Old Wounds
Garry and I met just after Finn and I opened the bar. He was only just starting out as a trader at one of the banks in Canary Wharf, working his way up through the ranks and had come in for a drink after work. We just clicked, and a year later he asked me to marry him. I was only twenty-two, and he was twenty-five, but we felt like our love was forever. It took a while to get the money saved for our wedding as I had put everything I had into the bar; I didn't want anything big, but Garry was already getting sucked into the banking lifestyle and wanted a great big flashy do, something he assured me he could cover with his upcoming bonus. So I gave in despite my reservations as all I wanted to do was make my fiancé happy.
It was at a dress fitting, a few months before the wedding, when I discovered I had lost weight, quite a lot of weight. I mentioned it to my girlfriends they just shrugged it off, congratulating me on my diet. The thing was, I wasn't on a diet. Instead, my stomach had been giving me grief for months, something I hadn't told anyone about, and had put it down to the stress of organising my increasingly complex and crazy wedding. It was a week later that I noticed blood in the toilet. It was a shock, but I figured that maybe I had wiped too hard. For the next few weeks, I made excuses every time blood made an appearance on the toilet tissue or in the bowl. I was terrified of what it meant.
It was only when Finn found me sobbing in my bathroom one night that I finally admitted to myself that something was wrong. The diarrhoea. The exhaustion. The weight-loss. It all pointed to the disease that killed my mother. With Finn's persuasion, and despite my terror, I went to the doctor, and that was when everything changed.
My mother's history of bowel cancer saw me sped through various tests and a colonoscopy which ultimately came back negative for cancer. However, as I was lying there coming round from the sedation, the consultant chose that moment to inform me that I had ulcerative colitis, a form of inflammatory bowel disease. In my delirious, post-operative state, I could barely comprehend his words other than the fact it wasn't the big C. Fantastic. I wasn't going to die.
It was only an hour later when Finn came to pick me up from the hospital ward because Garry had an important work meeting, that I realised I didn't have the full picture. The nurse began talking about the medication I needed to pick up from the pharmacy and my confusion made her check my notes. She grabbed the first specialist she could find, and it was that kind junior doctor that patiently explained that I would have to live with this disease for the rest of my life. And while it in itself would not kill me, my risk of developing the cancer that killed my mother would be much higher.
My world was shaken. As I tried to come to terms that I was living with an incurable disease, my mental health was deeply affected. With everything that was going on, there were some days I could barely lift my head from the pillow, let alone even get out of bed. Garry couldn't handle the idea that I was sick and began avoiding me which was made easier by the fact that we didn't live together. I had thought it rather romantic when Garry had suggested waiting until we were married to move into his new apartment together but it just gave him room to continue living his life as if I weren't around.
At the time I was barely aware of the passing of days so when a friend popped over after a few weeks, expressing her sorrow for the break in our engagement, I could only stare at her in disbelief. It was only then that I realised that I hadn't seen Garry in a while. It took me two more days to actually track down Garry with what I'd heard, and his response was that he didn't have time to deal with a sick wife so it would be better if we didn't get married. I never heard from him again. Until now.
"Fucking shit," Finn mutters. "I should find him and break his legs." The anger is radiating off him.
"Don't, Finn. He's not worth it," I say quietly. And really, he's not. Finn is my saviour, the guy who after Garry left, stayed by my side. He looked after me for weeks until I started responding to the medication whilst running the bar and never complained once. Truly, he is the most amazing person I have ever met, and I would never let him jeopardise his own future to defend me against some dickhead like Garry.
"Oh, Kit Kat, I'm sorry," Finn says quietly, his eyes soft as he considers me.
I wriggle out of his grasp and wipe my eyes, doing my best not to smear my mascara. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Finn. He's a dick, and better I found out before we got married than after. Anyhow, it's in the past and as that weird monkey-dude from The Lion King says, you can either run from it, or learn from it. The past hurts but I can make sure nothing can hurt me in the future."
Finn smiles at me sadly but doesn't say anything more.
I give him a weak smile back. "Come on, those drinks won't make themselves."