Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale by Lindy Dale Read Free Book Online Page B

not filled with cancer inducing fumes and I
don’t smoke. So, why me? I’ve no idea what I did to deserve this. The only
thing I do know is, moping won’t make it go away. So basically, I have to forget
that idea, right now.
    Pulling my
phone from my pocket, I decide to give Melinda a call. She’s only on the school
run two days a week — the au pair does the others — so there’s
little possibility she’ll be here this afternoon. I want to tell her what’s
happened because out of everyone I know, she’s the one who’ll understand. Melinda’s
reaction the other Saturday was most likely based on the fact that her mother
and sister both had Breast Cancer, but hey, they survived, they’re still here.
And right now, I could do with her support. I dial her number and wait. It goes
straight to voicemail and I don’t like that it does because, in Melinda’s case,
it means she’s avoiding me. Calls never go to voicemail on her phone.   She could be having a Pap smear and
she’d still answer my call. I send her a text asking her to ring me. There’s no
reply.
    “What’s up?”
Angela asks.
    “I’m trying
to ring Melinda. She’s not answering.”
    “That’s unusual.
She’d answer her phone if she was in the middle of fellatio.”
    Exactly. But
giving her the benefit of the doubt, I slip my phone into my pocket and join the
conversation.
      Next to me, one of the mums, Jodie, is
regaling the group with a list of the inadequacies in her nanny. She’s going on
and on and on. I really couldn’t give a toss.   There are more important things to worry about, though I
guess if you’ve nothing else, such things tend to become a little bit
important.
    “So, I
bought the triplets’ entire new season wardrobes from Pumpkin Patch and what
does that retard do?” She waits expectantly for us to guess. Her eyebrows have
risen into her hairline and she’s glaring at me like I was the one who did whatever
it was. She’s clearly distressed about this state of affairs but then Jodie gets
riled about anything.
    “I don’t
know,” Angela answers. “What did she
do?”
    “She washed
them together on a bloody hot wash. Turned the every single piece either pink
or shrunken to the size only a Barbie could wear. I mean, honestly.”
    “What did
you do?” I ask, if only to shut her up.
    “I had to
sack her, of course. Last week she burnt holes in their undies while attempting
to iron them. I wouldn’t even have known if I hadn’t spotted Augustus running
commando round the back yard. Who irons undies? I’m positive she was doing it
to piss me off because I asked her to clean the toilet.”
    “How
dreadful,” Angela says, rather mockingly. “Have you gotten a new nanny yet?”
    “Monday.
She’s Mormon. They’re meant to be great with kids and they have no life so I’m
hoping she won’t be as hopeless as the other four. At least she’ll stay home.
Seriously, how these girls can advertise themselves as nannies is beyond me.
One of them practically drank the wine cellar dry. If this one’s no good, I have
no idea what I’ll do.”
    And that’s
when I snap. It’s not like I have any connection to the Mormon faith or any
reason to be offended but Jodie’s behaving like a cow. Some of these women are
way too entitled.
    “Gosh,” I
say, “it might mean you have to do your own laundry.”
    Jodie
freezes. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
    “Um, that
there are more important things in life than finding a nanny who can wash
clothes. Maybe if you weren’t so horrid to them, they wouldn’t be nervous and
keep stuffing up.”
    “And you’re
so perfect, I suppose?”
    “Of course
I’m not. I’m just saying…”
    She puts her
hand up in my face, turning her head away like she’s five. I’m fully expecting
her to stick her fingers in her ears and begin to sing. No wonder her eldest is
such a brat. It’s clearly genetic.
    “I don’t think—”
Angela interrupts.
    “Oh shut up,”
Jodie