think. Isn’t it?”
Mum nods so microscopically you can hardly see it.
But cancer is for old people. Dad’s mum died of it two yearsago. Cancer kills you. Ava can’t possibly have it. Maybe it’s just a really bad flu. Or asthma?
“They’re referring us to a pediatric oncologist,” Mum says. “He has a space on Saturday morning. Apparently he sees patients on the weekend, which is good. It’s not always so quick, but there was a cancellation and they didn’t want to waste time …”
She stops as suddenly as she started, and gazes out the window at the tree, as if she’s just noticed it. I stare at Ava’s neck, just as Dad did when he first pointed out the swelling. It’s very obvious when you look. Could it be an actual tumor, like they talk about on Grey’s Anatomy ? I can feel my whole body going cold. I don’t want to worry anybody, but I think I’m going to faint.
Dad squeezes my hand to steady me. “Don’t fret, love. It’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. Won’t you, Ava, my sweets? Won’t she, Mandy, love? What else did the doctor say?”
There’s a coded signal in Dad’s voice that clearly says to Mum that we need some good news, and quick.
Mum snaps out of her reverie and nods.
“He said it’s quite common in teenagers and they know exactly what to do. He said this man at the hospital — Doctor … I’ve forgotten his name. Damn . Doctor …” She wipes a hand over her forehead and gives up trying to remember. “Something. Anyway, he’s highly respected and he’ll explain everything on Saturday.”
“And it will be fine, right?” Dad checks.
Mum smiles a tight smile and says nothing. Clearly the doctor didn’t say it would be fine.
“I’m going to bed,” Ava says, getting up without glancing at any of us. “Wake me later.”
Three gray faces nod. After she goes, nobody speaks. The breeze keeps blowing somehow. It’s the only sound in the room.
Ava’s favorite pictures are stuck to the inside of the closet door.
She’s standing on a beach in Cornwall, wearing a wetsuit and clutching a surfboard. Next to her is a bleach-haired boy with a muscled torso and deep gold tan. This is Jesse, teaching Ava to surf last summer when we went camping near Polzeath. Oh, and falling in love with her, but that’s quite normal. Ava has to deal with boys who fall in love with her all the time. The difference was, this time it was totally mutual. Jesse’s surprisingly sweet for someone so gorgeous. Mum and Dad were convinced their romance wouldn’t survive several months of not seeing each other — apart from one weekend at Christmas when he came up to visit — but it has so far. The photo’s pretty tattered by now, because she regularly takes it down to kiss and stroke it, despite the fact that she has an identical version on her phone, which she also strokes and kisses.
I know .
Ava with her best friend, Louise Randolph, who’s captain of the volleyball team. They’re in matching skinny jeans, lacy camisoles, and smoky eyes, and look as if they’re about to get signed up to a record label. Actually, I think they were going bowling.
A group shot of several girls in short skirts and sweatshirts, clutching field hockey sticks and grinning. Ava’s in the middle, holding the silver cup they won last year at the South LondonSchools Tournament. The team is going on tour to Belgium next term, if they can raise the money.
This is Ava’s life: Jesse, surfing, and volleyball in the summer; her friends, looking good, field hockey in the winter — never mind A-level exams, which she takes next year. I don’t think she’s got time for cancer.
O n Saturday morning, we show up at a building in central London that Dad assures us is not far from the British Museum. Mum gives Dad a stiff look at this point. We don’t care if it’s on top of the British Museum or, frankly, in London Zoo. It’s a hospital. It’s where pediatric oncologists see their new patients. Pediatric
Mum nods so microscopically you can hardly see it.
But cancer is for old people. Dad’s mum died of it two yearsago. Cancer kills you. Ava can’t possibly have it. Maybe it’s just a really bad flu. Or asthma?
“They’re referring us to a pediatric oncologist,” Mum says. “He has a space on Saturday morning. Apparently he sees patients on the weekend, which is good. It’s not always so quick, but there was a cancellation and they didn’t want to waste time …”
She stops as suddenly as she started, and gazes out the window at the tree, as if she’s just noticed it. I stare at Ava’s neck, just as Dad did when he first pointed out the swelling. It’s very obvious when you look. Could it be an actual tumor, like they talk about on Grey’s Anatomy ? I can feel my whole body going cold. I don’t want to worry anybody, but I think I’m going to faint.
Dad squeezes my hand to steady me. “Don’t fret, love. It’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. Won’t you, Ava, my sweets? Won’t she, Mandy, love? What else did the doctor say?”
There’s a coded signal in Dad’s voice that clearly says to Mum that we need some good news, and quick.
Mum snaps out of her reverie and nods.
“He said it’s quite common in teenagers and they know exactly what to do. He said this man at the hospital — Doctor … I’ve forgotten his name. Damn . Doctor …” She wipes a hand over her forehead and gives up trying to remember. “Something. Anyway, he’s highly respected and he’ll explain everything on Saturday.”
“And it will be fine, right?” Dad checks.
Mum smiles a tight smile and says nothing. Clearly the doctor didn’t say it would be fine.
“I’m going to bed,” Ava says, getting up without glancing at any of us. “Wake me later.”
Three gray faces nod. After she goes, nobody speaks. The breeze keeps blowing somehow. It’s the only sound in the room.
Ava’s favorite pictures are stuck to the inside of the closet door.
She’s standing on a beach in Cornwall, wearing a wetsuit and clutching a surfboard. Next to her is a bleach-haired boy with a muscled torso and deep gold tan. This is Jesse, teaching Ava to surf last summer when we went camping near Polzeath. Oh, and falling in love with her, but that’s quite normal. Ava has to deal with boys who fall in love with her all the time. The difference was, this time it was totally mutual. Jesse’s surprisingly sweet for someone so gorgeous. Mum and Dad were convinced their romance wouldn’t survive several months of not seeing each other — apart from one weekend at Christmas when he came up to visit — but it has so far. The photo’s pretty tattered by now, because she regularly takes it down to kiss and stroke it, despite the fact that she has an identical version on her phone, which she also strokes and kisses.
I know .
Ava with her best friend, Louise Randolph, who’s captain of the volleyball team. They’re in matching skinny jeans, lacy camisoles, and smoky eyes, and look as if they’re about to get signed up to a record label. Actually, I think they were going bowling.
A group shot of several girls in short skirts and sweatshirts, clutching field hockey sticks and grinning. Ava’s in the middle, holding the silver cup they won last year at the South LondonSchools Tournament. The team is going on tour to Belgium next term, if they can raise the money.
This is Ava’s life: Jesse, surfing, and volleyball in the summer; her friends, looking good, field hockey in the winter — never mind A-level exams, which she takes next year. I don’t think she’s got time for cancer.
O n Saturday morning, we show up at a building in central London that Dad assures us is not far from the British Museum. Mum gives Dad a stiff look at this point. We don’t care if it’s on top of the British Museum or, frankly, in London Zoo. It’s a hospital. It’s where pediatric oncologists see their new patients. Pediatric
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