Owen and the paramedics into the house and I watch them, stricken, not wanting to be the nosy neighbour who stares, but not wanting to be the callous neighbour who turns away, either.
And as I’m standing there, it occurs to me: there is something I could do. I hurry home, dash into the empty, silent kitchen, and start rooting around in the fridge. We had a supermarket order recently and it’s pretty full, and to be honest, I’ve never felt less like eating.
I load up a tray with a packet of ham, a pot of guacamole, a bag of ‘perfectly ripe pears’, two frozen baguettes that just need eight minutes in the oven, a jar of nuts left over from Christmas, a packet of dates also left over from Christmas and a bar of chocolate. Then, balancing it on one hand, I head outside and along to John and Owen’s house. The ambulance has gone. Everything seems very silent.
Should I leave the tray on the doorstep and not disturb them? No. They might not realize it’s there until it’s tomorrow and the foxes have ripped it to bits.
Cautiously I ring the bell, and form my face into an apologetic expression as John answers. His eyes are red-rimmed, I instantly notice. They weren’t before. I feel a jab through my heart and want to back away instantly; leaving him in his private space. But I’m here now. And so I clear my throat a couple of times and say awkwardly, ‘I just thought you might like … You might not have thought about food …’
‘My dear.’ His face crinkles. ‘My dear, you are too kind.’
‘Shall I bring it in?’
Slowly I proceed through the house, afraid of disturbing Owen, but John nods towards the closed sitting-room door and says, ‘He’s resting.’
I put the tray on the kitchen counter and the cold items in the fridge, noticing how bare it is. I’m going to get Tilda in on this, too. We’ll make sure they’re permanently stocked up.
As I finish, I turn to see that John seems lost in a reverie. I wait in wary silence, not wanting to break his thoughts.
‘Your daughter.’ He suddenly comes to. ‘I believe she left … a small rabbit. Small … white … large ears …’ He describes vaguely with his hands. ‘Not a breed I recognize …’
‘Oh! You mean her Sylvanian Families. I’m sorry. She leaves them everywhere.’
‘I’ll fetch it for you.’
‘Let me!’
I follow him out to his greenhouse, where sure enough one of Tessa’s Sylvanian rabbits is standing incongruously by the rows of frondy plants. As I pick it up, John seems lost again, this time transfixed by one of the plants, and I remember something Tilda told me the other day. She said she’d googled John and apparently his research on plants has led to a breakthrough in gene therapy, which could help millions of people. (I have no idea how that works, but there you go.)
‘It’s an amazing life’s work you’ve achieved,’ I venture, wanting to say something positive.
‘Oh, my work will never be done,’ he says, almost as though amused. His face softens and he rubs a leaf between his fingers lovingly. ‘These wonders will never reveal all their secrets. I’ve been learning about them ever since I was a boy. Every time I look at them I learn a little more. And as a result I love them a little more.’ He moves a pot tenderly, patting its fronds. ‘Tiny miracles. Much like people.’
I’m not quite sure if he’s talking to me or to himself, but every word he says feels like a drop of Wise Potion. I want to hear more. I want him to tell me all the answers to life.
‘I don’t know how you—’ I break off, rubbing my nose, inhaling the earthy, greeny smell of the plants. ‘You’re very inspiring. Dan and I have …’ I swallow hard. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter about us. I just want you to know, you’re inspiring. Fifty-nine years.’ I look straight at him. ‘Fifty-nine years, loving one person. It’s something. It’s an achievement.’
John is silent for a few moments, his hands moving absently around his plants, his eyes far off with thought.
‘I am an early riser,’ he says at last. ‘So I watch Owen wake up every morning. And each morning reveals something new. The light catches his face in a particular way, he has a fresh thought, he shares a memory. Love is finding one person infinitely fascinating.’ John seems lost