Page 38 of The Seaside Supper Club

Cath was trying to read his facial expression, his posture. If anything, he appeared rather dazed. He wasn’t smiling. Oh dear God, please let him be all right.

She stood up instinctively as he neared, focusing on his beautiful hazel eyes, afraid of the words that might come next.

‘Wi-ill.’ His name caught in her throat. It came out sounding like a question.

He pursed his lips before starting to speak, ‘It’s cancer, Cath. I’ve got it. I’ve got prostate cancer. Stage T2.’

‘Oh my God, Will.’ The ‘C’ word snatched her breath away. No, not her gorgeous Will. And oh, dear God, not after everything he and his family had already been through. It seemed too cruel.

She took him into her arms.

As she held him, her mind was buzzing: What did that even mean, T2? And what did this diagnosis mean for him? What next? But she sensed this was not the moment to quiz. The questions, and some answers, would come soon enough. Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds. They hugged in this starkly-lit, white-walled hospital corridor, with other patients sat waiting their turn, a nurse walking purposefully by, clinging on to each other like they were clinging on to hope.

As they finally shifted apart, Will took a long, slow breath. It was evident he was struggling to take this in, trying to work out how to process, to deal with, this shocking news. His voice trembled as he finally spoke, ‘I-I don’t know how I’m going to tell them, Cath. I can’t do this to them … not all over again.’

And she knew exactly who he meant. His girls. They were still reeling from the bomb of their mum’s death, after all. And now this … Cath’s heart felt sore for him, for them. At this moment, life seemed too bloody unfair. How could it be happening again to this grief-stricken family?

‘I know, my love … we’ll find a way,’ she tried to soothe him with her words, but it was as though he’d hardly heard them.

A fucker of a cancer curveball had hurtled in. The impact of this frightening diagnosis was about to crash with wider consequences. Despite her personal fears – and she really didn’t want to allow those thoughts headspace right now – she needed to step up and be strong for Will, for his family. As of today, there was a whole new future to face.

First, they needed to head back, to get Will home. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the car.’

Cath was glad she’d been the one driving, as Will seemed in shock. He was almost too quiet as they took the lift down; Will clutching a couple of leaflets, she noticed, one of them from Prostate Cancer UK, another Macmillan Cancer Support. It was all so hard to take in.

They’d talk later, process this more, when Will was ready. When the initial thoughts and fears had had time to settle. Dammit, she wished she’d gone in with him now, but he’d insisted on facing the consultant and his diagnosis alone. They were at such an early stage in their relationship, they weren’t married, weren’t even living together, and she hadn’t forced the issue. But this was the kind of news you needed someone by your side for. Well, she was here now.

Cool fresh air hit them at the atrium glass door exit. Will paused.

‘You feeling okay?’ she asked.

‘Bit sick, sort of giddy … I’ll be all right to get to the car.’

She was feeling that, too. A bit spaced out. Like she was here, but also that she was watching it all unfurl like a movie … a nightmare.

‘I can’t stop thinking about the kids.’

‘Oh, Will.’ She held his hand as they weaved through a trail of slow traffic, that seemed to be kerb crawling but were actually hunting free spaces, into the row of parked cars where Cath remembered hers was. It was a relief to reach the Mini, and sit down. It felt familiar, safe.

Taking a slow breath, and deciding that she was okay to drive, she announced, ‘Let’s go.’

Will merely nodded, and off they set. Words failed them for a while. There was enough going on in their heads with trying to absorb this news, that chitchat seemed both irrelevant and irreverent. Cath focused on the drive, navigating the busy Newcastle City bypass, aware she was still reeling.

Fifty minutes later, driving over the brow of the hill, with the country landscape rolling like a patchwork of fields before them, and the Cheviot Hills in the distance, they could see Tilldale nestled in the valley. It felt a relief to be home.

Back in the village, they parked roadside and headed into Will’s semi-detached house. Into this home, that had already witnessed so much pain and grief.

Cancer, it was real. Will had cancer. Cath felt haunted by the thought. He seemed so healthy, so vital. He’d only had the mildest of symptoms, and there she was, thinking he’d had a virus or was overdoing the cycling.

As they took off shoes in the hallway, unsure what to do next, Cath offered, ‘Umm, shall I make us some coffee?’ You had this seismic news, and then you didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

‘Yeah, please.’

In the kitchen, the everyday task helped shift her focus for a short while. She’d make it strong; they certainly needed that. Froth up some milk. She’d been there enough to know how to work his fancy coffee machine. A rhythmic hum filled the kitchen, as it filtered through, along with the whizzing sound of the milk spinner.

She took the two filled cups, and found Will sitting on the sofa in the living room, head in hands. He looked up, rubbed the salt-and-pepper hair at his temples, and reached for his coffee, muttering, ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome. Better than the hospital stuff.’ The hospital … and why they’d been there swamped their minds. They’d persevered in the waiting area, with a thin plastic cup of instant coffee from a corridor vending machine. It had been pretty tasteless. The only thing comforting about it had been the warmth.