Almost Forever Read online

  ‘Fran! Just stop asking questions and open the damn boxes.’ He chuckled and came closer to kiss my forehead. ‘Come on!’ he encouraged me, seemingly more excited than I was.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I said as I took the first box, gently lifting the lid.

  Inside there was a flier announcing my birthday party in a very popular club in Ibiza, then the address and directions to a private villa for the after-party. Also, there was a famous DJ’s business card, a list of more than three hundred guests, a buffet menu, and the brochure of a local catering company.

  ‘Impressive …’ It was the only thing that came to mind.

  He made no comment.

  ‘May I?’ I asked, reaching for the second box.

  ‘Of course!’

  This box was much heavier than the other one. When I opened it, an immediate smile tugged at my lips, and even if I’d wanted to keep a straight face, I really couldn’t.

  It was half filled with sand and lying on top of it there were three things: a shell, which I recognised immediately. I gave it to him as a present when I was ten. That summer I had got a PADI Open Water Diver Certificate and he was my buddy during my very first certified dive. I was both excited and scared so he held my hand and we reached the bottom together. This shell was lying on the sandy seabed, in between us. I picked it up and gave it to him.

  I remembered that he smiled and pushed it inside the sleeve of his diving suit. He’d kept it for fifteen years. I touched it with the top of my fingers without looking up as I knew my tears would spill if my gaze met his. I checked the other two items instead.

  The second thing in there was a Love Hearts sweet that said, ‘You & Me’.

  I liked this guest list better already. Then, with a corner stuck in the sand there was a key card from the Hôtel Eden.

  ‘I think I know what I’d choose – this is the best present ever!’

  ‘No third box then?’ he asked, reaching out to take the last box away.

  ‘Hands off, these are all mine now,’ I threatened him, snatching the box from the tray with a cheeky grin before he could reach for it.

  It was light. I shook it a little as it felt empty. It made a soft rattling sound. Paul smiled.

  I lifted the lid and took a peek. Inside there was an estate agent brochure folded several times. I opened it up and the picture of a detached Victorian redbrick house twinkled at me from the left corner. Written with a permanent marker on the top of the page in Paul’s neat, elegant handwriting were the words ‘and then you could even marry me’.

  I looked up unable to say anything that would make any sense.

  He waited as I unravelled my thoughts from my emotions. I needed to dissect them one layer at a time.

  ‘Are you buying this house?’ I asked eventually, starting with the easiest question.

  ‘No unless you like it.’

  ‘Like it?! Paul, this is everyone’s dream home. Look at the size, the location – I’d love it even if it was infested with rats.’

  ‘Well, it’s London, so most likely there would be rats …’

  ‘I’ll take the rats …’ I said with a grin.

  ‘All of them?’ he asked with a slightly shaky voice.

  ‘Even the neighbours’ ones,’ I answered softly, closing my eyes when he kissed me.

  ‘So, how about the answer to my question …’ he whispered, a little anxious.

  He had never asked me to marry him quite so explicitly. Many times, during the years we’d been together, he had expressed his desire to marry me and have a family, but he never proposed unequivocally, producing a ring, so I’d always sidestepped the topic.

  ‘Will you only buy this pretty house if I marry you …?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he answered. ‘I’ll still buy the house if you’ll live there with me.’

  ‘I’d love this to be our house, Paul, and I promise I’ll consider the next step, if you don’t put a time limit to my pondering.’

  ‘Deal,’ he said, stretching his hand out to me.

  ‘Deal,’ I agreed, shaking it.

  ‘Can we still go to Antibes too? I love that place. We went there for our first anniversary and it has a special place in my heart,’ I told him with a shy smile.

  ‘Sure, we can.’ He smiled in return. ‘It’s kind of already booked.’

  ‘Paul,’ was the last word I managed to say before he claimed my lips with his. ‘I don’t care for the big party though …’ I whispered into his ear.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘That was just a little red herring … just for fun.’ He laughed softly while we looked at the details of one of the most beautiful houses I had ever seen.

