Page 41 of All the Things We Never Knew

LAUREL

I was with Gray when he died – but also, I wasn’t.

The whole day – that bright, peaceful summer day, with the leaves on the plane trees barely stirring in the breeze, a cloudless blue sky like an upturned bowl overhead and the rooms in the hospice almost insufferably hot – I’d played a weird kind of tag with Anna and her kids.

I had taken some time off work – three days, which was the maximum compassionate leave HR would allow me for someone who was not quite a partner – and spent as much of them as I could by his bedside. Mostly, that meant night times, when Anna and the children went back to Damask Square to sleep if they could. But during the day, when the children were at school, Anna and I moved in and out of his room as if we were doing some kind of dance, only neither of us knew what the steps were meant to look like.

There had been one encounter, one time when our paths crossed, when I was arriving after work to see Gray, and his daughter came running over to me, having recognised me through the window of the restaurant where she was having dinner with her mother and brother.

‘Laurel.’ She stopped by my side, out of breath, looking like she’d been crying. ‘It’s Lulu. I thought I recognised you.’

I felt blood flood to my face, as if I’d been caught doing something inappropriate. I couldn’t look towards the restaurant across the street where I knew Anna would be, sitting and watching.

‘This is so random, seeing you here. Mum said you’re a friend of Dad’s.’

If Anna had said that, I could only go along with the half-truth. ‘That’s right. How are you doing, Lulu? You and your brother?’

She sniffed, her tears not far from the surface. ‘We’re okay. It’s just… you know. It’s a lot.’

‘I know.’ I wanted to touch her, offer some sort of physical comfort, but the knowledge of Anna’s eyes on me prevented me. ‘I’m so sorry you’re all going through this.’

‘Thanks.’ She flashed a brief, painful smile. ‘Have you come to see Dad? We can all go in together.’

‘I…’ I was torn between my longing to see Gray and my knowledge that I couldn’t – not now, not when his wife and children were there. It was out of the question. ‘I think maybe he shouldn’t have too many people with him at once. He needs to be kept quiet. I’ll come back a bit later.’

After that, I gave my number to Precious, the nurse who mostly looked after Gray, and asked her to text me when the coast was clear. She agreed with the sad smile of a woman who’d seen this sort of thing before.

There were rooms in the hospice where families could stay overnight, but because I wasn’t family and Anna had her own to look after, neither of us used them. I cycled there from Mel’s flat after sleeping in my own bed, feeling a fleeting sense of freedom and joy as I breathed in the still-fresh air, parakeets and gulls wheeling overhead.

When I arrived at the hospice it was seven in the morning. The smell of tea and toast permeating the corridors. The people who were on days arriving smiling and rested and taking over from their weary colleagues, the rattle of plates coming from the kitchen and the first trill of the phone as people began to call to ask, How is she? Did he have a good night?

I knew hospitals – their rhythms and their moods. I could tell as soon as I walked in that the night had been good – there had been no deaths. Not Gray’s and not anyone else’s. Relief flooded me.

I said good morning to Precious. ‘How is he? Did he have a good night?’

‘Very peaceful.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Would you like to go in? I’ll bring you some toast.’

‘Thank you – that would be amazing.’

She brought me toast that had gone a bit leathery but tasted fine once I’d smeared a load of Marmite on it, and a cup of over-stewed tea, which is how I like it anyway. While I ate I held Gray’s hand, and in between bites I talked to him.

‘It’s absolutely gorgeous out,’ I said. ‘It reminds me of that day when we cycled out to Kent, remember? We stopped on the edge of that apple orchard to eat our lunch, and there was no one about, so we thought we might get jiggy, and then we realised there were bees absolutely everywhere. I said you’d have a hell of a time explaining at home how you’d got stung on the bollocks, so we left it. I wish we hadn’t, now.’

I saw Gray’s face flicker and felt his hand squeeze mine – just the faintest pressure, but I knew he was listening.

I’d told myself I was used to death, but I was quickly realising I wasn’t.

‘We used to talk about where we’d go on holiday,’ I went on. ‘I’ve never been to Disneyland Paris, and I was dead keen on it – I still am, if I’m honest. But you said you’d been through it three times with your kids, and you’d rather chew your own arm off than go again. If I ever do go, I’m going to take a photo of you with me, just to spite you.’

That ghost of a smile crossed his face again and he opened his eyes.

‘Well, that got your attention,’ I said. ‘Do you need anything? Water?’

He nodded.

‘Let’s get you sat up.’ I adjusted his position on the pillows and held a glass to his lips. ‘There are some mints here too, and Precious will be along to do your mouth care soon, I expect.’

I snapped open the can of Smints and held out one to him. He managed to take it between thumb and forefinger and guide it to his lips. When I saw him swallow, which was getting difficult, I leaned over and kissed him. I’d never kissed him good morning before, I realised. Perhaps I never would again.