Chapter 37
Constance
It was almost a decade since Constance had been to the mainland.
She hadn’t thought about it until all the arrangements had been made and then, she remembered.
The last time she’d come across there had been an event in the library in Ballycove and, somehow, they’d convinced her to attend.
It was a lovely evening, with sparkling wine and finger food and even a local girl playing a harp.
Her mother would have really enjoyed it.
Two writers had read from her mother’s work and Constance had said a few words.
She’d travelled back to the island filled with softness in her heart that came only from the company of good people and their generosity of spirit.
Today, there wasn’t going to be any sparkling wine. She had been fasting since the previous night. Instead, there would be a battery of questions and tests and then perhaps a CT scan depending on their results.
The hospital was unrecognisable from the last time she’d been here.
They’d built on a whole new wing and the entrance was completely transformed by a glass atrium which warmed her to her bones as she passed through it.
Ros led the way, following blue and yellow lines into the bowels of the place, so within a short time they were standing in a lift being whooshed up to a section of the hospital that sounded like it should have her in and out and processed quicker than if she was a Christmas card going through the post office sorting room.
‘Two days, that’s all,’ Ros said gently as the doors glided back. ‘They’ll have you checked out and sent home with a clean bill of health within two days.’ But Constance had a feeling that Ros was trying her best to convince both of them.
‘Don’t worry, Ros, it’ll be fine,’ she said and she smiled at this girl who had, by her mere presence at Ocean’s End, brought her such unexpected joy.
‘I know it will,’ Ros said and she reached down and squeezed Constance’s hand but she looked away then and Constance wondered if she wasn’t on the brink of tears.
Hospitals. They did that to you and Ros probably had sad memories of supporting her own mother through her final days in a place not unlike this very ward.
The tests were run as efficiently as Constance could have hoped for in her best reckoning.
‘It helps when you’re scheduled in,’ one of the nurses said two days later when Constance mentioned it.
‘It’s the emergencies we struggle with here.
’ And of course, Constance had seen it too many evenings on the news, winter vomiting bugs could send everything into chaos with numbers on trolleys reaching double figures at the worst of times.
Thank goodness she was here in summer time.
‘Well, you’ve all been very nice,’ Constance said.
She was still glad to be going home to the island today.
Heather had already brought her overnight bag to the car and, for now, all she had to do was sit here and leaf through a magazine until the doctors came round to discharge her and tell her their verdict on her tests.
‘Ah, here they are,’ the nurse said now, pulling back the curtains around her bed as if it would somehow give a level of privacy that stretched some ways beyond the appearance of it.
With that, three young women all with stethoscopes hanging about their necks, and an older man with the attitude of one used to having all his mundane tasks done for him by others, appeared at the entrance to the ward.
In their wake, Heather and Ros. Constance called them over just as the nurse did her best to shut them out.
‘Ros is my carer.’ It was a lie in the sense that nothing had been fully sorted, but it was the truth in every real way. ‘And Heather is family.’ Another lie, but who was counting?
‘Fine, but…’ It was a tight squeeze.
‘So, Mrs…’ The older man peered at the name tag at the top of her bed, probably to make sure he was giving the correct prognosis to the right patient.
‘It’s Constance,’ she confirmed.
‘Of course, Constance,’ he said and something in his expression softened and he leaned closer to her and, somehow, she had a feeling that he wouldn’t be doing this if he was telling her that things were simple and straightforward.
They weren’t.
‘I’m sorry,’ he began and she knew then for certain that this would not be good news.
Pancreatic cancer. She’d heard of it of course, someone on the island must have had it at some point.
A quiet killer. There had been no pain, no aches to speak of, but in hindsight, there had been niggles.
A constantly dickey stomach, falling appetite, weight loss, but only recently – nothing huge, but it turned out, it was the little things that all added up to something much bigger.
Of course, that day, as he spelled it out, none of those things occurred to her.
Instead, all she could hear was the squeaking wheels of the lunch trollies being pushed down the corridor outside.
The aroma of a dinner she wouldn’t have enjoyed reaching her before she had a chance to shoo them away with it.
Savoury mince. She was fairly certain that was what they’d said earlier, although it didn’t smell anything like savoury mince to her.
Pancreatic cancer. There it was again and now, to give her thoughts a chance to catch up, she looked towards the windows, but of course, the drawn curtains had blocked them out, so instead she imagined huge grey clouds rolling back outside to reveal the bluest sky and sunniest day she’d seen in years.
Pancreatic cancer.
‘Constance?’ Heather was holding her hand now. ‘Constance, are you listening?’ She knew it was Heather, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet her eyes, not Heather’s, nor Ros’s.
‘I understand. Weeks, months…’ she repeated, because she had been listening. ‘Probably not months, though, less… yes?’
‘I’m so sorry.’ There was a mumbling from the wall of trainee female doctors and Constance was sad that they’d gotten the rotten job of being here for this.
‘It’s okay,’ Constance managed eventually, but she felt tears roll down her cheeks, although the wherewithal to wipe them clear had completely deserted her at this point. ‘I’ve had a good life. I’m lucky, I’ve got a little notice, to put things right…’
She tried to smile, but she knew it was a wobbly attempt.
She waited while the consultant spelled it all out, had he said something about his name being Richard?
She wasn’t sure. It hardly mattered. She wouldn’t be seeing him again.
The cancer had been there for quite a while, apparently, silently eating her up from the inside out.
That was how it worked – who knew? It turned out, for a long time, she might have been walking about like a mutely ticking time bomb, just waiting to implode.
It would be fast. In the end, she could go about her business; if she moved quickly, there was time to get her affairs in order – if she could figure out where to start.
‘Oh, Constance.’ It was a gasp more than a sentence, and when Constance finally looked at Ros, she thought her heart would break because she could see it, right there in Ros’s eyes. There was such love for her and this news was breaking her heart as much as it was Constance’s.
‘Ah, now, come on, I’m not gone just yet.’ She opened her arms and Ros moved forward and they hugged each other as if Ros would never let her go. ‘Can I go home now?’ Constance looked towards the consultant. ‘Home to Ocean’s End?’
‘Of course. I’ve written prescriptions for painkillers and the nurses here will organise for palliative care and…
’ His words began to race away from her then; Constance began to shake her head slowly.
They would deal with it as they needed to, but today they had heard enough.
She knew Heather, silently standing there, was trying to be strong for all of them; Ros was only just holding it together and, as to herself, she really wasn’t sure.
Everything felt unreal, as if it was happening to someone else.
‘Yes. Let’s go home,’ Heather murmured. She smiled at her with so much love and kindness that in spite of the devastating turn Constance’s life had so sharply taken within the space of a few fragile minutes, she knew she was lucky. She really was very lucky indeed.