Will You Remember Me? (36 page)

Martin arrived next, his delay explained by the fact that Max was walking. ‘Here’s Mummy, Max! Are you going to give her a kiss?’

‘No I not!’ Max shook his head repeatedly. He didn’t like his mum being in this room or this bed.

‘It’s fine. Don’t make him.’ Poppy smiled reassuringly at her husband.

‘I think you need a bit of a position change,’ Peg announced. The novelty of being able to raise, lower and angle Poppy’s bed with the touch of a button had not worn off for her. She grabbed the remote control and poked her tongue out of the side of her mouth; this required concentration.

Poppy felt the top half of her bed moving upwards.

‘Leave Mummy alone, Peg, you mustn’t joggle her about,’ Martin said, quite calmly.

‘She likes it, don’t you, Mum? I’ll get her up a bit, it will be much better.’ Peg peered at her, only inches from her face.

Poppy smiled and nodded.

‘Well, not too far then,’ Martin said. ‘That’ll do.’

Poppy was now sitting up. ‘You are right, Peg, this is much better.’

Martin pulled the wing-backed chair closer to the bed. ‘You should have seen her and Matilda today, playing some kind of clapping game over Skype. It was very funny.’

‘I watched them doing that in St Lucia. How are Simon and Kate?’

‘Sending you all of their love.’ Martin held her hand.

‘I’m much better at the clapping game now!’ Peg chirped. ‘And I’ve decided that Matilda is my number one best friend and then Toffee and then Jade McKeever. Matilda and I are going to be friends for ever and ever.’

Martin smiled at his wife, knowing she would be relieved to hear of the demise of Jade Bloody McKeever.

Max, who had been quiet up to this point, decided to climb onto the bed. He placed one leg on first and, clinging to the blankets, hauled himself up. Poppy reached down and pulled him up to sit in the crook of her arm. He showed her his new toy from Claudia.

‘Max’s dumper truck,’ he announced. ‘One… two… three… four…’ He counted each of the wheels.

Poppy sat back, loving the feel of his plump little body next to hers.

She must have fallen asleep and when she woke her family were gone. There was a note from Martin:
Be back in a bit, sleepyhead. xx
He had tucked it into the frame opposite her bed, which now had Max’s picture tacked over it. When she had asked Max what it was a picture of, he replied, ‘Digger!’ She stared at the mud-coloured streaks and blobs; maybe he was more of an abstract artist.

The door opened and in strode Barbara, one of the nurses. She was a large woman, solidly built, whose forearms reminded Poppy of the hams that hung on hooks in the deli. Her brusque manner often came as a relief after the sweet, soothing tones of some of the others. It took away the emotion, made the place feel more like a hospital, and if it
were
a hospital, there was the chance that Poppy would be going home, no matter how slim.

Sofia Adams, 27, beloved only daughter of Jack and Angela. Taken by the angels. You were the light in our lives and will forever be the joy in our hearts. Instead of buying flowers, the family request that you consider carrying a donor card. May God keep you safe in his arms, Sofia.

‘What you reading there?’ Barbara nodded her head at the newspaper folded on Poppy’s lap.

Embarrassed, Poppy moved it to the table on wheels beside her. She swallowed. ‘The obituaries. I’ve always read them. My husband thinks it’s morbid, particularly given my current predicament, but I find it quite comforting. I think it’s nice to know that they weren’t just patients or statistics; they were people who were loved. I like to know that people go on, by being missed, after they have… you know…’

‘Died?’

‘Yes,’ Poppy whispered.

‘Do you find it hard to say?’ Barbara asked as she removed the cap from the thermometer and put it into Poppy’s ear, holding it with one hand. Both were so familiar with the routine inserting of needles, swabs, suppositories, cannulas and tubes into every available orifice that neither blinked.

‘Yes, I do,’ Poppy admitted. ‘Have you been with lots of people when they…?’

‘Died?’ Barbara prompted.

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, lots. I think it’s a privilege to be with someone in their last moments.’ Barbara removed the beeping thermometer, held it at arm’s length, narrowed her gaze to get a better view and reached for the clipboard at the end of Poppy’s bed. She drew a little X on the meandering chart, which looked like a profile of the Pyrenees.

‘What’s it like? What happens?’

