Friends Like Us (32 page)

‘We can't send him home. He has no one to look after him.'

‘We have no choice.' He shrugged. ‘It's not your decision, I'm afraid.'

‘But he's my patient.' Eilis looked steadily at him. ‘Surely, that stands for something.'

‘Not when there are people who we can save, if only they are given a bed.'

‘You are giving up…'

‘I wouldn't call it that. But in modern medicine, difficult decisions have to be made. This is not one of them.'

‘What?'

‘We've done our best. I think it's time for him to go home.'

‘But his flat is damp, he told me. He has no money. Here, at least, he is warm and comfortable. We have clean sheets, television, other people...'

‘I'm sorry,' said Mohit. ‘There is an economic imperative. Not my fault. Not yours. It's the system.'

‘The system! Jesus!' It was all so futile, they could only ever do so much and it never felt as though it was enough.

‘I want you to sign the discharge today. We'll just make sure he's on the home-care list.' There was nothing more she could do, except accept the situation, however inadequate it was.

Later… she went to find him. ‘Good news, you're going home.' She was trying to sound positive.

He looked terrified.

‘You'll be fine,' she spoke more in hope than confidence. ‘You've improved. And we're always here if it doesn't work out.'

The man needed rest and care. He was old. He'd worked for the council all his life and now we needed him to leave the hospital as quickly as possible so he didn't take up too much space. She felt the frustration rising in her.

She got home at nine o'clock the following morning, exhausted and thinking about climbing into bed and staying there for a week but she was stopped by a yellow post-it stuck on the mirror above the mantelpiece.

Eilis,

I'm so sorry for everything.

I love you,

Rob

What the…? What on earth was happening? What did he mean? Sorry for what? There had been no real change in their relationship. Was he sorry for not going to Greece, he didn't speak to her very much but he'd been like that for months now? What exactly was he sorry for? As she dialled his number, breath short, chest tight.

And then he answered.

‘Eilis?'

‘Rob?' Silence. ‘Are you still there?'

‘Yes,' he said, sounding strange and quiet.

‘Are you all right? Just tell me if you're all right?'

‘I'm all right.'

‘So, what's going on?' He was ending them, she knew it. It was over.

‘I just need some time alone,' he said. ‘I'm sorry Eilis but please don't call me again. I just need to get my head together.'

‘What? Just tell me what's going on? Are you leaving me?'

‘Yes.' He sounded so anguished, she had never heard him like that, cool, calm Rob. And then she realized he had put the phone down. She called him again but the number wouldn't connect. It kept dropping. She checked the number and called again. Then she dialled it manually, pressing each number in turn. She waited. It dropped again. Had he blocked her number?

She felt rage. She needed to talk to him IMMEDIATELY to tell him what a complete inconsiderate tool he was. And always, if she was totally honest, had been. A post-it indeed.

She thought about phoning a friend of his, someone from the department. What were the names of the people he was going out with lately? Michael someone? Wasn't there a Freddie? She rang his office. It was after eight. His secretary's voice said that they were closed and Eilis was encouraged to leave a message. She declined.

But there was nothing. She tried calling again but the phone wouldn't connect. The next day, she didn't go home but instead drove to one of her favourite places, Mount Usher Gardens. It was an old garden full of the trees and plants and birds and a stream and places for picnics. She often went there on her own to just walk around and clear her head after long shifts at the hospital. It was somewhere that always managed to bring her down to earth again, to make her feel almost normal.

She bought a cup of tea when she arrived and found her favourite spot, a bench in a little clearing of ash trees.

Her peace and contemplation was soon shattered by a group of people, all chatting and being very loud. Sitting up to get a better view and squinting to try and pull them into focus, she thought she recognized one of two of them. They were striking because they were all dressed so colourfully, bright red jumpers, yellow trousers on one of the men, a mauve cardigan, a stripy sun hat and one man at the front in a red and blue checked shirt. Charlie.

Her heart leaped, salmon-like, in her chest. Oh, but she had run away Cinderella-like last time. Would he hate her too? She didn't know what to do.

