Chapter 7
Honor
Thankfully, there’s a parking spot right outside the Good Vibes Hospice. Di helps us out of the car and we stand together in front of the glossy red door.
Ally leans in. ‘I’m a bit scared.’
My heart lurches. Ally will always be my amazing little sister, who I love so much.
I put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze before letting go.
‘I know, sweetie. It’s shit, and it feels really wrong that we should even be considering a place like this for Mum.
But Noah promised me it’s not scary or depressing, so let’s hope he was telling the truth. ’
We ring the doorbell at eleven sharp, and when it swings open, Noah himself is there.
I wasn’t expecting that. He stands with one arm up on the door and shoots us—but if I’m honest, mainly me—a wide grin.
I also wasn’t expecting what he’s wearing: a very faded, soft-looking t-shirt sporting a cracked image of Homer Simpson, and some knackered jeans.
The sleeve of the t-shirt rides up his raised arm, exposing a tanned bicep.
Nothing like Jackson’s, of course, but still. It’s a gratifying sight.
I feel unaccountably flustered and clear my throat. I’m aware of Ally looking from Noah to me and back again.
‘I didn’t realise hospice owners wore jeans and answered doors,’ I say archly to cover my sudden discomfort.
He sweeps his free arm open and steps back. ‘Come in, come in. There’s no job too humble for me here. And white coats are scary and serious, and we don’t do scary or serious here. My man Homer has better vibes than a white coat.’
‘So I see.’ I adjust my posture and sweep through the door. ‘This is my sister, Ally. Ally, this is Doctor Noah Thierry.’
‘Noah, please. How do you do, Ally?’
He shakes Ally’s hand and then goes to kiss me on both cheeks. He kissed me goodbye last night, but somehow I wasn’t expecting a kiss this morning. As he brushes my cheek with his, I catch a sniff of something citrusy. Verbena. Shampoo, maybe. He doesn’t strike me as a cologne kind of guy.
‘It’s good to see you again,’ he says quietly, somewhere near my ear, and then straightens up. ‘Thank you both for coming. It’s not an easy step to take, but I hope we can make you feel better about everything you’re facing. D’you fancy a quick tour first, before we sit down and have a chat?’
Ally and I exchange glances.
‘Sounds good,’ Ally says. She’s smirking. I know that smirk.
‘Okay then. Let’s do this. Welcome to Good Vibes.’
We’re standing in a large, square hallway with a wide wooden staircase in front of them.
It has a stairlift attached to it, but that’s the only sign we’re not in a private residence.
Noah leads us into an airy sitting room.
The two sash windows are thrown wide open and there’s a hotch-potch of furniture: bookshelves, cosy sofas, tonnes of throw pillows, and a few pretty lamps dotted around.
Against one wall stands a large console with a kettle, a Nespresso machine and a tray of mugs.
It’s a delightful room, if you can forget the purpose it really serves.
‘If Soho House did death,’ Ally quips.
‘That’s exactly the look we went for.’ Noah looks bashful.
‘We actually got one of their ex-designers to pull this place together. When we brainstormed on how we wanted this to feel, one of our team joked that he’d like to retire to Soho Farmhouse when he’s old, and have their converted milk floats bring him a bacon sandwich every morning and a vodka martini every evening when he’s confined to his cabin.
It got us thinking that we should make it as comfy and tasteful as possible.
Some relatives end up spending a lot of time here. ’
I flinch at the reminder that I could end up stuck in this place for most of my waking hours quite soon. Noah seems to catch my expression.
‘Come and see the kitchen.’
He leads us across the hall and into a charming kitchen with a communal wooden table. Two men are standing at the island, prepping food. They give us a smile and a wave.
‘Nick and Ty, our chefs,’ Noah says. ‘We take nutrition seriously here. Our guests may be out of time for treatment, but an anti-inflammatory diet can really prolong life and avoid unnecessary suffering. Also, food is one of the main pleasures in life for most of us, so as long as our guests can enjoy it, we’ll spoil them.
‘All our meat is pastured; the vast majority of our produce is organic. We prepare and serve a lot of bone broths, too. But it’s not too virtuous.
There’s tea and homemade cake or scones every afternoon.
It’s become a bit of a tradition. You’d be amazed how many of our guests have visitors around three o’clock. ’
He winks at us and puts his hands in his pockets. My first impressions are good. I have no idea what the medical credentials of this place are, but I can appreciate that it’s as far from my preconceived idea of how a hospice would look and feel as possible.
‘Let’s take a look upstairs,’ he continues. ‘We’ve got eight rooms; two of them are free at present. They’re all nice, big rooms, and they’re all ensuite.’