Barbara stopped what she was doing and folded her arms. ‘Truthfully, it varies. Sometimes people have been given so many drugs and so much pain relief that they slip away without really being present; they just seem to pass from sleep to death. Some relatives like this, relieved that there isn’t a drama, but others feel a bit cheated, as though they didn’t get the last words they were hoping for or the chance for one final goodbye. Others, often those who’ve been in pain, seem to enter a space of peace and calm immediately before, and the look of relief that comes over them is quite beautiful.’

‘Is it ever painful?’

‘It can be.’ She answered without hesitation. ‘I’ve had one or two that have fought it until their last breath and their struggles were humbling and sad. So I guess it depends.’ She straightened the chart. ‘But usually it’s not like that. We have medication, similar to what you are on at the moment, that takes the pain away.’

‘Do some people ever forget who they are or who they are with?’ This was Poppy’s greatest fear, from what had happened to her nan.

‘Yes. But those people are usually elderly and in the grip of dementia.’

Poppy nodded, comforted to hear that. ‘Does it make you sad?’ She looked up, tying to gauge Barbara’s response.

The nurse paused. ‘Sometimes, yes. It’s hard dealing with kids and people you get close to, obviously. But the one thing I’ve learnt working here, seeing death very regularly, is that life goes on. We are all here for a short time and then we die. It’s just what happens. Life goes on.’

‘That’s what my nan said to me.’

‘She was right. Nans usually are.’ Barbara smiled.

‘It’s very odd, being this ill. I can’t remember what I thought about before. It was the same when I fell in love and then had my kids – I couldn’t imagine not having a head full of him and them. The three of them sit behind every blink of my eyelids, imprinted there like tiny ghosts, living in my mind. And now this has taken over from them and I think about this bloody illness every second of every day; there’s not a single chance to forget.’

‘I think that’s just how it is. They say it’s a battle and it seems they’re right. It must be exhausting.’ Barbara pulled the top cover taut over Poppy’s legs.

‘It is.’ Poppy sighed. ‘I feel too old and too young both at the same time. I’m only thirty-two, for God’s sake, way too young for this, surely? I know when you’re really young, in your teens, you think thirty-two is ancient – like my friend Jenna’s mum used to seem to me, when she was this age. I remember she had tiny lines at the top of her mouth, from her constant drawing on a fag, and no sparkle in her eyes, and she seemed really old to me. But that’s not old, is it? Thirty-two – it’s no age at all. They’ll be saying that, once I’ve gone: “Oh, she was no age at all…”’ Poppy gave a small laugh. ‘Gone where, though? Where will I have gone? Isn’t that the million-dollar question. And, come to think of it, why not the million-
pound
question—’

‘I think you might be thinking a bit too much.’ Barbara patted Poppy’s pillow into a fat square and propped it behind her. ‘Try and let your mind go blank.’ She smiled and left Poppy alone to gaze at Max’s artwork on the wall.

Poppy must have dozed again because the next thing she was aware of was Martin’s voice.

‘Gawd, we’ve got some weather going on out there tonight, girl. I got drenched just coming from the car park and it’s hitting the pavements like bullets. Half the dirt has come out of your tubs, like someone’s had a hose in there. Never seen rain like it. Still, on the plus side, it’s given the car a good clean, that’s saved me a fiver up the car wash.’

Poppy listened. She could tell he was nervous and upset, trying to mask his emotions with chatter.

‘Funny isn’t it, how every time we get severe weather, the newspapers go into overdrive. It’s always the worst we’ve ever had! Imagine what we’d do if we didn’t have the weather to talk about or moan about. Every queue in every supermarket would be silent.’ His voice dropped and slowed. ‘I went to the supermarket today. Walked around a bit with me trolley. I stood in front of the cereal for ages, Pop, looking at all the boxes…’ Poppy heard a wobble in his tone, then a gulp. ‘And I reached out for that muesli you like and it was as if I was frozen. I knew you… wouldn’t be eating it, and that… that cut me in two, Poppy. The thought of not buying your cereal.’ Another gulp. ‘I left the trolley in the aisle and came home.’

He let out a deep sigh.

‘Are you awake?’ he whispered into the half-light.

She chose to stay still, lying on her side, wanting the comfort of him but lacking the energy to sit up, smile, engage.

She heard him sigh again as the plastic cushioned seat cracked and dimpled under his weight.

