It was bigger, he was sure. The lump. It was the size of a pea now, whereas just a week or so earlier it had felt the size of—he struggled to come up with a suitable comparison—a smaller pea. A petit pois, maybe.

Or was it the same size, and his imagination was blowing it up? He had to admit, he was no expert on the lump, having avoided hunting for it even after a succession of doctors had been down there having a good poke around at it.

Aye, he’d had plenty of casual feels of the general testicle area, but he’d studiously avoided getting right in for a proper check. Better not to touch it, he’d thought, in case it… what? Burst?

He couldn’t explain his exact reasoning for not wanting to feel it, but when he finally had found the growth, his hand shot away like his balls had suddenly started crackling with an electrical charge.

It was an hour later before he’d gone searching again, this time lying in the bath. He’d felt sick when he tracked the lump down that time—a gut-wrenching nausea that had almost made him throw up into the hot, soapy suds.

Although, on reflection, that may have just been him squeezing too hard.

He hadn’t gone looking for the lump much after that, and had fallen back on a more idle sort of fiddling. A supportive cupping of the affected bollock here, a comforting wee rub there. Leave the nitty-gritty in-depth examinations to the experts, and he’d handle the bigger picture stuff. The moral support.

He could do with some moral support now.

But, Sinead had sounded so busy. And she’d been stressed enough over the past few weeks, even before his testes had turned cancerous, what with their workload and the wedding organising. Add in juggling her younger brother, throw in a few sleepless nights, and it was a miracle she hadn’t had some sort of breakdown days ago.

He wondered if the boss was back yet. Maybe he could offer some support, bounce some ideas around regarding the case, or just reminisce fondly on that time when they nearly had the shit kicked out of them by a load of teenagers in a swing park.

Logan was probably still out. Or probably asleep. Or probably busy. Probably something, anyway.

Tyler exhaled into the darkness. It would be good to talk to someone though, he thought. To hear some voice that wasn’t the nagging one in his own head that told him things were going to be much worse than he expected. The one that tutted quietly and muttered under his breath what a shame it was for him. What a loss. And such a young man, too. Whole life ahead of him.

Tragic, really.