by Beth Thomas
‘What are we going to do?’ she whispers urgently. ‘We can’t leave her.’
I shake my head. ‘No, of course not.’ I face the old dear. ‘Hi, are you OK? Do you need some help?’
She looks at me beseechingly, opening and closing her mouth. Her eyes are red and watery and there’s a sheen of sweat on her top lip. She looks a bit grey; a few strands of hair are clinging damply to her forehead. ‘Is it the heat?’ She nods gingerly. ‘Do you feel faint?’ Again she nods, and closes her eyes. Her hand closes on my arm. She might do better in the summer heat if she wasn’t wearing a winter coat, scarf and gloves. ‘OK, my name’s Daisy, this is my friend Abby. You need to sit down in the shade somewhere for a few minutes.’ I glance around quickly.
‘How about that wall?’ Abby says, directing my attention ahead to a low wall surrounding a garden, with a very leafy tree of some sort shadowing it. She bends so that her face is level with the old lady’s. ‘Can you make it over there, if we help you?’
She moves her head slightly. ‘I’m eighty-seven.’ It’s a whisper.
‘Right.’ Abs and I exchange a glance, neither of us sure whether that means she can or can’t. We decide that, either way, she needs to be moved, so we each take an arm and start to propel her gently towards the low wall.
Two weeks later, we finally get there. Another three days after that, our elderly friend says, ‘What’s your name, dear?’
‘I’m Abby,’ says Abby. ‘You met us just over there, a few minutes ago, remember?’
‘Of course I remember, it was five minutes ago. I’m eighty-seven, not senile.’
‘Oh, sorry.’
‘What’s yours?’ I ask quickly, before Abby goes into total strop mode.
‘I’m Evelyn Waterstone.’
‘Hi, Evelyn. Are you feeling any better?’
‘I was feeling quite dizzy,’ she says, which we both take to mean that she is.
‘Would you like some water?’ I’ve got four unopened bottles in my backpack, so I slide it off and take the lid off one. I put it into Evelyn’s hand. ‘Have some water, Evelyn. It’s brand new, we haven’t drunk any of it.’
She takes a tentative sip as if not entirely sure it isn’t Rohypnol. I know that feeling.
‘Where are you from?’ she says, looking somewhere between me and Abby.
‘Oh, not far from here,’ Abs says. ‘We’re both local. How about you? Are you far from home?’
She swings her head round to face Abby, as if she’s suddenly become aware that she’s there. ‘Am I what, dear?’
‘Where are you from?’ Abby asks again. ‘Do you need us to help you get home?’
Evelyn smiles. ‘Oh, no, bless you. No, this is my home right here.’
For one hideous moment I imagine that this frail eighty-seven-year-old is homeless, sleeping rough on the streets, getting moved on by the PCSOs and scoring smack in the bus station. But then I see that Abby is looking up at the building behind the low wall and I turn and realise it’s Fernfield Nursing Home. Oh, thank God.
After a few more decades of recuperation, Evelyn is good to go, so we link arms again and walk her slowly up the three steps to the front door of Fernfield.
‘When I was your age, there was a war on, you know,’ she says, as if we’ve never heard of World War Two.
I’m not as good as I should be at mental arithmetic, but Abby has evidently done a quick calculation. ‘We’re a bit older than you think we are, Evelyn.’
‘What, dear?’
‘Never mind.’
The door to Fernfield is opened and a woman is standing staring at us. ‘Evelyn?’ she says. ‘What are you doing out?’ I really want Evelyn to say she’s been hanging around down the arcades.
‘I went for a walk,’ Evelyn says, too tired for irony. ‘I like going out. Nothing to stop me going out, is there?’
‘No, no, my love, of course there isn’t.’ The woman reaches out a hand and we pass Evelyn over to her.
‘These two little girls have helped me get home,’ Evelyn says, moving into the cool hallway. ‘Thank you, girls, that was very kind of you.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ the woman agrees. Then turns to Evelyn’s retreating form. As the door closes we hear her say, ‘Now then, my love, how about a nice cup of tea and a biscuit?’ I really want Evelyn to say, ‘Screw that, get me a whisky.’ But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything.
