The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 29

I’ve had twenty showers in the last twenty-four hours, and despite all my delusions and hopes and wishes that it wasn’t so, the lump is still there.

When I’m not crippled with worry and fear, I have been ignoring it, just like I have been ignoring everyone and everything else ahead of this weekend’s cake. Any spare time I have is spent prepping the textured decorations that will layer on top, creating waves that resemble a soft, white, dreamy duvet. Making decorations normally centres me, but not today. I’ve even proactively postponed my Thursday-night plans with Noah, delaying it till Sunday, giving me a few more days to decide what to tell him, if anything. I used the cake as a scapegoat, a scakegoat if you will, but really it’s just that I can’t face seeing anyone.

Besides, it’s only a stretch of the truth. At five tiers tall, it’s taken almost all day to ganache each tier ahead of icing tomorrow and decorating on Friday.

Ganaching is always my least favourite part of the cake making process. Chocolate might be wonderful to eat, but it is a pain in the arse to clean up after. And no matter how neat I am, I always find that chocolate mysteriously turns up somewhere I never expected.

Today’s ganache splash was on my wall clock. I would have been impressed if my emotions were more in line with the present, but they are currently thinking about the future. A future highly influenced by the past.

Just as I get the last of the ganache off the clock, there is a knock at my door.

For more than a second I contemplate not opening it.

The knock comes again, quite aggressively.

‘Paige, open the door. I know you’re in there.’ It’s Sara. ‘Knocking is just a courtesy. I have your spare key, so I’m coming in whether you like it or not.’ I hear rustling as I near the door.

‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ I open the door and try to smile. I try to act normal. Whatever that means. If I ignore the problem and pretend it isn’t happening maybe it will go away. This does sometimes work. Like when you have a problem with your computer, so you ignore it and leave it for a while and then the problem disappears.

She looks back at me.

‘You look terrible.’ She walks past me, not waiting for an invitation to come in. ‘I knew something was wrong. Why haven’t you messaged me back?’ She looks around and then back at me like she’s missed something. ‘Do you not have a cake this week?’

‘No, I do.’ I shut the door.

She motions to the room around her. ‘Then this is impressively clean, even for you.’ She crosses her arms. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Noah? It will break Orla’s heart to hear that you’ve broken up, but she’ll get over it.’

I shake my head. ‘It’s not Noah.’ I’m slightly pissed off that as soon as I’ve shown more than a passing interest in a boy, boy problems are the only problems I could possibly have. We are more than receptacles for boy problems. Although, admittedly, his presence in my life makes me even less happy about my current … predicament.

‘Then what is it? Because the only other time I have seen your kitchen and workspace this clean and tidy was when your nan died. Spill it.’ Her arms are crossed, and she looks ready for a fight.

I sit down. By contrast, I don’t have any fight left in me.

I exhale.

And then I start to cry. A proper cry. Not a sad-just-a-few-tears cry, but a gulping-for-breath cry. I can’t help myself. Like the world’s worst but most useful magician, Sara magics a tissue out of her sleeve, or possibly her bra strap, and gives it to me before enveloping me in a hug. It’s the type of hug that would make a strong man wince. She has amazing upper body strength. She once told me that weight and pressure can help reduce anxiety. Since then she has been practising this hug.

And it helps.

I start to calm down.

When I feel like I can, I break out of the hug.

The look on Sara’s face almost breaks me. I hadn’t noticed, but somewhere along the way she started crying too.

I have to look away and choose a nice spot on the floor.

She rubs my knee.

‘Tell me.’

I inhale once and then begin. You’d have thought second time round I would be better at this, but somehow it feels bigger.

‘I found a lump.’

She immediately goes on guard.

‘OK. Where?’

‘Left breast, lower left-hand side.’

‘Can I feel it?’

I nod and start to lift my top on the one side. She’s seen it all before. She is the only one, well, apart from Noah now, who is personally familiar with them.

With my boob fully out and my arm half up, I reach around and point it out to her.

It doesn’t take me long to find the lump.

‘Here.’ I feel Sara’s hand over mine.

I try to look at her face, but the angle is making it hard to see.

After a good feel, she steps away so we can now see each other and I put my arm back down.

‘Well, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not a doctor.’

I nod. ‘I do know this, yes.’

‘I think you need to go get it checked out. Even if it’s nothing, your history makes it both more likely to be something, and less likely that you’ll be able to think about or do anything else until you know what it is.’

I nod. Resigned.

‘I know. I’ll call tomorrow.’

She looks at the clock. ‘It’s too late now anyway, but let me know when your appointment is and I’ll come with you.’

I nod again.

Her eyes fix on me. ‘I expect to hear from you first thing in the morning. As soon as you make that appointment.’

‘You will. I promise.’

She sits down on the chair next to mine and holds my hand. She doesn’t flinch, even though the soggy tissue is inside.

‘Hey Breastie.’ I look up from our hands. ‘Penny for your thoughts.’

My thoughts are very, very dark at the moment. They certainly aren’t worth a penny.

I shake my head. ‘I don’t think you want to hear them.’

She squeezes my hand. ‘Go on, humour me.’

I breathe in, and then out. The tears start up again before I have started speaking and my voice cracks.

‘Part of me wishes it had just killed me the first time around, so I don’t have to live through it again.’

I warned you. I told you my thoughts were dark.