Miss Americana and The Hearbreak Princess

Chapter Forty Eight - Soon You'll Get Better

"Between the end of the album release press and the start of the tour, I had some free time. I mean, I had to rehearse for the tour. All the choreography, each number, the costumes, the stage, the props. It was a whole production again, and it's always been one of my favourite parts, but of course, being off tour gave me a chance to go home for my birthday that year. So, I went back to London and stayed with my mum and I could just... see that something was off. I don't think she even noticed it herself, or that my brother and father did when they saw her, because they saw her all the time. But... not being there often, it was clear to me."

"It was cancer, wasn't it?"

Becca blinked back the stinging tears as her face crumpled, drawing in a hitching breath as she nodded, a lump in her throat making it hard for her to speak.

"I stayed after my birthday. It didn't seem worth coming back for Christmas. And she- just looking at her... she looked tired. Pale. Thin. She wasn't eating much, and I nagged her."

Trailing off with a tearful laugh, Becca quickly dashed a hand over her eyes, sniffing and clearing her throat as she straightened up in her seat.

"I nagged her for a couple of weeks to go and see a doctor. To get some tests done. There can be a long waiting list in the UK. They'll send you home and tell you to take two Paracetamol and come back if it doesn't go away, and I was scared that she'd put it off for so long that when she finally went, it would be bad. Really bad. And it was bad enough as it was, but we caught it early so it- it felt like there was some hope. But at the time, it just... it felt like the worst possible result."

Pausing, she stared blankly at the floor, absentmindedly chewing on her thumb for a second before she blinked herself out of it. With a wan smile, she sat on her hands and looked at Mei with grim acceptance.

"You don't think that it's- it's good that it's only at an early stage, because it's still there. Your mum's still sick. For me... it was hard. And I know it was harder for her too, obviously, but... my whole life, my mum has been my best friend. When I didn't have friends, when I wasn't famous, she was always there for me. Always. And she's always been there through every step of my career. She's been the first person I've played some of my songs for, she's been a part of every tour. I wouldn't be where I am right now if it wasn't for my mum, and I was... so scared. In the beginning, all I could think was that I was going to lose my best friend."

Rawee had finally gone to the doctor's after the New Year, at Becca's relentless insistence, humouring her for the most part, even though, in hindsight, she'd known she hadn't been feeling well.

A quick blood test and a few days of waiting for results led to a phone call for Rawee to visit her doctor and a feeling of dread that Becca couldn't shake.

It blanketed their car ride as she drove her mother through the streets of London, the radio playing quiet music as her hands sweated around the steering wheel she white- knuckled.

Her throat was dry and she couldn't even utter any reassurances as they sat in backed-up traffic, the windscreen wipers scraping against the glass as rain dotted the window.

"I'm sure it's all fine," Rawee off-handedly replied with dismissive arrogance twenty minutes into the ride.

Becca hunched her shoulders slightly, taut with tension as she gripped the steering wheel harder, her throat constricting as she didn't deign to reply.

Her glasses slipped down her nose as a cold sweat broke out over her body and she nervously jiggled her knee as she broke behind a Fiat. They sat through the red light for a few seconds and Becca took off at green, taking the turn a little more aggressively than necessary.