by Susan Lewis
Lydia nodded. ‘You’re right, I think it does. You’ve been told, I take it, that my mother is just as much to blame for keeping it to herself?’
Yes, Andee had been told, though apparently Gina hadn’t actually known where Jessica was. She’d also learned that Gina was the mysterious blackmailer who’d sent the money on to Blake and his family. Since she wasn’t sure if that part of it had reached Lydia yet she decided not to mention it.
‘I can’t imagine what they were thinking,’ Lydia ran on emotionally. ‘Clearly not about the poor girl, or her family who they were completely destroying. It goes to show that you never know anyone as well as you think you do, because never in my life would I have imagined my own parents doing something like that.’
‘How are they?’ Andee asked gently.
Lydia’s eyes closed as she took a breath. ‘No better than you’d expect. I’m worried for Dad. He could be heading for another breakdown, and though some might say it’s no less than he deserves he’s still my father and I can’t help caring.’
‘No one would expect you not to.’
Lydia’s eyes remained bleak as they travelled out across the gardens where she’d spent so many happy times as a child. ‘They’re selling up,’ she stated. ‘Four generations this place has been in our family, but no one will want them here now.’
Saddened by the truth of that, Andee said, ‘Where will they go?’
‘To London, tonight. They’ll leave for the States as soon as they can after his court hearing, provided he doesn’t go to prison, but the lawyer doesn’t seem to think that’ll happen. A suspended sentence at worst, is what they’re predicting. Imagine what an uproar the press will get into over that. They’ll probably make it look like he’s managed to get away with murder.’
Suspecting she was right, Andee said, ‘And what about you? What are you going to do now?’
Steadying herself with a breath, Lydia said, ‘I’m staying on here for a while to take care of things. What a nightmare it’s going to be, working out some kind of marketing strategy to make the place saleable.’
‘And after?’ Andee prompted.
Lydia’s eyes came back to hers. ‘I shall return to the refugees in crisis, if I can. The Stamfield scandal’s made front pages in the States too, it’s gotten more coverage than anything I can drum up for our relief efforts, so I’ve no idea if my job will still be open. As for a future in politics . . .’ She shrugged, as if there were no hope of that at all.
‘I hadn’t realised you had ambitions in that direction.’
Lydia’s smile held no humour. ‘I’m now revising them.’ After a beat she said, ‘Have you seen the drop in Dad’s company’s share price? Fifteen per cent already. They’ve asked for his resignation, naturally, so there goes his job along with his reputation, his health, his home, his heritage even.’
Feeling for her anger and helplessness, Andee said, ‘Things will die down, you know . . .’
‘Until they’re dragged up again to throw in his face, or mine, or Mum’s every time one of us raises our head . . . It’s like a repeat of Chappaquiddick, only worse. My father let two years go by before telling anyone he’d gone off the road with a girl in the car, at least Ted Kennedy fessed up the next day.’
But it had still ended his presidential hopes, and the scandal had dogged him for the rest of his life. There was no denying that, and the similarities of the two cases hadn’t passed Andee by, even if the Stamfield family wasn’t quite as high profile as the Kennedys.
In a softer tone, Lydia said, ‘How was the funeral?’
‘Very moving,’ Andee replied, knowing she would have expected no less.
Lydia swallowed as her eyes filled with tears. ‘I wish I could reach out to the Leonards,’ she said brokenly, ‘but I realise I’m the last person they’d want to hear from.’
Wishing she wasn’t right, Andee said, ‘Everything changes over time.’
Appearing unsure whether to believe that, Lydia seemed to pull herself together as she said, ‘We should go inside. They’re waiting for you.’
Though really not looking forward to this, Andee followed her into the vestibule, taking out her mobile as it rang with the intention of turning it off. However, seeing it was Graeme she excused herself and clicked on.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, sensing already that it wasn’t.
‘It’s Rowzee,’ he told her. ‘We’re on our way to A & E.’