  An hour later, we received the call that we’d been dreading for a very long time, the call that carried the news we’d prepared for, but would never be ready to accept.

  Josephine had been rushed to the hospital, one final time.

  She went through the usual routine and when her condition was stable we resumed our lives. She forced us to keep our summer plans. She promised she would be the first guest to come for dinner in our new place and we all went along with the lie, because it was easier than admitting the truth. So, when she returned home from the hospital, we flew to France for a week.

  We realised something wasn’t quite right with her when we returned from Antibes. She was spending most of her days in bed. Sometimes she was so tired she would skip lunch, or dinner, or both. Her body was emaciated, made out of frail bones and ashen skin. No spark was left in her eyes. The beautiful features of her face disappeared under the strain of breathing. The cracked, dry lips that never seemed to heal and the opaque tiredness that veiled her eyes completed a portrait of pain and quiet suffering.

  When she was too weak to even drink, Albert decided that it was time to take her back to the hospital to see her consultant. She didn’t want to leave her house but she went along to give Albert a little respite.

  She asked us not to go with her this time; she just said she would be back soon.

  The doctor confirmed what she already knew, what we all already knew. She was now at the very final stage of her life. There was nothing left for the illness to claim.

  The doctor recommended a local hospice where she could spend her last days in peace, with the medical support she needed, only to be told by a very determined Josephine that she had already made arrangements and she wanted to go home. The nurse arrived one hour before Josephine returned from the hospital. When we were finally allowed in her room, I had to hold tightly to Paul’s hand to find the strength to get closer to her without crying.

  Albert, who had been sitting next to her, stood up and walked to the window. The curtains were open but the shutters were tilted so that only the faintest glow was filtering through.

  ‘Hello, Mama,’ said Harry while kissing her forehead.

  She smiled briefly at Harry and then turned her eyes to look at Robert, who was holding her hand. Painfully slowly, she turned to Paul and I. ‘My children …’ she said in French. ‘I loved you all so much … you made me so proud.’

  I couldn’t really see her face through the tears that were filling up my eyes.

  ‘Fran, thank you for being my daughter, even if I didn’t give birth to you; all of you were everything I had hoped for and more, much, much, more … You came straight out of my dreams.’

  I looked up at Paul. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it softly. My heart was broken and full of love at the same time. After a little while, Josephine started to gasp for air so the nurse asked us to leave. She said that the morphine would make her more comfortable, easing her breathing too, and that resting would help restore some of her strength. Josephine slept well that night while we took turns to sit at her bedside.

  The next day we were delighted to see how much better Josephine looked, how much more alert and energetic she was. The nurse said that this was the best time to say our goodbyes.

  ‘She’s getting better, can’t you see?’ I said with a fro
wn. ‘Why are you being so negative?’

  ‘It’s quite common for a terminally ill patient to suddenly seem to get better, usually when the end is near.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I said angrily. What she was saying seemed counterintuitive. She was recovering – that was the only answer I was ready to accept.

  I was so ill prepared for what was coming that I convinced myself she would pull through like she always did. I asked myself how my life would be after she was gone. Would the day ever come when I would not think of her? Would I be flooded with guilt if that happened? How would Albert cope without her? Would any of us manage to get on with our lives in the same way as when she was with us?

  Resolutely and with none of the answers I needed, I walked into her room with a smile on my lips and pain in my heart. I sat next to her, surrounded by Harry, Paul, and Robert, trying to find the best way to tell her of my immense love for her. No words left my knotted throat. No one else seemed to find their voices either. Her laboured breathing and the quiet buzz of the oxygen machine were the only noise around us.

  ‘Do you remember …’ she paused in between breaths ‘… when we took you to Paris for the first time … Fran?’ she asked in a feeble voice.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You told me about the Greek myth of the Champs-Élysées …’

  I nodded and smiled.

