‘Cor, I was gasping for a cup of tea.’ He laughed, the loud noise an intrusion that ricocheted off the walls. ‘Nearly managed to grab one too before the phone rang.’ He reached for her fingers and thumbed the skin on the back of her hand. She didn’t move or open her eyes or grip his fingers in return, although he imagined she did. ‘I think they’ve given you something to help you sleep, haven’t they? Well, you just sleep, lass. You just sleep and I’ll sit right here by your side.’
He stared at her head tipped back on the pillow, eyes sunken, lashes sticky and her thin face pinched, skin like waxed paper. Her eyes closed, mouth open and that awful rattle . . .
‘It’s still warm out, but they said the temperature is going to drop tonight, not that I mind. You know what I’m like, can’t sleep if it’s too warm. I think I’ll put the heating on boost, just in case it gets very cold. I know you don’t like the kitchen floor to be icy on your bare feet or to have to walk into a chilly bathroom in the night. Yes, I’ll do that.’ He coughed again. Her lack of response was almost deafening. ‘I was thinking earlier about how lovely it would be to have a holiday. Maybe sit in front of the sea and walk on a beach. Do you remember all our lovely holidays at Filey? That B&B with the squeaky bed and Oliver when he was younger in the little room next door, and you were so worried about making a noise that if we fancied a cuddle we had to pull the duvet on to the floor and be as quiet as church mice.’ He laughed. ‘Those were the days, eh, love?’
He closed his eyes briefly. The sentiment he wanted to express was not something that came easily, but this was the time. ‘I love you, Kerry. I love you, my mate.’ He pinched the top of his nose to stop the emotion that threatened to cloud this moment. ‘I think about the first time I took you out and I was so nervous I could hardly speak. Just kids, both of us, weren’t we? You thought I had a stutter; I was so worried about saying the right thing and making you like me. God, I was desperate for you to like me. Well, I must have done something right, nearly nineteen years next May. Nineteen years . . .’ He kissed the back of her hand. ‘I know people say it all the time, but it really does feel like yesterday. Where did that time go, eh?’ He bent forward and rested his face on the pillow next to hers and whispered, ‘I know it’s not all been perfect, and that maybe we have . . . drifted. But I wouldn’t swap a single second of it, Kerry. Not one. I love you. I will do my best with Olly, I promise you that. And I will miss you every single day. You’re my girl. You’ll always be my girl. But you go now, my darling. You don’t have to be brave. You don’t have to hang on. You can rest and you can have peace, go to sleep, knowing you’re loved . . .’
He felt the slip of tears across his cheek and over his nose and after some minutes, he couldn’t say with accuracy how many, he became aware of the quiet. And it was surprising, shocking almost, and unexpected, even though he had been waiting for it. Waiting for it for six months or more, truth be told. Gone was the rattle; gone was the weak pulse of life that an ailing body gave. Her mouth had fallen open and her face was now somehow softer. He sat up, eyes wide, a slight sense of panic in his chest and a terrible aching void of nothingness in his gut, topped with exhaustion.
‘Kerry? Kerry?’ he said softly. Bending low, he kissed her face. ‘Sweet dreams, lass. Sweet dreams.’
Instantly he felt his muscles soften with relief at the realisation that their nightmare was finally over and they were both free.
Guilt swooped in and punched him in the throat, leaving him breathless. Relief? She is dead, Nick! Dead! How dare you?
Reaching for the red cord, he pulled it and sat back in the chair. In the seconds while he waited for Sharon and Dr Ned to come in he felt the warmth leave the room.
‘Are you okay, Nick?’ Dr Ned asked, his voice a little echoey.
He looked up at the face of the man who had cared for his wife. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered truthfully.
Nick pulled up on to the steep driveway and looked at the house, which sat shaded forlornly in the soft bruise of darkness. He pictured his son, no doubt still lying on his bed, cloistered in the dark, alone with his own version of sadness. His eyes were drawn to the small rectangular window above the front door, from which Kerry would always ensure a light shone. Regardless of the season, as soon as night pulled its blind on the day, she would flick the switch next to the stairs, ensuring that Oliver coming home from school, he returning from work or any casual visitor could easily find their way to the front door. The light in the hallway was, however, more than just an aid to ensure a stumble-free trip up the path; it was a beacon, a sign of the life that lay behind the door, the promise of a warm welcome, a cup of tea, company, home.
Nick looked to the right at John and Liz’s front room next door, noting the haze of light that filtered from the sitting room out over the lawn. He felt a stab of something a lot like jealousy, misplaced he knew, but how come their lives got to carry on happily, while his whole world had fallen through the big black hole left by cancer? It wasn’t fair. Why them? He remembered saying as much to Kerry when her results came through.
‘Why us? Why you?’
And she had smiled at him in the way she did, as if she knew the answer and he was still trying to catch up, and said, ‘Why not us? Why not me? Life throws curveballs; you’ve got to either catch them and throw them back or dodge them. That’s it.’
He closed the front door quietly, wary of waking Oliver if he was asleep and in truth hoping he was, a chance to delay the appalling conversation they were going to have. He clicked on the hallway light and slipped off his shoes, before putting them in the bottom of the cupboard in the hallway, trying not to look up at Kerry’s shopping bag hanging on the hook on the back of the door, or her wellington boots that she slipped into to take Treacle for her morning and evening walks. Treacle the beagle-cross who had tumbled into their lives a couple of years ago, something for Kerry to concentrate on during her treatment, a beloved distraction who was currently being cared for by his mum and sister across town, one less thing for him and Oliver to have to think about. Although right now he missed the little pup, knowing the soft whine of welcome and the feel of the warm coat under his palm would have brought some small measure of comfort.
He heard the squeak of the hinge on Oliver’s bedroom door and took a deep breath, looking up at his skinny boy, who stood in his plaid pyjama bottoms and loose T-shirt, gripping the banister.
‘Come down, Olly.’ His words sounded sticky from a dry mouth as he made his way into the neat rectangular lounge where the floral cushions, strategically placed, softened the burgundy leather sofas and sank down into the chair in front of the telly.
‘Look at you in your throne. Remote control in one hand, cup of tea in the other! You look like the king of the castle. I love you, Mr Bairstow. This is a proper posh three-piece suite. I’m a bit scared to sit on it. I feel very grand.’
‘Nothing could be too grand for you. And if I’m the king then you’re the queen, so sit back and enjoy your new settee. Might as well, the novelty will have worn off by the time we finish paying for it!’
He didn’t put the light on, preferring the dimly lit space, far better suited for this worst of moments.