Dippers

Chapter 1

Annie Murphy looked out through net curtains that had seen better days, much like herself. ‘You’d swear I was sending him to his death, not bloody Tesco.’ She sighed as she watched Paddy, her husband of twenty five years, trudge down the path from their small council house in Dun Laoghaire. He looked old for his fifty years, beaten by life, with his shoulders curved inward and his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. Annie wondered how two people could become so indifferent to one another. Seeing him shuffling off up the road flanked on all sides by the drab, grey, pebble dashed homes of her neighbours, he and the houses seemed to morph into one. She smirked at the pretentious name the council had given their estate. ‘Seaview Villas’ my eye she thought. The only way you’d get a look at the sea from her house was if a tsunami caused it to rise up and crash over the place. As for ‘Villas’, that was clearly an attempt to trick the tenants into thinking they were living in the lap of luxury. That way they might ignore the fact that the units hadn’t been modernised since they were built over twenty years ago. Still, thought Annie, for all the unemployment and poverty in the estate, theirs was a thriving social community. Nobody had much, but every one of the women on her road would give you their last slice of bread if they thought it would make your day better. It was the sense of belonging that Annie loved. After all, as she had realised, choosing how she viewed and reacted to life’s ‘surprises’ was one of the only things she could control.

The cancer was back, bastard of a thing. Not that she believed it had totally gone away in the first place. Paddy hadn’t taken it well when she told him, but then the whole saga was just something else for him to be miserable about. Much as she would like to have thought otherwise, she knew it wasn’t the idea of losing his wife that bothered him. All the lazy git was worried about was who would feed him and do the housework. The last time she was hooked up to the battle juice in the chemo clinic it had totally wiped her out. Any delusions she had about Paddy coming to her rescue on a stallion went out the door when he announced he had decided to go green. Whether by accident or design he had chosen the day when she was at her lowest physically to tell her that he was joining an eco-group in Wicklow. So while she spent days on end with either her head or her arse hanging over the toilet bowl, he was acting like a squirrel and shimmying up and down some poxy tree that stood in the way of a proposed new bypass. The only thing that kept her going throughout that week from hell was the thought of multiple splinters piercing that particular squirrel’s nuts. The course of chemotherapy was finished before the guilt got the better of him and he returned, claiming he hadn’t been able to ‘digest’ the news. Although her health initially recovered from that episode, the relationship never really did.

The sound of crockery rattling made Annie turn. Mary Ryan, one of her oldest friends, crossed the floor towards her carrying a tray with steaming mugs of coffee and plates of buttered toast. A former nun, she wore no make-up and kept her dark hair in a neat and sensible style. She had left the order some years previously and now worked her parent’s old fish shop on the pier. ‘Were you talking to yourself again?’ Mary bent down and placed the tray on the coffee table near the window. ‘I was just commenting on that miserable flute I married,’ replied Annie as she walked over to join her. Mary smirked and shook her head. ‘Sorry,’ said Annie, ‘I didn’t mean to offend your holy ears.’ Mary fiddled with the small gold crucifix that hung from her neck. ‘It was my chastity I promised to God, not my sense of humour.’ ‘Chastity! You were a bigger slut than I was back in the day.’ ‘I prefer to look on it as stocking up,’ replied Mary with a wink. ‘So speaking of Paddy, did you tell him about the lump yet?’ ‘I did yeah, last night. I’m not sure he took it all in to be honest. He seemed more interested in what David Attenborough had to say about the mating rituals of the tree frog.’ Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t know why you won’t just divorce him.’ ‘Sister Ignatius!’ Annie feigned shock as she referred to her friend by her old religious name, ‘I thought the Catholic Church were against divorce. What would the bishop say?’ ‘I left the convent as you well know because I didn’t see eye to eye with the powers that be on many issues, divorce among them. I’d say the only time the bishop thinks of me is when he’s praying for the eternal damnation of my soul. Seriously though,’ she continued, ‘your fella was about as supportive as a torn pair of tights last time. You need to put yourself first for once.’ She squeezed Annie’s knee gently, ‘it’s not like you have kids to take into consideration after all.’

