death sentence? Roy was furious. How could she be so accepting? Why wasn’t she full of rage at the unfairness of it all? She deserved better. God knows, she’d been through enough in the past few years.
Roy had got abruptly to his feet and let go of her hand. He had to leave.
Dr Halliwell looked up at him and said to them both, ‘It’s an awful lot to take in. Why don’t you go home and I’ll call in tomorrow afternoon and we’ll look at your care plan then.’
Care plan? How had it come to that? One minute she was a bit more breathless, had a pain in the side, next thing she was dying and had a care plan.
Peggy stood up. ‘Yes, thank you, doctor,’ she said again. Roy followed her out, the injustice of it a searing fire in his chest.
And it had been weeks. Five short weeks from that day until her death yesterday.
Dr Halliwell had called just after lunch.
Roy had been up with Peggy all night, dozing in the armchair, beside the big hospital bed. He’d had to move furniture out of the room to accommodate it but there was just enough space for the chair and the small table to put all the medicines and things on.
When it grew light, Roy had made a cup of tea. He’d asked Peggy if she’d like a drink of anything but she didn’t wake. Her breath was irregular even with the oxygen and several times she made a gargling sound. Roy worried she was choking at first, he sprang up and watched, ready to try and clear her throat if he had to but then he saw the ripple in her throat as she managed to swallow and he sat back down again, took hold of her hand.
He didn’t speak. There was no need for words. Now and again a noise from outside would pierce his consciousness: the slam of a car door, a burst of bird song, a plane overhead; but in the cocoon of the room, over-warm for Peggy, he let his mind drift.
Peggy began to cough and then her breath made a stuttering, scraping sound. He felt her hand slacken. And then there were no more breaths. Roy waited a while to be sure, an awful aching in his throat. He rubbed his eyes and he gently removed the oxygen mask and smoothed her hair back. He folded her hands on her chest and gazed at her for a few more minutes before calling the surgery.
Dr Halliwell gave his condolences when he arrived in the early afternoon. He said he’d finished his home calls and thought it was best to visit Roy last so he could take as much time as they needed. Roy offered him tea but the doctor said he was popping home after this. He explained that, as Peggy’s death was expected, Roy was free to call the undertaker and could take the doctor’s death certificate to the registry office.
‘She was at home with you, where she wanted to be,’ Dr Halliwell said.
Roy gave a nod.
‘It will get easier, life goes on,’ the GP said.
Roy bit his cheek, didn’t trust himself to answer. He took the piece of paper from the doctor and put it on the arm of the chair.
‘There’ll be a lot to sort out now, with all the arrangements,’ Dr Halliwell said. ‘It’ll keep you busy. But you may find things a bit harder after that, with time on your hands. Any problems sleeping, anything like that, do come and see me. Now I’ll leave you to it unless there’s anything else?’ He spread his hands.
Rory shook his head.
Once Dr Halliwell had gone, Roy picked up the death certificate, his hands shaking, the paper trembling and the words shivering on the page.
Now, Roy pulled up outside the house and parked.
Inside, the curtains were still closed, the place cold. He had turned the heating off. He sat in the chair in the room and closed his eyes and imagined Peggy’s hand in his.
Chapter 13
The police tape remained in place. A laminated A4 notice on the gate post explained the surgery was closed. Inside, the phone was ringing, over and over again, cutting off each time as the answer machine kicked in.
The staff were assembled in the waiting room. There was a hushed, shocked atmosphere. Ms Ling
Roy had got abruptly to his feet and let go of her hand. He had to leave.
Dr Halliwell looked up at him and said to them both, ‘It’s an awful lot to take in. Why don’t you go home and I’ll call in tomorrow afternoon and we’ll look at your care plan then.’
Care plan? How had it come to that? One minute she was a bit more breathless, had a pain in the side, next thing she was dying and had a care plan.
Peggy stood up. ‘Yes, thank you, doctor,’ she said again. Roy followed her out, the injustice of it a searing fire in his chest.
And it had been weeks. Five short weeks from that day until her death yesterday.
Dr Halliwell had called just after lunch.
Roy had been up with Peggy all night, dozing in the armchair, beside the big hospital bed. He’d had to move furniture out of the room to accommodate it but there was just enough space for the chair and the small table to put all the medicines and things on.
When it grew light, Roy had made a cup of tea. He’d asked Peggy if she’d like a drink of anything but she didn’t wake. Her breath was irregular even with the oxygen and several times she made a gargling sound. Roy worried she was choking at first, he sprang up and watched, ready to try and clear her throat if he had to but then he saw the ripple in her throat as she managed to swallow and he sat back down again, took hold of her hand.
He didn’t speak. There was no need for words. Now and again a noise from outside would pierce his consciousness: the slam of a car door, a burst of bird song, a plane overhead; but in the cocoon of the room, over-warm for Peggy, he let his mind drift.
Peggy began to cough and then her breath made a stuttering, scraping sound. He felt her hand slacken. And then there were no more breaths. Roy waited a while to be sure, an awful aching in his throat. He rubbed his eyes and he gently removed the oxygen mask and smoothed her hair back. He folded her hands on her chest and gazed at her for a few more minutes before calling the surgery.
Dr Halliwell gave his condolences when he arrived in the early afternoon. He said he’d finished his home calls and thought it was best to visit Roy last so he could take as much time as they needed. Roy offered him tea but the doctor said he was popping home after this. He explained that, as Peggy’s death was expected, Roy was free to call the undertaker and could take the doctor’s death certificate to the registry office.
‘She was at home with you, where she wanted to be,’ Dr Halliwell said.
Roy gave a nod.
‘It will get easier, life goes on,’ the GP said.
Roy bit his cheek, didn’t trust himself to answer. He took the piece of paper from the doctor and put it on the arm of the chair.
‘There’ll be a lot to sort out now, with all the arrangements,’ Dr Halliwell said. ‘It’ll keep you busy. But you may find things a bit harder after that, with time on your hands. Any problems sleeping, anything like that, do come and see me. Now I’ll leave you to it unless there’s anything else?’ He spread his hands.
Rory shook his head.
Once Dr Halliwell had gone, Roy picked up the death certificate, his hands shaking, the paper trembling and the words shivering on the page.
Now, Roy pulled up outside the house and parked.
Inside, the curtains were still closed, the place cold. He had turned the heating off. He sat in the chair in the room and closed his eyes and imagined Peggy’s hand in his.
Chapter 13
The police tape remained in place. A laminated A4 notice on the gate post explained the surgery was closed. Inside, the phone was ringing, over and over again, cutting off each time as the answer machine kicked in.
The staff were assembled in the waiting room. There was a hushed, shocked atmosphere. Ms Ling
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