‘But you’re not on your death bed, there’s plenty of time to arrange that!’ He’s always been so positive, I can’t believe he won’t stop talking about dying as though he’s already resigned to it. ‘Copy of the local newspaper, mint humbugs, liquorice pomfret things any good?’ I wave the newspaper with one hand and pass the sweets over with the other. Determined to cheer him up and stop him talking about death. It must be being in hospital that’s caused that.
‘Ah splendid.’ He pops one of the black sweets in his mouth and sighs. ‘Good girl. Knew I could rely on you, takes away the taste of this food. Damned hospitals, I can’t believe they’ve not let me go home.’ He tuts, and sounds quite disgruntled, which isn’t something you can often say about him. ‘You’d think over Christmas they’d want shot of people, wouldn’t you? Instead it’s wait for this test, wait for that, wait for the flaming results.’
Ah, maybe Ollie did have a point when he said Uncle T was a bit low and a visitor might do him good.
‘You don’t seem very happy, is it really horrible?’
‘Oh no, no not at all. The staff have been top notch, and Ollie has kept them on their toes! I’m just not used to being cooped up. Being tied to a bed is fine under the right circumstances if you know what I mean.’ He gives me a knowing look. It would appear that when you get to his, and my mother’s age, you turn completely randy and full of double entendres. Personally, I’d rather not know. ‘But they won’t even let me up to go to the lav! Talk about adding insult to injury, wouldn’t even treat a dog like this. Talking of which,’ he looks around, ‘you didn’t bring little Stanley to cheer me up did you?’
‘I don’t think they’d let him in.’
‘Get one of those ‘therapy dog’ vests for him! If you look in the back room of the bookshop there’s a fluorescent jacket that used to belong to my old Labrador. You can make Stanley a jacket! There’s plenty of black marker pens there as well.’
‘I don’t think you’ve got enough to think about.’ I grin at him. ‘Anyway, a Labrador would be way fatter than Stanley.’
‘And old Bully boy was rather stout.’ He sighs. ‘Just a thought, it’s so flaming boring in here.’
‘And he doesn’t act like a therapy dog.’ I’m dubious about this idea. He’d be up on all the beds, chewing up those horrible cardboard sick bowls and weeing on the bedside cabinets. I narrow my eyes. ‘Bully boy?’
He grins, raises an eyebrow, and for the first time looks more himself. ‘Couldn’t really call a Labrador Bull’s Eye, could we? If you know what I mean?’
‘Nancy, Will and Oliver? Oliver Twist?’ I giggle.
‘Little bit of fun between Vera and I. Not intentional mind, but once we realised what she and Charles had done, we couldn’t help but laugh! Too late to change their names though, far too late. But you mustn’t tell eh, mum’s the word.’ He taps the side of his nose and I see a whole different side to Uncle Terence.
For years he was just Uncle Terence, and I was obliged to go to his Christmas eve party. But lately he’s turned into my fairy godmother (is there such a thing as a fairy godfather or is that just weird?) who has found me somewhere to stay, helped me out when my confidence has dipped, and shared in-jokes with Ollie’s mum. I wonder how many other pies he’s got a finger in?
A lump lodges in my throat.
I hope I haven’t found out too late. Like he said the other night it’s the little things that count, the things you don’t always notice if you’re not looking.
The people you don’t always appreciate.
‘I’ll bring Stanley in tomorrow.’
‘Good! Vera said you would!’
‘Vera?’
‘It was lovely that she insisted on coming in the ambulance with me. It was quite nice having my hand held, and she really hadn’t the heart to object when I asked for a kiss.’
This is not the version of the story I had. The paramedics were working on him all the way to the hospital, and all the heartbroken Vera could do was watch and will him to hang on.
‘Now, I need you to promise me a few things.’ He shifts on the pillows. ‘You couldn’t help me sit up a bit more, could you?’
I catch the eye of a nurse, and together we lift him higher on the pillows.
‘You must smile.’
‘I do smile! I’m smiling!’
‘At the service. Pay attention, keep up, and you must make sure the others all smile with you.’
‘But, you’re not …’ I’m at a bit of a loss to know how to head him off from this line of thought. I am failing Ollie. He was relying on me. But Terence seems to have decided he’s nearing the end of his days.