Annie patted her hand. She had to admit Mary had a point. After years of trying for children, Annie had been forced to accept that the only things that seemed to thrive in her womb were tumours. In hindsight it was just as well. At forty seven she’d already had a mini stroke due to some dodgy wiring in her ticker, a full hysterectomy and a hugely invasive lumpectomy on her left breast. That time she lasted about fifteen months before the cancer came back and they took what remained of the breast. She had found the latest lump while in the shower. ‘I don’t need Paddy when I have you,’ Annie smiled. ‘What did Dr Buckley say?’ asked Mary. ‘He’s referring me to the triple assessment clinic.’ ‘Is that the place you went the last time?’ ‘Yes it is, they’ll do a mammogram and ultrasound. Then if they think it’s warranted they can do a needle biopsy and all that. It all happens in the one place so it’s great. Dr Buckley sent the email off to them yesterday so I should get an appointment soon enough, given my history.’ Mary nodded and opened her mouth to speak before Annie cut across her. ‘Don’t say it.’ ‘Say what?’ ‘That it might be a benign cyst or some other sort of infection.’ Mary seemed contrite as Annie continued, ‘I accept I have to wait for the tests to confirm it but I know its back.’ ‘Ah Annie, come on, don’t be like that. You were so positive the last time.’ ‘And I haven’t changed. I’m being realistic, there’s nothing wrong with that. You know me, I like to be prepared for what’s coming my way. I expect they’ll want to do a course of chemo to try to shrink it first. They might get away with a lumpectomy but to be honest I wish they’d take the whole bloody thing and be done with it. Once it's not yer man operating who took out the last lump. I don’t know where he got his license to practise but he’d have left less mess if he’d operated with a pitchfork and shovel.’ She ran her fingers through her shapeless shoulder length brown hair. ‘Either way, it looks like this luscious mane might have to go again.’

‘Does it feel any different this time? You know, considering you’ve been through it before?’‘A bit I suppose, and if they do decide on a full mastectomy at least there will be one positive,’ said Annie with a cheeky grin. 'I won’t feel like a right tit anymore.’ ‘You’re so bold!’ ‘Actually now that I think of it, Paddy would be delighted if they were chopping off more bits of me.’ ‘How do you figure that?’ asked Mary, perplexed. ‘Well you know how much of a skinflint he is?’ ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ replied Mary. ‘You've always said he was tighter than a camel's bum in a sandstorm.’ She held her coffee mug up and took a sip. ‘Exactly. So I was telling him the other night that funeral homes charged by weight. I think he believed me because he brightened up a good bit then.’ The two women burst into laughter with Mary’s coffee spraying from her lips. When she regained her composure she caught Annie’s gaze for a few moments. ‘You know you don’t have to put on the gallows humour on my account don’t you?’ ‘Gallows humour?’ asked Annie. ‘All this joking about death and funerals.’ Fixing her friend with a stare Annie smiled and spoke gently. ‘I am going to die at some stage Mary.’ ‘Well that hardly makes you unique does it? The man upstairs stamped a best before date on every one of us.’ ‘That’s lovely. Here I am, probably poxed with cancer, and you’re comparing me to a carton of eggs.’ ‘Now that’s not what I meant and you know it. I suppose I’m a little concerned that you’re making a joke out of it all. You don’t even know for sure if it’s back. I wish you’d talk about how you feel.’ ‘Ah will you relax? I’m not bottling things up I swear. Nor am I going to stick my head in the oven to gas myself if my suspicions are confirmed.’ ‘Good,’ said Mary, relaxing a little before Annie continued. ‘I would have done except tight-arse switched us over to the fecking electricity company to save twenty quid a year.’ The cushion thrown bounced off Annie’s shoulder. ‘There’s no talking to you,’ said Mary shaking her head, ‘you can’t even take cancer seriously, can you?’ Looking resolute for a moment, she replied, 'Cancer takes itself seriously enough. I don't need to help it. Anyway, what is it you wanted to say? I promise I’ll try not to take the piss out of you.’ ‘Ok. Look I know you’re old school at this stage with the whole chemo and major surgery thing. God knows I’ve never met anyone with a more sunny and positive outlook. I suppose I’m eager to ensure that you feel able to discuss worries or anxieties.’ ‘Such as what? Money for instance?’ ‘Well yes,’ replied Mary, somewhat wary, ‘stuff like that I suppose.’ ‘Have you won the lottery or something?’ asked Annie. ‘Now that would be a miracle considering I don’t even buy a ticket. No, I haven’t won it. Why do you ask?’

