Almost Forever Read online

  As soon as we arrived at the hospital the usual rigmarole started as predicted and once again we followed, line by line, the usual script. Our lives would be on hold until Josephine was well enough to return home from the hospital, and we wouldn’t want it any other way.

  The monotony was balanced by her improvement. A brighter smile or a little chat was the reward we reaped for the sleepless hours spent on an uncomfortable chair. A joke or a laugh were the fuel that made us carry on, just as we helped her carry on. As soon as her lungs were clearer again, her indomitable spirit would come out of her frail body, roaring.

  ‘I’m famous again,’ she declared as I walked into her room one morning. Her eyes were bright and her voice less croaky. I took the copy of the local newspaper from her hands, to give it a closer look. It was a lovely article, not one of those careless gossiping columns about a dying star. It was a celebration of her life, and it was written in her honour.

  I smiled, aware that she hadn’t always been this lucky with the press. They published all sorts of lies when she first retired and many more later, when they got a whiff of her illness, so every time I saw her name in the press I felt slightly apprehensive. This piece was different. It was about love, and life, and brought a warm sunshine into her dull hospital room.

  ‘I can’t believe they even published the extract from the article they wrote the day of our engagement,’ she said with a little giggle, looking at Albert. ‘That was so long ago. Have you seen this, darling?’ she said, so I twisted the page in Albert’s direction so he could see it. He walked closer and read out a few lines with a stagey newsreader voice. ‘Josephine Du Pasquier – incredibly talented and internationally acclaimed French prima ballerina – gave it all up to marry Albert Philip George FitzRoy. Who wouldn’t?’ he added in his normal voice and we all laughed. Harry took the newspaper from my hands and read on.

  ‘Apparently by marrying Mademoiselle Du Pasquier against his aunt, Lady Cordelia’s wishes, Albert FitzRoy, only heir of the FitzRoys’ empire, blah blah blah, cut himself out of his vast inheritance.’

  ‘I never cared about that,’ Albert said, sitting on the bed on Josephine’s side, gently kissing her forehead. ‘For how great it was, the monetary loss was nothing in comparison with the joy you brought to my life.’

  ‘You too, darling,’ she answered. ‘You, and our children,’ she said, looking at Paul and Harry and, then, at me too. ‘You filled my life with more satisfaction than I would ever have got as a prima ballerina.’

  I felt tears in my eyes when Paul stood up and went to kiss his mother on the cheek. I started to panic, because this felt too much like a goodbye. I went to sit on the armchair in one corner of the room, trying to keep the sadness out of my eyes, but as if he sensed my emotional state, Paul came to me and encircled my shoulders with his arm.

  Harry folded the newspaper and looked at us, making sure we were ready for the rest and then, theatrically, continued with the reading: ‘Against all predictions, the scandal of their romantic love story, instead of causing harm, opened unexpected doors, which brought them unforeseen financial opportunities, making Albert an even richer and more influential man than he would have ever been if he had just taken over the family business.’

  ‘Bravo,’ said Josephine with a smile. ‘We showed them, didn’t we?’ she added, looking at her husband with adoring eyes. He nodded, taking her hand in his.

  ‘They were high-society darlings,’ Harry continued. ‘Invited to all the important events and well liked by everyone who was anyone in the well-to-do scene.’ He looked up for a moment. ‘Sorry, I’m paraphrasing some of it – you know for effect,’ he added, clearing his throat with a soft cough. ‘They had three amazing, beautiful, and talented children and their lives were even happier than they had imagined or dreamed of. The End,’ he said, finishing with an exaggerated bow.

  ‘Splendid,’ said Josephine, clapping her hands with as much energy as she could find. That worried me slightly and I felt Paul squeezing my shoulder gently when he noticed my frown. His gesture marginally eased my sadness. We all knew why Harry had stopped reading. We knew that the next part of the story – the one that Harry had ignored – didn’t describe a happy ending. In fact, it recounted how Josephine started to feel unwell. I knew that because I’d skimmed the article when I took the newspaper from Josephine, so I knew what the next paragraphs were about.

