The Story of Our Life Read online

  Shauna Takes Charge.

  ‘You’re miles away. Have you heard anything I’ve said in the last ten minutes?’ Rosie asked, as she poured more coffee into my half-empty cup. Not half full. It wasn’t that kind of day.

  I’d catered a breakfast meeting at a primary school in Fulham, then dashed over to do a lunch at the boardroom of a trendy IT company in Acton, where I watched as all these energized young twenty-year-olds discussed world domination. Or at least, software domination. I’m not sure I was ever that focussed. I must have been once, but perhaps it’s just too long ago to remember.

  I’d arranged to meet Colm at Rosie’s café afterwards. I was actually now multi-tasking my social life. That’s what it had come to.

  ‘Sorry, hon, just a bit distracted. And tired. You know, I’m so sick of hearing myself moan about being knackered. You have my permission to gag me if I do it again.’

  She leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘Shauna, you can’t go on like this. It’s killing you. When was the last time you had eight hours sleep?’

  ‘About 2005,’ I replied honestly.

  ‘Exactly. It’s got to stop. And besides that, you need to stop dressing like you’re in mourning.’

  ‘But…’ Foolishly, I was about to object. I stopped myself. My zero-effort, zero-thought, zero-colour, black jeans and black polo neck jumper didn’t give me much of an argument, especially against her flaming red dress, accessorized by a thick pink cummerbund and jaunty pink neck scarf. She looked like she’d just stepped off the set of Grease, while I could pass as an extra in a documentary about embalming.

  She was right on all counts, but I didn’t have the answer. Actually, I did. Bracal Tech. Colm and Dan still hadn’t heard whether they’d got the contract. I sent up another silent prayer of pleading to the Gods of Business Expansion.

  My eyes drifted to the huge old-fashioned station clock on the wall behind the counter. Three o’clock. Colm’s appointment with the doctor was at two o’clock and I’d warned him not to come back without an appointment for a scan. I knew I was being ridiculous, but it was an acknowledged fact that sleep deprivation and stress could turn a person into a neurotic, worrying, overcautious wreck. Evidence for the prosecution right here. If he would only get the scan, it would show all was well and I’d have one less thing to fret about.

  ‘Anyway, cheer me up – tell me about your love life.’

  ‘It’s… fine,’ she replied. ‘Great actually.’

  ‘Oooh, I like the sound of great.’

  ‘Jack thinks we should move in together.’

  I sat up straighter, suddenly more alert. Techies in Acton might get energized by highbrow software discussions but exciting news in my friend’s love life had the same effect on me.

  ‘And what did you say?’ I asked, already knowing what the answer would be but determined to relish the moment.

  ‘I said I need to think about it.’

  ‘Rosie, that’s… what?’ I started gushy and finished weakly, doing a 180 degree turn in my reaction when I’d absorbed what she said. That categorically wasn’t the answer I was expecting.

  I could see she was chewing the inside of her left cheek and she only did that when she was worried or sad.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘I thought this was what you wanted.’

  ‘It is,’ she said, her eyes wide. Was that tears nestling just inside the lower lids? ‘But now that he’s asked me I’m just not sure. Maybe it’s too soon. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Rosie, you’re talking to a woman who married a man after she’d known him for eleven weeks. Anything longer than that seems like a prolonged engagement to me.’

  That at least made her laugh.

  I was about to get into it further when the door opened and Colm strolled in. Maybe it was the light in the café, or the draining effect of his grey sweater, but I definitely thought he was a few shades paler than usual.

  He kissed Rosie first, then ruffled my hair with a ‘Hey gorgeous,’ as he sat down beside me. My smile was instant. Fourteen years and he still had that effect on me. Rosie bustled off to get more coffee and I got straight to the point. ‘How did you get on at the doctors?’

  He put a paper bag on the table. ‘More beta blockers.’

  I couldn’t contain my exasperation. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Colm, that’s hopeless.’

  ‘Honey, it’s fine. It means there’s nothing wrong with me. Doc says these will do the trick.’

  ‘Based on what? Hope and optimism? They haven’t made a difference in the two weeks you’ve been taking them,’ I bit back.