‘I don’t mean to sound smart, really I don’t, but short of you handing me a windfall I don’t see how talking is going to help me out financially. I’m still going to have to traipse into the public hospital and wait in line for my turn at the clinic. Then it’s another waiting room for chemo before I get the surgery done. Do I worry about not having health insurance? Not really. Although it must be nice to be able to pick up the phone and dial your private consultant’s personal mobile for a chat whenever the mood takes you. Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?’ Mary pretended not to understand. ‘You want to know if I’m afraid of dying don’t you?’ ‘No, I…well…’ ‘Oh chill your pits. Look of course I’ve thought about it, and not just since I found this latest lump. I think about it mostly when I wake up in the middle of the night. I’m sure if you asked anyone who’s had a life threatening illness they’d say the same. Sometimes I imagine myself lying there dead. Almost like an out of body experience. I imagine what my funeral would be like. Knowing Paddy it would be a 'bring your own shovel' affair.’ Mary smiled as Annie continued. ‘I imagine having a cancer diagnosis is different for someone who has children. There’s all that emotion of having to break the news to them and the sadness of knowing you might not see them grow up. I suppose I’m lucky in that respect, not that I plan on snuffing it you understand. So to answer your question, am I afraid of dying or not? I’m not sure. How can you be afraid of something when you don’t know for sure what it’s like?’ ‘Lots of people are afraid of stuff they’ve never experienced…don’t you ever watch I’m a Celebrity, Get me out of here?’ ‘I don’t think the God fella would be happy with you suggesting that eating a kangaroo’s knob and passing over to the afterlife equate to the same thing!’ ‘Do you believe in him then?’ ‘I really don’t know. I suppose I do, but maybe it’s only because it’s been indoctrinated in me throughout my whole life. Whether I do or not, it doesn’t mean I’m in any hurry to meet the fecker.’ Mary patted Annie on the knee again. ‘Well when the time comes, maybe don’t call him a fecker…just in case he goes all fire and brimstone on you. Seriously though, you know if you want to talk about anything, anything at all, you just have to shout.’

Annie stood and pulled her friend up from her seat. Placing her arms around her shoulders she squeezed as tight as she could. ‘We've been best friends our whole lives. Who the bloody hell else would I turn to?’ A high pitched wolf whistle interrupted them. Mary looked at Annie with one eyebrow raised, ‘changed our ring tone have we?’ Annie chuckled, ‘well it’s not like I get them from randy young lads on the building sites anymore is it? A girl has to get her kicks somewhere! It’s probably Paddy checking what he was supposed to get in the shops.’ Picking up her phone from the coffee table she quickly opened the message. A look of resignation crossed her face. ‘Well what a surprise.’ ‘What’s up?’ asked Mary ‘is it from the hospital?’ ‘No,’ replied Annie, ‘it's Paddy. Looks like I’m not the only one waiting for a proper diagnosis.’ ‘What did he say?’ ‘As I suspected, he’s run to the hills…well the trees to be specific.’ Annie held the phone out to Mary who took it and read the message aloud. ‘I should have told you earlier but I had agreed to help out at a protest against the new motorway in Ashford. I just bumped into a mate who says they really need people today. He said he'd give me a lift so I’m going to head straight there. Sorry about the shopping, you’ll be able to do it online.’ ‘The shopping?’ screeched Mary. ‘Feck the shopping! What about the bloody tests? He's such an arsehole. What if you need chemo or surgery?’ ‘You’ll be saying the rosary for the next month with the mouth on you today,’ laughed Annie. ‘Anyway, he’s right. I can do the shopping from the PC. Mind you, as for chemo or surgery, I don't think Tesco offer that online.’ ‘You amaze me Annie, you really do. There you are, happy to accept the latest piece of crap that life has thrown at you, and here I am, the supposed holy Joe, and I’d readily wring Paddy’s flipping neck if I got near him.’ Annie shrugged and started to clear away the dishes. ‘Sure what good would it do to get my knickers all in a twist? It wouldn’t change anything anyway. I’d still have a lumpy tit and he’d still be a useless gobshite.’

Mary followed as Annie made her way toward the small kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Why don’t I move in with you for a while? If you’re right about it being malignant they’ll get you into treatment pretty quick. You know how bad you felt the last time.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ replied Annie, ‘you’ve got the fish shop to run.’ ‘Only when it's open, I can stay with you in the evenings.’ ‘I’ll be fine.’ ‘You know if you weren’t sick I would give you such a good shake. You know exactly what lies ahead. If you think I’m going to leave you alone to deal with that then you’ve another thing coming.’ ‘Mary honestly, there’s no need.’ ‘There’s every need.’