  Paul had told me the true story, with the details this journalist didn’t really have. Robert was just a newborn when Josephine started to feel unwell, so the doctor dismissed her constant cough and her shortness of breath as conditions related to the tiredness of raising a baby and looking after two young children at the same time. Albert had been worried, because it wasn’t just extreme tiredness that afflicted her; it was weight loss too.

  Against her will he decided to employ Sara as a full-time nanny. That gave Josephine the chance to spend a few hours just lying on the sofa, listening to classical music and trying to win her strength back. When, even with the forced rest, her health was still deteriorating, the pilgrimage from doctor to doctor began to find out the cause of her ailments.

  By the time she was diagnosed with pulmonary emphysema, the damage to her lungs was advanced and, unfortunately, irreversible.

  She didn’t lose her indomitable spirit, and with the right treatments and a constant oxygen supply, she managed to live a fulfilling, if only semi-active, life. The hardest part to accept was that her condition could not be improved, her lungs could not be fixed and, every day, she was getting a little worse.

  Some days, much worse.

  The shortness of breath made her extremely tired and the build-up of mucus made it difficult for her to sleep. She ate very little and her body lost muscle tone from the lack of exercise.

  Then, there were the asthma attacks, and when they were bad, we knew they meant a trip to the hospital. In the past decade, I counted at least one trip to the hospital per winter.

  Sometimes she had to stay in for so long that we spent almost all our Christmas holidays living in the ward with her. We just grew used to it, anaesthetised to the noises and the smell and the uncomfortable chairs. Mostly we didn’t mind, because all we wanted was to be with her. It was a cyclical part of our lives, which came and went like seasons.

  At some point during those ten years, we stopped panicking about the ambulance pulling up in the driveway and started to accept that this was just how it was.

  This time was different.

  The panic we all felt, the panic we were all hiding, was here to stay, bubbling under the surface, ready to explode. No one was saying it out loud, but we were all focusing on the same thought: for the first time Josephine had been rushed to the hospital in the summer.

  ***

  She made it back to the villa one week after she was admitted to the hospital.

  We were relieved as we drove her home. Robert had gone back to Cambridge with Sara just after my birthday party. The autumn term was starting at the beginning of September for secondary school students, so he had to go. Because university didn’t really commence until early October, Harry, Paul, and I were free to stay in France for a few more weeks. I think that was for the best because Josephine was better with us constantly under her feet.

  We spent her first evening back curled up around her on the big four-poster bed, watching Howl’s Moving Castle.

  ‘Another beautiful animation from Studio Ghibli,’ Josephine said when the movie ended.

  ‘Absolutely my favourite Miyazaki,’ I agreed, stretching my legs.

  ‘I still prefer Spirited Away,’ commented Harry, standing up and turning on the lights; then walking towards the door, he said, ‘I’ll get some ice cream. Mum, would you like some?’

  ‘Bien sûr,’ she answered with a smile.

  When he left the room, I turned to watch Josephine as she tried discreetly to catch her breath. She was clearly worn out by the effort. Propped up against two big square pillows, with the si
mple white gown covering her delicate body, she seemed ethereal, already looking more like an angel than a woman. That thought immediately brought tears to my eyes.

  When she noticed that I was upset, she gave me one of her softest smiles. She patted the space in between her and Paul, inviting me there. I looked at Paul first, to make sure it was all right for me to intrude in their intimacy. He nodded and smiled encouragingly, but I could see there was no joy in his eyes, only deep sadness. I had to force myself not to cry as his pain, added to my own, was tearing my heart apart.

  I curled up next to Josephine, my body snuggled between the two people I loved the most in the world. I sensed she wanted to stroke my hair but she seemed too weak to even move her arm, so I reached for her hand and held it in mine.

  After a little while, she said, ‘I’ll just rest for a minute,’ and, closing her eyes, she quickly fell asleep.