He skips up the shallow staircase, and I find myself checking out his arse.
Absentmindedly, yes, but I’m definitely checking it out.
It’s not my fault; he has a very, very nice arse.
Delectable, even. The jeans curve around and under it, the fabric pulling taut as he climbs the stairs, providing quite enough definition to be tantalising.
Ally hits me on the arm. She opens her eyes as wide as she can and presses her lips together in an exaggerated fashion. I know that facial expression. It means: If I open my mouth I am likely to say something inappropriately lascivious.
I shake my head in what I hope is a stern manner.
We’re here to scope out the place where Mum may die, for God’s sake.
Ally needs to act her age. She doesn’t have to know I’m admiring the good doctor’s fine rear view, too.
He’s definitely more Ally’s type: all bohemian and altruistic.
I tend more towards the high-wattage alpha male. Case in point: my husband.
Noah shows us the two available rooms. Most of the other rooms have their doors closed or kept slightly ajar, and I look fixedly ahead, not wanting any surprise glimpses of dying ‘guests’. Being upstairs brings home the real point of this place.
The room at the front will be perfect for Mum—if this is the right next step for her. Moving her somewhere, out of the family, into a place where she’ll be waiting to die, feels like giving in without even a fight. Even though the doctors have been very clear that there’s nothing to fight for.
The room is square, with what look like original floorboards, their chestnut colour warm and lustrous in the morning light.
It must be east facing. That would be good.
Mum’s been sleeping badly, and it strikes me that facing the morning might be easier after a bad night if the sun is shining in.
And before she got sick, Mum was a morning person.
‘It doesn’t look like a hospital room.’ Ally is moving about the room, peering behind the curtains, opening the wardrobe and pressing down on the bed. ‘Nice bed.’
‘It’s not a hospital room. We’ve tried hard to make it homely. Our team is all highly trained and very experienced, but the priority here is to make our guests feel as comfortable as possible—not just physically, but emotionally.’
Noah shows us down the hall, past a neat line of wheelchairs, to the nurses’ station.
He introduces us to two nurses, who are also two of the smiliest human beings I’ve ever met.
Thank God for people like these, who dedicate their lives to making other people’s lives better.
I could never imagine having that sense of vocation.
‘Would you like to have a coffee and a chat about how this might work?’ he asks. ‘You don’t have to decide anything right now, of course, but I’m sure you have a lot of questions.’
Ally and I exchange a look.
‘That would be good.’ Ally brushes some hair out of her eyes. ‘It’s all a bit overwhelming.’
‘I know it is.’ Noah puts a hand fleetingly on her arm and I catch the ghost of another smirk on my sister’s face. I roll my eyes internally.
Noah leads us back downstairs to the sunny living room. ‘Have a seat in here and I’ll grab the iPad. Then I’ll get you both sorted with a cuppa.’
He’s barely out of the door when Ally spins around.
‘Okay, I want to divorce Ted and marry this guy and have his babies, but he is so into you it’s quite pathetic.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I hiss, looking around in a panic. He could be back at any minute.
‘I’m not being ridiculous. It’s actually quite sweet. You know in Something’s Gotta Give, when hot doctor Keanu totally ignores Frances McDormand and whatever the daughter’s name is—’
‘Marin. Amanda Peet.’
‘Exactly. And he just stares and stares at Diane Keaton—’
‘Erica Barry. Please. She’s a famous playwright, don’t you know?’
‘Erica Barry. How could I forget? And the others are laughing, because it’s so obvious that he has eyes for no one except Erica. That’s exactly what’s going on here. Come to think of it, Dr Noah has more than a bit of a Keanu vibe going on…’
She’s so right. He really does. ‘He really doesn’t.’
‘Just saying. Doc’s got it bad. And you’re not as old as Diane Keaton.’
‘Can we focus on the task at hand, please? Finding the right place for our beloved mother to die?’ I wheel out my favourite snippy tone.
‘You’re such a superior pain in the arse. Loosen up a little.’ Ally winks. ‘This is a shitty situation; take your fun where you can get it.’
‘And you’re an immature pain in the arse. Let’s get Mum sorted and then I can free up my headspace to focus on my useless fucking husband.’
The last part of that comes out somewhat more loudly than I mean it to and coincides with Noah walking back into the room with an iPad. His eyes widen, and out of the corner of my eye I see Ally let out a silent whistle. For God’s sake.
‘My apologies.’ I fix my signature smile on my face: polite, fake, and brooking no arguments. ‘Let’s get to it.’