Claudia Spellman-Lee sat on a recliner on her balcony overlooking Killiney Bay. On either side of her luxurious apartment building, opulent houses dotted the landscape, each one sitting in manicured grounds big enough to hold a concert. The sun’s rays dotted here and there on the water as small swells competed with each other in an effort to form a wave before fading back to calm. A movement to her left in her peripheral vision made her turn. A kayak cut through the surf, its occupant’s paddle pushing the water effortlessly to the side. Even the vastness of the sea seemed insignificant with each powerful movement from the man in the wetsuit. At least Claudia assumed it would be a man. Weren’t they always the strong ones, the ones to take charge? They certainly were in her lifetime, her father more than any.

Robert Spellman had been the ultimate provider. Fiercely competitive, he would work all the hours he could to provide for his wife, whom he adored. His work ethic was only matched by his bravery and both paid off when he led a management buyout of his first company at the age of twenty eight. Several buyouts later he had amassed a substantial business portfolio and employed several thousand people throughout Ireland and the UK. His wife wanted for nothing in those early years. The arrival of his first born child solidified her position on the pedestal on which he had already placed her. Although the successful Mr. Spellman seemed to be able to control most things he encountered, he wasn’t a match for nature and so Claudia remained an only child.

Bored with the view from the top floor, Claudia stood up and wandered through the open double doors. A baby grand piano sat in the far left corner of the room. It was one of the last things her father had bought her before he died. Sometimes when she looked at it, like today, covered in sterling silver framed photographs, she regretted giving up playing. As a child she had wowed her parents when she played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for the first time, her young fingers struggling to reach the keys. Despite years of lessons she never sat any music exams, her father determined to keep any stress in her closeted life to a minimum. Still, in the years before she married, she was often to be found sitting wistfully at the piano, tinkering with the ivory. Her hand reached out to pick up a picture of her father. Her mother had developed stage four ovarian cancer before Claudia had turned twenty-five. She was dead within three months despite having the top oncologist in the country as her doctor. Robert dealt with the loss by throwing himself into his work, with more anger and impatience than ever before. He lasted five heartbroken years before he finally got to join his wife.

‘It’s come to get me this time Daddy,’ she whispered, clutching the frame to her chest. ‘I’m so scared. Please tell me what to do.’ Closing her eyes she let the tears fall, just as they had been doing on and off since she left her consultant’s rooms in St. Vincent’s private hospital. The news he had given her hadn’t been entirely unexpected. Claudia had been suspicious since her first visit to her GP when he’d met her eyes only fleetingly following his initial examination. The funny thing was, she hadn’t been worried up to that point. It wasn’t the first lump she’d discovered on her breast. The previous incidents had been when she was on holiday. The first time skiing at their chalet in Verbier and the second while in Barbados. When she went to show them to Donald for his opinion, they had disappeared.

Donald Lee, her husband of over fifteen years, seemed more relieved at not having to touch her breast than he was at the apparent disappearance of any lump, real or imagined. In the early years, when her father was still alive, Donald doted on her and cocooned her every step in cotton wool, just like his father-in-law expected. Claudia looked once more at the image in the frame before collapsing onto the cream leather sofa in a heap. ‘I think I got this one wrong Daddy,’ she cried. ‘He doesn’t love me like you did. I don’t think he ever has.’ The sound of distant chatter interrupted her. It was coming from outside. Getting up slowly she returned to the balcony and gazed over the side. Three women were walking from the building over to a Mercedes that was parked in the private car park. Hoots of laughter erupted from the small group. Claudia recognised one of them as a divorcee who lived in the building. She felt the familiar stab of envy, as she did whenever she saw groups of women together. Maybe if she had a circle like that around her she would have someone to confide in, people who could carry her burden. The small group got into the car and drove away, leaving Claudia alone, as always, with her thoughts. A gentle beep from her pocket notified her of an incoming text message. Pulling out her phone, the familiar feeling of hope rushed through her as she saw Donald’s name appear on screen. The feeling left as she read the content. I got your message earlier, couldn’t get out of the meeting. Be home in a half hour.