  Yes, I was directing my frustration at the wrong person, but my anxiety had been escalating and I needed definite answers, not vague theories.

  When he’d first mentioned the headaches and other symptoms, I’d been relaxed about it, even nonchalant. In the scale of pressing issues, it hadn’t seemed like one to cause concern at all. But as time had gone on, the headaches had increased, the other symptoms had kicked in, and I’d made the fatal mistake of going back onto Google. That lack of concern had now evaporated and it had become the first thing I thought about in the morning and the last thing at night. I found myself watching him constantly. The occasional slight stagger. The flinches of pain. The occasional jumbled word. The repeated blinking of his eyes when it seemed like he was trying to clear something from his vision. All small things, all infrequent, but in my head they’d grown into a huge reason to fret. That’s why I’d been so clear about the path to resolution: scan head, all clear, worry ends.

  Staring into my coffee cup, I took a deep breath. Why couldn’t things just be taken care of? Why was everything so damn difficult?

  His hand rested on my forearm. ‘Darlin’, you need to stop worrying about things. It’s all going to work out. I promise.’

  The love in his voice made a chink in my heart and I immediately regretted giving him a hard time. No wonder the poor guy had headaches. Being married to me in my current overwound state would give me a headache. ‘I know. And I’m sorry. I win today’s prize for overreaction.’

  ‘You’re lucky I’ve a particular fondness for dramatic, over-anxious women,’ he said, grinning, before proceeding to pick up what was left of my coffee and knock it back.

  ‘Come on, let’s go pick up Beth from school and go to the park. I think I need an hour of running around with my girl,’ I told him.

  He pointed out the obvious. ‘It’s raining.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Then I’m in.’

  We both stood up just as Rosie reappeared with a large coffee pot.

  ‘Are you off? I just made this fresh.’

  ‘Sorry. We’re going to get Beth.’

  ‘Ah, give her a huge hug from me,’ Rosie said, before putting the coffee pot on a nearby table, occupied by two elderly gents. ‘On the house,’ she told them.

  ‘I’ll call you later and we can continue that conversation,’ I promised, as I picked up my bag from the floor and phone from the table, then hugged her goodbye, with a ‘love you’ thrown in.

  We jumped into my van and headed to Beth’s school. It could take an hour or half and hour, depending on the traffic. Today, it took half an hour, so when we rode down George Street in Richmond town centre, I made a sudden decision and pulled into a rare free parking space right outside a bank of shops.

  Colm’s bewilderment was obvious, until I pointed in the direction of the optician’s shop on the corner. ‘Let’s go get your eyes tested in case that’s what’s causing the headaches.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my eyes,’ he argued. He was probably right. I was completely over-reacting. Yet, I wasn’t backing down. ‘Colm, you said that you were getting weird shadows in your peripheral vision sometimes.’

  ‘That’s the migraines!’ Standing in the pouring rain, arguing with his wife, I could see he was getting irate.

  ‘So let’s just check,’ I pleaded, then switched to cajoling. ‘Come on, humour me
.’

  He knew when he was beat and followed me as I navigated the puddles and the shoppers who’d been brave enough to venture out in this weather.

  The bespectacled receptionist in the optician’s shop greeted us with a cheery smile. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Apparently I’d like an eye test,’ Colm answered in a rueful tone that immediately created the accurate impression that he was here under duress.

  The receptionist began tapping on the keyboard in front of her. ‘No problem. We can do next Tuesday or Wed…’

  ‘Oh.’ That came from me. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize we had to book.’ Damn, why hadn’t I thought of that? ‘It can’t be done now?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry but we’re fully booked today.’

  ‘Oh,’ I repeated.

  My disappointment must have triggered something in her customer service training as her eyes went back to her screen, and then…

  ‘Except… Our 3.30 appointment hasn’t turned up so if it’s okay with the optician, I could see if she’ll squeeze you in now.’

  My face flooded with relief, more so when she didn’t even need to ask. A woman in a white coat had appeared from a side room and joined the conversation. ‘Come on in. I can see you now.’ She held out her hand. ‘Janice Lowery.’

