by Susan Lewis
Intrigued, Andee waited for him to continue.
‘He’s saying he’s Victor Cayne’s grandson – I’m sure you know that Victor is Rowzee’s late husband – but Rowzee has never mentioned anything to me about Victor having another family. Apparently the boy’s father – Victor’s putative son – was born before Victor and Rowzee married, so it’s possible that Rowzee knows nothing about him. Before I discuss it with her I’d like to be sure that Jason Griffiths really is who he’s claiming to be, because I certainly don’t want to involve my sister in any unnecessary upset if it turns out to be a scam someone’s cooked up to try and get money out of her.’
Andee’s mind was working fast, sorting through all kinds of scenarios and motives and comparing the situation to others she’d come across of a similar nature. She began by asking the boy’s age.
‘I’d say early to mid-twenties.’
‘And where’s his father?’
‘Unwell, apparently.’
Andee frowned. ‘Does his father know that his son is here, talking to you?’
‘I’m not sure about the father, but I got the impression that the grandmother knows.’
‘The grandmother being the woman Victor had a relationship with?’
‘Indeed, if we’re to believe the boy.’
Andee nodded thoughtfully. ‘Do you have any idea if Victor knew he had a son?’
‘Jason says Victor did know. Apparently they met once, a few years ago, which is the main reason Jason wants to see Rowzee.’
Baffled, Andee said, ‘Did he elaborate on that?’
‘Not really. He just said it’s something he has to do for his nan.’
Andee was thinking hard, knowing already what she was going to do, but she still needed more detail about the family, such as the grandmother’s and father’s name and address, and where the boy was living.
Having already got the information from Jason, Graeme handed over a folded sheet of paper.
Andee read aloud, ‘Grandmother, Norma Griffiths, father, Sean Griffiths and Jason . . .’ She glanced up at Graeme. ‘They all live at the same address in Devon?’
‘Apparently,’ he replied. ‘Jason also tells me that he’s got no problem with being checked out.’
Impressed by that, but by no means taken in by it, Andee said, ‘OK, I’ll pass this on to someone at the station. With all the necessary resources at their fingertips we should have an answer quite quickly.’
With a smile Graeme said, ‘Thank you.’
Still concerned, Andee said, ‘Have you thought about how Rowzee might take it, if it’s true and she doesn’t know Victor has a son?’
He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve thought about it a great deal, which is why I want to be absolutely certain before I say anything to her.’ After a moment he added, ‘I’m not sure if you know that she had a son herself, who died when he was five. Edward. He was a late baby, and would be around Jason’s age by now if he’d lived. When he went it was a terrible blow to the whole family.’
Seeing how moved he still was by the loss, Andee said, gently, ‘What happened?’
‘Meningitis. He was a lovely boy, only a couple of years younger than Ben, my youngest. It’s been very hard for Rowzee watching my boys grow up, but they couldn’t have had an aunt who loved them more.’
Feeling deeply for Rowzee, Andee said, ‘Apart from Pamela?’
He smiled. ‘Of course, but Pamela has a different way of showing things.’ He glanced at his watch.
‘I should go,’ she said, putting down her glass.
‘Please, there’s no rush,’ he insisted. ‘I’m meeting a client for dinner at eight . . .’
‘I should get this information to the police,’ she interrupted, and reaching for her bag she got to her feet. ‘Before I go,’ she said as they started back through the house, ‘did Jason Griffiths give you any idea of why he’s looking for Rowzee now?’
‘No. All he’d tell me was that he wanted to see her in person to explain things.’
Andee frowned. ‘Well, let’s find out if he’s really who he’s claiming to be, and if he is, we can decide how to take it from there – with Rowzee’s best interests at heart, naturally.’
