(2013) Looks Could Kill (19 page)

January 2005

What followed was a seemingly endless round of more tests, more consultants and more discussion and she could see Daniel visibly disappearing before her eyes.

The final diagnosis was of an aggressive non-Hodgkin lymphoma, which is probably the worst sort to get if you’re unlucky enough to get lymphoma. Chemotherapy was recommended and the day was set for him to be admitted to start the course of treatment.

The chemotherapy being proposed was aggressive and extremely demanding for the patient. In the case of Daniel’s treatment, the plan was two days of multiple cytotoxic drugs, followed by five days at home, and then weekly readmission for a period of three months.

Emma made a point of visiting the ward when the ward round was on to check on his progress when he was about two-thirds of the way through the course. The team discussion was efficient and precise in the way medical teams have to be when confronting difficult treatment decisions for aggressive cancers. In his favour was his age, but going against him was the high grade of the cancer, his anaemia, multiple lymph nodes being involved, a raised level of a certain enzyme in his bloodstream and his increasing incapacity. Although Daniel came near to terminating the chemotherapy prematurely, he stuck with it to the bitter end.

So, just over three months after the cancer was diagnosed, Daniel came home. Emma took time off work to care for him. One morning, as she was shaving him, he looked at her and said: “Emma, will you marry me.”

“My dearest, darling Daniel, of course I will.”

April 2005

It had been difficult making all the arrangements in the short time left, but their wedding day finally arrived and it coincided with what felt like the first day of spring. Emma looked out of their bedroom window across to where they would be getting wedded in a few hours’ time: an unassuming little church that was almost next door.

Both decided to keep the guest list small, but they agreed that would be two special places reserved right at the front: one for the late Georgina Brown and one for Sandra, Emma’s secretary. Emma struggled briefly with the question of inviting her grandparents but Daniel convinced her that forgiveness is the best option in situations like this. And she couldn’t disagree with her therapist.

As neither of them was at all religious, they chose an order of service with the barest minimum of anything that mentioned deities or the like. Ironically, it was the fact that she was baptised that seems to have swayed the vicar in agreeing to the service. Daniel had also chosen a quartet of musicians in place of anything rather more ecclesiastical.

And despite Emma’s protestations about a religious service, she looked the perfect bride when she came up the aisle on the arms of her father, who, even in his advanced years, exuded a pride that illuminated the entire church.

Daniel did his best to look tall and handsome, but even a well-cut morning suit couldn’t disguise his weight loss and utter exhaustion. But, as Emma noticed when she turned to him during their vows, his eyes were as soft and brown as ever.

The reception was low-key and held at a local French restaurant, which was a sister establishment to ‘The Elizabeth’, the restaurant in Oxford where Emma almost had her final meal a few years’ ago. This time she had a dessert. She noticed that Daniel picked at his food and only just had enough energy to pick up his glass of champagne for the toast. Emma’s father had arranged for the extravagance of a Rolls Royce to whisk them off from the reception to a five star country house hotel.

They went to bed early and lay gazing into each other’s eyes, their hands touching and caressing just as if it was their first night together. There was no orgasmic rush this time; just a gentle entwining of their emotions which went far beyond the physicality of sex. And as they turned to go to sleep, Daniel said: “You know, Emma, you should patent it.”

April 2005, two weeks later

Sadly, Daniel went downhill rapidly after their wedding and brief honeymoon. Getting out of bed became an ordeal that consumed his energy for the rest of the day, so reluctantly he agreed to the indignity of a potty. He ate the barest minimum of food despite Emma trying to tempt him with the best that local takeaways had to offer and her own cooking could achieve. Nights, as ever, were spent with limbs entwined and fingers touching, but even Emma’s very special sort of lovemaking was too taxing for him.

During the day, when Daniel was usually sleeping, Emma tried to catch up with work by e-mail and on the internet but her heart really wasn’t in it. She tried to prepare herself for when he died, but found it so difficult to imagine not holding onto his hand and looking into those gorgeous eyes.

But that day did come. One night, just after she’d fallen asleep, she heard Daniel shift in the bed and he reached out uncertainly for the light.

“What is it, Daniel?”

“Emma, I think it’s time. I just had to look at you once more.”

They lay back in the bed and Emma held him in her arms, staring into those soft brown eyes and watched and watched until they dulled over and death took Daniel away from her.

April 2005, one week later

Emma allowed Daniel’s mother to decide where the funeral should take place and whether he should be buried or cremated. Part of her wanted to hang on to the idea of him still being corporeal in some way, but the more rational side said that he would simply end up like dust anyway. His mother chose for him to be buried.

Fittingly, it was the church where they had been married that was chosen for the service, and there was a small graveyard at the back where he would be laid to rest.  Daniel’s mother asked Emma to give a short eulogy. She decided that, as with her own mother’s funeral, it would be off the cuff but with a little something extra.

The day came and the weather was still spring-like, which Daniel would have liked. Emma was struck by the size of the congregation and guessed that a lot of the women there had been clients of his at one time or another.

Daniel’s coffin was in a warm redwood which perfectly matched his hair in the photo on top of the coffin. She kissed the photo and set down in her allotted place next to his mother. Emma noticed that Daniel’s father wasn’t present but thought it best not to say anything.

“How are you coping, Emma?” said his mother.

“Just coping really, it’s not easy,” said Emma.

Daniel’s mother held Emma’s hand tightly as the service started.

