by Jemma Forte
‘I’m afraid not at this stage,’ the doctor replies gently. ‘There is however plenty we can do to help the quality of life he has left and to manage his pain. We’re slowly introducing him to our palliative team who are brilliant at what they do, and of course Matt is still in regular contact with Mr Baker at this stage. You have met Matthew I take it?’
‘Yes,’ I say at once. Mum and Hayley look surprised and I know our faces must give him some indication that ours is not a normal family set up and that we don’t have much of a clue about anything. I find myself desperate to explain myself to the doctor. Somehow it matters to me that this man doesn’t think we’re all completely heartless.
‘I met him really briefly,’ I continue. ‘Matthew is dad’s support nurse,’ I explain to Mum and Hayley.
‘Right,’ nods Mum, squeezing my hand. ‘Course he is.’
That night, because my dad’s been put in a private room, the hospital allow me to sleep the night on the small camp bed next to him. Not that I sleep much. Instead I while away the hours staring at Ray’s face, full of so many conflicting emotions and checking all the time the rise and fall of his chest. Mum and Hayley went home a while back but I couldn’t contemplate leaving, so stayed and watched as the nurses set up a drip, which contained a cocktail of drugs to ensure Dad had a pain-free, restful night.
I cry silently for a long, long time, until finally I slip into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning I’m woken up by a brisk knock on the door. My heart misses a beat and my eyes spring open as I try to remember where I am. I’m horribly groggy and it takes a while but eventually I figure out my location because I spot Ray staring down at me from his bed, already wide awake.
‘Morning you, we’ve got a visitor,’ he says. ‘All right Matthew?’
Still lying down, I pull my blanket up, embarrassed. I’m still half-asleep and almost wish I was wearing my clown outfit again. At least that way Matthew wouldn’t be able to see how thoroughly undelightful I look first thing in the morning after a traumatic crying session.
‘Hi Ray, morning Marianne. How are you guys today?’
Urgh. Why me? I have no choice other than to sit up and be friendly or he’ll think I’m incredibly rude.
‘I’m not too bad mate. Not too bad,’ says Dad. ‘Marianne’s been a little angel keeping me company.’
‘Ah excellent. Nice to see you again by the way. How did the party go?’ he says, smiling down at me.
‘Yeah, great,’ I say, desperately trying to sort out my flattened hair with one hand while deciding to omit the bit about Dad nearly beating someone to a pulp.
‘Cool, well it’s nice to meet you properly. It was a bit hard to see what you looked like before.’
‘Hmm,’ I mutter, smiling like a pathetic idiot. Only because I’m just not sure what else to say. Conducting a conversation with someone you don’t know while essentially lying in bed simply doesn’t feel right. Especially not when they’re towering above you, shower fresh and ready for the day while by contrast you’ve just woken up and your eyes feel like they’ve been bread-crumbed.
‘I was telling Matthew the other day how you play the violin like a pro,’ interjected Dad.
‘Er … I don’t really,’ I mutter, blushing and wishing he’d leave now so I could get out of the camp bed and make myself look human.
‘Sounds great,’ says Matthew at which point I feel about five years old. Dad could be so embarrassing. And then all at once that negative suddenly feels like a real positive, and I end up rather enjoying the fact that I have a dad to embarrass me. I guess it’s kind of a normal thing.
Thankfully Matthew turns his attention back to the patient now. ‘Well, I just popped in to see how you were doing Ray but I’ve had a chat with Jane who you met the other day, from palliative, and I think they’re going to suggest a cycle of chemo soon so, if you want to have a chat about that before making a decision, then let’s do that.’
My heart lurches with hope. ‘Well that must be a good sign, if they’re still going to keep treating you with chemo,’ I can’t prevent myself from saying.
Ray looks at me and is about to say something but then pauses and glances at Matthew who looks a bit surprised. It’s then I understand that I’m clutching at straws.
‘It’s palliative care only now, Marianne,’ says Ray gently. ‘But you never know, might give me a bit longer, eh?’ he adds, over-brightly.
