‘Quite the contrary, my dear. I think you’re lucky – we both are, that we hear their voices. I don’t think many of us do when we lose someone close, which of course doesn’t mean they’re not there. Goodness.’ She takes a sip of her tea. ‘I must have spent years thinking about these things. But they never leave our hearts, do they? Our loved ones?’ She winces suddenly, as if she’s in pain.
Alarm fills me. ‘Mary?’
‘It’s nothing, dear.’
‘It doesn’t look like nothing.’ I get up and go over to her. ‘Where does it hurt?’
‘It isn’t now.’ She gives me one of her angelic smiles. But it doesn’t reach her eyes.
‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ I say firmly.
‘Edie, please. I don’t want to go to hospital,’ she pleads.
‘I know you don’t,’ I say. ‘But at the very least, we should get someone to check you out.’
Mary’s quiet as we wait for the paramedics to arrive. When they check her over, they find nothing obviously wrong, agreeing to let her stay at home as long as she sees her GP in the morning.
‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ she says reluctantly. ‘But I already know what he’ll say.’
Suddenly the penny drops. ‘This has happened before, hasn’t it?’
‘Once or twice,’ she admits. ‘Edie, please don’t tell Joe.’
‘He would want to know if you’re not well,’ I say.
‘We don’t actually know yet if anything’s wrong,’ she says persuasively. ‘It would be a shame to worry him for nothing.’
‘OK.’ I pause. ‘But I’ll make an appointment first thing. We’ll see what your GP says.’
The next morning, after telling Lucy what I’m doing, I drive Mary to see her doctor. Seeing her away from the home she knows so well, I notice the impact that unfamiliar surroundings have on her.
Her GP has known her for years, and it transpires it isn’t the first time he’s tried to persuade her to have tests, a request that this time she agrees to.
‘It’s not as though I have a choice, is it?’ she says a little huffily.
‘Because of me?’ I say.
‘Mary, if anything’s wrong, there’s a good chance I can prescribe something to help,’ he tells her. ‘If you’re worried at any time, please call me,’ he says to me.
‘I’m perfectly capable of making my own calls,’ she says, uncharacteristically shortly.
‘It’s OK, Mary. I won’t do anything behind your back,’ I reassure her.
As we drive home, at first, she’s quiet. Then I feel a hand touch my arm lightly. ‘I’m sorry, Edie. I should have told you I never like going to that place,’ she says. ‘It always reminds me how old I am.’
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘Your GP is nice, though.’
‘I suppose he is,’ she says. ‘And it isn’t him. It’s me.’ She sighs. ‘I have a pathological fear of becoming ill and helpless. You know how independent I am.’ She pauses. ‘Can I ask you something? If anything happens to change that, don’t let anyone drag the rest of my life out, just for the sake of keeping me alive.’
‘I think this is a conversation you need to have with Joe,’ I say quietly.
‘I know I should.’ She’s silent for a moment. ‘But he’s lost too many people, that poor boy.’
‘Yes, but on the plus side, he had you,’ I remind her. ‘And he isn’t a boy any more.’
‘You’re quite right,’ she says more briskly. ‘I’m just going to have to face up to this and talk to him, aren’t I?’
‘I think you’ll feel better once you have,’ I tell her.