Emma tried to think what Daniel would have made of the service with its solemn pomp and unscientific talk about the afterlife. He’d have probably just smiled in that gentle way of his and said: “It’s whatever you want to think, Emma.”

It came time for Emma to walk up to a lectern for the second time in her life. She lifted her head up and studied the faces in the congregation, seeing their own individual grief and love for him. She glanced at his mother and smiled.

“Although Daniel and I had only been married for two weeks before his death, I think we’d loved each other from the first day when we met in Mrs Brown’s kindergarten. I’m embarrassed to say that I caused him to fall out of a tree and break his arm but he quickly forgave me. Daniel always was that sort of gentle, forgiving person and he had a beauty to him that transcended even his physical beauty. But life can be unkind, and sometimes the existence of something beautiful gets snuffed out for no reason other than some random mutation in a gene. I’d like to think that his beauty is preserved in my memory of him, just like one of Mrs Brown’s collection of butterflies. Goodbye, my darling, my beautiful Red Admiral.”

“I’d like to read a few lines by Mary Frye, an American poet, who died four years ago:

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond that glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there, I did not die.”

Emma stood next to Daniel’s mother, Barbara, by the graveside watching the interment. She felt curiously detached from the proceedings.

“Emma, I think we need to talk. Will you phone me sometime soon?” asked Barbara.

“Thanks, Barbara, I’d like that,” replied Emma.

May 2005

Emma discovered quite a lot about Daniel following his death.

On the first day in kindergarten, she remembers him proudly telling her that his father was a Scottish laird and lived in a castle. Whilst that was certainly true, Mr Armstrong Senior was also the CEO of a hugely successful, American biomedical company, which amongst other activities, made implants used in hip replacement. It amused her to think that if she ever required a hip replacement she could end up with a bit of an Armstrong inside her.

Daniel’s parents separated some years ago and were now thoroughly estranged. His mother was American and the Scottish/American partnership never really worked apart from giving Mr Armstrong Senior US citizenship.

“You need to be careful, Emma,” Barbara Armstrong told her. “He’s got eyes like a hawk and if wants something he stops at nothing until he gets it. He used me, he used Daniel and he’ll probably try using you if he can.”

Emma also discovered from Barbara Armstrong that Daniel was rather wealthy and that he had made a will even before proposing to her, in which he had left her his house and a sizeable sum of money. Although marriage clearly made that aspect of the will irrelevant, Daniel’s executor believed that the other major request in the will should still stand, which was that a foundation should be started in his name, with Emma named as the trustee with responsibility for deciding the purpose of the foundation.

Another unexpected legacy of Emma’s time with Daniel is that she realised that her ability was no longer to be feared or avoided, as she now felt able to modify her projection in a controlled way. In essence, Daniel had provided her with the feedback that she needed to master her ability.  She wasn’t quite sure how she was going to take this forward, but she certainly had some ideas, including contacting some old colleagues. And she also had to make some decisions about the right direction to take with Daniel’s foundation.

June 2005

The first thing Emma did when she arrived back at work was to leave a white lily and a large box of chocolates on her secretary’s desk. Curiously, her secretary hadn’t come in yet and she wondered whether she was taking leave.

However, her secretary had cleared her morning’s schedule, so Emma was finally able to trawl through the hundreds of e-mails that had clogged up her inbox during the months she was looking after Daniel.

Emma met up with her team for lunch and it was obvious that they were trying to avoid saying anything that might upset her. She realised the risk of allowing this continuing indefinitely, so she simply thanked them for the cards they’d sent for the marriage and funeral and then talked about her plans for the future.  The reality is that, unlike after the attempted rape, she’d had plenty of time to process everything that had happened and was ready to move on. And she reassured them that she wouldn’t be moving on from them and this hospital.

Emma’s afternoon was spent going around the wards and checking whether there was anyone they’d like her to see.

“Dr Jones?” called a patient in a bed just near to where she was standing.

Emma went across to where she heard the voice coming from.

“Well, well, it’s Naomi, isn’t it?” said Emma, recognising her as someone she’d seen on a ward about six years ago.

“You’ve got a good memory!” said Naomi.

“So have you, Naomi. What brings you back into hospital? Is it the same problem?”

“Well, that’s the strange thing, Dr Jones. As soon as you left me that time, the pain just stopped and hasn’t come back. I’m here for a routine operation, nothing serious. And you’ll never believe it, but I’ve almost finished that book. I don’t know whether anyone will want to publish it, but I’ll certainly try self-publishing if not.”

“Gosh, that’s terrific, Naomi. I’m really pleased for you. I’ll look out for it in the bookshops. What’s it called, by the way?”

“’Me and You’”, she said.

“You know, I think that’s a great title,” said Emma.

Emma gave Naomi a quick hug and went back to where she’d been standing before. A medical SHO had been waiting to have a word with her whilst she was talking with Naomi.

“One of your old patients?” he said.

“Yes, and I suppose you could say she was one of my success stories. And we don’t really get too many of them. She’s actually written a book. Rather amazing, really.” said Emma. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

“Well, it’s a bit embarrassing, really,” he said, “but we’ve got this elderly chap on the ward who was seen by your team when you were away – I was really sorry to hear about your loss, by the way – and they didn’t think there was anything more they could do for him. The trouble is he’s in so much pain and just seems so desperate, so if there’s any wand or something you could wave, we’d be really grateful.”