I still have no idea what palliative means but get the general idea. I swallow. Now I really want this Matthew character to leave. I’m embarrassed and feel terrible for having showed my hand. If Ray can be brave and stoic about his fate then what right do I have to be anything but?
When Matthew leaves a short while later, Ray, who seems to be in a much better state today, says, ‘He’s a good bloke, Matt.’
‘He seems nice,’ I agree, finally clambering out of the torturously uncomfortable bed.
‘He was the one who encouraged me to find you girls.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t your idea then?’ I enquire, smoothing down my rumpled clothes. I try to sound blasé but in fact feel quite hurt. I want finding us to have been his idea. Not someone else’s.
‘Course it was, but it was Matthew who I talked things through with. It was a big decision coming back into your lives but he nudged me towards doing it sooner rather than later, if you know what I mean. You know, after I’d been told … Anyway he’s been a good friend. He’s well chuffed about the fact we’re back in contact as it goes.’
I blink, not wanting to think about the day Ray was told there was nothing more they could do. I can’t begin to imagine how terrifying a moment that must have been. I’m terrified of dying and don’t know how I’d cope with the fear. It dawns on me then that Matthew isn’t just a nurse but a counsellor and friend rolled into one. Thank god for Matthew I suddenly think, for Ray certainly hasn’t displayed much fear or rage in front of me, which has been puzzling me a bit I suppose. I know he doesn’t have many friends he can talk to. As far as I can glean all his old muckers are of the old-fashioned, emotionally retarded variety, who aren’t in touch with their feelings, or anyone else’s for that matter. They certainly wouldn’t express them to one another anyway. But if he’s able to have those moments with a professional like Matthew, I suppose it leaves him free to try and enjoy the time he has left with people like me for instance.
During the next couple of hours Ray and I have a bit of breakfast and watch some TV. I feel shattered, having been through the ringer emotionally and physically, though it goes without saying I don’t moan about feeling shit to Dad. The irony that I look in worse shape than him today doesn’t pass me by though.
Later, I’m really pleased when at visiting time Hayley appears with some grapes and a very different attitude. Once I’ve had a word with her outside the room, just to fill her in on things the nurses have told me, she comes back in and says sheepishly to Ray, ‘You gave us a bit of a fright there.’
I give her a small, stern smile of encouragement. I know how difficult this is for her, but it’s also what she needs to do and I want her to remain this calm for all our sakes.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that,’ Ray says, doing his best to sit up and smiling through the pain he’s apparently feeling in his liver today. I hate this insight into quite how terribly ill he is. I’ve had my head in the sand I guess. Still, the reality of his situation has certainly sunk in now.
‘Hayley’s got something to say,’ I prompt, determined to make sure my sister goes through with what we just discussed in the corridor.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Ray says. ‘I can understand why you don’t want anything to do with me. One daughter out of two is a result given my past and you’re totally within your rights to want nothing to do with me. And I’m really sorry if I came across as an arsehole at the house. Being honest I was just so nervous and I hadn’t slept the night before for thinking about it all. By the time I arrived I was in a bit of a weird stat
e. I’m sorry.’
Hayley looks away. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she mutters. ‘I’ve had a really hard time lately and I suppose I was … lashing out … a bit. I mean, I do think you’ve been crap but I get that you’re not well, so probably don’t need a load of earache from me.’
‘It’s all right,’ he says, but I can tell he’s beginning to feel tired again.
‘We should go,’ I say. ‘But we’ll come back tomorrow during visiting hours again. Do you want me to bring anything?’
‘Nah, you’re all right,’ he says. ‘And Hayley, thanks. What you said means a lot and, Marianne thanks for everything. I’m sorry both of you had to see me collapse.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ I admonish.
We turn to go, Hayley slightly hesitantly as if she’s trying to decide whether or not to say anything else. However, I’m keen for Ray to get some rest so I guide her towards the door.
Outside I’m surprised and very touched to find Mum waiting for us.
