From Christmas to Eternity Page 8

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’ll be looking after you.’

  ‘No, you won’t. I’ll be fine. And anyway, we weren’t talking about that,’ he said with a smile that didn’t seem to reach quite to his eyes. ‘Tell me about Ben and Daisy’s house. Have you seen it yet?’

  She let it go for now. Curiously liberating, she realised, and smiled back, playing along with him because really, what else could they do? And it was nice to sit and talk to him as if nothing so momentous was going to happen tomorrow.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I have seen it, a couple of times, and it’s lovely, but I think they’re mad. I’m so, so glad we bought a modern house because we just wouldn’t cope. We still haven’t got round to painting it, and all we have to do is open a tin of emulsion. They’ve got to strip wallpaper and replaster half of it, and the kitchen’s huge, but at the moment it’s almost bare and they’re pretty much camping in it. She was telling me what they’re going to do, and it’ll be really lovely when it’s finished, but—wow.’

  ‘You always said you fancied a Victorian house.’

  ‘No. I said I love them,’ she corrected, picking up an olive and chewing it thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t say I’d want to live in one. The flat was enough to put me off for life.’

  He laughed softly. ‘It was a nightmare, wasn’t it? Do you remember that night of the storm, when the plaster cornice fell down in the bedroom and nearly smashed the chest of drawers?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget it! And the landlord never did fix it. We had a hole in the ceiling for a year, and every time it rained, it dripped into a bucket.’

  ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘It was, and it should have been awful, but we had fun. We used to go out for walks and house-hunt every Sunday.’

  ‘We did. And then we found our little house.’ His thumb stroked rhythmically over the back of her hand, his smile nostalgic, and she ached to hold him. Instead she fed him an olive.

  ‘I loved that house. And it was much better than the flat.’

  ‘Only slightly. It was in a pretty tired state, and it had a wasp’s nest in the roof instead of leaks,’ he reminded her.

  She laughed. ‘I’d forgotten that—but it was ours, so it didn’t seem to matter. It had a lovely rose bed down the side of the garden, though, and that gorgeous old brick wall behind it. Beautiful. They smelt amazing, those old roses. I really missed them when we sold that house.’

  ‘You always loved roses,’ he murmured. ‘You had them in your bouquet. Real ones, scented, out of your mother’s garden. They were beautiful. You were beautiful. You still are.’

  Her eyes filled, and she looked down, a soft wash of colour flooding her cheeks. It was years since she’d blushed, he realised. Years, maybe, since he’d complimented her. What a waste.

  ‘Lucy?’

  She looked up, and saw sorrow and regret in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t, Andy. Not now. It really doesn’t matter.’

  She took his hand in hers, tracing the lifeline with her fingertip, wondering what secrets it held for their future.

  ‘Scusi, Signora.’

  She let his hand go and sat back so the waiter could set her plate down, and the moment was gone...

  * * *

  ‘Lucy?’

  She turned her head towards him, lying in the bed close by her side. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Come here. I want to hold you.’

  She sat up, the light blanket sliding off her shoulders, and searched his face in the dim light. ‘We can’t!’ she whispered.

  ‘Of course we can, we’re married. And anyway, who’s going to know?’

  ‘They’ll come in and do your obs.’

  ‘No, they won’t. Not till the morning.’

  He was right, they wouldn’t, and she couldn’t sleep, not when all she wanted to do was hold him. And she guessed he couldn’t sleep, either, which was more significant, because tomorrow was going to be a very challenging day for him.

  She slipped into bed beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, and his arm curled warm and firm around her back, his hand splayed over her hip as their legs tangled together.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said softly, and within minutes he was snoring quietly, his chest rising and falling evenly as he slid into sleep. She could hear his heart beating steadily under her ear, feel the shift of his ribs under her hand with every breath.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered silently, hot tears leaking unbidden from the corners of her eyes.

  She did love him.

  He might not be perfect, but he was her rock, her anchor in the choppy sea of life, and she lay there holding him, the man she’d loved for so many years, surrounded by the muffled sound of the London traffic and the quiet footfalls of the nurses in the corridor outside, keeping vigil over him until the noises outside the door signalled the start of the day.

  Then she slipped quietly out of his arms and stood at the window, watching the first faint streaks of dawn lighten the sky while she waited for the curtain to rise on the next act.

  * * *

  He was given a pre-med, and the ‘happy drugs’ David had talked about, the sedative that would keep him calm throughout the procedure, and David came to see him.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Looking forward to it being over.’

  ‘I’m sure. Lucy, have we got your mobile number so we can keep in touch?’

  ‘Yes. But I’ll probably be here for most of it. Is that all right?’

  ‘Of course. Do whatever you want. Any more questions, either of you?’

  They shook their heads, and he squeezed

  Andy’s hand. ‘See you in there. You’ll be fine. I’ll look after you.’

  He nodded, and David went out, closing the door softly behind him and leaving them alone.

  ‘Do you want to speak to the girls?’ she asked, and he nodded again, so she rang home and he talked briefly to both of them. Lucy was sitting beside him, perched on the edge of the chair, her hands clenched together as she watched him. His eyes were bright when he handed back the phone.