‘I never had time for being miserable. No regrets, isn’t that what they say? I trust you to stand up for me, tell them I’ve had a bloody good innings and I’m proud of it!’
‘Terence, I …’ But he isn’t listening.
‘Wear what you want my dear girl, be yourself! But not your whole self, obviously. Not advisable for anybody at these sombre occasions, please don’t wear that bloody awful orange and green ensemble that you wore a few years ago. I didn’t like to say, but you looked like a satsuma that had come to a sticky end.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘Oh, you did, and I can say that without getting into trouble. I am impervious. Just look at the photographic evidence dear girl, you are so much more beautiful now you’ve gone back to the Daisy I’ve always adored. You were such a sweet child, so soft, gentle, but clever. Oh, you were clever.’
‘I was—’
‘But far too easily crushed. Wear your cowboy hat and checked shirt with pride my girl! Kick ass! Isn’t that what they say? You were quite an ass kicker in your day.’
‘I was?’
‘Oh yes. I remember those boots you used to wear.’ He smiles fondly. ‘You made Ollie be your horse and you gave him hell!’
‘I did?’ This is embarrassing. I am so glad Ollie’s at work and I had to come on my own.
Or maybe Uncle T is more ill than he realises, maybe he’s delirious.
‘You smacked him on the arse with your hat!’
Oops, I do remember now. Which is even more embarrassing. But rather funny. Ollie between my thighs, though of course it was totally innocent back then. I realise now why he says I used to be bossy. I was. And he let me be. He’s always let me be myself.
Oh God, I mustn’t think about Ollie. Or the fact that he kissed me again.
‘Right, where was I? Orange, satsuma, stand up …’ Terence mutters, staring over my left shoulder, deep in concentration. ‘Stanley! Invite Stanley! Can you remember all this, Daisy? I would write it down but can’t find my bloody glasses.’
‘I can remember, but you’ll have plenty of time—’
‘Stanley must run riot, invite the cat as well if you have to, to ensure there is mayhem and laughter. The buffet should be at his head height so that all dogs can help themselves, it concentrates the mind. No time for being morose and mooning around if the buffet is in peril, eh? And be yourself, did I say that?’
‘You did, but Terence, don’t talk like that, you’ll be here for ages yet, Ollie said you’re fine.’ I think about looking at the medical notes hung from the bottom of the bed. That’s what people do, isn’t it? But as I won’t understand them, and probably, if the consultant has handwriting like Ollie’s I won’t even be able to read them, it’s a waste of time. Ollie once left a list in the kitchen that he swears said ‘milk, steak, beans’ but I’m convinced said ‘meh, stench, gremlins’. I’d thought he was commenting on my hygiene. I still don’t know if I believe him.
‘We can write all this down, you can tell Ollie.’
‘Oh no.’ He stops his musings then and looks at me. His gaze is as clear and sharp as it ever was. Then he reaches out and covers my hand with his own.
The skin looks papery thin. Why has nobody noticed? Is he dehydrated, sick or just old?
It’s dried out and tired, and all of a sudden he reminds me of
the white freesias that he always kept in the shop. Still blooming, still spreading their scent, but their petals turning paper thin just before they fall.
‘Terence.’
‘I’m sorry darling Daisy. But I’ve had my time and the sands are running out.’
‘Don’t say that. It’s not true.’
‘It is the truth, and you know I’ve always told you the truth. I’ve always thought of you as a daughter. I’ve watched you grow and bloom, I’ve watched you struggle in the drought of summer, be beaten down by the icy cold, and then return,’ he smiles, ‘pardon the pun, but fresh as a daisy.’ I try to smile back, but it hurts, it feels like it’s breaking my face apart, mirroring my heart. ‘I’ve loved, I’ve lost, I’ve hurt, and I’ve mended and I learned to live with what I could have.’ He strokes the back of his hand down my cheek. ‘But I don’t want that for you. I want you to learn you can have it all, and only the brave learn that lesson. Only the brave and the kind.’
‘You knew, didn’t you? You knew you were ill before Christmas?’
‘Oh, I’ve known for a while my darling, Daisy. Dicky ticker! But I had so much to do, so many loose ends to tidy up.’
