Page 77 of Seven Days

‘I’m good. Awake now. I didn’t expect to fall asleep.’

‘Yes. It’s powerful stuff.’ She put her hands in her lap, fingers intertwined. She caught Sandra’s eye. ‘There are some things we need to discuss, Mrs Cooper.’

She was unsmiling, her expression serious. Sandra felt her appetite drain away. She put the biscuit down.

‘What?’ she said. ‘What do we need to discuss?’

8

Dr Green pressed her fingers together. ‘I did find something during the procedure, Mrs Cooper. There’s a large tumour in your upper colon. I took a biopsy and we’ll get that to the lab right away.’

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Sandra had imagined the scene many times, gone through all the possibilities, but it was still a shock when the doctor said it.

‘A tumour?’ she said. ‘Is it cancer?’

‘We’ll find out exactly what it is when we get the lab results, but that’s a possibility.’

Sandra put her face in her hands. She rubbed her temples. Her legs felt weak. Was this it? Was this how it ended? Her dead, Maggie gone? It was so unfair to Martin. He was such a wonderful husband. She had loved him since they had first met, had always felt incredibly lucky to have a partner who was so decent. She would never have thought that was what she wanted in a husband – decency – but it turned out that was what mattered. Dependable, calm, loving, decent: not exactly Heathcliff, but exactly what she wanted.

And now he might be left a widower, father to a kidnapped girl and a damaged boy. What had he done to deserve that?

She looked up at the doctor.

‘Do I—’ she said. ‘Will I – do I have any options?’

The doctor gave a reassuring smile. ‘Plenty. I know this is unwelcome news, but there’s quite a way to go before we get to that. Let’s wait for the results and we can take it from there.’

‘I want to know …’ Sandra paused. ‘You probably get this question from everyone, and you probably can’t answer it, but I’d like you to tell me – honestly – if I’m going to survive. I have – I have a husband. And a son.’

‘I know you want certainty,’ the doctor replied. ‘But it’s too early. We’ll get the test results and make a decision then.’

Sandra picked up her phone.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I need to call my husband.’

9

She got the news four days later.

It was cancer. Treatable, according to the oncologist, a slight man in his fifties with a goatee beard and a bowtie.

First, surgery to remove it. Then chemotherapy to make sure it didn’t come back.

Then hope.

Hope was not a strategy that had worked for Sandra in the past. Hope had not brought Maggie back. Hope was a waste of time.

But she was going to have to rely on hope once again.

She put her hand on Martin’s knee. He was driving them home from the appointment, both hands on the wheel, at ten to two, his eyes on the road.

Observing the speed limit and all posted traffic signals.

She squeezed his knee.

‘I love you,’ she said. ‘You know that, right?’

He looked at her, his expression one of slight confusion.