Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
LAUREL
I was with Gray when he died – but also, I wasn’t.
The whole day – that bright, peaceful summer day, with the leaves on the plane trees barely stirring in the breeze, a cloudless blue sky like an upturned bowl overhead and the rooms in the hospice almost insufferably hot – I’d played a weird kind of tag with Anna and her kids.
I had taken some time off work – three days, which was the maximum compassionate leave HR would allow me for someone who was not quite a partner – and spent as much of them as I could by his bedside.
Mostly, that meant night times, when Anna and the children went back to Damask Square to sleep if they could.
But during the day, when the children were at school, Anna and I moved in and out of his room as if we were doing some kind of dance, only neither of us knew what the steps were meant to look like.
There had been one encounter, one time when our paths crossed, when I was arriving after work to see Gray, and his daughter came running over to me, having recognised me through the window of the restaurant where she was having dinner with her mother and brother.
‘Laurel.’ She stopped by my side, out of breath, looking like she’d been crying. ‘It’s Lulu. I thought I recognised you.’
I felt blood flood to my face, as if I’d been caught doing something inappropriate. I couldn’t look towards the restaurant across the street where I knew Anna would be, sitting and watching.
‘This is so random, seeing you here. Mum said you’re a friend of Dad’s.’
If Anna had said that, I could only go along with the half-truth. ‘That’s right. How are you doing, Lulu? You and your brother?’
She sniffed, her tears not far from the surface. ‘We’re okay. It’s just… you know. It’s a lot.’
‘I know.’ I wanted to touch her, offer some sort of physical comfort, but the knowledge of Anna’s eyes on me prevented me. ‘I’m so sorry you’re all going through this.’
‘Thanks.’ She flashed a brief, painful smile. ‘Have you come to see Dad? We can all go in together.’
‘I…’ I was torn between my longing to see Gray and my knowledge that I couldn’t – not now, not when his wife and children were there. It was out of the question. ‘I think maybe he shouldn’t have too many people with him at once. He needs to be kept quiet. I’ll come back a bit later.’
After that, I gave my number to Precious, the nurse who mostly looked after Gray, and asked her to text me when the coast was clear. She agreed with the sad smile of a woman who’d seen this sort of thing before.
There were rooms in the hospice where families could stay overnight, but because I wasn’t family and Anna had her own to look after, neither of us used them.
I cycled there from Mel’s flat after sleeping in my own bed, feeling a fleeting sense of freedom and joy as I breathed in the still-fresh air, parakeets and gulls wheeling overhead.
When I arrived at the hospice it was seven in the morning.
The smell of tea and toast permeating the corridors.
The people who were on days arriving smiling and rested and taking over from their weary colleagues, the rattle of plates coming from the kitchen and the first trill of the phone as people began to call to ask, How is she? Did he have a good night?
I knew hospitals – their rhythms and their moods. I could tell as soon as I walked in that the night had been good – there had been no deaths. Not Gray’s and not anyone else’s. Relief flooded me.
I said good morning to Precious. ‘How is he? Did he have a good night?’
‘Very peaceful.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Would you like to go in? I’ll bring you some toast.’
‘Thank you – that would be amazing.’
She brought me toast that had gone a bit leathery but tasted fine once I’d smeared a load of Marmite on it, and a cup of over-stewed tea, which is how I like it anyway. While I ate I held Gray’s hand, and in between bites I talked to him.
‘It’s absolutely gorgeous out,’ I said. ‘It reminds me of that day when we cycled out to Kent, remember? We stopped on the edge of that apple orchard to eat our lunch, and there was no one about, so we thought we might get jiggy, and then we realised there were bees absolutely everywhere. I said you’d have a hell of a time explaining at home how you’d got stung on the bollocks, so we left it. I wish we hadn’t, now.’
I saw Gray’s face flicker and felt his hand squeeze mine – just the faintest pressure, but I knew he was listening.
I’d told myself I was used to death, but I was quickly realising I wasn’t.
‘We used to talk about where we’d go on holiday,’ I went on.
‘I’ve never been to Disneyland Paris, and I was dead keen on it – I still am, if I’m honest. But you said you’d been through it three times with your kids, and you’d rather chew your own arm off than go again.
If I ever do go, I’m going to take a photo of you with me, just to spite you. ’
That ghost of a smile crossed his face again and he opened his eyes.
‘Well, that got your attention,’ I said. ‘Do you need anything? Water?’
He nodded.
‘Let’s get you sat up.’ I adjusted his position on the pillows and held a glass to his lips. ‘There are some mints here too, and Precious will be along to do your mouth care soon, I expect.’
I snapped open the can of Smints and held out one to him.
He managed to take it between thumb and forefinger and guide it to his lips.
When I saw him swallow, which was getting difficult, I leaned over and kissed him.
I’d never kissed him good morning before, I realised. Perhaps I never would again.
‘Marmite,’ he said.
‘Oh God, I taste of it, don’t I? Sorry about that.’
