The Last Laugh

by Tracy Bloom

I shake my head. I’m not interested. A flash car has never felt so irrelevant and wrong.

  ‘No, please, come and have a look. You’ll like what you see, I promise.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘You will. Trust me, please.’

  I let him take my hand. I let him lead me over the lawn to the car park. I don’t want to see his stupid bloody car. It’s meaningless, I want to shout at him. Who needs a sports car when they’re dying?

  For a moment I think he’s brought her with him as I catch a movement on the front seat of his admittedly beautiful car. What on earth is he playing at? I don’t have time for this – I’m supposed to be having the time of my soon-to-be-extinguished life.

  Mark strides ahead and opens the passenger door. A grey streak leaps out and dashes towards me, jumping up on my Union Jack dress.

  ‘Betsy!’ I cry. ‘Oh my God, Betsy!’

  I sink to my knees and bury my face in her fur. She wriggles and thrashes in delight. It’s Betsy right here, alive and kicking right in front of me. I cannot believe what I’m seeing.

  I look up at Mark in wonder.

  ‘How?’ I ask.

  ‘I drove off the forecourt and… and I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I always imagined I’d be coming home and whisking you all off to some fancy restaurant…’

  ‘Please God, not Sebastian’s,’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘Then I’d go and treat you all to some serious shopping, but… but… that just didn’t feel right and, what with me moving out, I just didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to do something to make this moment happy. But I knew money wouldn’t do it and this was all I could think of. I’ve driven all over. I’ve been to fourteen different dog homes. I thought it had to be worth a shot. In the end it was. They said someone handed her in last week and they knew that eventually someone would come and pick her up. They could tell she’d been loved.’

  ‘You’ve spent all day driving round dog homes in that car?’

  He nods. ‘But I do have an admission,’ he says, glancing at his feet before looking back up at me sheepishly. ‘I think I’ve agreed to adopt an abandoned Terrier as well. I’m sorry, he just looked so sad and the woman was very persuasive, especially when she saw the kind of car I drove. She said Betsy had really taken to him and that it would be such a shame to split them up now.’

  I stand up and lunge at Mark, engulfing him in my arms. I don’t think I’ve ever loved him more than at that precise moment. My husband, the rockstar Finance Director who goes out and rescues a dog the week he becomes a millionaire.

  I pull away to look at him. I cup his face in my hands. I breathe him in. My heart is full of joy and love and happiness in a way I never thought would happen to me again. Something I didn’t think I would feel before I took my dying breath. How good it feels. Like the sun has come back out after a long and depressing winter. Thank goodness for the sunshine.

  ‘Betsy!’ I hear a shriek behind me. ‘Betsy,’ I hear Ellie shout again. ‘Oh my God, it’s Betsy! George! George, come quick, Betsy is back!’

  I watch as Ellie falls to her knees next to a now beside herself Betsy and wraps her in her arms, only to be removed by George, who runs across the lawn quicker than I have ever seen him move. He literally falls on top of the dog in his excitement.

  ‘Your dad has been round every dogs’ home in the area and found him,’ I tell our two children.

  ‘Wow, Dad!’ says George, looking up at his father in awe whilst Betsy licks his face furiously.

  ‘I could see how desperately you were missing her,’ he tells his son. ‘I knew I had to do something.’

  George gives him a look of confusion. I guess he has never heard his father recognise his feelings because he’s always been so busy pointing out his failings.

  I look on as George’s eyes mist over. Then I watch as he disentangles himself from Betsy and stands up to embrace his dad.

  ‘Thank you,’ I hear him mutter into his neck.

  ‘Any time, mate,’ says Mark, patting him on the back. ‘Any time.’

  I’m about to join the love-in when Maureen and Karen appear, both holding clipboards.

  ‘I think we might run out of Prosecco,’ says Maureen. ‘I’ve sent Jimmy down to Morrisons.’

  ‘And are you ready for the sumo wrestlers doing British Bulldog with foam?’ asks Karen. ‘Bloody hell, who’s come in this gorgeous motor?’ she exclaims.