Rowzee was watching her doctor’s pale, tense face as Jilly carefully read the notes in front of her. It would be easy for Rowzee to engage with the anxiety trying to overwhelm her, or to start scaring herself with all kinds of horrific scenarios, which she’d become quite accomplished at lately. Instead she was encouraging her mind to flit back over the years to when Jilly had played Rosalind – and many other roles that Rowzee wasn’t quite remembering right now. As a young girl Jilly had shown a very real talent for acting, had possessed a remarkable feel for the language and nuance of the Bard and many other playwrights too, and Rowzee had done much to encourage her to pursue a career on the stage. How many years had passed since Jilly had listened to her parents and taken her place at Birmingham University Medical School? Probably as many as twenty, and dear Jilly, as gifted and dedicated a doctor as she was, didn’t seem to be wearing well. Was it any wonder, when she had such a stressful job? It couldn’t be easy dealing with sick and needy people every day, especially those who were frightened, or difficult, or thought they knew better than their GP.
Realising she might be falling into the latter category, Rowzee said, ‘Please understand that I respect everything you’ve told me, it’s just that I feel it’s better if I do things this way.’
Fixing her with kindly but tired eyes, Jilly said, ‘I know what you’re like when your mind is made up about something, it’s how we got budgets for our plays, outings to theatres and even a memorable weekend in Paris as I recall. And I can see it’s made up over this, which is why I’m reading your notes again. We need to be absolutely sure . . .’
‘We are,’ Rowzee came in gently. ‘Mr Mervin was very clear when I went to see him for the results. He didn’t use any terminology I couldn’t understand, and nor did you the last time I was here. We know the cancer is secondary, so we know it’s not curable . . .’
‘Which doesn’t mean it isn’t treatable. And we’ve yet to find the primary.’
‘Oh, I think I’ve done that. There’s a black mark under my toenail that’s never gone away, and I think it’s bigger now than when I first noticed it. I expect it’s a guilty mole.’
‘I’ll take a look,’ Jilly said.
‘OK, but whether I’m right or wrong, it’s not going to change anything, is it? I still have a tumour in my brain and if you give me treatment you’ll be keeping me alive simply to slide into a condition I’d rather not be in, and that will cause a lot of heartache and stress for my family, not to mention inconvenience and . . .’
‘Mrs C, they love you. They’ll want you here for as long as they can have you, no matter how sick you might be.’
‘But it isn’t their decision, it’s mine. I want to go to this clinic to have it over and done with as soon as possible.’ She didn’t, in fact, want to go at all. She wanted desperately to carry on living the life she had now, or the one prior to this cancer, so she could grow old slowly, perhaps not always gracefully, but with all her faculties intact and her family around her. However, nature, God, fate, had other plans, and she had no way of altering them.
‘Rowzee . . .’
‘Please Jilly, I need you to give me the medical certificate they require.’ Could Jilly sense how anxious she was feeling? She thought not; after all, she was managing to sound very pragmatic and in control, so it would seem her thespian skills were still cooking, even if her marbles were under attack.
Pushing her hands through her hair in a way that made her appear more drained than ever, Jilly replied, ‘I’m not saying I won’t give it to you, I’m only saying that you mustn’t do this without telling anyone. Can’t you see how cruel it would be? How on earth are Pamela and Graeme going to feel when they get a call from the clinic asking them to come and collect your body?’
Trying not to wince, Rowze
e said, ‘Ashes. I’m arranging to be cremated right after it happens.’ A distantly placed part of her was feeling shocked by the words she was speaking, could hardly believe they weren’t in a script that could be cut, or rewritten if necessary.
Jilly swallowed as she looked at her.
‘I’ve been reading all about it,’ Rowzee told her.
Sighing, Jilly said, ‘I can tell that you have, and I know you have to satisfy the Swiss doctors that you are of sound enough mind to take the decision, but please don’t rush this. If you take the drugs you’ve been prescribed, your symptoms will virtually disappear . . .’
‘For a while, and meantime the tumour will grow and before we know it I won’t be deemed of sound enough mind any more. Even if I am, I could well be in a wheelchair by then and I wouldn’t be able to get into town without help, never mind to Switzerland.’