Chapter Nineteen
A whole week might have gone by since they’d carted her off to hospital in a panic, but Rowzee was still feeling quite impatient with everyone. Fancy creating all that fuss on such an important day for Blake and his family, when everything should have been about them and Jessica and nothing else. She felt dreadful about it now and she hoped Pamela did too. She’d only had a little absence attack, for heaven’s sake, nothing to get so excited about. However, Pamela excelled at turning a drama into a crisis, even though she, Rowzee, had been perfectly all right by the time she’d been stuffed into a wheelchair to get her into A & E. So what if she hadn’t been able to smile when she’d first gone floppy, or properly raise her arm, she’d soon got the hang of it, and at least it had made Graeme laugh when she’d kept grinning at him like a Halloween pumpkin the whole time they were waiting to be seen.
Pamela hadn’t seen the funny side at all, and realising how frightened she was, Rowzee had stopped acting up and held her hand instead, squeezing it regularly to show her own was working.
It turned out she’d probably had an ischaemic transient attack (she wasn’t sure it was that way round, but it probably all amounted to the same thing), which was a kind of mini-stroke, and not very serious. So they’d given her a quick check over, had a good laugh at some trips down memory lane since two of the nurses were ex-students, and then they’d sent her off home with the recommendation that she pop to see her GP in the next couple of days. The only mention made of Mr Mervin was when a very young doctor had said she’d be contacting him about the episode and he would probably be in touch. Fortunately neither Graeme nor Pamela had been in the cubicle at that point – she’d already banished them just in case her history was brought up – so she’d had no awkward questions to answer on that front. She’d also been able to inform the young doctor that she already had an appointment scheduled with Mr Mervin for the following Monday.
That appointment had now happened, and had gone on for much longer than she’d expected, thanks to all her questions and the careful notes she’d made of the surgeon’s answers to make sure she wouldn’t forget what she was being told. He was such a patient man, giving her all the time she’d needed, and the way he explained things made them sound so straightforward – which they probably were for him – that she hadn’t felt worried at all. Well, that wasn’t true, she’d felt worried out of her mind if the truth were told, and still did, but thankfully her acting skills remained well honed so no one would ever know.
Now, with all her ducks in a row, so to speak, she was ready to have a sit-down with Pamela and Graeme to tell them about her cancer. She’d invited Bill to join them, since he had a knack of calming Pamela down when she started going off the deep end – something Graeme was quite gifted at too, but considering the nature of her news Rowzee had decided that Graeme shouldn’t be trying to deal with both sisters at once. She’d also thought of inviting Andee, as a kind of ally, until she’d remembered that no one was her enemy and much as she’d like Andee to feel a part of their family, there were probably better ways of going about it.
‘You’re making me nervous,’ Pamela accused irritably as Bill carried a tray of coffee to the table and set it down.
‘Who, me?’ he retorted, amazed.
‘No, Rowzee. What’s all this about?’ she demanded, glaring at Rowzee’s notebook. ‘Are we here for a reading of your new novel?’
As Rowzee’s eyes met Graeme’s they both smiled, but she could tell he was anxious too, and in response to that she felt a scurry of butterflies
in her tummy. ‘How long are the boys staying?’ she asked him. ‘It meant a great deal to Matt, you know, that they came back for the funeral. Are they still spending a lot of time with him?’
‘Quite a bit,’ Graeme replied. ‘There’s been a noticeable bonding between the town’s young people since Jessica was found, which has been a tremendous help to Matt.’
She wanted to ask how Blake and Jenny were too, but she realised she couldn’t keep putting off the inevitable, so she took the coffee Bill was passing and opened her notebook. Blake and Jenny were already back at work, she remembered, Blake restoring the antiques, with Jenny helping out in the shop again and teaching piano three evenings a week. How brave they were, and how marvellous that Jenny was finally getting help for her depressions. There was a lot Rowzee needed to discuss with them, but she’d best not dwell on that now, since Pamela had just reminded her again that they were waiting.
