The Man Who Didn't Go to Newcastle Page 17

  I’m starting to salivate but he refuses all their meals.

  ‘Why don’t you tell us something you would like,’ one of them says, failing to hide her exasperation.

  ‘Scrambled egg on toast – with smoked salmon. And meatballs,’ he says.

  They leave the menu on the table and go off, presumably back to their kitchen to get started on the meatballs and scrambled eggs. They must be wondering how they’re going to persuade Matron to cough up for the smoked salmon, though. Adrian’s sitting in his regular spot with the three wheelchair cushions around him on the bench, his notebook, today’s Daily Mirror and a bottle of wine. I’ve brought his half-full bottle of Armagnac from the flat and we sit together outside in the blazing sun. I take out the various different bits and pieces of paper I’ve brought but he doesn’t seem interested. It’s really very hot, which means if we’d gone to Portugal we would have missed one of the best weeks of the summer.

  ‘I’ve managed to set up a new account with Ladbrokes which is directly linked to my bank account,’ Adrian tells me. ‘I won a fiver and two lots of twenty quid yesterday afternoon.’

  His mobile rings – it’s Louise from Wandsworth Council.

  ‘I’ve got this hospital bug, courtesy of St George’s in Tooting, which was very nice of them…’ he tells her.

  His conversation is thick with sarcasm. I’m pleased to say he still sounds amusing. Today, more than any other since this nightmare began, I feel relaxed as we sit in the sun outside in these beautiful gardens, the afternoon drifting along in a haze of contentment. He looks and sounds so much better as the C.diff seems to be clearing up under the attack of several courses of antibiotics.

  Aniela comes out and offers us tea and cake, which I readily accept. Adrian gives me a new list of things he wants me to bring him. His head’s getting sunburnt where he has the beginnings of a bald patch so he wants a Panama hat. Jack and Ed have arranged to pop in to see him tonight so I’ll give them a tape measure.

  We talk about the future. In other words, the immediate future, when he leaves St Vincent’s. Once the C.diff is gone, he will be able to move on. He’s still considering Bournemouth, still rejecting my offers to move in with us.

  ‘But Bournemouth is a long way away. I wouldn’t be able to visit every day.’

  ‘It’s alright,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to encroach on your family life.’

  ‘But you’re not,’ I persist. ‘I’m not working, except for a couple of hours on Wednesday afternoons. I’ve got time. The girls are growing up. They do their own thing. I don’t mind.’

  Sometimes he makes me feel unwanted and I wonder just how many women he’s given this feeling to.

  In the heat of this gorgeous English summer afternoon he moves on to the subject of his possessions he wants to give away. The dividing up of his goods and chattels…

  During the eighties Adrian worked in Saudi Arabia, and from there visited much of the southern hemisphere – the Americas, Australia, New Zealand and the Far East. He has a watch he bought in Saudi which he values greatly. This is to go to Phil G. The picture which he made from a collage of old cigarette cards showing photos of the old players in long white shorts, such as Danny Blanchflower and…well, other footballers…is also for Phil G. He says he’s already told Phil this is for him and I imagine how touched Phil must have been.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I say recalling the football card picture, which I’ve walked past so many times recently.

  ‘Phil used to play football. In fact he was semi-professional, and he’s always liked that picture,’ Adrian says, as if he’s trying to justify giving it to Phil.

  ‘It’s alright, Adrian. I didn’t mean I wanted it for myself.’

  ‘It’s a nice picture. Most people admire it when they come to the flat. I made it myself.’

  ‘I think it’s nice too, and I’m sure it will mean a lot to Phil…’

  He still seems to think I want this picture, which is not the case. Isn’t this the way they do things in Saudi? If a guest admires something in your house you have to give it to them.

  ‘You must of course give it to Phil.’

  Adrian always wears a plain gold chain and this he wants to go to Bryony. He seems very fond of her and we talk about the prospect of her coming to visit him here since she has now moved out of London to Southend-on-Sea.

  ‘If I was in Bournemouth then the train service would be better,’ he says.

  ‘But Frome is on the mainline from Paddington and easy to get to, plus I can collect anyone from the station.’