‘Kids are soundo; I tucked them up before I left and Claudia was cleaning the kitchen. She is keeping the place immaculate – I think even you’d approve. She cleans 24/7. I think it keeps her mind off other things. Maxy ate a good tea. He had fish fingers and peas but then abandoned them when he saw the yoghurts. My mistake, I forgot what you said and let him see them! But then when he’d finished his yoghurt he went back to his peas. He makes me laugh. Peg’s quiet, same really. I had a crap journey in, did I say? It’s pissing down. The world and his wife are tootling along the lanes and no one seemed to be in any hurry except for me. Always the way, isn’t it?’

She felt the weight of his palm as he stroked her back through the thin cotton nightgown.

‘I was thinking on the way in, I wish I
had
been able to get you a real diamond the size of an ice cube and a kidney-shaped swimming pool. You’ve never wanted much, not like other women. No designer handbags or fancy gear. Mind you, that was probably a good bloody job on my crappy salary. You never wanted anything for yourself, did you? It would have been nice for me to be able to do that for you. I’m sorry.’

Poppy turned onto her back and opened her eyes. ‘I was only ever joking.’ Her voice was thin, reedy, her breathing laboured.

‘Yeah, you say that…’ He gathered up her fingers and kissed her knuckles, holding her hand against his mouth.

Poppy gave a small nod. ‘Only ever needed you and the kids, no diamonds.’

‘Good job, innit, Poppy Day?’

Poppy nodded again. ‘Did you say it’s raining?’

‘Yes, absolutely larruping it down.’

‘Can you open the curtains?’ Poppy pulled herself up as far as she was able; she wanted to see the rain against the window.

Martin stood and pulled the outer curtains and ran the nets along their wire to reveal the water trickling in tiny rivers from the top of the pane to the bottom.

‘Take me dancing in it, Mart…’

‘What?’ He took a step closer to her bed, to better hear.

‘Take me dancing in the rain!’ She beamed at him from beneath the sheet.

‘I can’t! You’ll catch your death of cold, you’re not well!’

Poppy laughed. ‘I’m not well? Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed!’ she croaked. ‘What does it matter if I catch a bad cold, what does it matter now? Please…’

Martin exhaled through bloated cheeks. He looked from the window to his wife. She seemed so frail, her skin almost translucent where the light touched it.

‘Oh, what the hell! Come on then.’ He pulled back the blanket and sheets, shocked, as he always was these days, by the withered state of his wife’s body. He unhooked her drip from its stand and gave it to her to hold. Then he fetched her coat from the wardrobe and slipped her thin arms into it before securing her scarf around her neck.

‘I’ll carry you.’

Poppy nodded her approval.

Martin bent down and scooped his wife into his arms like he was lifting one of the kids to bed from the car after a long journey. He didn’t comment on how light she felt in his arms or the way her hip bones dug into his stomach, sharp and painful. Poppy curled her head under his chin and he kissed her scalp as they navigated the corridor, ducking into doorways and making sure they weren’t seen as they made their way across the foyer.

‘I haven’t had this much fun since I shoplifted as a kid!’ He laughed.

‘Naughty boy,’ she whispered.

‘I might have been, if you hadn’t kept me on the straight and narrow.’

Martin stood under the glass-canopied entrance with his wife in his arms. ‘Listen to the rain on the roof, it’s bucketing down. Are you sure you want to do this?’

Poppy nodded against him and wriggled for him to lower her to the floor. He gently moved his arms and bent over until her feet, in their thick woolly socks, rested on his shoes. With one arm clamped across her back, holding her fast as she balanced on his shoes, he lifted her slowly and inched forward, until they stood outside in the rain.

Poppy looked skywards and let the deluge drench her hair and skin. She stretched her arm out at an angle and Martin gripped it, locking their hands together. Slowly they began to waltz. Right there in the car park. As Martin grew more comfortable, he sped up. They giggled as they twirled and spun while the rain came down. He twisted her in gentle circles, watching as the droplets sat on her eyelashes and dripped from her nose. Poppy threw her head back and laughed as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

Changing direction, he swooped to left and right, pulling her with him and against him, a willing partner as they slipped across the shiny tarmac under the night sky. The rain ricocheted off the ground and sparkled in the spotlights, sending silver shards of light where their feet danced. Poppy’s nightdress clung to her thin frame beneath her coat and Martin felt the weight of his waterlogged jumper and jacket.