Chapter 31
31
TUESDAY
‘OK… so, here we are…’ Lucie rolled the dusty Jag with all its dents and dings into the hospice car park.
She looked at her daughter. ‘I’m a bit nervous,’ she confessed.
‘You’ve had a very long day… and it’s only three-thirty,’ Zoe replied with a smile.
And this was true. Lucie had woken up at 7a.m., showered and dressed, then woken the sleeping boys – Pete, who’d been encamped in a sleeping bag on her sitting room floor, and Fikru, who was under a duvet on the sofa.
They’d showered too and then eaten the breakfast she’d gone out to the nearby shop to buy. She’d also washed and dried their clothes the night before and bought them UK sim cards for their phones, so they’d been able to call their uncle and tell him that they were in the UK and would come to him as soon as they’d registered in Croydon.
She had so enjoyed watching their happy smiles and laughter when he’d been overjoyed to hear from them and told them he would come and meet them in Croydon this morning.
Then, on her Wi-Fi, the boys had been able to contact their parents back home to say they were safe, in the UK and meeting their uncle. Lucie had left the room to give them privacy for the call – but not before she’d seen the happiness and relief on everyone’s faces. And she’d felt relief of her own – the conviction that she’d been brave, and human, and had done a good thing.
So then she, Pete and Fikru had driven to Croydon where she’d parked the Jag up and escorted the boys to the entrance of the big official-looking block. They’d both looked so neat, tidy, clean and young, still carrying their rucksack and plastic bags of worldly possessions. She’d left them in the queue for the front door, fifteen minutes before opening time, in the care of their overjoyed uncle.
‘You have my number,’ she’d told all three. ‘Keep in touch. Let me know how everything is going and if I can help you.’
Their uncle had brought her a bunch of flowers with a little note attached:
Thank you so much, Miss Lucie. You have done more than words can say.
When she’d hugged the boys goodbye, they’d felt slight and skinny in her arms. But in Pete’s hug, she had felt his wiry and determined strength.
‘You’re both going to be OK,’ she had told them. ‘Promise to keep in touch, OK?’
‘We promise.’
Then she’d walked back to the car and driven towards Zoe’s address, but had to stop to get herself a large, comforting latte coffee en route. When she drank it in the car, she felt a weird mix of sadness and pride.
Pride in the boys and what she’d done for them. Sadness about the day ahead. She was heading to visit her dad for the first time in the hospice – so sad about all that being in a hospice meant for him.
‘My girls! How amazing to see you, all sun-kissed from your French trip!’
All the enthusiasm was still there in his much smaller, much more faded voice, but it was a shock to see her father and how much change could happen in just a few days. He looked so small and frail now, and not able to do more than raise his hands just a little above the sheets to greet them.
But he was still tanned, still smiling.
‘Hello, Gramps.’ Zoe leaned over to hug and kiss him first. ‘I love what you’ve done to the place.’
And yes, Lucie took a moment to look around. Two of his favourite big, bright paintings had been hung up, one over his bed and one on the wall opposite, so he could look at it. Then some multi-coloured bunting had been hung around the room and his two bedside tables were filled up with framed favourite family photographs and a big jug of bright flowers. In a particularly dad-like touch, Lucie could see that two shiny new bird feeders had been hung on the cherry tree outside his window, so he could watch the little feathered friends eating and twittering.
He was in a bright blue t-shirt and his hospital bed had an old blanket she recognised from home spread over the bright white sheets.
A kind, welcoming woman had already greeted her and Zoe and shown them round the family areas. The canteen, where food and hot drinks were available whenever needed, and the comfortable sitting room with chairs, sofas, a stack of books, and coffee tables with magazines was all set out waiting for anyone who needed time and space to themselves. There were several little private rooms too with day beds and armchairs. Then they’d been shown in to meet her dad.
‘And Lucie.’ He’d accepted her hug and kiss. ‘Now, tell me all about it. I want to hear everything,’ he’d said, but he’d closed his eyes as Zoe began to talk first, sensing that Lucie maybe needed a moment to sit, to settle, to ground her swirling emotions.
Zoe’s nursing experience meant she was at home with hospital settings, weak sick people, and she had tuned in immediately to the feeling that her grampa wouldn’t want her to acknowledge, or even really notice, that things were different now, things were definitely more serious. She knew just how to keep the mood and the tone upbeat and normal.
‘Great trip, glorious weather, lovely wedding,’ Zoe began. ‘And the big news is that Rafi and I are engaged. If we can fit a little wedding in before the baby, we’ll do that,’ she added. ‘Otherwise, it will be afterwards.’
‘Congratulations, my darling, he will be so lucky to have you.’