  ‘OK?’

  He nodded, unable to speak, teetering on the brink of his control. He was OK, he supposed, in a way—as OK as it could be when you’d just spoken to your children for what might be the very last time. Except...

  He turned to face her, his heart thumping.

  ‘Luce, I’ve written something for the kids, and for you. It’s upstairs in the attic bedroom, in the top drawer of the bedside table. If anything happens—’

  She caught her breath, and hastily blinked away the tears. ‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ she said firmly, crushing his hand. ‘You’re going to be fine. You heard him. He’s going to get it all out, and you’ll be fine.’

  His smile nearly broke her heart.

  ‘Give it to them. If you need to.’

  She sucked in a breath and blinked back a fresh wave of tears.

  ‘Of course I will. But I won’t need to. David won’t let anything happen to you.’

  But they both knew it wasn’t all down to David and his skill, and as the minutes ticked by, the tension mounted and it was almost a relief when they arrived to take him to Theatre.

  He rested his head back and closed his eyes, and Lucy held his hand until they kicked the brakes off the bed.

  ‘Time to go,’ they said, pausing.

  ‘Good luck. I love you,’ she said softly as she kissed him goodbye, and as they wheeled him away she didn’t hear his answer. It could have been, ‘I’m sorry,’ but she wasn’t sure.

  Her heart lurched, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to hold back the cry.

  Don’t be sorry. Just live. Anything else we can deal with. Just—live...

  It wa
s the longest morning of her life.

  He’d been taken down to Theatre at seven fifty, and despite what she’d said about waiting there, she suddenly needed to be outside, so she went to the little café on the corner near the restaurant, and bought herself a cappuccino and a biscotti to dunk in it, and phoned her mother.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked.

  ‘Um—he’s gone to Theatre a few minutes ago. Because it’s a meningioma David’s confident he can get all of it without causing any damage, but it’s over his speech centre, Mum, and—’ She broke off, struggling with tears, and her mother waited.

  ‘Sorry. It’s just all a bit much. How’s Lottie? I had to express some milk this morning, and I didn’t bring the breast pump so it was a bit tricky. Was she all right with the bottle?’

  ‘She’s fine. We’re all fine. She woke once in the night but she settled again. She’s spreading her breakfast in her hair at the moment, but apart from that everything’s going well.’

  Lucy laughed and then sniffed. ‘Sorry. She does that. Are the girls OK? Andy just wanted...’

  ‘I know. Actually I think it was a good idea, because they were really worried about him and they seemed reassured. I wish I could come and be with you, darling, but I guess I’m more use here. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Cuddle Lottie for me,’ she said, and then had to fight back the tears again.

  ‘Hey, come on, you’re made of sterner stuff than that,’ her mother said, ever practical. ‘I thought I’d change your sheets—he’ll need clean sheets when he comes home. And someone’s been in the attic, so I’ve changed those sheets, too, and done all the rest of the washing, and your father’s taken the girls to school and then he’s going to walk the dog.’

  ‘Thank you, Mum. I don’t know what we would have done without you.’

  ‘Well, you aren’t without us, and that’s what families are for. You just sit tight, and let us know how it goes, and don’t worry about the girls, they’re OK.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She finished her coffee, then couldn’t suddenly bear to be so far from him, so she went back to the hospital and paced around his room.

  And then the phone rang, and it was David. ‘Lucy, I’ve got Andy here for you,’ he said. ‘We’ve done the craniotomy and the biopsy, and we’ve woken him up and he’s quite comfortable, so we’re about to go ahead with the surgery, but I thought you might like to talk to him.’

  And then Andy was on the line, to her astonishment, sounding slightly drowsy otherwise but utterly normal.

  ‘Hi, Luce. How’re you doing?’

  ‘Oh—I’m fine,’ she said with a little gasp. ‘I can’t believe I’m talking to you. How are you? How is it?’

  ‘OK. It’s a bit surreal. There’s a frame holding my head still, and I can’t see anything, but I can hear them all talking and I gather they’re inside now and they’re about to start debulking it, I think. They’re going to do some mapping, find out which areas do what, but I can’t feel a thing. I thought it would hurt, but it’s fine. Just—weird.’

  ‘Gosh. It’s amazing to talk to you. I’m glad it doesn’t hurt. Are you really OK?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s good. Interesting. How are the girls?’

  ‘OK. Lottie was spreading breakfast in her hair when I spoke to Mum.’

  She heard him chuckle, and then someone said something and he said, ‘Oh. I’ve got to go. They’re going to start the serious stuff, so I have to count and read out loud and wiggle my fingers and things. I’ll see you later.’ There was a tiny hesitation, then he murmured, ‘Love you.’

  He hadn’t said that in so long it almost took her breath away. ‘Love you, too,’ she said, and then the phone went dead and she sat down on the chair with a plonk and waited, his softly murmured words echoing poignantly in her head.

  * * *

  They updated her once they’d done the initial mapping to identify the functioning areas under the tumour, and again when the biopsy result came back.

