June| St LaCroix | 97

My dad would sooner die than get involved with
some smooth-skinned sexually adept young woman.
Turns out, that's exactly what he did.

I rang my mother half-expecting to hear that he was
dead. I was half-right. (Which means I was quarter right?)
He's been diagnosed with cancer. I'm comparatively calm
but slightly irritated. This doesn't fit with my plans.
I don't suppose cancer ever does.

They're saying it could be two or three months before
'he goes" He's 79 after all, and he was never going be
around forever. That, at least is what I'm telling myself.
My mother is taking it well.
We're all taking it well.

Thing is, I've just started work for an advertising
agency in St LaCroix. I've been here 2 and a half weeks.
There's no getting away from it. It's inconvevient.
But's that's life. Or death rather.

And yet I can't help feeling sort of honoured that
something so grand, so important is happening to me.
Or to him rather.