He was with the gardening group, she realized now. Yes, there was Pauline and Rosemary. And there was George. They were wending their way along the path, notebooks in hands and all talking excitedly as if they had just returned from a school trip or had been reassured as to the existence of Father Christmas

And then she remembered what it was. At the meeting, Charlie's sister had mentioned the field-trip… it must have been here to Mount Usher.

You would have never thought they were pensioners the lot of them. They were gadding about, practically skipping as they moved along. And then Eilis was struck by a feeling, a thought, that things were going to be okay. That life didn't have to be about illness and death. It could be full of happiness and excitement. Life, she realized, watching this group of retirees could actually get better. She had never imagined that before. I want to be like them, she thought.

Charlie strode alongside them all, appearing totally contented, as though all he wanted in the world was right here. That was it, Eilis thought as she watched him talking animatedly to Pauline (Rosemary ear-wigging), it seemed that there was nothing else he actually
needed
in life. Happy in his skin, happy to be alive. He was no longer searching.

They came nearer and she thought about hiding. But she had been spotted.

Eilis waved a hand, weakly.

‘Ah, look who it is, if it isn't young Eilis!' It was George, bless him.

‘Fancy seeing you here. Small world,' said Rosemary.

‘It's hardly a coincidence… Dublin is a small city. Practically a large town. It's not exactly Los Angeles or Beijing,' said Pauline.

‘Just getting away from it all,' explained Eilis, trying not to look at Charlie and feeling her cheeks grow hot under his gaze. She wished she hadn't run away from him, before. She should have explained about Rob. God, she should have dumped Rob herself and then she wouldn't have made such a fool of herself. ‘Relaxing, drinking tea, thinking…'

‘Sounds like my perfect day,' said George, kindly.

‘We've had no relaxing, have we?' said Rosemary. ‘We've been gardening all day. First off, there was the most interesting talk by a charming young man… one of the head gardeners here. My hand is falling off me taking notes.'

‘And the questions you asked, Rosemary,' said Pauline. ‘I must say, they were a little
entry-level
.'

‘And yours, Pauline,' swept in Rosemary, ‘if I may pass on some well-meaning feedback, and please, do not take this the wrong way but rather in the spirit of someone who has known you for a very long time, I thought yours were a little bit
irrelevant.
He had to answer them, but surely it was only to be polite.'

Pauline pulled a face at Rosemary. ‘Anyway dear,' she said to Eilis, ‘will we see you at the next meeting? We need fresh blood in the class. It would be nice to bring the average age down by a few decades.'

‘I'm only five years older than you,' said Rosemary. ‘She's always going on about it. It's the only thing she's got.'

‘Yeah, maybe… I'll try.'

The group moved on but Charlie stayed. ‘I'll catch you up,' he called to them. ‘So,' he said. ‘It's good to see you.'

‘You too.'

His face was slightly red from the sun, he looked gloriously relaxed.

‘Have you had a good day?'

‘Great day,' he said with feeling. ‘Nice people, great weather. Beautiful place. It's been fun. And it's good to hang out with older people… you can learn a lot. And they make me feel very young. It's good for my ego.'

She nodded. ‘Listen, Charlie,' she said. ‘The other day in your office…'

‘Don't worry about it, Eilis,' he said. ‘My fault entirely. I got the wrong end of the stick. I'm the one who should apologize but I thought it would be better if I kept my distance.'

‘It's me,' she said. ‘It was my fault.'

He looked at the group who were disappearing round a copse of trees. ‘I'd better go…'

‘Okay.'

She watched him walk away but then he turned around. ‘By the way, I meant those things I said,' he added. ‘I just thought you should know.'

He paused. ‘He's a lucky man your boyfriend. I hope he looks after you.'

‘Ah, Mrs Fitzpatrick. Sit down, sit down.' Mr Rose motioned grandly to the chair in front of him. She wondered where her parents were and why Mr Rose wanted to see her alone. The back of her throat was dry and she tried to swallow. Please let it be good news, she prayed. Just let Mam be well.

