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please?’ I said, reaching for the box.

      Then tears started streaming down my face. God, this cancer business was really serious. Who makes a will at twenty-seven, for god’s sake? I shouldn’t have to think of such things.

      After the meeting, standing outside in the corridor I started to sob again. ‘I might die,’ I cried, feeling really low all of a sudden.

      Mary put her arm around me. ‘No, you won’t,’ she said. ‘You are so strong. You’ll get yourself through this.’

      I knew she meant well, and I was glad she was there, but sometimes I get sick of being called ‘strong’. It’s like anything that’s chucked at me, I just have to get on with and I’m sick of it. What else could I do but be strong? There were no choices.

      We walked back to the car park together. ‘Can you drive?’ I asked, handing her the keys. ‘I don’t feel able to.’

      I could see she was nervous. It was a new £135,000 Bentley, so I understood why.

      ‘You’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘I trust you.’

      She got in the car while I went to the ticket machine to pay. It didn’t work. So I went to another machine. It didn’t work.

      I pressed a buzzer to speak to a man. The conversation went something like this:

      ‘Excuse me, could you lift the barrier please?’ I asked.

      ‘Sorry?’ he said.

      ‘Excuse me, the ticket machine doesn’t work, could you lift the barrier?’

      ‘I don’t understand you,’ he replied. ‘Can’t help.’

      ‘Please. Can. You. Lift. The. Barrier,’ I asked, again.

      ‘No, I don’t think I can,’ he replied rudely.

      This went on for about five minutes. Not only did I have cancer and had been told to make a will, but I was now stuck in an underground car park. At some moment very soon I was going to lose it.

      ‘Excuse me, sir, I am trying to explain, we are stuck in this fucking car park,’ I yelled, my voice echoing round the concrete walls.

      I could see Mary almost laughing.

      Another man came on the line and immediately the gate went up.

      Why is nothing ever simple?

      We drove home, and I just sat in silence. Thinking, always thinking of my boys and how this cannot, will not beat me.

      Back home, I told the boys Jack has gone away to Africa to save the lions. I can’t tell them he’s gone to prison. That would break their hearts.

      He rang later on and we agreed we are going to talk on the phone every day that he is inside. He seems to be dealing with things really well and is just worried about me.

      He says he has settled into prison life pretty easily and every day is merging into one.

      Hearing his voice gives me strength. Somehow thinking and worrying about him stops me thinking and worrying about myself and all the drugs and treatments I’ve got coming up.

      I’m going to have to take lots of different medicines with horrible side effects to stand a chance.

      I tried to think of ways to explain it to the boys that they will understand and decided that I will explain my hair loss, when it happens, by saying I used the wrong shampoo. I could pretend I used that hair-removing stuff by accident.

      And I will tell them that I have tadpoles in my belly. A couple of years ago Jack decided to dig a pond in my garden (without asking my permission, I should add!). I was annoyed but he said it would only be a small one and would look nice. Then he some put carp and terrapins in it. I insisted on putting up a gate too because Freddy was only a toddler and could have fallen in.

      Anyway, two of the carp died and then one of the terrapins exploded! I don’t know what was wrong with it. It just split into white goo and nearly made me and Bobby sick looking at it. Mum reckons it had salmonella, but I’m not sure if terrapins get food poisoning. Anyway, I tried to fish all the yuck out of the pond and then, of course, I fell in! It was horrible. I emerged covered in slime and pondweed. Of course, everyone thought it was hilarious.

      So I told the boys that night: ‘Remember when Mummy fell in the pond? Well, I swallowed a frog and they made some tadpoles and now they are upsetting Mum’s tummy.’

      They seemed to understand that. It made perfect sense to them. I hope they don’t get frightened of tadpoles, though.

      It does make me feel sick to think about my op getting closer.

      People have always said to me, ‘You’re so lucky, Jade!’–and of course I am in some ways. But I always think that just when things are going right for me there has to be some big drama. A lot have been of my own making, of course, but this time is different.

      I don’t smoke, I eat healthily (lots of fruit and veg), I don’t drink every day, I exercise (on and off), I look after myself, I don’t do anything wrong and yet I have cancer.

      I must be the unluckiest lucky person out there!

      3rd September 2008

      Mum is back at last and I was really pleased to see her. We sat down and had a cuddle and I told her all the details about my cancer treatments.

      ‘Jade, I know you’ll be alright,’ she said.

      I felt like losing it. ‘How do you know, Mum? Do you understand just how serious this could be?’

      Trouble is, I don’t think she does. She thinks I am so strong I can get over whatever is thrown at me.

      ‘You’ll just have the cells zapped again like you did before,’ she said.

      ‘Mum, it’s a bit more than that. I might need a hysterectomy,’ I said.

      ‘A hyster what?’ she replied.

      ‘My womb taken out!’ I yelled.

      Mum looked into my eyes and could see I wasn’t messing.

      ‘Whatever happens I am here for you, Jade,’ she said.

      However much we bicker sometimes, it’s really good she’s around. It’s times like this when a girl needs her mum.

      Later I spoke to Jack again. He can only ring at 4.30pm so I try to make sure I am in. He’s in Chelmsford Prison and says he doesn’t want me to visit because it’s so grim.

      ‘Prison doesn’t bother me,’ I said. I knew all about prisons, having grown up visiting my dad in them.

      ‘I just don’t want you in this horrible place,’ he said.

      I am gutted as I’m desperate to see him. Instead we can only talk on the phone. I suppose it’s better than nothing and we are getting on better than ever, but it’s not the same as being able to kiss and touch him and feel his special hugs.

      Having cancer has made us both realise how much we love each other. It would be great if we could get together properly now and stop all the messing about.

      4th September 2008

      Went shopping with Danielle in Harlow. Just went to the bank and got a few bits.

      Suddenly, as I was walking down the street, my left leg went underneath me. It felt all weird, like banging the funny bone in my elbow. Danielle helped me up again.

      ‘What’s that about?’ I asked, half laughing. She looked really worried.

      I’ve collapsed a few times over the years and the doctors always said it was nothing. Surely I can’t have had this cancer all that time?

      Later

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