Shaking her head in dismay, Jilly said, ‘Please, please talk to Pamela and Graeme. They have a right to know, surely you can see that?’
‘They won’t let me do it.’
‘How do you know if you don’t ask them?’
‘I know them.’
‘You mean they’re against assisted dying?’
‘No. Actually, they might be. We’ve never had the conversation.’
‘Then you need to. Let them be a support to you. It’s what they’d want, and what you’re going to need if you’re determined to go through with this. You can’t do it alone.’
Certain that she could, but not willing to argue any further, Rowzee asked, ‘Will you give me the certificate?’
‘I’m not saying no, but I’ll have to discuss it with Mr Mervin.’
‘What if he turns out to be pro-life?’
‘I happen to know that he isn’t, but I can’t see him being any happier than I am about you doing this without involving your family.’
Trying hard to sound sweet and reasonable, Rowzee said, ‘But it isn’t about making you and Mr Mervin happy, is it?’
Unable to argue with that, Jilly regarded her sadly. ‘Please think about it,’ she implored, ‘and please take the dexamethasone.’
‘How long will it take to kick in?’
‘About three days.’
Rowzee was already on her feet when it occurred to her to ask, ‘If I take these steroids . . . did you say my symptoms, the dizziness and headaches and everything, will disappear?’
‘They should. Come and see me again in a week. We need to talk about radiotherapy . . .’ She stopped as Rowzee’s hand went up. ‘It’s here, in Mr Mervin’s notes,’ she told her. ‘You need to see an oncologist . . .’
‘I don’t want all that sort of messing around.’
Letting it go for the moment, Jilly said, ‘OK, make an appointment on your way out. We’ll have another chat next week to discuss the situation again.’
As the door closed behind Rowzee, Jilly sat back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. Rowzee Cayne had to be the dearest, most selfless and most maddeningly stubborn woman in the world. Not that Jilly blamed her for wanting to take control of her life, who wouldn’t in those circumstances, she just couldn’t be allowed to do it alone. For a fleeting moment Jilly wondered if she should offer to go with her to Zurich, but it would most likely be the end of her career if she did.
Pulling Rowzee’s notes forward again, her eyes fixed on the words that she’d not yet spoken to her, and because Rowzee hadn’t asked she wasn’t sure when, or even if, she should.
Life expectancy: Six–nine months.
If Rowzee knew she only had that long, surely she wouldn’t see herself as burdening her family. It was going to be over almost before it began. On the other hand, if she told her she was going to die so soon there was every chance Rowzee would add an even greater urgency to her end-of-life plans.
With it being such a warm, but not overly hot day Rowzee decided to walk to the old town rather than take the bus for three stops along Primrose Lane and into Sidley Coombe. The exercise and fresh sea air were doing her good, and maybe even helping to clear her head, if such an achievement were possible these days.
One thing she’d decided on without too much trouble was that she was going to take the steroid, if only to get her through the next week or so. A respite from the headaches, not to mention the absence attacks and occasional blackouts, should mean no more fears of raising her family’s suspicions and, with any luck, she might even be less forgetful. She wondered if the drug was supposed to help her memory, and suspected it probably wasn’t or surely they’d give it to people with dementia. Maybe they did. How would she know?
Remembering she hadn’t turned her phone on since leaving the surgery, she stopped outside the pharmacy on Sidley Coombe Way to check for messages. To her dismay there was one from Jamie, her lawyer, asking if she was all right as she’d missed her appointment today.
Annoyed and upset, she rang him straight away to apologise and ask if she could come now.
‘I’m sorry, I’m chock-a-block for the rest of the week,’ he told her. ‘I’m sure we can squeeze you in somewhere next week though. I’ll get my secretary to give you a call with some times.’
After collecting her prescription from the pharmacy, Rowzee headed on into the old town feeling wretched and foolish and despairingly frustrated with herself. She just hoped Pamela didn’t get to hear about the missed appointment. As it was, she wouldn’t stop going on about how Rowzee had stood her up at the Italian the other night.