‘That’s why you made the party so fantastic.’ I bite hard on my lip, trying to stop it wobbling. Because if it wobbles my whole face will collapse and I’ll be weeping and wailing.
‘I’ve always wanted to go out with a bang, but I wasn’t sure I’d make it to the New Year’s Eve fireworks.’ He coughs.
Something damp blobs onto my cheek and I wipe it away angrily. This is about Uncle T, not me, I can’t sit hear blubbering while he’s being so brave.
‘I want you to manage my bookshop Daisy or sell it. I turned that shop into the love of my life after I lost my other one, but once I’ve gone it doesn’t matter if it dies with me. But words are in your blood, you love them, you play with them, tease them, make them alive.’
I don’t quite know what to say. ‘I’m not all that good.’
‘Oh, you are. Never say that, never ever. I will look down on you and be very angry if you do. I see a little bit of myself in you, dear girl, I always have. So don’t let me down, will you?’
‘Okay.’ I sniff and look at him through blurred vision.
‘I always wanted to leave it all to dearest Oliver, so fond of the dear boy. He’s always been my favourite.’ He smiles, a soft, gentle smile that reminds me of Ollie. ‘Parents are not allowed to have favourites, are they? But Uncle’s are! He has a very good heart you know.’
‘I know.’
‘He’s not a, what did you call him?’ His eyes are twinkling, but tired, like fading stars. ‘A pompous prick?’
‘I know he’s not, I was angry, and jealous, and well …’
‘Sick of hearing about how well he was doing?’ I nod. ‘Your mother didn’t mean to undermine you, Daisy. She was just proud of him, like Vera is. And she’s proud of you. She always knew you’d work things out. But it’s hard to step back from the people you love and let them carry on without you. You always want to step in, guide. Interfere.’ He is looking through me, thinking about somebody else. ‘Your heart aches, but you know it’s not about you, your choices.’
‘Who is it about Uncle Terence?’
‘Vera.’ The word is faint, and then he looks at me more directly. ‘No one darling girl, just an old man rambling. Would you pass me a glass of water? Then maybe I need a rest.’
I pour him a glass of water. Watch as he takes tiny sips.
‘Come back tomorrow, Daisy. Promise you’ll bring little Stanley.’
‘I will.’ I lean forward on impulse, kiss his cheek. Then smile. I’ve come here to smile, not be sad.
I can’t help it. I glance at the board at the foot of his bed.
Hieroglyphics, as I thought.
10 p.m., 28 December
‘He said Vera. I could have sworn he said Vera. Why did he say Vera?’ Stanley blinks at me. ‘Did he say Vera? Mira, lira, neara, near, maybe he said nearly a, not Vera?’ Stanley is not convinced. Neither am I.
‘Will you fit in my rucksack? I need to smuggle you in to the hospital?’
He has been curled up in a rucksack shaped blob, but now he stretches out on his side. Toes pointed, even his tail extended as far as it will go.
Maybe not.
9 a.m., 29 December
‘You’re here!’ Terence is sat up in bed and looks so much more cheerful than I remember him being yesterday. I must have imagined it, or maybe he just felt a bit tired. He’s going to be okay! ‘I will be going home tomorrow, all being well!’
Ah, that’s it! He was upset about not being allowed out and is now feeling much more his old self.
‘So, dear girl, what have you brought me today? Whisky?’
‘Er no.’
‘Wild women?’ He winks, and I can so picture him in his bowtie and waistcoat I laugh out loud with relief.
‘No!’
‘A dog?’
‘Yes! Stanley!’
‘Bravo! I knew you’d do it. Where?’ He frowns.
‘Here.’ I point. ‘Shit!’ Stanley is not at the end of his lead. All that is there is a collar, dangling. ‘Stanley!’
I had shown him the rucksack and he’d gone rigid when I tried to pick him up. Totally un-bendy. And as I didn’t want to snap him I’d decided the best option would be to try to wing it and pretend he is indeed a therapy dog, or parcel him up in my coat.
There’s no sign of him. I bend down, panicking, and look under the bed. Look under all the beds, crawl on my hands and knees and check under the cabinet.