Back on the pavement we walk very slowly in silence for a few moments, while Abby repeatedly glances fondly over at me.
‘What?’ I ask her, stopping and turning to face her.
She smiles and shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, Daze. I suppose I’m still underestimating you. Not very long ago, you’d have run a mile – or, well, shuffled across the hallway – at the thought of interacting with a stranger, or dealing with a difficult situation or, you know, washing your hair. So I feel a bit protective of you still, like I need to be a buffer between you and the world. But after that,’ she jerks her head roughly in the direction of Evelyn, ‘I can see that I don’t have to. You were so good with her. You’re so much better.’
‘Well, if I’m honest, I did want to leg it in the other direction as soon as I saw her,’ I say conspiratorially. ‘She looked so dangerous and volatile. But I gritted my teeth and got on with it. And it was all fine in the end.’
She laughs. ‘Bravo you. I’m so proud.’
‘Cheers. Shall we have an ice cream?’
When Abby’s phone’s GPS tells us we’re at nine and a half miles, we find a lovely little café next to the canal, and sit outside in the sunshine and eat paninis.
‘Whoever decided to put avocado and brie together was a genius,’ she says enthusiastically around a mouthful of bread.
‘Mm.’ I’ve got the all-day-breakfast – sliced egg with bacon, sausage and tomato. While I chew, I’m watching the trees lining the canal bank, their branches waving slowly in the breeze, making the leaves turn different colours of green, lime and yellow in the sunlight. They make dappled shadows on the golden path below, all in perpetual motion, swaying and rocking, bright and bursting with life. And in that moment I realise finally the absolute truth in the statement ‘Life goes on’.
My phone dings suddenly: it’s a text from Naomi. A shadow falls across the sun and the silky breeze stroking my bare arms develops teeth and brings out goosebumps all over me.
‘Who’s that?’ Abby says. Somehow it’s OK for her to ask me who’s texting me. I never ask her.
‘Naomi.’ I read through the text quickly. ‘She wants to come round this afternoon and see me again.’
‘Oh, that’s nice of her, isn’t it?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Why?’
I shrug. ‘She’s probably not coming for a social visit, you know, for a cuppa and a cosy chat. You can bet your life she’s got a reason for coming.’ My goosebumps develop goosebumps of their own, and I rub my arms distractedly.
We chew in silence for a few moments. ‘Daze,’ Abby says tentatively.
‘Hmm?’
She studies the end of the panini in her hand. ‘This thing with Naomi … I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, I totally understand if you’d rather not … But I’ve been wondering … I mean, you’ve never said much about how you and Graham got on. And you lived with him all that time and looked after him … It just seems totally incredible to me that he would leave you out of his will like that …’
‘He didn’t leave me out. I got a very generous legacy.’
She widens her eyes. ‘Five grand? You’re kidding. How much was that house worth? Four bedrooms detached, lovely garden, in that area? Must be at least three hundred and fifty grand, right?’
I nod. I knew this was going to be asked sooner or later. Abby wouldn’t simply accept it. I swallow a few times but my throat’s gone a bit dry. Suddenly my delicious all-day-breakfast panini looks desiccated and indigestible.
‘So even if he had no savings w
hatsoever …’
‘There were savings too. Mum told me.’
She’s silent a moment. ‘Do you know how much?’
I shake my head. ‘Not really. But Mum told me repeatedly that she thought Nomes and I would both be quite wealthy after her death. Well, after whichever out of the two of them died last. She mentioned a hundred thousand each once or twice.’
‘A hundred thousand! Oh my God, Daisy! You could get yourself a flat outright with that, and have a bit over!’
I shrug. I haven’t thought about the money really. ‘I suppose so.’
‘So why didn’t she leave it in trust for you?’
‘Why would she? Graham was her husband, she had no reason to suspect he’d leave one of us out. They each left everything to the other. If Graham had died first, Darren, Lee, Naomi and I would all have inherited a quarter of the estate each when Mum went. She would have made sure of that. But simply because my parent was the one that went first …’ I don’t need to finish.