She had tried phoning him as soon as she left the hospital with the devastating news. As if it wasn’t bad enough being told you had a malignant tumour in your breast, being alone made it much more difficult. Having to then walk into a waiting room filled with women and their concerned partners simply rubbed salt in the wound. There had been so many times in her marriage when she was lonely, many of them were when her husband was in the same room. This was by far the worst. There were no arms waiting to hug her, nobody to reassure her that they would fight beside her every step of the way. Bizarrely though, that wasn’t what upset her most. The hardest part was thinking of her potential death and feeling her womb tighten in sadness with the knowledge that she never had any children to mourn her. She sniffed once more and wiped the tears yet again from her cheeks. Donald would be home soon. She hurried to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Eye make-up streaked her face and she reached for a cotton pad and her Chanel cleanser. She would have to hurry to reapply her make up before he got home. She hadn’t gone to the trouble of getting up ahead of him every day only to let him catch her undone in the middle of the afternoon. She flicked the switch to the heated roller machine. Ten minutes would be all it would take before her abundant blonde hair looked as good as new.

She looked at herself in the mirror as she worked the creams into her largely unlined face, a fact she would always claim was down to good genes. Her husband didn’t need to know how much she spent on Botox and lip fillers. That was her little secret. She had researched long and hard to find a place that offered the services she needed without having the words ‘cosmetic surgery’ in the business name. That way, when Donald checked the couple’s bank statements he would be none the wiser. There was no need for him to consider that his wife was anything other than perfect. Her arm glanced off her left breast where the doctor had performed a core needle biopsy. It ached now that the local anaesthetic had worn off. How on earth would she cope if she had to have her whole breast removed? It was unthinkable. She thought over what the consultant had said. A lot of it was muddled because she had been in shock. She remembered the way he held her hand as he explained the need for further tests. There was going to have to be a surgical biopsy done. He had said something about checking the tumour’s margins and how it would determine the course of treatment. Claudia had all but zoned out at that stage and only heard her own voice repeatedly saying ‘how can this be happening to me?’

The sound of her phone pinging again snapped her out of her thoughts. She quickly finished applying her eyeshadow and walked into the bedroom to retrieve her phone. The little blue box with the envelope symbol showed a number one highlighted in red. She tapped on the icon hurriedly to open it. She rarely got text messages, never mind emails. Her curiosity vanished as soon as she read the opening lines. Mr. Whelan has made arrangements for your surgical biopsy as follows: Thursday 15th September at 10.30am Please arrive at least thirty minutes early. You will be required to fast from midnight the day before.

‘Claudia?’ Donald’s voice calling from the hall made her jump. She had been distracted by the email and hadn’t heard him come in. ‘Damn it, mascara,’ she whispered urgently as she darted back into her bathroom and locked the door. Once inside she quickly applied the wand to her eyelashes and stood back to view her handiwork in the mirror. ‘Claudia?’ Donald tried the door to the bathroom. ‘I’m just finishing up, ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’ ‘Why on earth didn’t you answer?’ he replied, barely managing to hide the irritation in his voice. ‘I thought something was wrong.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to respond by saying ‘something is wrong, I have breast cancer’ but she decided against it. Instead she unlocked the door and opened it wide. She stepped out into the bedroom and looked up at him expectantly with her arms folded gently across her chest. In her mind’s eye she saw Donald sweeping her up into his arms and hugging her tight. She didn’t want to risk him bursting the few small stitches she’d had inserted after that afternoon’s biopsy. She needn’t have worried. Donald stood at the foot of the bed with his face firmly buried in his phone. He was flicking his finger up and down the screen at great speed. ‘Busy?’ she asked, trying hard to keep her emotions in check. ‘There’s no need to be so sarcastic Claudia. Do you have any idea how stressful it is running the business?’ Her husband glanced up quickly, not noticing her red rimmed eyes as she began to walk toward him. Stepping back he turned his body to shield the screen of his phone, his swiping becoming even more frenetic. ‘What is it you don’t want me to see?’ she asked as she came closer, more than a little irritated that she wasn’t getting her husband’s undivided attention given the information she had relayed earlier that day. ‘Oh for God’s sake Claudia, don’t start with all that rubbish,’ he snapped, throwing his phone to the bed. ‘I’ve had the day from hell.’

It was too much. The trauma of her diagnosis coupled with the sense of helplessness had threatened