  ‘Mark,’ I say, beaming. ‘And you remember Karen, don’t you, Mark? From Corfu?’

  ‘Christ, you’ve aged well!’ says Karen, eyeing him up. ‘And clearly quite the catch,’ she adds, nodding at the car.

  ‘Is that Dad’s car?’ asks Ellie, suddenly clocking the gleaming specimen she has been next to for the last few minutes. ‘I’m so going to enjoy learning to drive in that.’

  ‘You will not, young lady,’ laughs Mark. ‘Clapped-out old banger for you, I think.’

  ‘Oh, but Dad!’

  ‘Oh, but nothing. You need to earn something like this, then you can drive it. When you’ve bought it yourself.’

  ‘Quite right,’ agrees Karen. ‘There’s nothing like being able to earn enough money to buy your dream car.’

  ‘You listen to Karen,’ advises Mark. ‘She’s right.’

  ‘What utter dickhead arrives in a car like that!’ booms Tim, strolling up, Buzz Lightyear helmet tucked under his arm.

  ‘This dickhead,’ laughs Mark.

  Tim shakes his head at his mate. ‘It won’t make your penis look any longer, you know.’

  ‘Tim!’ I exclaim, nodding towards Maureen.

  ‘I absolutely agree,’ she says without turning a hair. ‘These cars will do nothing for your sex life, but may I ask, Mark, when can you take me for a ride in it? I do love a fast car!’

  ‘Any time you like,’ he says. ‘It’s nice to hear that someone appreciates it. You name your date and time and we’ll go and do doughnuts on the industrial estate.’

  ‘Now that’s the best offer I’ve had all year,’ she replies beaming. Everybody laughs.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re all here,’ I suddenly gush, looking around me. ‘So bloody glad!’

  This is the crack team that will pull us all through this, I’m sure. Or more importantly, will pull Ellie and George through this. What with Maureen and her no-nonsense attitude to George, Karen’s role-modelling for Ellie and Tim’s piss-taking to boost everyone with a laugh and a joke, this family will have half a chance of making it through this alive after I’m gone. The relief is enormous.

  George suddenly jumps up. ‘My kebabs might be burning,’ he declares. ‘I’d better get back to them.’

  ‘We’ll be over in a minute,’ Mark tells him. ‘Can’t wait to try them.’

  George grins then turns and runs back across the lawn to his post behind the barbeque.

  ‘I’m taking Betsy to meet Max,’ says Ellie, getting up and dragging the dog after her. ‘Make sure she likes him.’

  ‘And what are we all standing here for?’ asks Tim. ‘There’s one hell of a great party going on over there, you know.’

  ‘Will you just give us a minute?’ asks Mark. ‘Just need to ask Jenny something.’

  ‘Well, we’ll be waiting by the bouncy castle,’ he replies. ‘And you know I don’t like to be kept waiting by a bouncy castle!’

  Maureen squeezes my arm before she takes off back down the lawn, followed by Karen still checking her clipboard.

  I turn towards Mark trying to make sense of the sudden sense of euphoria that is gushing through me but he is shoving a piece of paper under my nose that clearly he needs me to give my attention to.

  ‘Look at this,’ he says. I’m vaguely aware of a picture of pure blue azure sea and a white building.

  ‘Let’s buy a holiday home in Greece,’ he says, pointing vigorously at the paper. ‘I had a look online. There may be some red tape but we could do it. There are some amazing properties for sale out there, r
ight near where you used to work, and it’s actually a great investment. What do you say? Imagine being able to fly over at the drop of a hat and have our own balcony overlooking that. And the kids would love it, wouldn’t they? I was thinking we should get one with at least four bedrooms, then they could come over with their mates and stuff. And, who knows, one day we might be entertaining husbands and wives and even grandkids. How about that? What amazing new memories we could create in the future if we bought a house like this one. Can you imagine bouncing your grandchildren on your knee in that glorious sunshine?’

