‘Mate!’ Jackson stepped forward and shook my hand vigorously, slapping me on the back with his other hand. ‘Good to see you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m so sorry for all that press bullshit. Not what you needed at all, man. Thanks for bearing with us.’
‘It’s no problem at all.’ It was surprisingly hard to keep my voice, and my smile, steady. ‘I’m just glad you’ve got everything resolved with the papers.’
Jackson jerked his head towards Honor, who was watching us nervously. ‘My wife, the media mogul. She sorted it all. She’s amazing.’
I hoped my face didn’t give away my entire emotional state as I agreed. ‘She is.’ I turned to Honor. ‘Elena’s upstairs. She’ll pop in and brief you.’ Elena was in fact sporting a bouncy blow-dry and more makeup than I’d ever seen on her in anticipation of Jackson James’ visit.
And then they were off upstairs, as nurses with hearts in their eyes peeked out of every door. I watched them go. The love of my life. Her movie-star husband. Her beautiful children. The four of them operated in a different space from me. It was as though they breathed different air. I was one of those stupid mortals who’d dallied with the gods, and now I was suffering the eternal damnation.
The days passin a blur of relentless activity, driven by desperation. I’m a live wire, working and working out and doing whatever I can to run myself into the ground. I’m exhausted, but it’s not enough. It’s as though there’s an itchunder my skin, and my blood is bubbling, and my limbs are restless in wake and sleep. I’m abusing my adrenal system so shamefully that it reminds me of my days as a junior doctor, but I can’t find peace.
I’m miserable when I cross paths with Honor at Good Vibes, and I’m just as miserable when she comes in and doesn’t seek me out. Meanwhile, Stephanie is on the final stretch of her journey and Elena, I and our team focus on monitoring the signs of her decline and rigorously prioritising her comfort.
Her nervous system and cognitive function are still holding up well, and I’m grateful for that on her daughters’ behalf, but her cardiovascular system is faltering, leaving her extremities cold and mottled. She’s so skeletal now that the nursing staff are placing pillows between her knees when they position her on her side, and appetite is declining steadily.
But she still has the energy to twinkle at me when I poke my head around the door. Earlier today, I checked in on her, taking a pew by her bed for a quick chat. I couldn’t take my eyes off the large, silver-framed photo by her bed—Stephanie and Honor and Ally. It was a professional photo, the three of them back-lit by the sun, their faces crinkled with genuine laughter. It took my breath away.
Stephanie caught me looking. ‘She’s magnificent, isn’t she?’
There was definitely nothing wrong with her cognitive function yet. I answered with a sheepish grin and a quick nod of my head.
‘I’ll be off, then. I’ll see you later, Stephanie.’
As I rose, she raised a hand with great effort to stop me. ‘You’re a wonderful man, Noah. I wish you could be the one to look after my eldest daughter when I’m gone.’
I turned away quickly so she wouldn’t see the moisture in my eyes.
Ally was here this afternoon, and Honor’s been here all evening. I take a deep breath and mount the stairs and do what I’ve been sitting on my hands to prevent all evening: I go to see her.
It’s almost ten. I lean against Stephanie’s door frame. She looks to be sound asleep, and Honor’s sitting by her bed, her laptop open on her lap. She’s the most dressed-down I’ve ever seen her, in yoga pants and a loose sweater, and she passes a hand tiredly over her face.
‘Hey.’
She looks over her shoulder and I’m gratified by the extent to which her face brightens.
‘Have you eaten?’ I hold up a large Ottolenghi carrier bag, and her mouth opens into an O as round and red as the iconic O on the packaging.
She snaps her laptop shut and comes over to me. ‘You little beauty. Seriously?’
‘Seriously. I got tonnes. Thought you might be hungry. Will you come and eat with me downstairs?’
CHAPTER 34
Honor
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more heavenly apparition than Noah, framed in the doorway, wearing my favourite Homer t-shirt and bearing Ottolenghi. I follow him downstairs like he’s the Pied Piper.
‘Ally says Mum’s not eating at all,’ I say as he unpacks a feast from cardboard boxes. ‘Is there nothing you can do? Can you put her on a drip or something? I feel like she’s given up the fight, and I’m not ready for that.’
He grabs some cutlery from the sideboard in the kitchen and lays it on the table in a pile.
‘Here’s the thing. It’s understandable to find it upsetting when a loved one who is dying stops eating. But your mum’s waning appetite is a sign that she’s nearing the end of her struggle. It won’t be what kills her now.’
‘But can’t we—I don’t know, delay things slightly?’ The panic is rising and threatens to overflow.
Noah hands me a plate. ‘Forcing her body to process food won’t do her any good at this point, and it could cause her discomfort or distress. Our digestive processes require so much energy. Your mum’s body doesn’t have the resources tohandle extra nutrition anymore, so she’s using up her own stores instead. Hence the weight loss. Nature is very efficient that way.’
We sit, and he puts a serving spoon in each container, piling perfectly roasted aubergine with black garlic yoghurt—my absolute favourite—onto my plate.
