedwas more accurate. “Not just about her… dying. But of when… when she’s gone and what happens then.”

“What do you mean? That you won’t be able to cope?”

“That, as a family, we’ll implode. We’re all living under the same roof, but we’re like a bunch of strangers. We’re ordinary people, Éti. An ordinary, busy family. We don’t discuss feelings or any touchy-feely stuff with each other. We just get up and go to work or school or the pub or whatever. And that used to be fine because we didn’t need to. Or, if we did, then my mum was always there for a hug and some practical advice, and my dad would nod and agree with her. And now, we don’t know how to behave. We don’t know how to talk to each other.”

I lifted my shoulder in wordless half shrug. Demonstrating my point to a tee. “But we’ll get through,” I added.

“Hey, don’t be like that.” Éti’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “We’re a team now. Share this with me. Tell me more about them. Tell me everything bothering you.”

I took a cleansing breath. Putain, where did I start? With Zoë, feeling powerless to support her, knowing me and Max and my dad could never fill the chasm my mum’s death would leave behind? About her own inherited cancer worries, which we’d have to address at some point?

Or Max, red-eyed and too thin, skulking around the house like a wraith? What was he thinking during his extended silences? Was he depressed? More than depressed? Suicidal?

Then there was my dad’s dizzying descent into alcoholism. How long would it take for him to pull himself together after she’d gone? What if he never did? Could I run the business without him?

“Max and Zoë, they need me. My dad needs me. He’s burying his head in the sand—or in a beer glass, anyhow.” I blinked a few times, swallowing down the lump of sawdust lodged in my throat. “My mum and dad have been together since they were fourteen. He’s falling apart, barely functioning. He doesn’t know a life without her.”

“So, he’s leaving everything up to you.”

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