‘Everything OK?’ she asks sadly.
I nod, trying to be brave but it’s suddenly all too much and I end up bursting into tears. ‘Oh Mum, he really is going to die,’ I say.
Drawing me and Hayley both in for a hug she replies, ‘I know angel, I know. I can hardly believe it myself.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The rest of the week is a write off. When I get home from the hospital I climb into bed but get a heart attack when two minutes later Andy pokes his chubby head round the door and asks whether I’d like him to join me.
My reply is ‘bugger off, which is just unsubtle enough for him to get the hint so he huffs off with Martin for a grand tour of his offices instead, muttering all the way about how moody I am.
The next day Hayley and I go to visit Ray as soon as I get out of work and are told that he’s definitely going to be given a three-week cycle of chemotherapy. Apparently it will make him feel like shit for a while but might help prolong things. So it’s worth a go.
I tell him that I want to keep visiting for the duration of the treatment but he’s adamant that he doesn’t want me to see him when he’s sick and worn out. He does reassure me however that Matthew will be keeping a close eye on things and that the hospital have also decided to keep him in for the whole three weeks rather than send him home for the recovery periods in between. I leave feeling – and I know it’s irrational – jealous of Matthew for getting to spend more time with him than I will, but know I have to respect Ray’s wishes.
I’m left with no choice other than to get on with things and get back to work. And work I do. Roberto is delighted at my change in attitude and I make it into the salon on Friday, Saturday, Monday and Tuesday.
By the following Wednesday I’m in dire need of my day off again. Though without work to hide behind, or Martin at home to take advantage of, it means I have no other choice but to finally spend a whole day with Andy. Alone. We’ve been like passing ships in the night, which has been fine by me, though admittedly, when I stop to think about the whole situation it’s incredibly bizarre. At a certain point he’s simply going to have to accept that he can’t stay lurking in my house like some kind of lodger, eating everything in the fridge and hanging out with Martin when we aren’t even making an attempt to be together. Pawing at me occasionally doesn’t constitute a relationship after all. So, determined to at least give him a look at London before I urge him to naff off back to the other side of the world, I come up with a packed day of sightseeing that would surely leave even the fittest athlete too tired for sex.
‘Come on,’ I say, dashing off the London Eye, as it comes to its slow stop. ‘We’ve only got half an hour to get to the Tower of London if we’re going to fit in Madame Tussauds before we go home.’
‘Jeez,’ says Andy, looking done in. It’s May by now and the weather has finally turned a spring-like corner, so the jumper has come off, although it’s still wrapped around his sturdy waist, which if anything has got even sturdier since Mum introduced him to Findus crispy pancakes. ‘This is great and everything, but being honest I wouldn’t mind calling it a day and heading back to Chigwell. I feel done in, and besides I just want to get you on your own. We haven’t had any alone time since I got here,’ he adds sulkily.
‘I know,’ I say, staring guiltily at my toes. ‘But if I’m honest Andy, it’s such a complicated time right now, it’s hard for me to feel romantic.’ This is me edging my way towards the truth.
‘You have got heaps going on,’ says Andy, looking thoughtful. Then, ‘Look, I’m going to come right out and say this because I don’t believe in beating round the bush or being dishonest.’
They’re running repeats of Neighbours on UK Gold at the moment and in that moment he reminds me more than a little of Joe Mangle.
‘Go on.’
‘You’ve changed, Marianne. I mean you’re still super fit and everything and I fancy you just as much as I ever did, but your personality has changed. You’re not the same girl I fell for in Thailand.’
‘I’m not …?’ I say, wondering who I am then.
‘No,’ says Andy regretfully. ‘You were so bubbly out there, so carefree and a great laugh, but here you’re so constrained. You always look so grumpy and I’m starting to wonder whether the girl I got to know in Asia only comes out when she’s on holiday?’
This last bit he says in an unbelievably patronising way, like he’s talking to a small child.