  She was in a little park when that call came, strolling aimlessly around and watching children kicking up the autumn leaves, and she rang her mother.

  ‘It’s benign,’ she told her, and burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, Lucy, that’s fantastic! I’m so glad. Darling, talk to your father, I’m a bit tied up with Lottie.’

  There was a slight scuffle, then her father came on the line.

  ‘Hi, darling, I gather it’s good news. How is he?’

  ‘Fine,’ she gulped, sucking in a breath and swiping away the tears. ‘He’s going to be fine. It’s very deep, and it’s going to take them a long time to get it all, apparently, but then it shouldn’t regrow and he’ll be fine.’

  ‘And his speech?’

  ‘I don’t know. I spoke to him in Theatre before they started removing the tumour and he sounded fine, but I don’t know how he’ll be when it’s over. It’s just a case of waiting now.’

  ‘Well, let us know when he’s out. We’re thinking of you.’

  ‘Thanks. Give Lottie a hug.’

  ‘Will do.’

  She looked at her watch. It was nearly twelve. Four hours since he’d gone to Theatre, over three since she’d eaten anything. No wonder she was feeling shaky and pathetic.

  She went back to the café and ordered another coffee, but decaf this time so she didn’t end up with palpitations. She was close enough as it was. She bought a sandwich to go with it but she only picked at it, her appetite in tatters.

  And then she went back to his room to wait, and almost immediately she had a call to say he was in Recovery and doing well.

  ‘Is he talking?’

  ‘Yes, but that will probably change in the next few hours,’ David told her. ‘We had a bit of a struggle to get the last part out, so it might take a while for him to recover completely, but I’m hopeful he won’t have any lasting deficit. He’ll probably get worse in the next few days, and then he’ll slowly start to get better. We’ll see how he is tomorrow. I’d like to keep an eye on him for twenty four hours, but then I think you should be able to take him home some time tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ she said shakily. ‘Thank you, David. Thank you so much.’

  ‘My pleasure. I’ll see you both in a while, but he should be with you shortly.’

  He was awake when they brought him back, but drowsy.

  ‘Hi there,’ she said, and he smiled slightly and lifted his hand.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, after a second. ‘OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. Pleased to see you. How are you?’

  ‘OK. Tired. Very...long.’

  ‘I’m sure it was. Why don’t you have a sleep now? I’ll be here.’

  He grunted softly, his eyes drifting shut, and she sat there beside him and watched him sleep while the nurses quietly came and went.

  She’d expected his head to be bandaged, but there was just a strip of dressing stuck on the suture line, a narrow channel shaved in his hair around three sides of a square, above his left ear and over his temple. At a glance you might not even notice there was anything amiss, she thought, especially since his hair was long overdue for a cut. Given a couple of weeks, it would be invisible.

  ‘Will he be in pain?’ she asked one of the nurses, and she shook her head.

  ‘No, he shouldn’t be. He will have been given something in Theatre so it won’t be hurting him now. He should be quite comfortable, and he’ll be discharged on painkillers. They usually manage very well post-op.’

  That was reassuring to know. It seemed bizarre, impossible, that David had been inside his head, meticulously dissecting out that huge and threatening mass she’d seen on the scan images. Even more bizarre to know that it had been growing there for who knew how long. Had it changed him? Sucked away his pers
onality? He’d certainly been different, but was that all down to the tumour, or something else?

  Well, it was gone now, and only time would tell if that had been the cause. Whatever the reason, she was determined to get their marriage back on track. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but they would get there, she promised herself.

  Come hell or high water, they would get there.

  * * *

  He slept off and on for the rest of the day.

  David came to see him, and he sat up and shook his hand and seemed OK. Until he tried to speak, and then the words just weren’t there.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ David said. ‘You were fine during the op, you didn’t suffer any significant speech arrest while we were working, and you were talking well all through it, so this is temporary, OK? It’s all still there, it’s just a case of giving it time, and I think within a few days you’ll be starting to see a real improvement. I know it’s frustrating, but it’s not for ever. Hold that thought, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ he said, David’s words swirling around in his head, some of them meaningless. ‘Wh—wha—whe...’

  ‘When can you go home?’

  ‘Yeah. Go—home.’

  ‘Tomorrow, I think. We’ll do another scan, and then you can leave once I’m happy everything’s as it should be. You probably don’t want to go on the train, so you could either book a cab or arrange for someone to pick you up.’

  He nodded, turning to Lucy. ‘You—um—’

  ‘I’ll get my father to come. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ he said, sagging back against the pillows. ‘Good.’

  ‘Has Kate North been yet?’

  ‘No,’ Lucy told him. ‘Will she come today?’

  ‘Yes. She’s got a chart with pictures of things that you can point to, so you can ask for what you want to help you get through these early days, and all sorts of other ideas. I’ll page her, get her to come and see you, and I’ll be back in the morning. You’re doing really well, Andy. Hang in there. I’ll see you later.’

  He patted him on the shoulder and left them, and Andy turned away, but not before she’d seen the bleak expression in his eyes.