Gideon went very still.
‘All the time. I think about what it would be like to find somewhere close by to live. To shut down my business, stop spending every day dealing with…’ I broke off my sentence, remembering again that he couldn’t know I surrounded myself with death. ‘To be the kind of person who was brave enough to stay,’ I whispered.
He screwed up his face in a grimace. ‘I wish I was enough reason for you to stay.’
‘If anything could be enough, it’s you.’ I swiped at the tear tumbling down my cheek. ‘I swear to you, I’m thinking about it.’
He reached over, resting a hand on top of mine. ‘Just promise you’ll tell me once you’ve made up your mind.’
I nodded. ‘Can you be patient with me about one more thing?’
Gideon managed a weak smile. ‘I can try.’
‘Can we visit the rose garden?’
‘I don’t know. Can we?’
In the end, I found that we could. Gripping Muffin’s lead as if my life depended on it, I approached the section of beautifully manicured garden flanked by yew hedges, with two rows of stone pillars forming a walkway down the centre. I leant against one of the pillars, flower beds either side of me. It helped that it was outside. And absolutely gorgeous, even so early in the season. There weren’t many blooms, but I could smell them, as well as see them in my peripheral vision.
‘Okay?’ Gideon asked, squeezing the hand that wasn’t holding the dog lead.
‘Not really.’ My whole body was trembling, so it was no wonder my voice quaked.
‘Keep breathing.’
‘Yep. Good idea.’
I stood there for what felt like hours, but Gideon assured me afterwards was mere minutes. I cried. I wobbled. I breathed in roses. I gradually twisted my head to either side and looked at them. And I survived. Iwantedto survive, even though my precious father, my mother, my angel Lilly, had not.
Then I scuttled back to Gideon’s car, Muffin waffling alongside me.
* * *
The following week, Hattie had a call from Dr Ambrose, asking how soon she could make an appointment. We pulled into the hospital car park twenty-five minutes later. Although Deirdre had a month’s notice to work out at her old job, she’d planned to pop in that day and complete some admin, so Hattie told her that we’d had a last-minute opportunity to interview someone about Riverbend Chapel, and this was the only date they were free.
‘Hah!’ Hattie laughed, with only a trace of bitterness. ‘This information will directly relate to the chapel, and how quickly I need to plan my funeral in there, so it’s not even that much of a lie.’
‘You think your funeral will fit in the chapel?’ I linked my arm through hers as we walked towards the hospital entrance.
‘Friends and family, absolutely. Hangers-on, twonky account managers and stalkery fans can satiate their voyeuristic grief at a memorial service later.’
‘Sounds like you’ve been thinking about it.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I chose my funeral songs the day I got my initial diagnosis. We all use different ways to cope.’
‘I know from experience that the more planning done in advance, the easier it is for the family.’
I didn’t add anything trite about hoping those plans wouldn’t be needed for a very long time. Doctors didn’t call people in for urgent appointments if it was good news.
* * *
An hour later, my arm was linked through Hattie’s for a whole different reason as we shuffled back to the car. Her lymphoma had transformed. It was now classed as ‘high grade’. What did that mean? It meant, amongst other things, chemotherapy, antibody therapy and a whole lot less art therapy for the good people of Sherwood Forest.
‘Generally speaking,’ Dr Ambrose had assured her, ‘although aggressive, this type of cancer is very treatable.’
‘With all due respect,’ Hattie retorted, ‘your face doesn’t say “even slightly treatable”, let alone “highly”.’
He paused, frown lines deepening even further, picked his pen up then put it down again.
