Chapter 30
30
E ven from a few feet away, Caro could see that the jasmine around the front door of Helen's house had withered to a green-black. All the white heads fallen and rotted in the autumn soil. She stopped where she was and looked down at her shoes. She felt sick. Now that she was halfway along the drive, the tremors previously confined to her stomach had spread to her legs and she felt a little weak. And she didn't know why.
There was nothing in this situation to be afraid of. She was here because she had to be here. She was here because it was the only way. Helen didn’t answer her calls; she’d had to come in person.
So why was she so shaky?
She tipped her head back and took a deep breath. Nine-thirty on a November Saturday morning. The air was cold and damp, rich with the smell of organic matter, leaves and moistened soil, the slime of winter slugs and the carcasses of flower-heads, stems, piles of rotting grass. It was funny, she thought as she breathed it all in, how alive the smell of decay was. She filled her lungs, pushed her hands into her pockets and walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
The house stayed silent. Caro turned to look back at the drive. Both Helen and Lawrence's car were parked there. Jack, she knew, would be away at university. Lawrence was probably out cycling. Which left Libby and Helen. Please, she whispered, please don’t let it be Libby.
A moment later, the door swung back, and she was looking at Helen, whose face seemed to go through unknowable shadows of emotion.
‘It’s Kay,’ she blurted, before Helen could say a word. ‘She has cancer. She’s dying, Helen, and there’s nothing we can do. Nothing.’