Breach of Faith (27 page)

“I thought you were going to keep it up,” I accused. “I thought you wanted to try to stay alive until the baby’s born.”

Frank reached across and took my hand. His grip was weak, his fingers long and thin, the nails cracked. “It’s not going to happen, Kate.”

“How do you know?” I hissed, pulling my hand out of his. I could feel the tears threatening once again, tears of pain and anger, of fear. “The doctor said you might make it so why are you giving up?”

I knew I wasn’t being fair but I didn’t care, not now, not when I needed him so much. He smiled sadly, and grasped my fingers again.

“There’s no chance, Kate. The chemo doesn’t help, it’s just making me feel sick. I’ll never live to see our baby,” he gestured with one long finger towards my swollen belly, “but I can improve my quality of life now. Kate, it’s for the best, you know it is.”

For the best …
yes, I knew it was. I knew medicine could no longer offer Frank the hope he needed. Now it was up to me to make his last weeks the best and most comfortable they could possibly be.

So what the hell was I doing here?

I peered across the road again, trying to make out the faces of the men in the warehouse opposite. The shop next door was quiet for now, the man behind the counter twiddling his thumbs, wondering what to do. Finally he disappeared into the darkness in the rear of the cluttered room, reappearing in the warehouse moments later. He waved to another man who was just about to climb into a small lorry.

There! It was him.

Moving to my left to get a better view, I watched as Will started the engine, a rakish grin on his handsome face and waving as he pulled slowly away from the warehouse, disappearing down the street.

I let out the breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding, my heart going nineteen-to-the-dozen and I rubbed absently at my bulge, which had started playing football with my bladder. I closed my eyes.

After all this time, all that had happened, why did I still feel this way? Why on earth did I still love him?

The image of Will in the truck danced behind my lowered eyelids. Looking at me, smiling that smile that made my heart miss a beat, eyes half closed and eyebrows raised seductively.

I gulped and opened my eyes, just as a hand touched me gently on the arm.

“Are you okay, Kate?”

I took a small step backwards, a surprised squawk falling from my lips. My heel scraped down the brick wall behind and I winced in pain.

“Kate? You look terrible. Come and sit down for a bit. You’ve just missed Will but he’ll be back in an hour or so if you’d like to wait.”

He was looking at me with concern. I glared back; my utter loathing must have been stamped on my face because he took a little step away, the concern giving way to surprised unease.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I spat.

He frowned, “Kate, have I done something to upset you?”

“Upset me?” I chuckled humourlessly my eyes blazing. “What on earth would give you that idea, Carl? I know, let’s go and have a little chinwag. Hmmm, what on earth could we talk about?” I paused, pretending to think carefully, “I know, maybe we could have a little chat about Will. Compare notes, that sort of thing.”

Carl looked wary, his eyes hesitantly meeting mine. Probably worried, I thought, in case I decide to geld him with a nail file.

“What?” I continued politely, “don’t you want a nice cosy chat? Oh Carl, I was so looking forward to hearing all the gossip you must have about my husband. You two spend so much time together, what
do
you boys get up to?” I leaned forwards, my mouth just inches from his ear, “don’t worry,” I whispered loudly, “you won’t shock me.” I pulled my face away again, feigned interest replaced with disgust. “Come on, Carl, don’t be shy, you can share your little secret with me.”

Carl looked away, a redness tinging his cheeks. “You’ll have to speak to him.”

“What was that?” I enquired loudly. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

Carl cringed, his face was no longer red, he was now an unhealthy shade of grey. “You’ll have to speak to your husband about that. I’m sorry, Kate, it’s not my place to talk about this with you.”

“Not your place?” I stepped forward and pushed Carl roughly, “not your fucking place? I’m warning you, keep your filthy fucking hands off my husband or else …”

“Or else what?”

“Just stay away,” I snapped and shoved past him, walking briskly away.

*

Shoving open the garden gate, I winced as it smashed back against the fence, noting absently as one of the old wooden slats clattered onto the path.

“Shit!”

“Mummy? Are you okay?”

I looked down at my daughter’s upturned face and forced myself to smile. “Of course, sweetheart,” I lied between clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”

Kensie frowned and Tom looked down at the broken gate. “Mummy said a naughty word and broke that.” He pointed with his stubby finger at the wooden slat.

I pulled the door key out of my pocket and slid it into the lock. “I’ll get it fixed.” I pushed the front door open, gentler than the gate.

“Frank?” Kensie’s shocked voice made me jump and I stared down the hallway. Frank’s body was crumpled on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.

I screamed and ran to him. “Frank? Oh, God, no. Please, Frank, wake up.” I put my hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently as tears ran down my cheeks.

“Please wake up, Frank. Don’t die, not yet … not now.”

21 February

The next few hours passed in a haze of doctors, hospital and shock; a blur of indecision and blind panic threatening to overwhelm me. Frank’s grey face haunting my every thought, my daughter’s screams echoing in my ears.

Sorting out the children had been the easy part, shepherding them out of the house after Frank was taken away and depositing them with friends for the night. Tommy had cried and clung to my leg, over and over again asking about Frank. Was he all right? Why wasn’t he moving? Would he still take them to the park tomorrow?

Breaking every speed limit I’d raced to the hospital.
What if?
my mind kept asking,
what if?

I’d been met by Frank’s oncologist, a sorrowful, tired man, disjointed phrases and terrifying verbs falling out of his mouth.

“Alive but weak …”

“… bruising and a large laceration …”

“… not much longer now …”

“… talk some sense into him?”

My mind was whirring, confused, and I frowned. “I’m sorry? He said what?”

