The Other Life of Charlotte Evans

‘I’ll do a referral and you’ll go have a mammogram – but at your age the breast is quite dense and clarity isn’t great on the films. So there’ll probably be an ultrasound too… and an appointment with a specialist. There is a protocol we follow and things move quite quickly once you’re in the system. Usually, for someone under thirty they suggest a non-urgent referral. As I can actually feel a lump I’ll see if I can hurry it along for you, but it might be a couple of weeks or so. Hop off the couch and let’s have more of a chat. I’ll check your blood pressure and ask a few routine questions.’

‘Sure. Okay.’ Charlotte slipped her top down and crept back from behind the curtain before sitting down at the desk next to her mum, who was pale and clenching her hands in her lap. They gave each other a hesitant smile and then looked at the doctor. Dr Montford was a new GP in the surgery, but Charlotte wasn’t a new patient. She’d been registered there since just after her birth. ‘You’ll have all my details on there, I think?’

‘Yes.’ The doctor scrolled down through the computer notes. ‘Aha. All seems fine. You’re on the Pill, right? No other medications?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘How’s the Pill going for you?’

‘Fine. Really great. Pregnancy’s not an option for us at the moment. We’re just starting out, you know? Mortgaged up to the hilt and stretching ourselves quite a lot.’ Which was putting it mildly. Ben had it all worked out with a financial advisor and everything; a five-year plan of working hard to pay off as much as they could, before they contemplated a family. Their financial borrowing had been planned to precision. ‘A baby would be a disaster.’ She had another thought; so would cancer. ‘Could the lump be anything to do with the Pill?’

‘Well, the lower dose of oestrogen in the Pill you’re taking shouldn’t have any effect on susceptibility to breast cancer.’ The blood-pressure cuff squeezed tight round Charlotte’s arm, then released with a pffff. The doctor looked from Charlotte to Eileen and back again. ‘BP is fine. Is there any family history of breast cancer, though? Ovarian cancer?’

Family history. It was always this question that made Charlotte’s heart bump and her stomach contract tight. It seemed so lame not to have a satisfactory answer. And she felt somewhat lacking. Who didn’t know which diseases ran in their families? Who didn’t have a clue about their genetic history? All she had was a bit of paper with the same amount of information as she’d had contact with her blood family. Nil of note. She looked down at her fingers, at her mum, who looked away, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.

This wasn’t a subject they’d talked about since Charlotte had watched them crumble with panic at that kitchen table. More tiptoeing, more care not to upset. Even though she’d often wondered who she was, she’d never ever dared broach it with Eileen. ‘I… er… I don’t know. Is it important?’

Dr Efficiency looked up from the screen and smiled. ‘Oh? Well, family history counts for quite a lot in health. Genetics, yes? And we just don’t know the effects of the Pill on breast-cancer risk combined with a strong family history.’

‘Well, I’m adopted. I just don’t know.’ Charlotte shook her head, looking directly at the doctor, because it wasn’t something she was ashamed of, it was just what it was.

‘Is it important, though?’ It was the first time Eileen had spoken and her voice was shaky. Not something Charlotte had seen in her usually together mum. ‘We didn’t have many details, to be honest, on the adoption papers. Just a name and age of the birth mother. There were a lot of blanks.’ Blinking quickly she seemed surprised to have said so much. ‘It was all so rushed, you see. Unexpected. Lovely, of course. But we didn’t have the opportunity to ask questions. It was a long time ago.’

But Dr Montford just shook her head and smiled again. ‘It’s fine. It’s fine. Look, let’s go with what we know. You have a small lump in your breast. We don’t know what’s causing it, and right now I’m guessing it’s a cyst. Please try not to worry until after the tests.’

Easy for you to say. ‘Okay. I’ll do my best.’

‘I’m going to pay for you to go private,’ Eileen said, definitively. ‘Things will move faster then.’

They were outside now, blasted by a cool June wind – a far cry from the cloying artificial heat in the doctor’s surgery. People walked around them tutting as the two women stood in the middle of the pavement trying to make sense of things. Which direction to go in? Left to Mum’s, right to the dance studio? But neither of them seemed capable of making a decision. All that agony of waiting and still no real answer. Just more waiting. More agony.

But it was worth the wait to Charlotte if it meant her mum didn’t spend a fortune on private appointments. ‘You can’t afford it, Mum. Who knows how much all those tests will cost? You don’t have the money.’

Eileen bristled. ‘I have a little put aside for emergencies. I’d say my daughter having a health issue is an emergency, wouldn’t you?’

‘No. You heard the doctor – it can wait. We don’t need to worry.’ Although saying it was a lot easier than believing it. Charlotte ran her palm across her T-shirt, palming her breast. Then remembered she wasn’t supposed to. ‘Let’s just do it the way the doctor suggested.’

But her mum’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I want to do something, for God’s sake. I feel so bloody helpless.’

‘Mum. It’ll be okay.’ Wishing her stupid body wasn’t so defective that she’d caused her mum such anguish, Charlotte looped her arm into Eileen’s. ‘Come on, let’s go get a cuppa or something stronger.’

Once settled in the salad bar opposite the studio, Charlotte broached a subject that had been pricking her mind since the appointment. Because, why worry about one thing when you can worry about so much more? ‘Do you think it might be important, though? My family history?’

‘I just don’t know. I mean, probably not, not really. And even if it is, there’s not a lot you can do about it anyway.’ Eileen shrugged, wrapping her hands around her mug of tea and cradling it to her like a shield. This was territory they’d barely stepped on for almost eighteen years.