  I turned my head and met Paul’s gaze. We moved away from the bed and went to sit on the little sofa that was facing the French doors, opening onto the balcony. Paul looked at me, stroking my cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. His eyes were still sad but there was something else in them too. He dried the single tear that streamed down my cheek.

  ‘She’s just exhausted; she’ll be fine,’ I said quietly, trying to reassure myself with the lies I didn’t quite believe. He nodded after checking on her, over his shoulder.

  This was the first time we’d been alone since we declared our love for each other. I feared this moment, worried that it might feel awkward, because once again we had to leave things slightly unresolved; but being near him felt, as ever, like home. Our kiss had obliterated the three years spent apart, together with doubts and fear.

  ‘You look tired,’ I said, combing his hair with my fingers.

  ‘I can’t sleep.’

  ‘Me neither,’ I whispered under my breath.

  The stars were bright against the dark of the night sky.

  ‘I need to go back to the States early next week, but I don’t want to leave you,’ he said after a pause. I knew he had to go back eventually but I was hoping, now that we were finally together, I would get to spend a few weeks with him, and not just a few days.

  The realisation of how the time was slipping by and the idea of another long separation frightened me. I could see the same fear in his eyes.

  ‘Will you be my date at the party on Friday?’ he asked with a shy smile that was utterly endearing. I nodded, thinking of the infamous party the FitzRoys always threw at the end of every summer. Because Josephine had been so poorly, there was an unusual shadow cast on it. Albert had wanted to cancel the party altogether but Josephine had been adamant about keeping up the tradition as scheduled and carrying on as normal.

  We all knew what she was doing: she was just pushing us to live our lives even if that meant leaving her behind. She was preparing us for the times she would no longer be with us. We all stood behind Albert and insisted on a change of plan, just for this year, but she seemed to be more upset when we fought her on that, so we all went along with it, pretending that we were going to be fine.

  I pushed those thoughts away. Josephine was resting and recuperating and she would be back on her feet soon, I told myself. We had never attended the party together before, because I was usually already back at school by then, so I had to satisfy myself with the photo I would see online or in some glossy magazine. Not this time, I thought with a smile. This time I would be going as Paul’s date, no less. I suddenly realised that would make an unmistakable statement, one for the entire world to see. The idea of it made me shiver.

  Paul was looking at me expectantly so I said, ‘Of course, I’d love to be your date.’ Even if my words came out without hesitation, Paul searched my eyes for a confirmation.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘There will be dancing,’ he added, trying to lighten up the mood.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I answered with a smile. Josephine had taught me all the ballroom dancing a debutante should know. I was even quite good at it; I just didn’t particularly like it and wasn’t keen to show off my skills. Still, dancing would give me the perfect excuse to spend the entire evening in Paul’s arms, so that was certainly a plus. Paul lowered his head, then hesitated before his lips sealed mine with a kiss and I knew we would never be apart again. I knew that neither of us would let it happen.

  Harry returned with the ice cream and we automatically broke apart. I’d told Harry about what had happened between Paul and I, but with Josephine in hospital, we didn’t really have the time to discuss it properly and I just wanted to make sure he was okay with our effusions before we paraded our love in front of him. Paul put a finger across his lips, signalling to be quiet so that he wouldn’t wake Josephine. Harry sighed and walked towards us placing the big tray he was carrying on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  ‘Is she asleep already?’ he whispered.

  I nodded with a smile that I knew didn’t reach my eyes. ‘It’s good that she sleeps,’ I said to fill the emptiness of our worries. Harry nodded and we all took a bowl and ate in silence.

  I looked at Josephine’s bowl, which was slowly melting in the balmy night. We knew we were on borrowed time and every day it was getting a little harder to pretend that she was going to be all right. We left the room when Albert came in.

  ‘Sleepy?’ Paul asked, taking my hands.

  ‘No,’ I said, shaking my head.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Harry

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ Paul suggested.