‘Right …’ My gaze wanders momentarily as someone whizzes past on rollerblades. The South Bank’s full of people enjoying the sunny weather. Workers are spread out on the grass, eating their sandwiches, getting their hour’s fix of fresh air, no doubt wondering why the weather always improves after the weekend has finished.
‘Look, I don’t want to hurt you Marianne. I know how much you’re into the whole idea of “us” and who knows, maybe things will pick up again. But for now I think we should take our foot off the pedal and see how things pan out. Or we could just be friends with benefits since we’re so hot for each other?’
I gulp and frown at the same time, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing. I think rapidly, desperate not to mess up this situation that suddenly seems to have swung in my favour by making me the victim.
‘I think that might hurt too much,’ I say solemnly, suppressing an urge to grin. ‘I think the best thing is to take things day by day, or if you want to just call it a day now, I suppose we could. Maybe that would be easier? You know, like a clean break. Maybe you could move out?’
‘No, I couldn’t do that to you,’ he says earnestly, chin quivering with pudgy self-righteousness. ‘I want to give us another chance.’
‘Right,’ I say weakly, staring into the crowds of people walking down the South Bank, feeling quite insulted and also frustrated that essentially nothing has been resolved.
Later, back at home, I decide it’s time to stop mucking about and to nip the whole situation in the bud, and fast. Letting him call the shots is pathetic and cowardly of me. I simply have too much stuff on my plate at the moment to continue this ridiculous charade of pretending there’s even a small chance we can be together. There’s simply no reason why he should stay with us any more. We have nothing in common. I don’t fancy him or even like him, so him living with me and my family when we have so much stuff to deal with is ridiculous. He has to go, so I decide to make myself crystal clear.
‘Andy,’ I say, watching him stuff his face. Mum’s made him a toasted cheese sandwich and there’s cheesy grease dribbling down his chin. At moments like these I catch myself staring at him, as I try to remember why I liked him so much in Thailand, where mysteriously he seemed so much more appealing. I suppose we didn’t eat much apart from fish and the odd banana pancake whereas here he eats like a horse, though that’s probably a bit unkind to horses.
‘Can I have a quick word? In my room,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ he agrees at once, looking excited. My heart sinks as I realise he actually thinks I’m going to jump his
meaty bones. I despair. Still, his ardour only reinforces my decision to rectify this absurd situation.
‘So,’ I say, closing my bedroom door behind me. ‘I wanted to start by saying …’
I don’t get any further however, for to my total horror Andy pulls me round and drags me into an embrace. He sticks his revolting tongue enthusiastically down my throat. I can taste cheese.
I squeal like a pig and bash him on the back with my fists until finally he twigs that I’m not happy at all.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ I bluster, having finally wriggled my way out of his grip. ‘What are you doing? Stop mauling me all the bloody time. I didn’t get you up here for a love-in. I need to talk to you.’
‘Oh,’ says Andy, looking deeply put out. He’s panting slightly and wipes his hand across his mouth, a gesture that makes me want to pull my own hair out.
‘This isn’t working,’ I state. ‘I’m sorry and everything, but it hasn’t been since you arrived; only I’ve been far too worried about hurting your feelings to tell you the truth. But now I’ve got so much on my plate and I just can’t handle worrying about you too. I’m really sorry,’ I say, trying not to cry. Wanting to cry has nothing to do with the fact we’re breaking up but because I really do have a lot on my plate and whether he’s there or not it is still all terribly hard.
‘I see,’ he says eventually.
‘Great,’ I say, fully expecting him to show some initiative now by packing his bag immediately. I assume he’ll be embarrassed and want to make amends for being so slow on the uptake. Like any normal person, now he understands the situation, I’m sure he’ll want to leave as soon as is humanly possible, which is why I’m so surprised when he asks, ‘So what do we do now?’
‘What do you mean what do we do now?’ I ask, bewildered. Why did he even have to ask? We didn’t have to do anything. He had to vacate my house as soon as possible and give me some much-needed space.
‘Well I get the message, but Martin and I have got so many plans coming up.’