Page 61 of While I’m Still Here

Silence… Then I realise what I've done. I slowly turn my head. Colin is trying very, very hard not to smile. “You say one fucking word, and I'm getting out of this car.”

“We're doing forty miles an hour.”

“I have cancer. Don't test me.”

He laughs, and despite myself, I do too.

Chapter 10

Thursday, 8 p.m.

Current status:

Cancer support groups attended: 1.

Cancer support groups enjoyed: 0.

Pink objects encountered: Approximately 4,700.

Men with breast cancer met: 1.

Times I assumed said man was someone's husband: 1.

Times I subsequently wanted the floor to swallow me: Several.

Things learned: Men have breast tissue. Men can get breast cancer. I am apparently the last person to know anything.

Times I put my foot in my mouth while discovering this: Several.

Attractive cancer survivors encountered: Also 1.

Support groups, I intend to attend next Thursday: 0.

...

Shut up.

Chapter 11

FOUR HUNDRED MEN

Marcus Bennett

Bea comes back.

I notice her the moment the door opens, although I tell myself that’s only because I’m facing it. There is nothing particularly significant about the fact that I recognise the top of her head before she’s even properly stepped into the room, or that I find myself lowering my coffee while I watch her stop dead in the doorway and stare at the vase of pink flowers on the table as if they’ve been specifically to piss her off.

Last week, Bea spent most of the session looking like a hostage. She complained about the ribbons, refused a cupcake because she said putting pink icing on food in a breast cancer support group was “psychological warfare,” and announced on her way out that she had fulfilled her contractual obligation and would never be returning.

I believed her.

Apparently, I underestimated either her curiosity or her willingness to suffer.

“No,” she says from the doorway.

Janet, who is rearranging the cups beside the kettle, glances over. “What?”

Bea points accusingly towards the flowers. “Those weren't here last week.”