‘Did you suspect it? That Graham would do that, I mean.’
I don’t answer straight away. This is the moment I’ve been dreading for years. Or at least, since Abby and I have been friends. I was terrified of it to begin with, like it was an infection that would spread into our friendship and destroy it, bit by bit. But as the months and years passed and nothing had come out, I worried less and actually began to feel that maybe it never would. But then Mum got ill again, and this time it was final, and all those long-buried feelings started to bubble up.
When Mum was diagnosed the first time round, I wasn’t with her. Graham had been going with her to all her appointments: he wasn’t ill himself then. When the doctor had given the terrible diagnosis, Graham had got angry, stood up, stomped around the room, shouted. He’d demanded an explanation.
‘No one knows why, Mr Chalkwell.’ The consultant stayed so calm, Mum said. Even though Graham’s behaviour was borderline inappropriate. ‘If they knew that, they’d use the information to find a cure.’
‘Could stress be a cause? I’ve read somewhere that stress could cause it.’
The consultant had nodded slowly. ‘It’s one theory. If it was severe stress, over a prolonged period. But it’s just a theory.’
Graham had told me about this, much later. Mum never did. But I knew Graham blamed me. Of course I’d suspected what he might do. Naomi and I had predicted it years before, just because of Graham’s unpredictability. In spite of that, I never completely believed that he would actually do it.
I look at Abby. At this moment, now, here on this bench in the sunshine, she still loves me. We’re still friends and we always will be. At least, that’s what she believes. When she’s heard what I’m about to tell her, everything will change. She will be shocked and will turn away from me in cold disgust. I stare at her a few more moments, making a clear picture of her face in my mind. Then I nod.
‘Yes, I suspected.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. At least, it was always at the back of my mind. A possibility. Naomi and I talked about it. We made a pact.’
‘A pact? What about?’
‘Graham was always favouring one or the other of us; he took it in turns. And the one out of favour got roasted for even minor things. Naomi and I made a pact that if one of us got left out of the will one day, the other one would share fifty-fifty whatever they got with the other one.’
‘Oh my God. That’s so sad.’
‘Well, I don’t think either of us ever really thought it would happen. Whatever his feelings were towards me, he did love my mum, I knew that. And I thought that would be his priority – making sure he did what his wife wanted. But it seems he cared less about that than I gave him credit for.’
She’s staring at me now, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, the panini in her hand completely forgotten. ‘What do you mean, his feelings towards you? What were his feelings towards you?’
I think back to the day of Mum’s funeral. All of us watching as the cortege arrived at the house. Graham’s venom as he spat vitriol at me. Darren and Lee telling me I couldn’t live there forever. Then the next three months of nursing a dying man who had nothing but abuse and poison for me. My eyes fill with water and I close them, spilling tears down my face.
‘He hated me, Abs.’
TWENTY-ONE
Abby Marcus
Out casually walking 20 miles with my bezzie Daisy Mack. Sun’s out, avocado and brie panini for lunch, and saved the life of a little old lady. Life is good.
Suzanne Allen Wow, you sound happy. Glad things are going well. xx
Sandie Hines Sounds like the perfect [Wednesday] to me. Gorgeous. Have fun.
Sue Harding Saints on speed, 20 miles?! Take the car you mad woman!!
Lynne Sheridan Casually? Lol! Good luck xx
Ellie Harley What’s all this about going round, saving lives?? Tell all Abster!! xx
Tracey Owen Am well jel – chucking it down here. Wish I was there
Manda Fear Aw, how is poor Daisy? Bless her. Give her my love.
Annika Dann Can’t believe no one else has asked about the little ol’ lady!! What happened??? Xx
Abby’s staring at me in horror. ‘He hated you? Since when? Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Did your mum know?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. She never acted as if she did, anyway. It really only came out after she was diagnosed the first time, and she was pretty preoccupied with everything else.’ I consider a moment. ‘He tried to hide it from her after that.’