‘Like Marmite.’ He smiled. ‘Hate bananas.’
‘They’re gross, aren’t they? Slimy devil penises.’
He managed a croaky laugh.
‘I’ll be in and out all day,’ I carried on. ‘Anna will too. You don’t have to worry – there’ll always be someone here. It’s like a relay race.’
Except in this race, there was only one possible end and no winners. Silence fell between us, and I sought to fill it with something other than the gloomy thoughts that rushed into my mind if I allowed them to.
‘I got a text from Lulu yesterday,’ I told him. ‘It’s so random – she came to our stand at the careers fair I did for work, and then she saw me arriving here the other day. She asked for my number, to find out more about becoming a nurse. She’s a great kid.’
He smiled. ‘The best.’
Before I could say anything more, there was a tap on the door and Precious glided in.
She didn’t have to say anything; I knew what she meant by her careful smile.
Anna had arrived. Anna had been asked to wait in the lobby on the pretext of Gray getting some personal care, so I could slip out the back without seeing her.
‘Thanks,’ I mouthed, then I said to Gray, ‘I’m going to head off for a bit. I’ll be back soon, okay? I love you.’
‘Love you,’ he murmured.
I knew there would be a last time he said that to me, but I didn’t know it was then.
I bought a coffee and found a park nearby and sat on a bench, my face turned up to the sun. My eyes were closed but I could see the brightness through my eyelids and feel the warmth soaking through my T-shirt.
Gray had been taken outside the day before, Precious had told me, when Anna was there. I hoped he’d enjoyed the sunshine. Had he been uncomfortable? Would Anna have remembered he liked to suck on chips of ice sometimes?
Stop it, Laurel, I said to myself. Anna knew him. She’d loved him for twenty years, and I had for just eighteen months. So I made myself stop thinking, and I waited on the bench until Precious texted to tell me the coast was clear.
Gray slept deeply for most of the afternoon.
I chatted to him a bit, but when he didn’t respond I stopped – there was no point disturbing his rest. So I sat quietly by his side, holding his hand until my arm went numb and my shoulder started to ache, then I moved the chair to the opposite side of the bed and held his other hand.
At four, Anna came back with the children. Precious had gone off shift and Desmond had taken over, and I guess she hadn’t briefed him about me, so I was still sitting there when the door opened.
I jumped to my feet. ‘Sorry. I was just leaving.’
Gray’s son looked at me curiously. I hoped he hadn’t seen me holding his father’s hand.
Anna said, ‘Yes. How is he?’
But before I could answer, Lulu said, ‘Hi, Laurel. Is it okay if I text you about the hospital open day?’
‘Of course.’ I was conscious of Anna’s gaze on me. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you there.’
‘It’ll be busy, though,’ Lulu went on. ‘Maybe we could meet before? Have a coffee or something?’
‘That would be nice.’ I reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Take care of yourself in the meantime. And your dad.’
Then I legged it across the road, had a fried chicken burger and a Coke, and waited until I saw their car turn out of the gates and drive away before going back.
The radio was on when I entered the room – LBC, playing on Gray’s phone.
I switched it off and sat down, telling him I was back and taking his hand.
I could feel no answering pressure, so I spoke to him only occasionally, telling him that we were almost ready to exchange contracts on my new flat and that I’d hopefully be moving in in a few weeks.
‘It’s a shame you never got to see it,’ I said softly. ‘Maybe if I’d had my own place, we could have spent more nights together. That would’ve been fun, right?’
Gray’s hand gripped mine with sudden intensity and his eyes opened, wide with alarm. ‘Joel?’
I was bewildered. What was he talking about?
‘What about Joel?’ I asked.
‘The operation. Is he okay?’
Then I realised. He must be remembering coming round from the anaesthetic after the surgery to remove his kidney – confused, as patients at the end of their lives sometimes were, slipping back into the past because the present was fading away and there was no future.
‘Joel’s fine,’ I reassured him, stroking the paper-dry skin of his hand. ‘He’s recovering well. You did a wonderful thing, Gray. You’re a brave man.’
‘It was nothing.’ His voice was quite clear. ‘Not compared to…’
Then his words faded away, and soon the pressure of his hand relaxed and he fell asleep.
I must have done too, upright in the uncomfortable chair, Gray’s hand still in mine.
I was still holding it when I woke, roused by the first music of birds in the trees outside. It was still dark; my watch told me it was just after four in the morning.
Apart from the sound of birdsong, everything was quiet. Everything felt peaceful and serene. Only one thing had changed: Gray had stopped breathing. I hadn’t been aware of it; I’d heard nothing. His hand in mine was lifeless, but still warm from my own skin.
Stiffly, I got to my feet. Gray’s face was still, peaceful. I went to the window and opened it. Some of the older nurses in hospitals still did this, to allow the soul of the departed to go free, and it was the last thing I would ever do for Gray.
I felt cool air on my face and heard the dawn chorus more clearly.
He was gone.