  ‘You said that if one of the mortals was liked by the gods then he or she would be invited by them into the Elysium.’

  I nodded again.

  ‘Tell me about it … one more time,’ she asked, holding her hand up, reaching for me.

  I quickly took her cold, almost lifeless fingers in mine and held them tightly. She seemed to be relaxing as she closed her eyes. ‘Tell me about it, Fran,’ she whispered.

  I looked at Paul, standing next to me, his face trying to contain his true feelings. My eyes were filling with tears and I knew that if I spoke I wouldn’t manage to keep the ache breaking my heart out of my voice.

  He lowered his head to my ear and whispered, ‘Give her a beautiful place where she can spend the rest of eternity.’

  At those words, my tears spilled and the pain seemed unbearable. He kissed my forehead.

  I turned back to Josephine and, unexpectedly, a warm sense of closure pervaded me. Unsure of how to tackle such a difficult task I let that warmth guide my words.

  ‘The gods in Elysium will love you, Josephine, just as much as the humans on this Earth did. Probably even more because they have much better taste. They’re waiting for you; they’ve been waiting their whole lives just for you. They want to see you dance.’ She smiled with her eyes shut. We cried in silence.

  ‘They have prepared a stage in a beautiful amphitheatre all built with white marble. It has been reserved just for you. The best “prima ballerina” deserves her own private stage.’

  She kept a smile on her lips. I hoped she could see what I was seeing. She was young again, strong and magnificent.

  ‘Up there, in Elysium, the night never starts, the day never ends, and the stars and the moon are bright and so near, you can touch them with the tips of your fingers. They shine from dawn to dusk with a soft glow that paints everything indigo.’

  I sniffled and she murmured, ‘Indigo is my favourite colour.’ I nodded even if I knew she wasn’t looking at me.

  ‘It’s never cold, and never hot. In fact, Elysium sits at the centre of the Eternal Spring. Flowers and trees are always in bloom. Blossoms spread their delicate scent on the warm gentle breeze. Birds sing sweet notes but they quieten down at your command. They will sing just for you, Josephine, if you want them to, so you can dance, weightless, in the most beautiful place that ever existed.’

  I took Paul’s hand in mine. ‘We will look up at the sky, we will search for the brightest of stars, and we’ll know where you are; we will know that you are dancing and that you are happy, and that will make us happy too. We will smile thinking of you. We will live our life to the fullest knowing that you are watching over us, waiting for the day we’ll see each other again, so we will be together forever.’ A sob broke out of my throat.

  ‘Mon cher,’ she whispered and Albert moved closer to her. ‘C’est l’heure.’ She said the words with finality.

  Albert cradled her gently in his arms and softly kissed her eyes. Paul held her hand gently to my cheek as I silently said goodbye to the woman who had been the only mother I’d ever known, the woman who forged me into the person I had become.

  When her hand went limp in mine, I cradled Paul in my arms as we cried together, until we had no more tears left.

  ***

  Harry returns from the flower-giving tour with a satisfied smile on his face. I guess a little distraction and a sense of purpose gave him something to feel good about.

  He tells me about a little girl who had her appendix taken out and smiled for the first time when Harry let her choose a new teddy. He says that it was sad to see how many old people didn’t have anyone to visit them and spent long hours staring at the walls because their eyes were too tired to read and their hands too weak to knit.

  I change the subject as soon as I can because my emotions are so raw and close to the surface that every word he says grates against my heart, exacerbating my pain.

  ‘Do you know when the doctor is supposed to give us the results of the scan?’ I ask Harry, fussing with the bedcover. They brought Paul back a few minutes ago and since then I’ve been trying to tuck him under the sheets, without making them too tight. I’m annoyed that I can’t quite get it right.

  ‘That’s a good question. He said he would let us know as soon as possible. I could go and ask one of the nurses?’ he offers.

  ‘Maybe we should, because tomorrow is Saturday and he may be off.’ Before Harry can answer me, Jane knocks at the door.