‘OK,’ Rowzee began, putting on a smile, and feeling tempted to say Once upon a time, to try and lighten things. Refraining, she said, ‘There’s not really an easy way of telling you this, so I thought I should come to the point right away. I’m afraid I have a tumour in my brain, which they’ve discovered is a secondary cancer, so there isn’t a cure.’ There, as nutshells went, that was a pretty good one, she thought, as Graeme’s face paled and Pamela’s collapsed in shock.
Realising stupid tears were blurring her eyes, Rowzee quickly blinked them back and said, ‘It’s not really as bad as it sounds . . .’
Pamela suddenly exploded. ‘You’ve got a tumour? In your brain? And you’re only just telling us? How long have you known?’
Since there was no point in lying, Rowzee said, ‘A few weeks.’
Pamela looked as though she’d been struck. ‘So you’ve been to the doctor, had all the tests and not once did you ask me to go with you? I can’t believe you’d do that.’
‘I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘I was already worried,’ Pamela shouted angrily. ‘I’ve been telling you for months that there’s something wrong with you. If you’d gone straight away they might have caught it in time.’
Quietly Rowzee said, ‘I don’t think they would have . . .’
Pamela suddenly shot to her feet. ‘This is all nonsense,’ she raged tearfully. ‘I’m not having it, do you hear me? You need a second opinion, maybe even a third, because no way am I just sitting here accepting what one person says.’
‘Pamela, sit down,’ Graeme said gently.
Pamela only looked at him.
Rowzee said, ‘I’ve already had a second opinion and both surgeons have said that the tumour is inoperable.’
Clearly about to erupt again, Pamela rashly satisfied the urge with a slap to Bill’s face.
Though startled, Rowzee and Graeme couldn’t help laughing, while a bemused Bill rubbed his cheek and picked up his coffee.
‘We need to speak to these surgeons,’ Pamela informed Graeme, as though she doubted their credentials, or even existence.
Though Rowzee could see Graeme agreed, she was grateful to him for not saying so just yet. Presumably he wanted to hear everything she had to tell them before making up his mind about what should be done.
Since she’d already made up her own mind, and since her brother was usually a sane and rational human being, Rowzee was hopeful that her decisions would end up chiming with his. So, continuing under the force of Pamela’s frightened glare, she said, ‘They’ve given me about six months, maybe nine . . .’
‘No!’ Pamela gulped desperately. ‘I’m telling you no, Rowzee. You’ve got it confused, you don’t understand . . . It can’t . . . It . . .’ As she broke down sobbing, Rowzee went to fold her in her arms.
‘It’s all right,’ Rowzee whispered softly. ‘I promise. Everything’s going to be all right, because I have a plan.’
Grabbing a tissue from the box Bill was offering, Pamela dabbed her eyes and tried to look at her sister. ‘What do you mean, you have a plan?’ she asked warily.
‘I’m about to tell you,’ Rowzee replied. Once they were all sitting down again, she said, ‘The reason the tumour is inoperable is because it’s so close to,’ she checked her notes, ‘the cerebral artery, and if that gets damaged during surgery it could cause a major stroke.’
Pamela looked so afraid – and hopeful for the plan – that Rowzee quickly continued. ‘I had a long chat with the surgeon yesterday,’ she told them, ‘and I’ve decided to risk having the surgery. No, please don’t interrupt, not yet. I really don’t want to leave either of you, obviously, but there’s Jason, my grandson, to think about as well. Life might have been cruel in the way it took Edward away, but it’s given me Jason now, and I want to be here for as long as I can to do my very best for him.’
Pamela’s hand went to her mouth as more tears flooded her eyes.
Pressing on, Rowzee said, ‘I’d like to have your solemn promises, Pamela and Graeme, that if I do suffer a major stroke during the op you will not do anything to overturn the instruction I shall give for non-resuscitation. I don’t think you can, actually, but I don’t want you to try.’
Pamela could only stare at her.
Graeme swallowed as he said, ‘Of course you have our promise, if that’s what you want.’
Rowzee reached for his hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m not afraid of dying,’ she lied, ‘I’m only afraid of not being me any more, of becoming a helpless burden on my family . . .’