“I said,” the doctor replied patiently, “that Frank is determined to go home. Now. Thankfully the fall down the stairs only resulted in bruising and a superficial cut to the head, however, coupled with the advanced state of his leukaemia, the shock to his body has been great. Mrs Robson, I’m urging you to talk some sense into the man and convince him that hospital is the best place for him.”

I hesitated. Frank had anticipated this and was adamant he wanted to die in the comfort and dignity of his own home. My head was telling me to agree with the doctor, to force Frank to stay here where he could get professional care. My heart, on the other hand, didn’t agree.

“How long?” I asked bluntly.

The doctor didn’t pretend not to understand, his face clouded with professional sympathy. “A day, maybe two. He’s very sick, Mrs Robson.”

I gulped and glanced towards the closed curtains at the end of the corridor, beyond which one of my best friends lay dying. Clutching tight to the strap on my bag, I brought teary eyes back to the doctor. “Two days?”

The doctor nodded, “Mrs Robson –”

“What difference can you make?” I blurted out. “What difference would it make to his quality of life or his life expectancy if he was to remain here, in hospital?”

The doctor shrugged, “we can make him as comfortable as possible and offer him the dignity he deserves. We have the medical staff to –”

I waved my hand impatiently, “yes, yes, I know all that. But can you make him live longer? Can you extend his life to such a degree that it makes a difference to
him
?”

“Mrs Robson, Frank’s going to need round the clock care from now on. He won’t be able to do anything for himself. He’ll be bed-ridden.” The doctor calmly steered me towards Frank’s cubicle. “He’ll need a nurse to help him eat, wash, check medications and catheter. He’ll probably sleep a lot through weakness and pain and, eventually, he just won’t wake up.”

We reached the closed curtains and the doctor stopped, catching hold of my arm, forcing me to turn and face him, “I’m sorry to be so blunt but, I assure you, hospital is the best place for your friend.”

I smiled sadly and reached out to open the curtains. “It’s his decision, doctor,” I replied, then inclined my head in acknowledgement of what the doctor was saying, “but I’ll speak to him.”

Taking a deep breath, I gently pulled back the stain-proof curtains and stepped through. I could hear the doctor’s footsteps as he moved away, the voices of the nursing staff as they went about their jobs of saving lives.

They can’t save this one,
the little voice sounded surprisingly sympathetic.

“No, they can’t,” I murmured as I stared intently at Frank’s face, a queer feeling seeping through my body. “Not any more.” I pulled the curtains closed.

“I know you’re there,” Frank’s weak voice sounded amused. “You can stop talking to yourself now and talk to me.”

I forced a smile onto my face, it was surprisingly easy. His eyes were open now, bloodshot and tired and I sat down on the bed beside him, taking his hand in mine. “Well, I get a much more intelligent conversation this way.” I replied glibly, trying not to feel the small bones of his fingers beneath the thin skin on his hand.

Frank grinned, “you always did think you were funny, woman.”

I poked him gently in the ribs. “I make a much better audience for my own stand-up comedy as well.”

“I’ll come see you any time you want to perform,” he promised, then winked. “I’ll even laugh in all the right places.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I laughed as the tears once more threatened to flow. “Frank, I spoke to your doctor.”

Frank looked intently into my eyes. “He wants me to die in hospital.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“What did you tell him?”

I tried unsuccessfully to clear the lump from my throat. “That I’d talk to you but ultimately it’s your decision. He said you’d be confined to bed and needed a nurse. Frank, you know I’ll do anything to help you, anything at all, but –”

Frank held up his hand to stop me, the weak muscles making the limb quiver. “It’s all been arranged, Kate, don’t panic.”

“Arranged? What does that mean?”

Frank’s hand dropped back onto the bed and I automatically clutched at his fingers. “Do you remember my friend Paula? You met at the cooking demonstration last year?”

I nodded.

“Do you also remember she’s a nurse?”

My mouth dropped open, “she’s agreed to come and help?”

Frank winked and grinned, “not just a pretty face, are you. When I got back from England I discussed it with her, told her what I’d need and she offered to come and nurse me. Whenever I needed her.”

“Did you want me to call her?” I started to stand up but Frank shook his head and pulled me back.

“No, she’s already on the way, should be here in a couple of hours.” He looked shrewdly at me, “if you want to leave now I won’t hold it against you, you know.”

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

“I mean, you don’t owe me anything. It’s going to be tough, the doctor was right, so if you want to leave –”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I squeezed his fingers, “so I don’t want to hear any such rubbish again, is that clear.”

“Yes, mum,” Frank sounded suitably reprimanded.

“I’ll go get the doctor.” I stood and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Frank nodded, “thanks.” He paused, “Kate? Thank you, for everything.”

I smiled, finally allowing the tear that had been threatening to trickle down my cheek. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else or with any one else,” I whispered and, blowing him a kiss, I flung open the curtains and disappeared.

22 February

I yawned, not bothering to cover my mouth and rubbed my eyes with my free hand. In my other hand hung the kettle, waiting for its morning drink of water. I stared at it dumbly for a moment, wondering who had put it there and why.

It had been a very long night.

“The water goes in the hole at the top.”

I jumped, I hadn’t even heard Paula come in. Turning towards the exhausted woman I smiled. “You look terrible, sit down, I’ll put the kettle on.”

Paula grunted in thanks with a scrape of wooden chair legs on tiles. Quickly making us both a coffee, I carried the steaming cups over to the table.

“How is he?”

Paula shrugged, “as well as can be expected. He had a painful night, but he’s asleep now and hopefully he’ll stay that way for a while; he needs his rest.”