  ‘I would like to go to Bournemouth,’ he says. ‘But not because I want to get away from you or your family.’

  *

  A different nurse appears with my tea and a piece of strangely damp Victoria sponge. Adrian tells her off for bringing tea for him as well as he hadn’t ordered it.

  ‘Well it wasn’t me who asked what you wanted,’ she understandably points out.

  ‘No, I know,’ Adrian agrees. ‘It was Aniela.’ By the way he says her name I wonder if she was the one who’d been rude to him.

  Adrian points out a potted plant on the path and asks me what it is. I’m not sure. He says, ‘Bryony would know. Her three main interests are plants, cooking and walking.’

  Feeling rather lacking in the botanical department, I take all his things I brought inside to his room. Some shirts I ironed this morning, his other clothes, his wine bottles, and a box file with his will and Life Insurance Policies. Then I come back out to say goodbye.

  ‘Don’t forget Jack and Ed are coming tonight. Make sure they get your head measurement for the hat!’

  ‘Okay.’

  As I drive off he’s standing by the table. He waves, holding one of his cotton handkerchiefs, and at this moment he is once again the person who is my brother and I feel tender love for him. On the journey home I mull over what he’s been saying. Maybe Bournemouth would be good. The place is full of idyllic childhood memories for us, which is perhaps why he’s drawn there. If he did move there I’d be happy to visit or even book into a hotel.

  Maybe a holiday is on the cards after all.

  Or maybe he feels the need to distance himself from me. Am I too pushy?

  Probably not.

  Tuesday 31st July 2007

  Jack and Ed visited Adrian last night. By all accounts the head measuring for the Panama hat was a laugh. Today I go shopping in Bath with Fran. I manage to cash three of Adrian’s ISAs – one without giving any identification – which under normal circumstances would be worrying. I buy Adrian a Panama hat in Marks and Spencer and all the other things he wants in Boots. Fran gets a few things, but I don’t buy anything for myself. It’s sale time and the shops are full of rubbish. We go straight to see Adrian on the way home. It’s about six pm and he’s in his room. I demonstrate the glove and apron procedure to Fran. Adrian is lying in bed, looking surprisingly short under the sheets, with both his feet in pristine white socks poking out at the end. He looks so much better since that day a week and a half ago when we first brought him here. This place must have done him some good.

  ‘You’ve got a bit of colour in your cheeks today,’ I remark handing him the Panama.

  ‘I’ve been outside in the sun.’ And, yes, the summer has now begun in earnest and I feel as if we’ve turned a corner. He’s mellow and it’s great to see him and give him the things he needs. He admires the hat and puts it on straight away.

  ‘Does it suit me?’

  ‘Yes! It really does! Ha! You look great!’

  He takes it off and puts it on his bedside table.

  ‘Bryony rang me this morning,’ I tell him. ‘She said she’s coming on the eleventh. But she’s a bit worried about the C.diff and how contagious it is.’

  I couldn’t reassure her on any of this, mainly because it is contagious, but is not a danger if one is healthy and young.

  Adrian says the doctor visited him again to discuss pain control and this makes me wonder whether perhap
s his mellowness is caused by increased medication. I’d suspected it may be due to increased intake of wine. He’s asked for two more bottles, which means he’s got through a lot.

  ‘And thank Jack and Ed for coming.’

  ‘They enjoyed it. They said they’ll come again and take you out once you’ve got the all clear on the bug. Maybe you could go to the races together.’

  *

  Adrian is due to meet Olivia from Dorothy House Hospice tomorrow. He seems really positive now. Although I didn’t print off the information about lung cancer and C.diff from the internet as he’d asked, I mention something now that I read on a website about lung cancer.

  ‘Apparently they sometimes zap the tumour with laser beams to stop it getting any bigger.’

  ‘I can feel it growing all the time,’ he says and points to the top of his chest under his right arm. ‘I can feel it here. It’s fizzing, like Coke when the bottle’s been shaken.’

  ‘It might be worth giving the laser treatment a go,’ I say.

  ‘But the doc said the cancer was too far gone for treatment.’

  Not for the first time I ask myself why didn’t he notice the signs of this illness before it was too late?