  I blink back at him, glancing between his face and the piece of paper. I’m felled. This isn’t supposed to happen. Tonight is about now, living today, and then beginning to deal with the treacherous road to the future tomorrow. Mark has painted my future in glorious technicolour, in colours I never even dreamed of, where I would live out my days in utter bliss. This is cruel, so cruel. I want to scream. How can life be this evil? This is a horror story.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I can’t stop them. I want to; I don’t want to be here now. Today is about living, I’d promised myself that. Tomorrow the dying will commence.

  ‘I knew it,’ I hear a voice interrupting my sobs. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  I look up through waterlogged eyes as Antony, still dressed as Kermit, bears down on me.

  He knows, I think. He’s worked it out and now the sight of me sobbing has confirmed his theory.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you!’ interjects Mark, looking angry at Antony’s interruption.

  ‘She’s my sister,’ replies Kermit fiercely.

  ‘Oh yeah and you’ve always been there for her, haven’t you? A great brother you’ve been.’

  ‘I can’t help it if I live three hours away. I had no idea what was going on. Why didn’t you tell me?’ he says, poking his frog’s leg in Mark’s chest.

  ‘Like I said, it’s got nothing to do with you. We’ve dealt with it.’

  ‘But I’m a doctor, for fuck’s sake! I might have been able to help.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that you were a doctor. Of course you’re some kind of god who can solve all ailments, including your brother-in-law’s infidelity. Is there an operation for that these days? Of course you could really help by castrating me. Is that what you want to do?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘You’re having an affair. Whilst she’s—’

  ‘Not any more. It’s over,’ Mark shouts back.

  Antony looks at me in disbelief.

  ‘Just stop,’ I shout. ‘Stop it, both of you. I want to hear no more about any of this tonight. This is my party and you’re not going to ruin it. Understood?’

  Mark is looking at the floor and Antony is staring at me open-mouthed.

  ‘Understood?’ I repeat.

  ‘But—’ says Antony.

  ‘But nothing,’ I reply, giving him such a glare he takes a step backwards.

  ‘Time to dance,’ I say, stuffing the piece of paper back in Mark’s pocket and grabbing his hand. ‘Let’s just dance, shall we? It’s time to dance right now.’

  Forty-Three

  Everyone’s arms are in the air. The crowd sways as one, singing ‘Champagne Supernova’ at the very tops of their voices.

  I’m high on life once again.

  Epilogue

  It’s the last thing I remember. The swaying and the singing, then nothing. I just crumpled into a heap on the floor apparently. Right there in the middle of 1996 amongst the cast of Toy Story, Friends, the Spice Girls and the odd Muppet.

  Jimmy pulled the emergency cord just inside the patio door and the night duty nurse came running, but Antony was already on his mobile calling for an ambulance. Mark said they had another confused conversation as he told my brother that I was probably just drunk and wouldn’t need an ambulance whilst he shouted at him for hiding our secret. It wasn’t until Maureen took them both to one side and sat them down and told them what had really been going on that the light dawned. She told me when she came to visit that Mark couldn’t speak. He was in total shock whilst Antony was jumping round the patio muttering, ‘I knew it.’

  Mark was by my bedside in hospital when I came round, still wearing his Noel Gallagher sideburns. He was holding my hands. The minute I opened my eyes he began to weep. His head dropped on the pillow beside me and he sobbed and sobbed. Huge, wracking man sobs that are impossible not to add your own to. We held each other so tight for a long time without words, the pain and the sorrow of the news ebbing and flowing between us.

  He asked me why I didn’t tell him, of course. I confessed that I found out the same day as I found him having sex in his office. Distraught, he paced the room with his head in his hands, unable to find any light that reflected well on his actions. So I also said that I was glad I hadn’t told him. That I wanted the chance to keep living just a little longer, and not telling him had allowed me to do that. I was grateful for the time I’d had without everyone looking at me like I’d changed into a different human being overnight. It also meant I would now die knowing he picked me. That he was here because of me and not the cancer. I got my husband back, my disease didn’t do that.

