Page 29 of The App Trap
Mum had come around to drop some of my stuff off.
“I brought a load of your old board games if you want ‘em. If you don't, then tough, they’re clogging up my house.”
“I’ll take ‘em. Nothing better than a game of Buckaroo with the horse missing. How’s everything with the um…?”
“It's all right, you can say it, you know. Now don't flip out, but I’ve got to go for some radiotherapy in a week or so. The tumour’s not responding that well to the chemo, so I guess they need to try something else. We’ll get there, though, so don't worry. Do you like my headscarf? People at the hospital have been asking me about them, you know.”
“Yeah, I bet. It looks great, Mum,” I said, processingwhat she had just told me and trying to scrunch my brow to make a dam behind my eyes to block the tears I was holding back.
Despite being told not to worry, Iwasworried. More so, because I knew Mum better than anyone and sensed I wasn't getting the whole story. She did her weird NLP elbow-touching thing again, which always made me suspicious.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mum.
“Nothing. Do you want a green tea?” I offered.
“No chance. I’m avoiding that crap as much as possible. It's like drinking stinging nettles. I don't care how good they say it is for you, it's disgusting. Anyway, I'd better get a wiggle on. That new lad I’ve hired has opened up the shop and I still don't trust him to put all of the good stuff out the front. He’s a bit ditzy.”
“Yeah, and you don't want to miss the Dutchman, do you? Doesn't he come today?” I asked knowingly.
She leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. “Piss off, sweetheart. Ciao for now.”
She flicked a bonus kiss at me from her fingertips on the way out.
As she left, I dealt with an early morning message alert that I felt go off in my pocket. Anything before 9am was more than likely something to do with a dating app. I fumbled for my phone erratically and almost dropped it on the kitchen floor.
I was interrupted by Finn bumbling through the hall like Mr. Bean on magic mushrooms, focused on acquiring himself a handful of dry honey-nut Cheerios.
“Hey man,” I said.
“I’m late, I’m late. Shit!” snarled Finn. He pulled his coat on, and after the fourth attempt, managed to put it onthe right way round. He made a bolt for the door, leaving a trail of tiny wheat rings behind him, that formed a kind of mini army assault course. Cute.
“Wait,” I barked at him.
He froze, then turned around slowly.
“What?” he snapped, tapping his watch.
“I just had a chat with Mum.”
He put his fistful of Cheerios down on the table by the door. I decided to skirt over that strange choice of placement for now.
“What is it? They haven’t given her a time limit, have they? Please don’t… fuck.”
“No, no. But she did say that the tumours weren’t responding to the treatment at the moment.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“She didn’t really say, just that they’re gonna have to try something else. Then she started banging on about headscarves.”
“Fuck man. What are we gonna do?”
Finn’s shoulders flopped forward.
“There’s nothing we can do, we’re not doctors, are we? That’s the worst thing about all of this,” I said.
Finn huffed his cheeks out.
“I’ll give her a call on the way to work, get her to have another word with that nutritionist mate of Dad’s.”
