I am not doing this.
‘Not on your life,’ I tell him, wriggling out of his grasp and reaching angrily for the shampoo.
It’s not until later, when he’s bounced back downstairs and I’m towel-drying my hair, that I realise he hasn’t even asked me how Mum is.
CHAPTER 10
Honor
We move Mum into The Good Vibes Hospice the following Monday. Di takes us, driving so slowly over the million speed bumps we pass between Wimbledon and Notting Hill that it breaks my heart a little. We’ve sandwiched Mum and her oxygen tank in the middle of the backseat between me and Ally. Each of us has one of her hands in ours.
‘This is one of the oddest journeys I’ve ever taken.’ Mum’s head lolls back against the headrest and she sighs.
‘I know, Mum.’ I squeeze her hand. This woman fading away before our eyes is not Mum. This is not who Stephanie Chapman is. She’s an academic, an award-winning writer of several books, a woman who broke glass ceilings before they even had a name, and one who has the ability to be a total bitch when circumstances (usually a man who made the mistake of underestimating her) demand it. At least, that’s who she was.
‘It’s got to be as odd as following your father’s hearse to the crematorium.’
‘Jesus, Mum.’ Ally lets out a humourless half laugh. ‘You’re not dead and buried yet.’
‘I know that, Alison. But it just feels… ominous. Portentous.Final.’
I squeeze her hand again. ‘Don’t be a drama queen. This isn’t the end of the road for you. Good Vibes is a lovely place where highly trained people will make you as comfortable as possible.’
Mum sniffs. ‘Comfortable. That’s a ghastly phrase. What are they going to do—give me a hot toddy and then put a pillow over my face when I’ve passed out?’
‘Mother.’ Ally rolls her eyes. ‘What Duck Face said. Drama queen.’
‘I don’t think euthanasia’s their business model.’ I keep my tone light. ‘They’re more about mani-pedis and string quartets.’
‘That I can manage. And martinis, I hope. As long as they’re not as hippy as their name.’
‘Not hippy at all,’ Ally tells her. ‘It’s very impressive. The delectable Dr Noah runs a tight ship.Andhe’s madly in lust, or in love, with Duck Face. For some unknown reason.’
‘You should have married a doctor.’ Even in her weakened state, Mum can pull off a theatrical sigh.
‘They all have God complexes, don’t they?’
‘Seriously?’ Ally leans around Mum to look at me. ‘Newsflash: you’re married to JacksonJames. I would have thought God complexes were your kink.’
And we both lurch forward in alarm as Mum lets out a huge honk of laughter and rapidly clutches her abdomen.
NOAH
When Honor’s sister—Ally—comesto the door of Good Vibes to tell me they’ve arrived, I leap into action. One of the nurses, Will, grabs a wheelchair, and we go to meet the car. The security guard I clocked outside Mum’s house last week helps Honor out of the car and she exits it like the A-lister she is: feet out first, encased in some painful looking heels, ankles neatly together. I make a supreme effort to drag my gaze up her endless legs to her face as she appears. She’s in a silky sleeveless top and matching shorts, and I have the oddest flashback to Julia Roberts at the polo inPretty Woman. Honor’s channelling the same effect: ultra-feminine, super classy and hot as hell.
I grin and hold my hand out to her, but she turns around and sticks her head back in the car, the security guard hovering by her side. I quickly avert my gaze from this unexpected glimpse of her shapely arse in those silky shorts, and turn jerkily to Ally.
‘Was the journey okay?’
‘It was, surprisingly. Mum was a bit morose when we left the house, but once we started taking the piss out of Honor’s husband, Jackson, she got surprisingly chipper.’
‘Ah. Excellent.’ I’m stuck for words. There it is again: a clue that Jackson James is a figure of fun for the Chapman women rather than a screen idol made flesh. ‘Well, it’s good that she’s cheered up,’ I manage. ‘Will, see if they need help transferring Mrs Chapman, will you?’
Will scoots forward with the wheelchair and Honor backs away from the car to make room for him. In the end, he and the security guard assist the older woman in her surprisingly elegant exit. She’s skeletal, but beautifully groomed, with silver hair in a bob and a colourful silk scarf around her neck despite the warmth of the day. It’s impressive she’s made it here in one piece in her own—or her daughter’s—car. Most of our guests require an ambulance transfer.
It’s important not to fluster guests at these stressful moments of transition. I wait until Honor’s mother is comfortable in her wheelchair, Will at the handles, before I stroll over, a broad grin on my face, and extend my hand.
‘Mrs Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr Noah Thierry, but please call me Noah. I hope you’ll be very comfortable here at Good Vibes.’