‘You said you wanted to see me, straight away.'

‘Yes, yes. I'll get to the point. Your mother… Mrs Sheridan.' He paused and looked at Steph. ‘She has had two rounds of chemotherapy and she seemed to be responding well. We were pleased with her progress. She's a very determined woman. I've rarely met someone so positive, so strong-minded…'

‘Yes, she is, isn't she?' Steph almost laughed. Her mother was the kind of person who would get through anything, even cancer. Good old Nuala. She was going to get through this, sail on to the next adventure.

‘Mrs Fitzpatrick,' he said, gravely. ‘Despite that early progress, it has halted. Chemotherapy is now not working. She has ceased to respond. In any way.'

‘Right…' Steph was trying to think. ‘Okay,' she said, still feeling optimistic. They would just have to continue the treatment or consider the other options. ‘Shall we…' she said. ‘Shall we try something else?'

He looked at her, straight in the eye. ‘We have,' he said. ‘We have tried different treatments and I am satisfied that we have done all we can medically. But sometimes, it gets away from us and however much chasing we do, we can't get hold of it. And in this case, I am afraid, that is the unfortunate situation we have found ourselves in.'

‘What do you mean?' Steph was trying to follow him but she wasn't quite sure if she understood what he had just said. She was thinking of Nuala and of Joe, how Rachel would be.

‘The prognosis is not… it's not good,' he said, carefully. ‘Not good at all. Now I need you to prepare yourself.' He really wanted her to understand, she knew that. She tried to focus on his words.

‘Prepare myself for what exactly?' Please don't let him say the words. Please, just not this.

‘Your mother is dying.' He waited for the words to land. The impact was like an explosion in her brain.

‘Dying…' she repeated his words. ‘She's dying.' It couldn't be true. Where was the plan? Where was the fucking plan that would take them out of this?

‘I am sorry, Mrs Fitzpatrick. Very, very sorry.' She looked at him and his eyes met hers. ‘We can continue to try – and, of course, we will continue to try – but I am a believer in the family preparing themselves.'

‘Are you sure? I mean, a second opinion…?' Had they mixed up the results with some other poor soul who, at this moment, was walking around thinking she was healthy?

‘I have spoken with my fellow consultant, Mr Eames, about your mother's results and, I am sorry to say, he is in full agreement. But by all means I can ask him to take another look.'

‘Will you do that? Would you ask him again?' Her throat was dry and she had difficulty forming the words.

‘Of course.' He gave her a small smile. ‘Mrs Fitzpatrick, I wish the news was different, I wish there were miracles we could perform. Cervical cancer,' he said, ‘if it is not caught early enough, it can be hard to treat. Very hard to treat.'

Oh God. She felt suddenly as though there was no floor to her world any longer, like if she took a step there would be nothing there, nothing to put her foot on, nothing to catch her if she fell. She felt panicked. What am I going to do? How do I do this? She needed to talk to her mother, she'd know what they were going to do. She would sort it out. But it was her mother who needed the help. If Steph felt like this, what was she going through?

‘My mother knows, does she?'

He nodded.

‘What about my Dad, have you told him?'

He nodded.

‘She's dying…' she repeated. ‘Dying?' She hadn't actually considered that this might be a possibility. She just hadn't wanted her mother to be
ill.
She hadn't thought about her
dying
. She knew it was serious but she honestly thought they would get through it, that eventually, they would be a family again and life would be the same. ‘How long? How long do we have?' She thought that if they had a few years, then maybe by that time, there would be a new treatment. Or if they only had a few months, there still could be a solution. Things were moving so fast now in cancer research. Maybe a new drug, a new trial?

‘Weeks, I would say. Not much more than that.'

‘What?' For a moment she thought she was going to faint, her vision went and all she could see what black and white flashes in her eyes, she felt light-headed and sick to her stomach. She held on to the arms of the chair and took a moment, desperately to organize her thoughts. She didn't know in which order she should think. Eventually, she stood up and steadied herself on Mr Rose's desk.