Imake three espressos, glad for the opportunity to turn my back on the awkward scene I just interrupted. Hearing Honor Chapman referring to her famous and infamous spouse asmy useless fucking husbandhas given me far more of a thrill than it should have. At least she’s fighting back against Jackson James’ outrageous shenanigans. She’s feistier than the press gives her credit for. Contempt seems a healthier reaction than heartbreak.
By the time the three of us sit down, the two women on the sofa and me on a nearby cocktail chair, the tension has eased. I hand Honor her espresso cup and saucer, forcing myself to make the clear, friendly eye contact any doctor would make with a patient’s family member.
I’ve been trying to control my glances at her since she walked in here in the ridiculous and jaw-droppingly gorgeous little dress she’s wearing today. It’s a pale, sea-foam green that sets off her huge, green Disney eyes and her pale auburn hair perfectly. It’s made of some super-light, silky fabric with an abundance of frothy ruffles. She’s wearing high,strappy sandals, and between the dress and sandals lie acres of pale, satiny leg.
She crosses her legs daintily as she settles down on the sofa with her coffee, and I catch a couple of perfect little freckles on the side of her thigh and hastily avert my gaze. I’ve grown up in privilege, seen and even dated women in these circles, but I’ve never quite had the same impression of otherworldliness from any of them that I have from Honor. How does she even achieve this, every morning, before she presumably does the school run? Nature has blessed her, that’s for sure, but I’m not naïve enough to think she wakes up like this.
Although, if she has to deal with potentially being splashed across the front pages every day, it makes sense that she wants to make an effort, portray a certain image to the world. The entire process must be exhausting.
I shift into professional mode. These two women, and their mother, have already begun understanding and grieving the imminence of death, and it’s my job to make the process as smooth and as meaningful as is possible.
‘I know this place is a lot to take in,’ I say. ‘Do you have any initial thoughts?’
‘It’s much—happier—than I expected,’ Ally says. ‘Less scary. It feels very calm and warm.’
‘Calm and warm is a good start. I’m glad you feel that way.’ I smile at her. It’s easier to focus on the job at hand when I’m talking to Ally. She’s normal. Very attractive—but a normal woman. Not like the mythical goddess sitting next to her, the goddess who’s been the object of my most prolonged and intense celebrity crush ever. ‘I understand your mother’s been staying with you and your family these past few weeks?’
‘Yeah.’ Ally rubs her eyes with her hand. ‘And it’s been seriously weird. I mean, it’s fine, because she’s my mum and that’s what you do for family, right? But it’s a strain. We don’t really have the space, and the kids are finding it a bit freaky,having Grandma there, super sick and confined to her bed most of the time, and all the medical equipment and oxygen tanks that are suddenly around, and having a nurse in the house, too…
‘And I know Mum is uncomfortable about it too, because she’s the one who’s been pushing us to find somewhere more—permanent. She says she doesn’t feel comfortable taking over the house like this, and she’d rather be somewhere that’s more her own, where she’s not imposing. Which is silly, but…’
She trails off, and I nod. This guilt among family members when it comes to transferring dying patients to a hospice or hospital is so common, and so understandable.
‘I get it,’ I tell Ally now. ‘Having the spectre of illness and death hanging over your home, which has been a safe space for your family, is very unsettling, and even upsetting. Especially if you have children. One of the biggest advantages to a hospice is that you and your mum have an entire team focused on making this final part of her life a human experience. It’s not about medicine now. It’s about us taking the burden off you—the burden of caregiving and ensuring your mum is comfortable and as pain-free as possible.
‘And by doing that, we free you and your family up to do what you should be doing—spending meaningful, high-quality time with your mum. Talking about her wishes for the remainder of her life as well as after her death. Seeing loved ones. Reminiscing about happy times. All of these things are so important, and I promise you, the time your mum has left with you doesn’t have to be filled with pain and grief. It can be special, happy. That’s what we’re here for. That’spreciselywhy we created this place.’
I pause to give them time to process. They’re both staring at me. Ally looks to be on the verge of tears.
‘That sounds… amazing,’ she tells me shakily. ‘Like, heavenly. I feel so guilty that we can’t look after Mum properly, and when I think about what lies ahead for us all, I imagine this awful, horrifying descent into death with lots of pain and suffering for Mum—it sounds like it’s just going to get worse and worse, from what I’ve heard.’
I lean forward, put down my cup.
‘Not at all. Honestly. Often, it can be the treatment stage that’s the most traumatic: the endless cycle of hope and crashing disappointment, and that mentality of always having to be fighting whatever illness it is—particularly for cancer patients. But the benefit of the palliative phase is that it can bring with it acceptance, and with that comes a sense of peace. Don’t feel guilty aboutanything, you hear me? You are not qualified for this. We are. Offload it.
‘The one thing your mum doesn’t have is time. Use that time doing what you’re qualified to do, which is to be her daughters, whom she loves. Delegate the rest to us. It’s no exaggeration to say that many of the most beautiful moments of human connection I’ve ever had the privilege to witness have been here, or on palliative care wards. I promise you, we will find a way to give your mother some peace, and I hope you will find some peace through this process, too.’
My gaze flits from one to the other while I speak. Tears are now running down Ally’s cheek. Honor shifts to rummage in her handbag, pulling out a tissue, which she gives to Ally. It’s perfectly reasonable for Ally to be upset; she’s been shouldering the bulk of the burden so far.
I hold my hands up. ‘Listen. I don’t mean to give you a hard sell. You should check out some other facilities too, before you make your decision. I’m happy to suggest some names, if you’d like to check out a few places. I just want you to know that you aren’t alone, and you absolutely should not need to shoulder this burden without proper help.’
The two women look at each other again, and Honor gives a tiny nod of her head.
‘I think this place sounds perfect,’ she says. ‘You’ve said all the right things. Right now, we’re so overwhelmed, and so worried about what lies ahead for Mum. The idea that we can salvage something out of all this and ensure that the next few months aren’t a total bloody nightmare is—heavenly, as Ally said.’
A weight leaves my chest. Good Vibes can help this family; it really can. I categorically do not allow myself to think about the fact that I’ll doubtless be seeing far more of Honor too.
‘That’s great news,’ I say brightly. ‘Can I ask how your mum is finding everything at the moment?’
We discuss their mother, Stephanie’s, latest conversations with her oncologists, her prognosis (which is three to six months), the shocking speed of her decline and weight loss so far, and the fact that the recent diagnosis and prognosis have completely taken the wind out of her sails.
‘She’s usually so feisty,’ Ally says. ‘Like, seriously feisty. But it’s like she’s just given up.’
‘That’s common. Also, remember her body is being ravaged. She’s exhausted. The silver lining is that she doesn’t have to fight when she’s here. Once she’s at Good Vibes, the small things will become the big things. Little things are so important to letting our guests feel that they are truly seen and human andalive, rather than just written off. Hence the tea and cake. We have musicians visit weekly.
‘And we’ll ask you and your mum, if she’s up to it, to complete a long and tedious questionnaire when she arrives. It means that if pedicures are what she needs to feel her best, we’ll know about it, and we’ll take care of it. Or if she likes a blow-dry. Or whether she’s a side-sleeper or a back-sleeper. And exactly how she likes her tea. And in these tiny ways, we will honour and celebrate the very essence of what makes your mum your mum, for as long as we have with her.’
‘God.’ Ally has her tissue to her eyes. ‘It sounds bloodyamazing. Thank you, Dr Noah. I’m so happy Honor here found you.’