  As an after-thought he says, ‘But you could ask the doctor about the laser treatment.’ There’s more than a hint of desperation here, but then these are desperate times. I’ll ring the GP tomorrow.

  *

  In the evening Carol phones. She’s calling on behalf of Welsh Phil and Stan from The Gardener’s. Welsh Phil is coming to visit on Friday and Stan is coming on Saturday. This cheers me up, as I know it will lift Adrian’s spirits and give me a break from visiting. Things are beginning to move along well. Carol says she thinks Adrian will be happier when he’s in a routine. She probably knows him as well as any of us. And yes, I can see this. He has already established a kind of routine at St Vincent’s. Sitting on the same bit of the same bench outside, with the same three black wheelchair pads arranged around the seat to cushion him from the hard wooden chair. The same tray of detritus on what has now become his table. The ever-present empty wine bottle lying on its side (to stop it falling over) in the middle of the tray.

  *

  Although I’m glad about the visits from the London gang, when I go to bed I fear all my little tasks are futile. Soon Adrian will be no more. I have my husband and four children but something irretrievable about my life will be gone forever. I recall the ending of Martin’s last email: ‘you’re going to have to be brave.’ I don’t feel brave. Bravery doesn’t come into it. I will buzz around doing things that need doing and even enjoy myself to a certain extent. Eventually, in some way or other, which none of us can foresee, everything will end, and I will be empty. That’s not brave.

  Hours later I fall asleep. For the first time I leave my phone switched on by my bed because if Adrian needs me I want to respond. I’ve always thought phone calls in the middle of the night are frightening. If there’s a crisis I’d rather tackle it after eight hours’ sleep.

  Suddenly this kind of logic has gone out of the window. The light from my phone throws a blue glimmer on my bedside table.

  Wednesday 1st August 2007

  I wake early and can’t get back to sleep, so as dawn breaks I walk down to the end of the garden. We have a long garden – just under an acre. By the house is the main lawn, which is flanked by trees, flower beds – well, weeds to be more precise – and a potting shed Ed converted into a music studio. Then there’s the fishpond, beyond the fishpond is the orchard, and at the end of the orchard is a wild woody bit which is generally known as Down The Bottom.

  Down The Bottom, or rather at the very end of Down The Bottom, close to the railway line that carries the quarry trains, is another more ramshackle shed which Ed built when he was eleven. This construction is put together with old bits of corrugated iron and sticks, and has been a den to all my children, as well as other people’s.

  This morning’s sky is mauve, like freshly bruised skin. A rabbit scoots across the orchard heading for a breakfast of our neighbours’ cabbages. As I walk across the damp over-long grass I detect a faint smell of cider from an old pile of last autumn’s mulched up apples on the ground by the hedge. A smoke-stained milk bottle one of the boys used to launch rockets several bonfire nights ago is hidden amongst the buttercups by the fence. A branch cracks under my shoe sending a pheasant shuddering out of the undergrowth, hop-flying away from me. I always come down here to collect kindling in the winter but haven’t been this far in months. Now the trees are lush and the paths overgrown with dandelions. Now I need some space to think – or to escape.

  As a family we’ve always fantasised about what we might one day do with the land down here. I’ve always fancied a single storey building with a swimming pool where we could hold pool parties, writing events, guests could stay there, kids could live in there! The boys used to plan a go-kart track. Peter would probably prefer a driving range. Down The Bottom remains a jungle and I doubt any of these projects will ever come to fruition.

  I walk further from the house towards the kids’ den. As the girls were the last to use this, the walls and old pieces of furniture have been painted pink. There’s an ancient pine table I bought in London – now entirely pink with the added embellishment of glitter on its legs, and an old bookcase, also Barbified.

  I consider walking further, beyond our garden, but I’d have to climb over a hedge and negotiate the clumpiness of the field leading down to the shingle by the railway track. I think better of it. Running away might help clear the mind but I’d still have to come back. A bramble catches my ankle and a dark bubble of blood dribbles towards my shoe. I hobble back to the house in search of a plaster.

