Chapter 34 Honor
Honor
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more heavenly apparition than Noah, framed in the doorway, wearing my favourite Homer t-shirt and bearing Ottolenghi. I follow him downstairs like he’s the Pied Piper.
‘Ally says Mum’s not eating at all,’ I say as he unpacks a feast from cardboard boxes. ‘Is there nothing you can do? Can you put her on a drip or something? I feel like she’s given up the fight, and I’m not ready for that.’
He grabs some cutlery from the sideboard in the kitchen and lays it on the table in a pile.
‘Here’s the thing. It’s understandable to find it upsetting when a loved one who is dying stops eating. But your mum’s waning appetite is a sign that she’s nearing the end of her struggle. It won’t be what kills her now.’
‘But can’t we—I don’t know, delay things slightly?’ The panic is rising and threatens to overflow.
Noah hands me a plate. ‘Forcing her body to process food won’t do her any good at this point, and it could cause her discomfort or distress.
Our digestive processes require so much energy.
Your mum’s body doesn’t have the resources to handle extra nutrition anymore, so she’s using up her own stores instead.
Hence the weight loss. Nature is very efficient that way. ’
We sit, and he puts a serving spoon in each container, piling perfectly roasted aubergine with black garlic yoghurt—my absolute favourite—onto my plate.
Having Noah explain what’s happening with Mum in such a logical way makes me feel—not better, but more reassured.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘It’s hard to watch, but it makes sense.’
‘I know it’s hard. Right now, everything we do is to maximise your mum’s comfort so she can pass with the same grace and dignity with which she’s lived her life. That’s our priority, for her, and for you and Ally.
‘It might sound strange, but this time can be very sacred. In a weird way, experiencing death can be almost as sacred as experiencing birth—you’re standing at the edge of a portal that’s totally beyond our human comprehension, and all you can do is watch in awe.’
‘I’m scared of seeing her die,’ I confess, ‘but I’m also scared of missing it. And I’m dreading it, obviously, but I’m also wondering how long this is going to drag out, because I don’t want it to be any more prolonged for Mum than it needs to be. Does that sound awful?’
‘It sounds extremely normal.’ Noah puts a quick hand on mine.
‘And one thing we’ve seen again and again is poor relatives hanging around, and sleeping on sofas, terrified that if they leave, their loved one will die alone.
And as soon as they pop to the loo, or treat themselves to a shower, sure enough, their relative or friend passes. ’
‘Oh, God. That’s awful. That’s exactly what I’m afraid—I was going to stay here tonight, if that’s okay?’
‘I can see why it seems awful, but it happens so often that many of us in the palliative world share a theory: that people who are dying feel compelled to hold on for the sake of their loved ones, even though they’re more than ready to pass, and as soon as they’re left alone, they can make the crossing.
For what it’s worth, I think your mum’s got another few days left in her.
But of course you’re welcome to stay here tonight, if it makes you feel better.
We can make up the sofa in her room for you. ’
I take a bite of perfectly marinated and charred cauliflower. I didn’t realise how starving I was until I saw Noah with that bag and my body had an instant Pavlovian response.
‘Thanks. That would be great.’ I pull myself together. I should enjoy this heavenly, unexpected interlude with Noah. ‘This is delicious,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s talk about something less depressing. How is your week going?’
He shoots me a subdued smile. ‘I’m surviving. I miss you.’ His brown eyes are liquid as he holds my gaze. ‘I’m making my schedule as crazy as possible to keep myself occupied.’
It’s weird how much easier it makes the pain to bear when I know we’re both in it together. ‘I miss you too,’ I whisper. ‘So much. And I’m doing the same.’
‘So I’ve seen. How was Fashion Week?’
‘Crazy. Brutal. And fun, in a totally superficial kind of way.’
‘Good. You deserve some fun at the moment. Have you signed Burberry yet?’
‘No. I told them I wasn’t prepared to take any big steps while Mum’s so close to death.
’ It’s partially true, but the rest of the truth is that every time I think of locking myself into that contract with Jackson for five more years, a wall of panic rises up inside me.