Uncle T is guffawing, and coughing, but mostly guffawing. So at least somebody is happy. I have achieved something.
‘Have you lost something?’
I spin round, relief surging through me like an electric shock.
The nurse is holding up a fluorescent vest with ‘therapy og’ written on the side. The D has disappeared. So has the dog.
‘Anybody lost a—’
‘Yes, me! Me!’
‘—colostomy bag?’
‘Sorry, I thought you meant, I’ve lost my dog. You haven’t er, seen a dog?’ The nurse scowls at me. ‘Maybe not. Never mind.’
‘You can see my puppies!’ I spin round again, and the woman in the bed opposite Uncle T laughs and lifts up her sheets.
‘Now, now Enid. Don’t you be naughty!’ The nurse tucks her sheets back in.
‘Daisy, dear.’ I look at Uncle T. He nods his head towards the end of the ward.
Stanley is there. Next to what looks and smells like a food trolley. There is an empty tray at his feet, and I swear he has a smile on his face. He licks his lips. Then licks the tray again, before spitting out a piece of carrot, and then jumping up to rest his front feet on the shelf.
‘Oh my God, come here you rascal. Sorry, Uncle T, back later, got to …’ I run as fast as I can, slip on some cabbage and end up rugby tackling him. We slide out of the ward on a slick of gravy and veg and come to a stop at a pair of feet.
Behind there is applause and laughter. I glance up, hanging on to the wriggling Stanley for dear life.
‘And there was I thinking hospitals were sterile environments.’
It is Charles, Ollie’s dad. Looking stern.
‘Hi.’
He shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a smile. I’m sure there is. Or at least I like to think there is.
‘Oh, Daisy, you really are such a tonic. I can see what Ollie sees in you!’ Vera is chuckling, her eyes sparkling. She puts a hand out, helps me to my feet. ‘SO wonderful to hear Terence laughing, I’d recognise that sound anywhere.’ And before I can thank her, she’s off, hurrying onto the ward. Charles striding behind her.
Vera and Terence? Really? Could that be a thing? I am slightly dumbfounded, but I can’t shake the thought from my head.
Or the image of them dancing together at the party. Harmonious, happy.
Or the love letter I found in the bookshop, hidden inside t
he special editions. The one to V.
Until Stanley licks my chin.
‘Well at least somebody enjoys the hospital food, Stanley! Come on let’s get off before you cause any more problems. Therapy dog my foot!’
Chapter 21
3 a.m., 1 January 2019
‘Daisy, I didn’t wake you, did I?’
‘Wha?’ This is the best I can do. In the absence of a flat mate, a boyfriend or a friend who wanted to see me, I saw the New Year in with Stanley. It was rather nice actually, we watched ‘Love Actually’ followed by an episode of Poldark, a James Bond film and then fireworks on the Thames all from the comfort of the sitting room, covered with a nice warm blanket. Stanley had a pigs ear, doggie popcorn and pawsecco (he’s not a beer kind of dog) and I had a pizza, Prosecco, giant bowl of Bombay mix and a whole packet of Pringles. I was not seeing in the new year as I meant to go on, I was seeing out the old year with a massive celebration for all I have achieved.
I now don’t feel hung-over, I just feel a bit sick, and very tired. Because I finished the night with a dance off, which I think Stanley won by jumping over the back of the sofa, racing round using the backs of chairs as a racetrack and then puking up pigs ears all over Ollie’s game controller. I washed it, but I think that might not have been a wise move.
‘Sorry, I can call back, I never thought …’
‘Ollie?’ I struggle up onto my pillows and self-consciously pat my hair down. I am turning into my mother. ‘Another phone call, turning into a bad habit, ha-ha.’
He doesn’t laugh back or make a clever comment.
‘It’s Terence.’ There’s a long silence. He didn’t say Uncle Terence, he said Terence. Why did he just call him Terence? There is a dead weight in my chest, a lump blocking my throat, and yet the rest of me feels like I’m not here. Like this is unreal. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you should know straight away, he’s passed away.’
‘He’s …’
‘He was peaceful they said, happy.’
‘Ah, right, thank you.’ It comes out all stilted. Not sounding like me. Not feeling like me.
Four Christmases and a Secret Page 22