  *

  In the afternoon I arrive at St Vincent’s after my teaching session at Center Parcs. Despite this morning’s threatening sky, it’s been sunny most of today. I’ve been swimming and my hair’s drying through the car window in the heat of the sun.

  I see Adrian as soon as I arrive. He’s bent over, with head down, so thin, his neck seems elongated. When he sees me he looks surprised and happy. The Panama hat is on the table along with his usual stuff – tray, notepad, uneaten food, and tea things, glass of iced water and wine.

  He’d texted me earlier to ask me to bring more wine. A bottle of red and a bottle of white. I have them with me – as well as the lottery ticket he wanted. He’s slightly tanned and I think back again to the day we brought him here when he looked like death. Now, apart from being so thin, he’s looking almost well. He’s being more positive about St Vincent’s too (although he still wants to move on) and says the staff are good.

  ‘This is a beautiful place,’ he concedes for the first time. ‘But it’s much too quiet here. There’s no one around to talk to.’

  I’m with him on this one. I mean, where is everyone? I’ve still hardly seen a living soul – apart from staff – since I’ve been coming here.

  ‘Once you’ve got the all clear on the bug we can visit a few more places, and choose somewhere at our leisure.’ After all, we did jump into St Vincent’s without even visiting.

  ‘I’ve seen the doc again,’ he says. ‘I asked for an increase in painkillers – and I’ve also asked for a second opinion.’

  Everything seems different now. The sun is hot, a dazzling, blue-skied day in the middle of such a mediocre summer. Adrian looks better, the bug has been beaten, he’s gone from wanting to die (he’s said this to me more than once over the past few weeks) to wanting to live. Although this is positive and encouraging I also feel an element of desperation, like Steve McQueen who travelled to Mexico looking for alternative cures when he was dying of lung cancer.

  Adrian goes on to tell me Olivia from Dorothy House has visited him today.

  ‘She’s a really nice lady. She asked me lots of questions about how I felt about things.’

  Meanwhile, Adrian is planning his legacies and wants to talk about pensions. I don’t want to talk about legac
ies and pensions, so instead I tell him about the laptop I’ve ordered which is due tomorrow. He’s very enthusiastic. At this moment I feel as if I can fix him. Maybe just a little bit.

  Thursday 2nd August 2007

  Summer was yesterday. Today it’s raining. On waking I immediately think about Adrian stuck in his room again. I phone Dr Graham, the local GP. I’m not sure she can discuss Adrian’s case with me – even though I am his next of kin – but I ask her whether chemo or laser treatment is an option after all.

  ‘My brother has changed so much in the last day or so. He’d like a second opinion.’

  ‘I can understand where he’s coming from,’ she says, ‘but the cancer has probably spread too far. A second opinion, although always an option, may not offer any more hope.’

  We arrange to meet tomorrow between one-thirty and two-thirty at St Vincent’s.

  Meanwhile, the man in the computer shop in Frome says there’s a postal strike which means the SIM card hasn’t arrived so the laptop I’ve ordered isn’t ready. I feel like saying, ‘But this is for someone who hasn’t got time for postal strikes.’

  I go straight on to St Vincent’s. Adrian is clothed, lying on the bed.

  ‘Peter came in to see me earlier. I’m just getting ready to put a bet on at Goodwood.’ He has Goodwood on the telly. ‘Look isn’t it beautiful. The view, the house, the horses…’

  He loves all things Goodwoodian. And I’d always thought Goodwood was a venue for motor racing. I decide not to share my ignorance. Or maybe it’s both, horses and motors. But wouldn’t the cars mess up the grass…No. I try to sound impressed but suspect I’m sounding unconvincing. It looks nice but it’s just a piece of greenery as far as I can tell.

  He’s apologetic about putting bets on. Why, though?

  He’s propped up on a pile of pillows. I sit next to him in the armchair reading the paper and thinking how little we have in common. I’ve never visited a racecourse or even considered doing so, and yet for him horse racing is a fascinating and adored part of his life. Suddenly I feel uneasy. After all, he’s much better now so my visit is less like visiting the sick. I’m visiting as I would have done in the past but with none of the usual things to do which would cushion our time together. I don’t really know what to say about this horse racing stuff.