So I’m avoiding and ignoring it for now.
I change the subject. ‘What are you up to this weekend?’
He grins. ‘I’m cooking dinner for a few friends on Sunday—my signature Beef Wellington. Two couples I’m close to—they both met at med school, so we’ve all been friends for years. And they’ve each got a toddler, so the flat should get a workout.’
An image of Noah flashes into my mind’s eye, sleeves rolled up and an apron on, moving purposefully around his kitchen and joking with his friends while flashing his gorgeous forearms. Being all cute and competent with the babies.
And hosting two couples without a date of his own.
The physical pain is excruciating and the tears that are never far from the surface at the moment spring to my eyes.
‘Hey.’ He leans over and squeezes my arm. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. I’m fine—it’s so stupid. It just sounds perfect. I wish I could be there.’
‘I wish you could too.’ There’s a pause as he runs his thumb across my sweater sleeve and we both allow ourselves a moment of fantasy before his face creases into a smile. ‘I bet you’d be a great help in the kitchen.’
‘That’s so unfair!’
‘Do you actually cook?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘I rest my case.’ He whistles. ‘Sounds like I had a lucky escape. Bloody useless.’
‘You’re such a dick.’
‘I know for a fact’—he helps himself to more aubergine—‘that if you were there, I would be completely ignored all night. Completely. It’d be like that scene in Notting Hill where she goes to his friends’ house for dinner. Everyone would be star-struck.’
‘They would not.’
‘They would. Fact.’
When we’ve finished eating, Noah grabs a blanket and two pillows from a cupboard and his hoodie from his office. ‘Come on. Let’s go get some sleep.’
‘What?’ I stare blankly as he pulls the hoodie on over his head.
‘I’m going to stay with you. You’re not doing this alone.’
‘What? Noah—don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re not. You need to go home and get some sleep.’
‘I’m a doctor, darling.’ His expression is soft. ‘That means I have an advanced degree in sleeping absolutely anywhere. I promise you.’
He takes me up to Mum’s room and kicks off his shoes, sitting at one end of the sofa. He puts one pillow on his lap, wedging the other behind his head, and holds out the blanket to me. ‘Come on.’
‘Seriously, Noah,’ I whisper. ‘This is going to be so uncomfortable for you.’
‘I have nowhere else to be, and nowhere I’d rather be. Lie.’
And so I sigh in defeat and lie down on the sofa, resting my head on Noah’s pillowed lap and curling my legs up. I face away from him, towards Mum, whose even breathing is a small source of comfort. But not as much comfort as the feeling of Noah’s body under mine.
He brushes some strands of hair lightly off my face. ‘I’m getting my night with you at last. Just not quite how I envisaged it. Now, sleep well, darling.’
I sleep fitfully, or at least that’s how it feels, vaguely conscious of nurses tiptoeing in during the night to tend to Mum.
In the early hours, I sink into an exhausted sleep.
And when I wake, Mum is still out for the count and the blanket is down around my waist. Noah’s hand has snuck under my sweater and is splayed against my stomach, and my own hand is pressing down on his, holding onto it for dear life.
I’m stiff and exhausted, but a warm glow emanates from where our skin touches, and spreads throughout my abdomen, and it’s the best feeling I’ve had all week. It’s the best feeling in the world.
I swivel onto my back, clamping onto his hand so it slides around my waist as I turn.
I look up at him just in time to see him stir.
And I smile at the warmth in his eyes when he surfaces and clocks where we are.
His eyes flick over to her mum and back to my face, before landing on our entwined hands.
‘Oh, wow,’ he whispers. ‘Sorry about that.’ He moves his hand reluctantly off my waist and uses it to rake my hair gently back. It feels amazing.
‘Don’t be sorry.’ I stretch luxuriously. ‘I loved it. Do you grope all your guests’ family members when they stay over?’
He smiles down at me, as if this innocent night together has been as much a gift for him as it has been for me. ‘Just the prettiest ones.’