Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale Read Online Free PDF Page A

don’t involve changing tyres? Not that I’m
thinking about that . Because I’m not
nervous. My hands are shaking because I’m flustered, that’s all.
    “Yes, I
did.” My reply is somewhat terse and I can tell she’s annoyed by it. I pick up
the wrench — that’s what it’s called. I try to calm myself but my hands
are gripping the metal so tightly my knuckles are going white and I can’t fit
it onto the nuts, let alone loosen them. Probably because I’m using the wrong
end.
    And at that
moment, when I feel like I might be going to have a crying fit over a tyre,
Harris Farmer’s dad, Hugh, appears around the side of the car, a saviour in a
Volvo and an Armani suit. He rests a large hand on the bonnet and gives me that
friendly Farmer grin. All straight teeth and soft lips.
    “Need a
hand, Soph?”
    I feel the
tension leaving my body. It’s funny how certain people have that ability.
    “Please. The
nuts are super tight.”
    Hugh looks
over to where Miss Butterworth is drumming her fingers impatiently on the other
side of the car.
    “How about
you direct the traffic around us, Marg? I’m sure we can get Ms. Molloy out of
your hair quite quickly if you do.” He slips his suit jacket off and hands it
to Miss Butterworth who takes it in bemusement. His look says he won’t take no
for an answer.
    Miss
Butterworth steps into the fray and takes up the role of traffic warden.
    “You’re a
lifesaver,” I whisper to Hugh, who’s undone the nuts at the speed of light and
is now putting on the spare tyre. I bet he has a Superman outfit under that
suit.
    “Anything
for a damsel in distress.”
    His grin
makes me blush and for a second I forget about the thing that I’m not thinking
about.
    “Did you get
your chocolates sold?” he enquires casually. “Harris and I had to go up and
down the street. Nothing like begging with the neighbours to lower your opinion
of yourself.”
    The boys’
school is having a chocolate fundraiser and Rory’s class, in particular, has been
very competitive. It seems every family wants the title of ‘Highest Sales’ and
the prize that goes with it.
    “I didn’t
sell any.”
    He looks at
me.
    “I ate the
lot. Three cartons full. Rory’s going back for another today if they have any
spares.”
    Hugh Farmer
laughs so hard, he almost drops the wrench. “Three cartons? That’s seventy-two
bars of chocolate? It’s a wonder you don’t look like the side of a house.”
    I’m positive
I see his eyes cast a meaningful glance at my legs, hidden only by thin,
expensive pantyhose.
    “Chocolate
is a food group in our house. Besides, it’s good for you. It releases
endorphins. And I didn’t eat the lot. Rory had a few. And he sent two in the
mail to his Grandmam.”
    “Hmm. That’s
still sixty or so bars.”
    I am fully
aware that I have taken the term ‘comfort eating’ to a whole new level this
past week but I’m not about to tell him that.
    Hugh sits
back on his haunches. “All done. Don’t suppose you’ve got a rag so I can wipe
my hands?”
    I rush to the back of the car and hand him one of Brendan’s gym shirts.
Brendan won’t care. I’m sure he’s forgotten it’s even there. “Thanks so much. You’re
a lifesaver,” I repeat.
    “All in a day’s
work.”
    Hugh hands
the shirt back to me and I roll it in a ball and toss it in the car. I pick up
the bits and pieces from beside the car and stow them in the back, too. “Thanks
again,” I say, waving as he gets into his car behind me.
    “My
pleasure, Sophie. You have a nice day.”
    And that’s
when it hits me. I might have had my last nice day for a while.
    *****

 
    The traffic
is steady and somehow I manage to catch every green light — a small
miracle in itself — so I reach the shop about ten minutes later. I know
they say you shouldn’t play where you work but seriously, the traffic in Perth
is so ridiculous, I actually give thanks that our house, Rory’s school and the
shop are within a few minutes