Chapter Nineteen - Sophie
I pick up the phone with trembling hands.
“Just call her,” I tell myself sternly.
I ignore the pounding in my head, telling myself that I can have my medication after I’ve called her.
That seems a fair deal.
I punch in the numbers, and listen as the phone rings.
“Hello?” a distant, tinny voice asks from the other end.
My heart speeds up, just about recognising the voice. My mam’s voice.
“Mammy?” I whisper.
“Sophie?” she replies, sounding…annoyed?
No way.
“Mam!”
She draws in a breath sharply. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because – ”
“Didn’t your father tell you? I don’t want to see you.”
I don’t think I can remember how to breathe.
Wait.
How does it go again?
In, out?
Right?
In, out.
“Wh-what?” I mumble, still focusing on how to breathe.
“I don’t want to see you, Sophie. How much clearer can I make it?”
I feel my eyes tear up at the corners, and my throat starts to sting. “But…why?”
“Because I have a new family, Sophie, and I just want to forget the past. Being with your father, and everything that happened in that time, was a huge mistake. I’ve gotten over it, and so should you.”
“Mam, how can I get over it? You. Are. My. Mother. And right now, you’re being a bitch.”
Mam gasps. “How dare you call me that! I’m your mother!”
“You just said you were over me,” I snap. “So I can call you whatever the hell I want! Funny, isn’t it? The truth kinda hurts, eh?”
I can only imagine the look of fury that has surely settled on Mam’s face, but I’m hurting too right now. My face is set in a firm scowl, and I’m gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles are turning white.
“Sophie, enough. You’re behaving like a spoilt child.”
I laugh mirthlessly. “I’m behaving like a spoilt child, am I? Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Wanting to see my mam after so long is too much to ask, right? It’s not allowed, is it? Does it cost too much?”
Mam growls. “Shut up, Sophie. Grow some balls. You’ve probably already replaced me with that skank your father hooked up with – ”
“Don’t call Trish a skank!” I scream. “She’s been here for me the past nine years, which is more than I can say for you! You were supposed to hold my hand when they said I had cancer, not Trish! But Trish did it instead! Because you weren’t there! You know what else she did? She looked after me. She went to my parent meetings. She took me to the cinema. She made me hot chocolate. She got me birthday and Christmas presents. She hugged me. She asked what was wrong when I looked sad. You haven’t done that once in nine years, so can you blame me if I replaced you with her? No!”
There is a strained silence on the other end of the line. I’m just about to slam the phone down when Mam says something.
“What did you say?”
“What?” I’m a little confused. “I said can you blame me if – ”
“No, not that bit. The bit about cancer.”
“Oh.” I grow quiet.
“Sophie?”
“Um, well, I, um, didn’t Dad tell you?”
“No. Now what was that about cancer?”
The words are unbelievably hard to form. They’re taking too long to come.
“I’ve…I’ve got it,” I spit out.
“You’ve got cancer?”
“Yeah.”
I hear a sharp intake of breath. “How long for?”
“I’m not sure, I found out about a week ago. We were supposed to be doing chemotherapy like, yesterday, but they found someone who was willing to donate bone marrow.”
“Oh.” She only says one word, but it sounds so sad, so full of pain, that my heart breaks just hearing it.
“Mam?”
“I’ve got to go,” she says coldly, her voice suddenly devoid of emotion.
“Huh?”
Beep.
Why did she hang up?
Why?
I’m her daughter.
I’ve got cancer.
Why did she hang up?
I consider calling her back, but I’m better than her. I don’t need her. Who really cares, anyway? She’d’ve only given me pity, and I don’t want pity so it’s better this way.
I stumble away from the phone to the cupboard under the stairs, looking for my medication. The box of tablets is in the cabinet in the cupboard.
I pop out two tablets, and take them with me to the kitchen, where I fill a glass with ice cold water.
I swallow the tablets, and my head immediately feels better.
It’s funny how I hardly noticed how much it hurt while I was talking to Mam. I got distracted, I guess.
I hate her.
I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate ha
“Sophie?”
te her.
“Yes?”
“Where are you?”
“Kitchen.”
Dad appears in the doorway, holding a brown parcel. I look at it questioningly.
“This is for you,” he says, handing it to me.
I open it slowly, and tip its’ contents into my hand. A pearl necklace falls out.
“What’s it for, Dad?” I ask, admiringly.
Each pearl is small and beautiful and unique. I put the necklace on, and repeat my question.
“Huh? Oh, I just saw it and thought you might like it.” He smiles.
“I do.”
I go to the bathroom and examine myself in the mirror.
I look a mess. My hair is knotty, my eyes have bags, I’m wearing a baggy second hand jumper several sizes too big, and jogging bottoms that look ridiculous on me.
But despite that, I feel pretty.
This necklace makes me feel special.
It’s a sign that Dad loves me.
I sigh at my reflection, making an abrupt decision to tell Damon.
*
Can I talk 2 u pls? urgently. Not over the phone. Sophie xx
sure wat’s up? damon
here’s my home ad. Number 8 cranberry rd. pls come quick. Sophie xx
sure I’ll b there asap :)
thanx. Sophie xx
*
The doorbell rings, startling me.
I race down the stairs, beating Dad, Trish, Jake and Carla to the door.
“Who is it, Soph?” Trish yells.
“My friend,” I reply.
Carla stands by me as I open the door to reveal Damon.
Her mouth drops open and she gapes at him. He looks uncomfortable.
“Carla,” I hiss. “It’s rude to stare.”
She turns her big brown eyes to me, and then back to Damon, reaching out to his face. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice full of concern.
I watch Damon anxiously.
Please don’t let him be offended!
His expression turns to one of amusement. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he says.
“Are you sure? Do you need a plaster?”
He shakes his head.
“Carly, go paint a picture for Damon, okay?” I say, before Carla says something rude without meaning to.
“Sure,” she replies, walking down the corridor backwards. “Do you like dragons?”
He nods.
She turns around and gallops into the kitchen, over Damon’s face already.
“Um, was that rude?” I ask him tentatively.
“Nope.”
I lead him up to my room and sit down on the bed. He pulls the chair out from under my desk and sits on it, looking at me expectantly.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“Yeah?”
“You know that day we met at the hospital?”
“Yeah.”
“You know why I was there?”
“Your sister broke her arm or something, right? Speaking of, how is she?”
“Well, I kind of lied.”
Something flashes in Damon’s eyes. Anger, maybe? “How can you lie about someone being hurt?” he demands. “Who does that? It’s serious! You can’t make up shit about it!”
I bite my lip. “I only said it because…the truth is, I was there because I’m terminally ill, and I didn’t want you to know, because you’d feel sorry for me and I hate pity and I’m sorry for lying but please please please forgive me because I only did it because I was scared!”
Damon stares at me, his face pale. “What?”
“I’ve got cancer.”