  * * *

  Doctor Death looked mightily relieved to see Mark when he came to visit me on the ward later that day. He shook his hand vigorously and squeezed mine as if to say, ‘Well done, you need this man’. The nurse insisted that Mark should push me in a wheelchair over to Doctor Death’s office, which was fun, I have to say. I got him to do wheelies, which he didn’t want to do, but it made us both laugh.

  Mark asked for some paper and he wrote a lot of notes whilst the doctor again described my condition. I listened to some of it. Some of it went over my head but it didn’t matter because I knew Mark would have picked it all up. Just as I was wondering how old the doc was, I became aware of them both looking at me: they were clearly expecting me to say something but I had no idea what. Maybe I was still high on whatever drugs they had given me.

  I raised my eyebrows at Mark, willing him to answer for me. He reached over and squeezed my hand and then asked the doctor if we could come back on Tuesday and then make some decisions. Apparently we needed to spend some time together and talk it through. The doctor had sighed but agreed as long as Mark promised to bring me back with a plan.

  * * *

  When I put my toes in the water I thought my heart would burst with joy. I felt happy. How weird.

  The doctor discharged me and that night we were on a flight to Corfu with George and Ellie. God knows how Mark had managed to swing it but I bet there are a lot of strings you can pull with money and a dying wife. We told the kids it was a big treat to celebrate their dad’s deal. They seemed surprisingly willing to accept that as a viable reason for the crazy urgency of having to go that day. George did keep casting me worried glances on the plane though. He knows we’re hiding something, but we have decided to tell them both the truth after we get back. When we have decided what will happen next. When Mark and I have come up with a plan that will ease them through this as best as possible. We’ll tell them together then.

  * * *

  We sat on the beach on the last night and Mark held my hand as he took his notes from our meeting with the doctor out of his pocket.

  ‘We’ll do this together,’ he said.

  ‘Okay,’ I whispered as my consent to listening and starting on the road to my dead end.

  He explained what the doctor had said in my language. Slowly and carefully.

  ‘So we have options,’ he said in his concluding arguments. ‘We can follow Mr Randall’s chemotherapy plan. You heard what he said, the treatment should prolong your life. And that’s what you want now, right? Now you’ve done what you needed to do. You want to be around as long as possible, don’t you?’

  I hesitated and was alarmed to see a look of horror spring to his face.

  ‘E
llie and George and I need you to be around as long as possible,’ he said, grabbing my hand. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, nodding. ‘Of course I will do whatever it takes to be here as long as I can.’

  ‘Good, good,’ said Mark, gathering himself and glancing back down at his notes. ‘But I do think it would be worth also looking at other options. Get a second opinion, investigate trial drugs. Don’t you? There is hope.’

  I looked at him – I hadn’t been expecting this.

  ‘Be rational, Mark,’ I sighed. I don’t think I have ever said this to him. Him to me many times.

  ‘The numbers are stacked against you, I admit.’

  ‘Have you done a spreadsheet?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  This was not good news. He hadn’t done a spreadsheet because he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

  ‘I haven’t done one because everything’s based on probability. Probability strikes me as the wrong measure to use in this instance.’

  ‘Are you trying to be my husband or my accountant?’

  ‘I love you,’ he said and we cried for a while.

  * * *

  ‘So listen,’ he says when we are finally able to speak again. ‘You could have a very high probability, say ninety-nine per cent, of something happening to you but you could still be the one per cent that it doesn’t happen to. When you’re talking life or death, haven’t you always got to believe you could be the one per cent?’

  I look out to the sea. I feel the waves lapping over my toes, I feel the summer sunshine on my back. He’s asking me to have hope. Against all the odds, he’s asking me to still hope I’m the one per cent.

  ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘You decided you were going to live as though you didn’t have cancer. You decided that, you made that happen. You can also decide whether you’re going to live as though you are in the ninety-nine per cent, I’m going to die bracket, or in the one per cent, I have hope bracket. Which is it going to be?’