  ‘I’m Colm O’Flynn, and this is my wife, Shauna. She made me come here. Forced me,’ he admitted, making Janice laugh. I liked her on sight. Perhaps late fifties, her short grey hair and make-up-free face were given a flash of colour by purple-framed, fifties style glasses that Rosie would adore. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, patting him on the arm. ‘It’s painless and if you’re really good you get a sticker.’

  Someone with a sense of humour was all it took for Colm to jump in the large black leather chair with no further complaint. I slid into a small chair in the corner and as she ran through a list of questions, filling the answers in on a customer record card attached to a green clipboard, I felt myself relax. It was all going to be fine. I’d never even have to tell him the full truth. When I’d been reading up on possible causes of the headaches, I’d read that problems in the brain could be spotted in an eye test and that was why I’d really dragged him here. If he wasn’t going to get a head scan, this was the next best thing. My solution to anxiety rewrote itself in my mind. Eye test, all clear, end of worry. Happy days.

  Colm’s personal information attained, Janice lowered the clipboard. ‘So what brought you here today?’

  I was about to jump in with an answer when Colm beat me to it.

  ‘Over the last few weeks I’ve been getting the odd headache so my dearly beloved here is making me get it checked out. I’m completely under the thumb.’

  Under her exceptionally stylish eyewear, Janice didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Are the headaches caused by anything in particular? Reading? Television?’

  ‘Wife?’ I added, making Colm grin. It was a small apology for springing this on him.

  ‘Wife,’ Colm confirmed.

  Smiling, Janice raised the clipboard and made a few more notes.

  ‘Any vision problems?’

  ‘Sometimes the peripheral vision on my right hand side seems to…’ Colm thought about it before putting it into words, ‘narrow slightly. Like there’s a blind spot there. Or a shadow. Nothing drastic, though.’

  Janice nodded, then fired off some more questions. Did he have any other medical conditions? No. High blood pressure? No. Dizziness? No. Fainting? No. Was he taking any medication? Just the beta blockers. After a dozen or so enquiries, she placed the clipboard back on the desk and slid towards Colm, the wheels on her red chair squeaking.

  ‘Right, let’s see if we can get to the bottom of this.’

  Janice placed a modified spectacle frame on his face, then began a series of tests using the chart on the opposite wall. As I listened to him rhyming off the letters in the partial darkness, my newfound relaxation went one step further and I was powerless to resist as my eyelids closed.

  Somewhere between awake and asleep, I heard her say ‘Excellent! Your vision is almost 20/20. Quite unusual in a man of your age, Mr O’Flynn.’

  ‘Can you repeat that to my wife, please?’ he jested.

  See. It was all going to be fine. Perfect. Nothing to worry about. Huge relief. I opened my eyes. Time to go and get Beth. I was about to stand, dust myself off and head to the car, when I saw that she was pulling a large machine in front of Colm, a steel frame with some kind of huge white microscope in the centre.

  Apparently we weren’t yet done.

  ‘Just rest your chin there, please Mr O’Flynn,’ she asked, pointing to a black plastic support strap under the microscope.

  He did as he was asked, and she wheeled in front of him in her chair, so that their faces were only inches apart.

  ‘Right, I’m just going to check the inside of your eyes and then that’ll be you done. Now, left eye first. Look over my right ear.’ Reaching over, she gently lifted Colm’s lid. ‘Now look up. Look left. Look…’ She faltered for a second, then repeated, ‘Look left.

  I was instantly wide awake again. There was something in her tone, an uncertainty, maybe a concern? Or was I just being completely over-anxious again?

  Wheeling back, she readjusted the scope for the right eye. ‘And look right.’

  No hesitation this time. I chided myself. That prize for overreaction was definitely mine today. Once again, I’d allowed my imagination to run riot.

  She sat back, and I expected that to conclude the test, but instead, she readjusted the equipment again. ‘I’m just going to have another look in the left eye,’ she informed him. My stomach cramped. I wasn’t imagining it. There was something…

  When she was done, she snapped the light on, pushing her chair back and removing the steel frame that sat between her and Colm.