‘What do you mean, you fell asleep?’ Pamela had snapped crossly when she’d got home. ‘You look perfectly awake to me. So what have you been up to? And please don’t tell me you’ve been riding around on Bill Simmonds’s mower, because I won’t laugh and I won’t believe you either.’
‘He’s very keen on you,’ Rowzee told her, seizing the change of subject. ‘He asked me to put in a good word.’
‘Well you can save your breath. I’m not interested. All I want to know is why you didn’t even call the restaurant to let me know you couldn’t make it.’
‘I told you, I was asleep.’
‘You mean you forgot.’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s written all over you. I want you to ring the doctor first thing and make an appointment. No, don’t argue. I’m starting to get worried and you should be too.’
‘Thanks for trying not to scare me.’
Pamela’s face immediately softened. ‘I don’t want to scare you,’ she promised, ‘I just want to get to the bottom of what’s making you so scatterbrained. It’s probably nothing more than an iron deficiency, or low blood pressure, it can have a strange effect on you. I know, maybe I should have a check-up too. Keep you company. I’d just better not turn out to be the one with Alzheimer’s, that’s all I can say, or there’ll be trouble.’
Fortunately, ironically, Pamela seemed to have forgotten the doctor by the next morning, possibly, Rowzee decided, because she was too distracted by Bill Simmonds turning up to mow their lawns.
‘For someone who’s not interested,’ Rowzee commented, ‘you’re spending a lot of time at the window watching him.’
‘I’m checking he’s not making a mess of it,’ Pamela retorted.
‘He never has before.’
‘There’s always a first time.’
Rowzee looked her up and down. ‘Where are you going all dressed up to the nines?’ she demanded.
Tapping her nose, Pamela said, ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’
‘So what’s his name?’
Ignoring her, Pamela mistakenly returned Bill’s wave and scowled to show she hadn’t meant it. ‘Time to go,’ she declared, picking up her bag. ‘Things to do, people to see.’
‘I don’t understand why you’re being so secretive,’ Rowzee grumbled, following her to the door. ‘If you’re Internet dating I think it’s wonderful.’
‘I’m not Internet dating,’ Pamela assured her. ‘But if you want to, I�
��m happy to help. It could be fun.’
‘You’re up to something,’ Rowzee told her. ‘All these new clothes and talk of surgery.’
‘Well, you can’t take it with you when you go,’ Pamela replied breezily.
Dear God, was Pamela hiding a similar secret? Was that what was happening here? She was spending all her money (money Rowzee had always thought was tied up in investments) before some dastardly disease kicked in and felled her? No, it wasn’t possible. She was the picture of health, and besides no ailment had ever struck Pamela, big or small, without her complaining to the world about how much worse she had it than anyone else ever had.
Dropping a kiss on Rowzee’s cheek, Pamela said, ‘You’ll find out everything soon enough. I just need to make some more progress first.’
Rowzee watched her go, trying her best to work out what was going on, but apart from Internet dating she was fresh out of ideas.
‘There’s sure to be a man involved,’ she confided to Blake over a cup of tea in his workshop. Having arrived with no clear memory of why she’d come, she’d left Graeme to the client he was busy with in the showroom and wandered through for a back-room browse. ‘And I hope there is,’ she continued, ‘because she could do with some romance in her life. She deserves it after what she went through with her marriage.’
‘And she’s still an attractive woman,’ Blake added helpfully. ‘In fact you both are, so maybe some romance for you too?’
Rowzee smiled ruefully. ‘I’ve had my share,’ she assured him. ‘I really don’t want any more.’ Her eyes went hesitantly to his. ‘How’s Jenny?’ she asked gently. ‘Will she be coming home soon?’
He shook his head dismally. ‘I’ve no idea. She’s not in good shape, that’s for sure. Her mother’s trying to persuade her to see a doctor to help with the depression, but she won’t.’
‘Did she ever suffer from depression before?’
‘You mean before what happened up north? Sometimes, but it was never like this. Well, nothing like this ever happened to us before.’
