step outside the pub. After raining all morning, the sky reveals promising patches of blue.
‘Let’s do the circular route by the gorge, shall we?’ says Cath. Her parents have lived in the Yorkshire Dales since Cath and her brother were small, and the walk is a family
favourite.
‘It’s so nice to have someone to go with,’ says Judy, once they’re out of earshot. Anything but a short stroll is too much for Peter these days, but Judy is younger and
fitter than her husband.
Cath leads the way through a gate and into a field. It’s peppered with sheep, heads down grazing. The gradient rises gently on either side, a stream cuts through the meadow, tall grasses
dampen their legs. They stroll in companionable silence at first, getting into the rhythm. After a while, gentle undulations give way to more dramatic crags and outcrops, and as they follow the
line of the stream, stepping from stone to stone, their conversation mirrors their movements, jumping from one shared interest to another. Cath tells Judy news of friends her mother is fond of;
Judy updates Cath on the latest dramas involving Cath’s brother, Mike, and his wife, Sukey. They share a moan about Sukey, whom they both find difficult. ‘No wonder those boys are
hyperactive,’ says Cath. ‘Their mother’s an exercise junkie.’
They could natter all afternoon, but if Cath is going to tackle the subject, she’d better get on with it. She glances at her mother before she begins. Judy’s expression is a half
smile, eyes crinkled up in the brightness. Her grey hair is swept up in its customary bun, a few wisps fall about her still quietly beautiful face; her purple anorak is unzipped, hands swing in
time with her step. She’s as relaxed as she’ll ever be.
‘There’s something I want to let you know, Mum.’
‘Oh?’
‘You know when they operated to remove the tumour?’
‘Ye-es . . . ’
Cath knows her mother doesn’t like talking about her cancer. At the time, Judy seemed better dealing with the practicalities than talking about it openly. Presumably she found it too
upsetting; nonetheless, given their closeness, Cath found it hard. She reminds her, ‘Well, they left my cervix and uterus.’
‘So they did.’
They’re entering a narrow ravine. Great slabs of grey rise far above their heads, cut crossways and vertical by centuries of running water, like giant building blocks. Cath looks up in the
hope they might lend her some of their strength. ‘It means I can carry a baby.’ Even saying this chokes her up, she wants it so terribly.
Judy says nothing. Cath wishes she’d react. ‘I don’t understand,’ she says eventually. ‘I didn’t think you could.’
Cath steadies her voice and explains about using another woman’s eggs. That they’re walking helps her compose herself; it’s as if each stride brings with it a touch more
clarity, helping formulate thoughts.
When she’s through, Judy says, ‘Well, I suppose the same stubbornness that got you through your cancer should see you through this.’
Cath should probably ignore the criticism, but can’t resist. ‘Dad always says I get my obstinacy from you.’
‘Good grief, Cath!’ Judy bursts out. ‘Have you really thought about it? You’d be going through something similar all over again. You’ll be back in waiting rooms,
having tests, having treatment.’
‘But I won’t be a cancer patient.’ Why can’t her mother see it?
‘Having a baby, it’s a lot to put your body through.’
‘I’m so much better than I was.’ For months following her operation, Cath’s whole world shrank to her bedroom and going to the hospital for chemotherapy: the most she
could take in was daytime TV; even reading was too taxing. Very occasionally between treatments, she could just muster the strength to get to the end of the street for a coffee with Rich to support
her. Then when it was all over, she felt very down. Yet she pulled herself out of that too. In
‘Let’s do the circular route by the gorge, shall we?’ says Cath. Her parents have lived in the Yorkshire Dales since Cath and her brother were small, and the walk is a family
favourite.
‘It’s so nice to have someone to go with,’ says Judy, once they’re out of earshot. Anything but a short stroll is too much for Peter these days, but Judy is younger and
fitter than her husband.
Cath leads the way through a gate and into a field. It’s peppered with sheep, heads down grazing. The gradient rises gently on either side, a stream cuts through the meadow, tall grasses
dampen their legs. They stroll in companionable silence at first, getting into the rhythm. After a while, gentle undulations give way to more dramatic crags and outcrops, and as they follow the
line of the stream, stepping from stone to stone, their conversation mirrors their movements, jumping from one shared interest to another. Cath tells Judy news of friends her mother is fond of;
Judy updates Cath on the latest dramas involving Cath’s brother, Mike, and his wife, Sukey. They share a moan about Sukey, whom they both find difficult. ‘No wonder those boys are
hyperactive,’ says Cath. ‘Their mother’s an exercise junkie.’
They could natter all afternoon, but if Cath is going to tackle the subject, she’d better get on with it. She glances at her mother before she begins. Judy’s expression is a half
smile, eyes crinkled up in the brightness. Her grey hair is swept up in its customary bun, a few wisps fall about her still quietly beautiful face; her purple anorak is unzipped, hands swing in
time with her step. She’s as relaxed as she’ll ever be.
‘There’s something I want to let you know, Mum.’
‘Oh?’
‘You know when they operated to remove the tumour?’
‘Ye-es . . . ’
Cath knows her mother doesn’t like talking about her cancer. At the time, Judy seemed better dealing with the practicalities than talking about it openly. Presumably she found it too
upsetting; nonetheless, given their closeness, Cath found it hard. She reminds her, ‘Well, they left my cervix and uterus.’
‘So they did.’
They’re entering a narrow ravine. Great slabs of grey rise far above their heads, cut crossways and vertical by centuries of running water, like giant building blocks. Cath looks up in the
hope they might lend her some of their strength. ‘It means I can carry a baby.’ Even saying this chokes her up, she wants it so terribly.
Judy says nothing. Cath wishes she’d react. ‘I don’t understand,’ she says eventually. ‘I didn’t think you could.’
Cath steadies her voice and explains about using another woman’s eggs. That they’re walking helps her compose herself; it’s as if each stride brings with it a touch more
clarity, helping formulate thoughts.
When she’s through, Judy says, ‘Well, I suppose the same stubbornness that got you through your cancer should see you through this.’
Cath should probably ignore the criticism, but can’t resist. ‘Dad always says I get my obstinacy from you.’
‘Good grief, Cath!’ Judy bursts out. ‘Have you really thought about it? You’d be going through something similar all over again. You’ll be back in waiting rooms,
having tests, having treatment.’
‘But I won’t be a cancer patient.’ Why can’t her mother see it?
‘Having a baby, it’s a lot to put your body through.’
‘I’m so much better than I was.’ For months following her operation, Cath’s whole world shrank to her bedroom and going to the hospital for chemotherapy: the most she
could take in was daytime TV; even reading was too taxing. Very occasionally between treatments, she could just muster the strength to get to the end of the street for a coffee with Rich to support
her. Then when it was all over, she felt very down. Yet she pulled herself out of that too. In
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