False Alarm

by Christine Sutton

Gwen gazed at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Gone were the fabulous cheekbones, the film star hollows just an illusion created by granddaughter Laura's skilful use of powder and rouge. Released from the elegant pleat she'd worn it in for the wedding, her soft brown hair hung around her ears in a series of tiny kinks, the result of all the pins and grips. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. They, at least, were real; no dentures or bridges to leave soaking overnight. She wondered how many women in their sixties could say as much.

Her hands fluttered as she unbuttoned her blouse. It had been a wonderful day and everyone had said how lovely she looked, how absolutely right the cream linen two-piece and bronze silk top were for a lady embarking on her second marriage after a decade alone. But now came the moment of truth. Draping her blouse over the chair she slipped off her skirt and added it to the pile.

Clad only in her underwear, she glanced nervously at her watch. Eleven-twenty. Much longer and Ted would think she was avoiding going back into the room. And yet, wasn't that exactly what she was doing? Putting off for as long as possible the moment when she'd have to go in and reveal to him the full extent of her surgery and witness the revulsion he would surely feel? She placed her palm against the fullness of her left breast, then moved it slowly across to the right. The bra's soft padding replicated the shape well enough but it couldn't disguise the lack of substance. Reaching round, she unhooked the catch and slid the straps from her shoulders. Dropping the bra on top of the blouse, she turned slowly back to the mirror. The thin silver scar stood out like a snail's trail against the pinkness of her skin.
 
Ted knew about the mastectomy, of course. As fellow patients undergoing radiotherapy they'd talked openly of their respective illnesses. But knowing about something and being faced with the reality were two very different things. The fact of them both having cancer was an unusual basis for a relationship, she supposed, but it had definitely forged a bond between them. His was of the prostate, caught sufficiently early to be reasonably sure of its eradication. Hers was breast cancer, the symptoms foolishly ignored for nine long weeks so as not to disrupt young Laura's wedding plans. It was a decision her daughter Honor had berated her for when Gwen finally confided her fears about the pea-sized lump. Her shock had been palpable. Weddings could wait, she'd raged, white-faced and tearful, the treatment of possibly life¬threatening tumours couldn't. They would see the doctor first thing in the morning, no arguments, no more delays.

From then on everything had seemed to happen at breakneck speed. First there'd been the biopsy. Carried out under a light anaesthetic and with no overnight stay, its simplicity was deceptive and made the numbing shock of the result a few days later all the harder to accept. She'd left the consulting room clutching Honor's arm, fear and dread etched on her face.

"You'll beat this, Mum," Honor had whispered, holding tight to her arm as they walked the endless hospital corridor like a couple of survivors staggering from the wreckage of a train crash. "You're a born battler. Look how you've coped since Dad's been gone."

She'd nodded silently, her brain robbed of every coherent thought save that she, Gwen Salter, had that dreaded illness cancer. Within the month she'd had a mastectomy and six weeks after that the radiotherapy had begun. Waiting anxiously with Honor in the elongated side room that first day, she'd listened to the black humour of the other patients and wondered how they could joke about something so awful.
 
Hearing a masculine chuckle she'd looked up, thinking to see him engrossed in a humorous book or magazine. Instead she'd found that she was the object of the man's amusement. His luxuriant brown hair was shot through with silver and he was smiling at her over the top of his gold-framed glasses, putting her in mind of a benign university professor watching the settling in of a new student.

"It's a release mechanism," he'd whispered, leaning towards her across the narrow divide. "It's how some cope. Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Cancer's a great leveller, you'll find. A few days into the radiotherapy and you'll be joshing along with the best of 'em."

"Today's Mum's first bout," Honor explained, "it's all a bit... daunting."

"Bound to be," he said. "And I'm not about to kid you it's pleasant, but I still thank my lucky stars it's available. After all, the alternative's not much cop!"

After that the three of them had chatted often, sharing coffees from the machine in the corridor, or strolling back to the car-park together after their sessions were over. At the end of the six weeks course Ted had invited Gwen for a celebratory meal at Silver Service, the swish new restaurant on Silver Street. She had been dubious at first, alarmed at the prospect of there being no Honor around for moral support. She needn't have worried; she and Ted had got on famously. A few weeks later, with the early prognosis for both of them guarded but optimistic, they'd spent an evening at the theatre enjoying a West End show. That had been followed by a trip to the coast. Now, six months on, she and the silver-haired man were married. And this was their wedding night.

Hearing a squeak of bedsprings Gwen grabbed her nightgown from the radiator. The pale blue satin rippled over her body, betraying every curve - or lack of one. Gingerly she opened the bathroom door and peered around it.
 
Ted was lying back against the pillows, his expression pensive. His glasses were on the bedside table, angled awkwardly over the case as though he'd fumbled with their placement. Without them he looked years younger, far more vulnerable and exposed. 'Hearing the click of the closing door he glanced up.

"All right, Gwen, love?"

She swallowed and stepped a little further in to the room. "To be honest, Ted, I'm a bit keyed up," she confessed, running her palms down the sides of the nightgown.

He smiled and drew a deep breath. "You too, eh? I feel like a teenager on his first date!" He paused and bit his lip. "Actually, Gwen, there is something I need to say. It's about the, umm ... "

Her hands clenched. Surely he wasn't going to come straight out and say it; tell her how the thought of her scarred body repelled him? He threw back his head and gave a low groan.

"Oh, this is so difficult," he rasped. "The thing is - well, cancer treatment can leave its mark and I'm not sure ... "

He stopped, still gazing up at the ceiling, and she felt the prickle of tears behind her lids. Couldn't he even bear to look at her then?

"What I'm trying to say is that the doctors told me radiotherapy can have some unfortunate side effects. Oh, heck, let's not beat around the bush here, I may not be able to 'perform' tonight."

She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. Was that what this was all about? Nothing to do with her disfigurement but fear of what the treatment might have done to him, to his masculinity? In an instant she was at his side.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Ted," she cried. "It's not the least bit important. We've been through so much this past year but what matters is we're still here. I love you and that's all you need to know. The rest will come in its own good time."

Taking his hand, she pressed it to her heart. After a moment he slid it gently to the right.

"You're beautiful, Gwen," he said softly. "Brave, strong and so, so beautiful."

He drew back the clovers and she slipped in beside him, snuggling close to his warmth. It had been a long, hard road but between them they'd see everything right.

Highly Commended - False Alarm by Christine Sutton