  ‘Dr Stewart is ready for you,’ she says quietly. Her tone is too official for it to be good news and I start to panic. ‘He’s waiting for you in his office.’

  I watch as Harry stands up to follow her. I wish Dr Stewart would come to us, so I didn’t have to leave Paul again.

  ‘We’d better go,’ says Harry, waiting for me at the door. Reluctantly, I kiss Paul’s forehead and follow Harry down the corridor.

  ‘Please have a seat,’ says Dr Stewart, pointing at the two chairs in front of his desk. I’m too nervous to sit but also too tired to have a polite exchange about why I don’t want to, so I pick one of the two small armchairs he pointed at and perch on it, in a rigid position.

  ‘We found an aneurysm on the left side of Paul’s brain,’ he says and his words are like a bullet into my heart. My vision is blurring and my breath has just been knocked out of me by the pain. My mind is convulsing from the myriad of scenarios ahead of me. Aneurysms cause strokes; strokes cause haemorrhages; people die from less.

  I stand up, shaky on my legs. My head is spinning and I can’t catch my breath. I can see Harry standing too. The doctor is leaning over his desk towards me, and everything around me is blurred by a thick dark contouring.

  Suddenly, I feel cold and warm at the same time. I have goose bumps on my arms and my legs are beginning to wobble. I feel as if part of me has detached itself from the rest of my body and I’m now watching my other self, falling, inexorably out of control.

  Harry outstretches his arms trying to reach for me. I want to go to him, to let him hold me, but my brain has no power over my actions and the worry in Harry’s eyes is the last thing I see, before everything around me is swallowed by darkness.

  My depleted body has just switched itself off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I feel weird. I’m not unconscious, but I’m not awake either. I’m floating somewhere near the surface. I can’t open my eyes but there are noises around me.

  I hear the voices. They are clearer now, and they belong to someone I don’t recognise.

  I don’t know where I am and, in the dark, I’m looking for Paul. I want to call for him, saying his
name. I need to find him. I feel so lost not knowing where he is, but every time I try to open my eyes I can feel my body tensing, making that simple action a monumental struggle.

  My very best effort only results in a flutter of my eyelids.

  ‘Miss Willson.’ I hear a voice calling my name, but I can’t respond. ‘Your sister is very lucky she was at the hospital when she passed out,’ the voice is saying.

  Becca? Becca is here. Am I still at the hospital?

  ‘I’m not her sister,’ I hear Georgie’s voice clarifying, but her tone is so soft that she is almost implying that only genetics are stopping us from being siblings. I try again to open my eyes to look at her, to tell her how relieved I am to know she is here, but my body is still not responding to my command. I try to concentrate on the conversation, try to make sense of what happened to me but my brain seems confused.

  ‘Miss Willson was suffering from severe dehydration,’ someone – who I assume is the doctor – continues. ‘She’s on a saline drip and I’m sure she will recover completely and very quickly. I would like to keep her under observation overnight, just as a precaution, but she’ll need to rest.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor Mistry, I’ll make sure she takes it easy,’ I hear Georgie’s voice answering. I’m confused about the noises around me. I hear steps, but I’m not sure if someone has just arrived or left. I’m not sure how much time has passed before I hear more chatter.

  ‘How is she?’ I recognise Harry’s voice. I can feel his presence, but my eyelids stay shut, my limbs are like lead, and I feel the darkness swallowing me again.

  When I wake up this time, I do it with a jolt.

  I’m gasping for air as my eyes spring open, only to squint immediately against the bright light.

  ‘Paul …’ I mutter, sitting up. Someone’s holding my hand. ‘Paul?’ I ask as I try to focus on the figure at my side.

  ‘It’s Georgie,’ she says, her voice laden with emotion.

  I take a deep breath and lean back slowly until my back is once again supported by pillows. Coming back to reality, and remembering the situation with Paul is the worst part.