Abby rubs her forehead. ‘But … I don’t understand. Did he always hate you? And why did he? There’s absolutely nothing about you to hate. What reason could he possibly have?’
I put the remains of my panini down on the plate and look frankly into her eyes. Here it comes. The years we have known each other and been friends, all the things we have done together, the times we’ve shared, they all flash before my eyes like a life. This is where our friendship reaches its end. ‘Because it was my fault she died.’
Abby doesn’t leap upwards in an explosion of fury, shouting and accusing and pointing. She doesn’t even stand up. She barely even moves. She simply draws her eyebrows together a bit. That’s all she does. She obviously hasn’t quite grasped what I’ve said yet. The outrage will no doubt come later.
‘What do you mean, your fault? How could it be? She died of cancer, didn’t she?’
‘Well, OK, no, it wasn’t my fault she got it. But what I did when she had it, while she was having the therapy, while she was fighting for her life … interfered with the treatment. Probably caused it not to go away completely. It came back, and then she died.’
‘No, no, no, Daze, that’s not right.’ She’s shaking her head the whole time she’s talking. ‘Cancer isn’t an infection or anything like that. You can’t get it because of someone else. Why … what … What do you mean?’
‘Well, you probably know about the bad effects of stress? I mean really severe stress, for a long time?’
‘Hey, I’m a driving instructor, I know all about stress.’ I give her a look. ‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘Thanks. So you know the damage it can do in an otherwise healthy person – migraines, blood pressure, random aches and pains, skin problems, immune system repression, the list goes on. I bet there’s loads of stuff it does to us that we don’t even know about.’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard that.’
‘But did you know what effect chronic stress can have on someone with cancer? Or more specifically, what effect it has on the cancer cells themselves?’
Abby is staring at me, her mouth slightly open. She starts shaking her head. ‘Oh no. No no no. I see where this is going, and it’s nonsense. You surely can’t believe that–’
‘Just hear me out, Abs. OK? The thing is, I don’t know whether you knew but Mum had breast cancer twice. The first time was about nine years before the second time, and she recovered from it. Completely.’
‘I didn’t k
now that.’
‘Well, she did. Got the all clear. I can’t describe what it felt like hearing that. Like a last minute reprieve from the guillotine or something. Massive party, family holiday, the lot. It was fantastic.’ I pause, thinking back to that happy time, and the dark times that came after. ‘The thing was, she wasn’t clear. She can’t have been because it came back. As of course you already know. And the second time around, she didn’t survive. It took hold the second time. They couldn’t stop it.’ My voice catches in my throat and Abs leans over the table and covers my hand with hers. But she doesn’t say anything, just lets me get it out. ‘During her diagnosis and treatment the first time round, she was subjected to massive and prolonged stress. That is, on top of the giant stress being diagnosed with cancer gives you anyway. If you want details, they now think that stress biochemically feeds the cancer cells. Not only that, but it also inhibits the effectiveness of the cancer drugs. So not a great thing to do, expose your loved one to stress when they’re undergoing cancer treatment.’
I pause. Abby is motionless, waiting for me to go on.
‘No prizes for guessing who was the cause of the massive stress my wonderful mum was under, in addition to the unbearable stress of having a life-threatening illness.’
Abby shakes her head, but I nod and tap my own chest.
‘It was me, Abby. I was the cause. And everyone in the family knew it. That’s why Graham did what he did. He used to give me furious glares every time we saw each other. Like evil eyes. He absolutely despised me for it. And it’s why Nomes hates me and why Darren and Lee hate me.’ I hesitate again and think about that. ‘Actually no, they hate me just because they’re horrible people. They probably hate Naomi as well. And fluffy bunnies. But the fact remains that because of the stress I caused her, her treatment failed. The cancer came back and killed her.’
Abby is stunned into silence and I can see behind her eyes that she’s working it out, changing her opinion, starting to distance herself from me, just like Mum did in that oncologist’s office. What’s happened to me is no less than I deserve, and I’m just thankful I have had these few years of friendship with someone as wonderful as Abby. The whole friendship has felt like it was on borrowed time anyway.