‘Thank you, Gramps.’
And Lucie could almost feel the question about whether her dad would be there for the birth, for the wedding, hanging in the air, all of them afraid to even acknowledge it. When she’d left for France, she’d thought he would certainly be there, that he would still be at home for Ritchie, who was arriving with his family on Thursday. But seeing him now, confined to this bed here, every moment was precious, as she could no longer know how many more moments there would be.
‘So, Mum…’ Zoe went on, ‘she’s had quite the adventure – she manhandled the Jag across France with only a few dings and one slight breakdown – no need to worry, all fixed now – and she’s been dancing, chatting up a very handsome man and in true Wild Child Lucie style, she smuggled two young refugees into the country in the back of your car. How about that, Gramps? Very good thing you made her go with us.’
Her dad leaned back into his pillow and with something of an effort, he opened his eyes and locked them on Lucie’s. Then he smiled and gave a gentle laugh.
‘Ha ha ha… Good for you, Lucie,’ he managed. ‘Delighted to hear it. Very glad to hear the old girl’s had an adventure.’
‘The car, I hope you mean! Yes, she has.’
‘Two refugees?’ he asked.
‘Lovely boys from Eritrea. But that’s a long story and you look as if you could do with a little snooze before we tell you all about that.’
His eyes were closed again.
‘I need to keep the strength up to see Ritchie and his family. Don’t want to be lying here dozing and dribbling when they arrive.’
‘No, Gramps, we know you. You’ll rally. Get a second wind.’
‘Zoe and I could go and have some lunch in the canteen while you have a snooze and then we’ll come back and tell you our adventures,’ Lucie suggested. ‘Show you some photos too. Miles’s bride and so on… The rest of the family.’
‘Did Deva have fun? He seemed like a nice chap.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Lucie replied, meeting Zoe’s eyes. ‘He had a ball. Sang at the wedding and on the dancefloor afterwards. Star performer.’
‘Good… good…’
‘OK, we’ll go out for a bit and come back once you’ve snoozed.’
As they gathered up their things and prepared to leave his bedside, his eyes opened, so pale, pale blue, almost crystally in the sunshine of the room.
‘There are two things I wanted to tell you,’ he said very clearly. ‘While I remember… I’m always a bit worried each snooze might be my last and I won’t wake up.’
Lucie, feeling stricken, looked at Zoe, unsure what to say.
Zoe sat down again, put her hand on her grampa’s and said, ‘It’s OK, we’re right here.’
Lucie sat back down in her chair on the other side, took hold of the frail hand in hers. She couldn’t think for too long about how that hand used to look, how it used to grip hers, all those years ago.
‘Number one, a wonderful daughter’ – he looked straight at Lucie, tears forming in his eyes – ‘a wonderful granddaughter’ – he looked at Zoe now. ‘I’m very lucky. And a wonderful son and his family too. What more could I ask?’
Lucie could feel tears slipping from her eyes but kept her gaze steady and her smile firmly in place.
‘Love you, Dad,’ she whispered.
‘What will survive of us is love,’ he added in his tired, whispery voice. ‘I think Philip Larkin wrote that. I always thought he was a bit of a miserable old so-and-so, but he got that right. What will survive of us is love.’
Then he smiled, paused, closed his eyes and seemed to regroup for a moment or two.
Opening his eyes again and looking at Zoe this time, he began, ‘I never sold the first flat that your grandmother and I owned. Sentimental reasons, I suppose. It’s in Vauxhall. Been rented out but the latest renters have left.’
He was straining to get all this out and it was costing obvious effort.
‘Don’t worry about it, Dad,’ Lucie began. ‘We’ll get everything sorted.’
‘No, but…’ He looked at Zoe. ‘I want Zoe to have it. London, so… good for her. Ground floor and basement, four rooms, a garden, very nice for the baby and the husband. So, no need to go looking for anything. This is coming to you, Zoe.’
Zoe’s eyes widened in utter astonishment.
‘And Lucie.’ His eyes swivelled to her. ‘You always loved London. You’ll have plenty of money from me, my darling. Maybe move, be with your family. Be the gran. What will survive of us is love.’
Both women held his hands tightly and looked at him with love as his eyes closed and he rested back against the pillow.
‘Nap now…’ he said.
Lucie and Zoe didn’t move, didn’t even look at one another until his breathing deepened and his slight grip on their hands loosened.
When they were sure he was asleep, they tiptoed quietly out of his room. On the other side of the door, they held hands.
‘Where shall we go?’ Lucie whispered, her voice sounding ragged and on the verge of tears.
‘One of the quiet spaces,’ Zoe whispered back.
‘I’m going to need to cry,’ Lucie confided.
‘Me too…’