‘OK, you can stop that right now,’ Pamela blurted. ‘I’m not killing you off just so you can avoid . . .’
‘Pamela, shush,’ Graeme interrupted.
‘Well, I’m not,’ she told him hotly. ‘I don’t care if she can’t feed herself, or go to the bathroom on her own, I’m not letting her die . . .’
‘But it isn’t about you,’ Graeme reminded her. ‘It’s about Rowzee and the quality of her life after the surgery.’
‘And it might be successful,’ Rowzee added, trying to sound cheerful, while knowing the chances were extremely slim. However, she’d rather go this way then have it drag out over months and months getting steadily worse, maybe even turning into the kind of person who shouted abuse at people in the street, or tried to beat up her family.
Feeling certain she hadn’t finished yet, she consulted her notebook again and said, ‘Even if I do come through with no adverse side effects, we mustn’t forget that this is a secondary cancer so I’ll be playing out the last act anyway. They’ll give me treatment to help me live as normal a life as I can for as long as I can, but as soon as that changes and there’s no longer a way of reversing the decline, I want to end my life in a humane and dignified way.’
‘But you’re not an animal,’ Pamela sobbed angrily, ‘and I don’t understand why you’re so intent on killing yourself when you’re supposed to have a cancer that’s doing it for you. Why can’t you let things take their own course? You are such a control freak.’
Rowzee had to smile at that. ‘If I let them take their course I probably don’t have much more than six months,’ she reminded Pamela, ‘and my decline will be quite rapid from here on.’ She wasn’t going to tell them about her plans for Dignitas, since they were no longer relevant at this stage. Later, they might be, but they’d deal with that then. ‘If I have the operation and it works we can probably add as much as a year to that six months, maybe more, depending on how many miracles are looking for homes at the time.’
Graeme asked, ‘How soon can you have the operation?’
Rowzee’s mouth turned dry as she said, ‘Apparently they can make room for me in the next couple of weeks.’
Pamela said, testily, ‘But if you have the operation and it brings on a major stroke you want us to let you die, which means we could lose you as soon as next week? I have to wonder why we’re bothering to wait so long?’
Understanding her fear, and feeling it herself, Rowzee looked at Graeme.
‘I’d like to have a chat with the surgeon,’ he told her.
> ‘Yes, you must do that,’ Pamela agreed. ‘She’s probably got it all wrong. You know what you’re like,’ she said to Rowzee, ‘always forgetting the most important parts, or missing out something crucial to the story.’
‘That’s not true,’ Rowzee protested. ‘I’ve always been very good at remembering my lines.’
‘In fact,’ Pamela ran on undeterred, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you don’t have cancer at all. You’ve probably been reading about someone who does and you’ve got things all mixed up. Or they have. It happens, you know.’
Rowzee didn’t argue, or remind Pamela that she was the one who’d been pointing out for months that something was wrong. Pamela knew it, and if it was helping her to take refuge in denial for now then Rowzee wasn’t about to force her out of it.
Getting to his feet Graeme came to put his arms round Rowzee, dwarfing her little frame in the size of his embrace. ‘Whatever happens,’ he said softly, tilting her face up to his, ‘you know we’ll always be here for you and we’ll support your wishes in every way.’
Rowzee could see Pamela was about to protest, but it seemed the feel of Bill’s hand sliding into hers was enough to stop her.
A few days later, with her surgery now scheduled for the end of the following week, Rowzee went to meet Andee at the Seafront Café. She’d been very busy since her chat with Pamela and Graeme, and had lots of things she needed to discuss with someone before putting herself into Mr Mervin’s hands. Since it would be too hard for her brother and sister to remain objective when they were emotionally involved, she’d decided that Andee was both wise and rational enough to give opinions or advice without attaching them to an agenda of her own.
‘I know Graeme’s told you,’ Rowzee said, as Andee came into the café and embraced her warmly, ‘so please don’t feel awkward, or think you have to trot out any appropriate words. I don’t think there are any, actually, or none that I can think of, but even if you can shall we just skip over them?’
‘If that’s what you want,’ Andee smiled tenderly.
