sure I saw a jar of maraschino cherries somewhere. Charlie loves those.’
‘I know what those tablets do, Robin. I know why people take them. I know when people take them.’
A palliative drug. The name of it stamped on a part of her brain that wouldn’t ever forget it.
Mary placed a hand on Robin’s arm and that simple, small touch knocked down walls within him. Walls he had kept erected, dam walls holding a lake back. He dropped the wooden spoon on the floor, his hands shot to his eyes, his shoulders began to judder. Then as quickly, he recalibrated, forced himself to rebuild, dashed away the shiny drops of tears from his face for the irritations they were.
‘Look at me, what a fool,’ he said, bending to pick up the spoon then rinsing it under the tap.
‘I didn’t know whether I should say anything or not,’ said Mary. ‘I’m so sorry if I upset you.’
‘Don’t you apologise, love,’ said Robin, giving himself a shake as he tried to steady his ship. ‘To be honest, it’s a blessed relief to let go, even for a few seconds, take myself off the boil. I feel sometimes as if I’m ready to burst.’
Mary’s arms wrapped around him and Robin lowered his head against her shoulder; she felt the wetness of his tears on her own cheek.
‘Oh look, I’m getting you all soggy,’ he said, pulling himself sharply away, striving once again for control. Kindness was a pin in his balloon of decorum. ‘I’m okay. I always said that I’d fold afterwards, when it’s over, not before. I don’t want Charlie to ever see me upset.’
Mary knew how hard it was to keep up that façade, to pretend that everything was ‘normal’ when your stress levels were constantly off the charts.
‘How long has he been given?’ asked Mary gently, taking an apple from a fruit bowl, chopping it into quarters. She knew the finishing line was in sight when Oxycophine was prescribed.
‘Not long,’ said Robin. ‘This will be our last Christmas together, we know that, hence why I pushed the boat out and booked the hotel in Aviemore with all the bells and whistles. Charlie can’t fly now or we would have gone to Austria, he loves it there.’
‘The Oxycophine really helped my dad.’
‘Did it?’ Hope thick in Robin’s voice.
‘Very much,’ said Mary. ‘Dad didn’t want to carry on going to hospitals any more. He was sick of them, so he made the decision to enjoy what time he had left, which would be shorter but the quality would be much better. And it was. He didn’t have to avoid this or that, so long as he didn’t overdo things. He looked forward to his big brandy every night. It made him feel as if he was living a full life, a normal life rather than one filled with lots of restrictions.’
‘How… how long was he on it for?’ asked Robin, his voice wavery with emotion.
‘Three months. He felt good on it – really well, like… old Dad. He slept properly, he had the appetite of a horse too. We knew it was the drug masking the symptoms but that was okay. The hard part was trying to accept the fact that he wasn’t getting better, even though he looked as if he was. The Oxycophine propped him up all the way until the end.’
‘Charlie’s accepted it more than I have,’ said Robin, stirring the wine, hanging on tightly to the spoon as if it was giving him some form of comfort. ‘I can’t think about it. He wants to talk to me about what’s happening and I won’t. I can’t. “Just sit with me for half an hour, Robin” he keeps asking and I know it’s only half an hour but I don’t want to hear what… Oh fucking hell.’ He shooed away a fresh flurry of tears, sniffed back the rest that were forming inside him before they made a show.
‘Will you take a little advice from someone who knows,’ said Mary. ‘Let Charlie talk to you.’
A dull echo of a similar scene played in her head.
Mary, can I talk to you about what’s going to happen?
No, Dad, I can’t. I really can’t.
‘No, Mary, that’s one ask too far,’ said Robin, defiantly.
‘My dad wanted to talk to us,’ said Mary. ‘He wanted to make sure that everything was in place for when he’d gone. It would have given him some peace that he could go with all his ends tied up, all