  ‘Right then,’ she said, in a gentle manner that was like a flashing red light warning of oncoming trouble. ‘Let me come straight to the point. I think there’s an issue here that needs attention, Mr O’Flynn.’

  ‘I need glasses?’ he asked brightly, totally uncomprehending of what she was saying. Blind faith and optimism strikes again.

  ‘No, your eyesight is fine.’

  I could see this confused him.

  She carried on. ‘The last test I did allows me to look at the nerves and blood vessels of the eyes, and gives a very clear picture of the eye health.’

  I suddenly realised I was holding my breath.

  She pointed to a poster on the wall beside her that had a cross-section of an eye, with a myriad of little worm-like lines feeding through it. ‘Here is a picture of a healthy eye. However, in your eyes, I’m seeing a slightly different picture – a pressure is causing a swelling of the optic nerve. Can I ask again if you’ve ever had problems with high blood pressure?’

  Still couldn’t breath. And now a creeping sensation of fear was working its way up my spine.

  Colm shook his head, his expression showing that even he was slightly concerned now. ‘No. At least, not as far as I know. The doctor checked it a few weeks ago and it was fine. Although as I said, he did give me beta blockers to help with the migraines.’

  ‘Migraines. So more than just “the odd headache then”.’ There was a gentle, teasing rebuke. ‘And you say you’ve been having them for a few weeks?’

  ‘A month. Maybe two.’ If I didn’t know him so well, I’d say his carefree tone was conveying all the gravity of someone reading the weather forecast. Today will be breezy and fine. Over in my corner of the room, it was considerably more stormy.

  ‘He has been under a lot of strain lately,’ I interjected, sounding almost desperate. ‘So that could cause his blood pressure to rise, couldn’t it?’

  Yes, that must be it. High blood pressure we could handle. We could fix that.

  ‘It could,’ she conceded. ‘But if your blood pressure is normal, then there could be another reason behind what I’m seeing here. I think it’s definitely something we need to have inv
estigated straight away.’ She picked up Colm’s form and scanned the page, before lifting the phone next to her and dialling a number.

  Oh bugger. She actually did mean straight away. This couldn’t be good.

  ‘Yes, this is Janice Lowery at The Eye Centre. Can I speak to Dr. Morton? Yes, I’ll hold.’

  Stomach churning, I checked the clock. Afternoon surgery would be over by now, and the doctor probably wouldn’t even be in the building.

  We shouldn’t have come. We should just have waited at the school for Beth, coffee in hand, having a giggle until she appeared and we could go kick leaves in the park. This was a mistake.

  ‘Dr Morton, hello again.’ So they knew each other. That explained why he took the call. Getting to speak to a doctor at that surgery was on a par with securing an audience with the Pope.

  ‘I’ve a Mr O’Flynn here. Colm O’Flynn. I’ve just had a look at his eyes and there’s evidence of possible papilledema’

  A papilledema? I racked my mind to remember if I’d come across that word during my Google searches, but my brain was frozen, refusing to co-operate. Please make that a small thing. Nothing serious. Easily fixed. Yet, Janice’s end of the conversation suggested otherwise.

  ‘I’d recommend an urgent referral. Can you take care of that please? Yes, I’ll let them know. Hold on, let me check.’ She picked up the form again and rhymed off Colm’s mobile number. ‘Lovely. Thank you doctor, I’ll tell them to expect your call, and in the meantime I’ll photograph what I’m seeing and email over the image.’

  She hung up. ‘They’ll get back to you first thing in the morning. If they don’t, please call them and check on it. Now, I’m just going to take a quick image…’

  The machine in front of Colm was swiftly replaced with a different one, and there was a couple of clicks of a shutter.

  Dear God, what was going on? What had started as an impromptu plan to get a bit of reassurance was now backfiring spectacularly.

  ‘Doctor…’ I started.

  ‘Janice,’ she corrected me, kindly.

  ‘Janice. What could cause this?’

  ‘Well, it could be high blood pressure.’ Her gaze moved to Colm. ‘It could even be that this is your normal status and it’s been like this your whole life. I have seen this before.’