  We walked to the beach and sat on two empty sun loungers under one of the straw canopies. Harry leaned on the lifeguard chair after pulling it over from the cabana. In the balmy night, the distant lights of bars and cafés still buzzing with holiday-makers added to the magic of the quiet beach. We watched the relentless motion of the waves and stared at the stars. We talked about unimportant stuff, unwilling to face any upsetting topics. At some point in the early hours of the morning I went to sit with Paul, and Harry stretched out on the sun lounger I’d just vacated and fell asleep.

  Paul took me in his arms and, in whispers, told me about fairy tales as I curled up in his lap. When dawn broke, we returned to the villa and went to sleep. I woke up only a few hours later, when someone knocked at the door.

  ‘Harry …? What’s wrong?’ I asked when he walked in.

  ‘Nothing, I’m going to town. Do you want come?’ he asked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did you wake me up?’ I said, leaning back down and covering my face with a pillow.

  ‘Because we can’t possibly stay here! It’s crazy downstairs; there are catering people everywhere. The villa is under siege and they’ve conquered the pool house as well as most of the garden. I need to get out of here; all this energy is driving me crazy. Also, I’m worried that if they see me around, they’ll put me to work. Do you want to come with me or not?’ he asked in an impatient tone while pulling the pillow from my face.

  ‘Where’s Paul?’ I asked, opening only one eye.

  ‘In the office. He said he’s super busy – he sent me away with a grunt.’

  ‘That’s seems a good idea. Go away, Harry,’ I said, grunting as I turned on my tummy, hiding my head under a pillow.

  ‘Oh, come on, Fran,’ he insisted.

  ‘I think I’ll stay,’ I said, my voice muffled by the mattress.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he answered in a grumpy voice. I heard him stomping out of my room and I smiled at the thought of his sulky face. ‘I hope they force you to help,’ he said, slamming the door shut.

  ‘Finally,’ I whispered and went back to sleep.

  When I woke the sun was burning high in the sky. I checked the time: it was almost midday. I got dressed and walked down to the kitchen and immediately understood what Harry meant when he said we were under siege. It was mayhem.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a peach but before I could escape I was recruited to
help with the flower arrangements. Halfway through my third table centrepiece, I regretted not listening to Harry and running away with him when I still had the chance.

  I was finally off duty. Overall the day had been manic but quite fun too. At least forty people had worked relentlessly in preparation for the party, even Josephine, despite being bed-bound, had helped.

  ‘So, your first end-of-summer ball – are you excited?’ she asked with a smile.

  I nodded. Mostly I was excited about being Paul’s date. I hadn’t told her that but I suspected she already knew.

  ‘Do you have a dress?’

  ‘Yes, it’s not very glamorous but I think it’s pretty enough.’

  ‘No. “Pretty” won’t be enough for tonight, my darling, we need fabulous,’ she said, squeezing my fingers gently. ‘Open my wardrobe.’ She pointed at the double-door cupboard on left side of the room. ‘Go on, we have lots to do.’ She hurried me with a big smile and I couldn’t resist complying.

  ‘Now, take that silver gown … No! Not that one, the other one …’

  I touched the beautiful fabric with my fingers; the softness of it gave me a thrill.

  ‘Try it on! Show me,’ she said, excited.

  I undressed quickly but put the dress on with slow and delicate movements. It surprised me how well it fitted me.

  ‘Well … well … now that’s fabulous! It was made for you,’ she said sweetly.

  She arranged my hair, helped me with my make-up, and even chose my accessories. When I looked into the mirror I was gobsmacked at an image of myself that I never seen before and had not imagined possible.

  ‘You are like a fairy godmother, Josephine,’ I said, sitting on the bed next to her.

  ‘You’ll knock Paul’s socks off,’ she said with a wink. ‘Your first proper date, qui?’

  ‘Yes … did he tell you?’

  ‘He told me,’ she said, fussing with my hair. ‘He was nervous, fidgeting like he did on his first day at school. That’s a good thing,’ she added with a smile. I smiled back.