For Charlotte, because it had never felt like the right time to ask, or explore. For her mother, Charlotte guessed, because she didn’t want to lose her daughter to a crusade that might leave things on rocky ground for all concerned. There had been that conversation when Charlotte was eight about the fact she was adopted, then another ten years later when her mother had given her the adoption papers and said, You have a legal right now to find out who she is. I won’t stand in your way, but please… please let me know when and what and how, so I can prepare myself.

And in between there had been times, so many times, when Charlotte had desperately wanted to ask more questions, to fill in the gaps of who she was – and always, always that worry that delving deeper would cause a deeper rift between her and her mum. She’d been the lucky one, the chosen one, but how easy was it for that luck to run dry? For her mother to realise she’d made a huge mistake and send her back. Away. Somewhere else.

She’d never wanted to take the risk and find out.

But now she was starting to get the enormity of the issue for herself and, more so, for Eileen. For her mum, it was about being a woman, a fiercely protective lioness, a mother. It was about loving someone so much you didn’t want to share. The same way, Charlotte imagined, she loved Ben, but more so. Deeper. Harder. Stronger.

Which kind of brought up a load of questions in and of themselves… if a mum’s love was so strong, why had her birth mother given her away in the first place? Why would you do that?

Charlotte thought about those mothers picking up their girls from the studio after class. How could you turn your back on that? A lifetime of love? A life? A precious gift?

Maybe she just hadn’t been precious enough.

Charlotte stuffed those questions away. This wasn’t about any of that; it was about genetics and science. Not emotions. ‘The doctor wouldn’t have asked about family history if it wasn’t a part of the jigsaw, though.’

‘Is it something you feel you need to find out? Right now? When there’s so much else going on?’ Eileen’s eyebrows rose. ‘Ask yourself this; will knowing all that help in any way?’

She had a point. ‘You heard what she said, though… information helps. This has been a bit of a wake-up call, to be honest. Over the last few days I’ve been thinking a lot about what kind of future I might have. ‘

‘A very long and happy one.’ Eileen’s hand covered Charlotte’s – warm from the tea, but comforting and a gesture filled with love. ‘You really have been thinking too much.’

‘Ben says I’m a panic merchant. But this has made me wonder what this blood is inside me. I don’t know anything about me really. What or who shaped these genes.’ Charlotte looked at their hands entwined. Eileen’s thin, wrinkled ones and her own, holding on to each other. ‘Is this lump anything to do with family history? Or is it just random chance?’

‘Probably the latter. No rhyme or reason. Some people have lumps, some don’t.’

Is it genetic, though? No one was willing to answer that. Not out loud, at least.

‘Don’t you ever wonder? About who I really am? About her? About her genes inside me?’ All the panic and worry of the last few days was bundled up in those words and she couldn’t stop them coming out, but she regretted them the moment she said them.

The hand was withdrawn and wrapped around the mug again, leaving a fading warmth. Eileen’s eyes darkened as Charlotte had guessed they would and she wished she could take her questions back. ‘I hope she’s happy. I hope she managed to move on, although God knows how you ever get over giving a baby away. She must have been desperate, poor woman. Things were different back then; there was still a lot of stigma about being a single parent. So yes, there isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think about how lucky I was to get you. But other than that, I don’t want to think about her at all. I’m scared to, Charlotte. I’m scared you’ll go looking and it might mean things change between us.’

‘I love you, Mum. You know that.’

‘I do know, love. I wouldn’t stand in your way, you know that, but let’s get this over with. Let’s get the tests done. Let’s get some answers from the doctors. You have so much to look forward to without digging up a load of things from the past that might not be relevant.’

‘You’re right. Yes. Of course.’

That made Eileen’s face brighten a little. ‘Think about the wedding. The future.’

But the years of curiosity had had life blown into them again. Charlotte tried to douse the flames by listening to her real mum. The one who’d given her a lovely and safe twenty-five years and who was here with her as she faced the possibility of a dark challenge.

‘Yes. The wedding.’ Charlotte tried to make light of things. ‘We should probably bring it forward so I can snag him while I’m healthy. He hasn’t actually agreed to look after me in sickness yet.’

Now her mum just shook her head. ‘Oh, Charlotte, stop being so silly. Of course he will.’

‘And… into arabesque… streeeeetch, extend that right arm, a little more…. lovely, ladies. Ruby, keep your foot pointed please. Nice. Turn out more, left leg. Yes. Perfect. And… lower into… Oh!’ There was a huge bunch of flowers walking through the Studio Two door. It had legs encased in grubby jeans and was making a sound something like ‘hmmmfpph…’ Charlotte clapped her hands, switched off the music and called out, ‘Take a break, ladies.’

‘Hmmmpf,’ the bouquet said again. This time a little more loudly.

Charlotte ran over to relieve the bearer of the flowers, but Lissa beat her to it, saying breathlessly, ‘I think you’ll find they’ll be for me. Channing’s obviously got word I’m available and he’s probably trying to woo me. It won’t work. Alas, my heart’s given over to the Cumberbatch now. Hopelessly.’ She grinned, taking the bunch, which was almost as big as her, and tugging out an envelope from deep within the stems and leaves and flounces of pink ribbon. ‘Shoot. Fancy that, it’s got your name on.’

‘It says…’ Charlotte ripped open the paper. This was a first. No one ever sent her flowers. ‘Meet me outside in ten minutes. It must be from Ben.’