faced up to, never told anyone about apart from my sister and obviously Dan knows a little about it, but now might be the right time. It makes sense actually. Imagine if—’
‘Juliette, please no!’ he interrupts me. ‘Your timing to go looking for him is … I can’t think of the word … you don’t need that sort of pressure I am saying that to you as your doctor.’
‘It wouldn’t be top of my agenda to find him, I promise,’ I explain. ‘But you have to agree, it would be so good to put a few old ghosts to bed, not to mention the obvious answers for Rosie. Physically, do you really think I could go there? Even after what you’ve told me today?’
Michael knows what I am asking.
‘Well, what I told you earlier is the unavoidable truth, unfortunately,’ he explains. ‘The brain tumour is like a ticking time bomb, but you’re not going to kick the bucket overnight. You’re feeling good right now so a week away won’t make any difference.’
We both can’t help but laugh at his choice of words. ‘Kicking the bucket’ sounds like something that old people do, not a forty-year-old woman like me who should have the world at my feet.
‘I know exactly what I’ll do,’ I say, as a brainwave hits my good-for-nothing, wasting away skull. ‘I’ll take Rosie with me. Her school holidays start soon … I could take her and we could spend some quality time together away from reality and it might help her, you know, find some sort of closure or understanding of what’s ahead of us both.’
‘Are you sure?’ he replies. ‘I never thought of that, taking Rosie. That could be good as long as you’re not going to go looking for old skeletons in closets. This is not the right time to tell the child about her—’
‘Oh God, Michael, what am I going to tell her about all of this crap?’ I ask him, my head now in my hands. ‘She’s just fifteen years old for crying out loud. She wants to be thinking about boys and makeup tutorials on YouTube and the best way to get tickets to see Ed Sheeran – not her dying mother. My poor baby. What am I going to tell her?’
‘Take her away with you for a rest,’ says Michael, trying to keep me focused. ‘Go and spend some quality time with her as you said, wherever it is you choose to go, and give her some more precious memories to hold on to.’
‘But how do I tell her that I’m going to die?’
Michael pauses. The word ‘die’ hangs in the air.
‘It will come to you when the time is right,’ he whispers to me.
‘You think?’ I frown, squeezing my eyes tight so that I don’t dare cry. I don’t have time to cry.
‘I think, yes,’ he says gently. ‘Do things you can’t do with her here and … chill out and relax with her.’
‘Oh, Michael.’
‘Talk to her, read to her, walk with her, give her some last amazing memories to cling on to,’ he says. ‘Take pictures, make videos, paint, eat, relax … take her somewhere nice, Juliette. That’s about the best thing you can do for her – give her your time. You do know how children spell love?’
‘T – I – M – E!’ I say to him. ‘I gave you that line, thief.’
He shrugs at me. But he is right. His suggestion, as casual as I first thought it might be, has actually helped and I will leave this dreary hospital office with a purpose, something to cling on to and to make happen as soon as possible. I like his thinking. I will start to make plans. I’m good at making plans.
‘Will you miss me when I go?’ I ask him as I gather my handbag and coat from the back of the chair.
He looks at me and lets out a deep sigh, then shakes his head and laughs in disbelief, knowing that my question has two very different meanings. Will he miss me when I go on my break, and will he miss me when I go forever?
‘Only you would ask such a question, Juliette Fox. Only you,’ he replies. ‘I can’t bear to think of it and I‘m trying not to think about it. We’re good buddies now, me and you. I miss you when you go home after your appointments, never mind …’ He leaves the rest unsaid.
I close my eyes.
‘Well, I’m going to miss you, that’s for sure,’ I tell him and a huge whoosh of nerves fills my tummy. We shuffle towards the door, not knowing what else there is to say in this sterile, hospital office where bad news is delivered on a daily basis.
‘I won’t miss this office or that carpet,’ I tell him, trying to lighten the mood. ‘And for goodness’ sake change that horrible painting above your desk. You really need to brighten this place up, pronto.’
We both look up at the painting. It’s not that bad really, but I’m trying to make a point.
‘Caroline thought she was quite the artist, didn’t she?’ Michael says to me, and then he reaches up to the painting, takes it down and leans it on the wall with its back to us. ‘There you go. Done.’
‘I bet you feel better already,’ I say to him, folding my arms.
He smiles at me and I wonder why on earth his ex, the free-spirited Caroline could ever have thought she would find better than the gorgeous, gentle being before me.
‘I’m going to miss you. Call me when you need a chat,’ he says when we get to the door of his office. ‘Or when you get back from Ireland if you do decide to go?’
‘I will. I promise...’
His eyes fill up and he bites his lip.
‘I’m so sorry, Juliette. I wish there was more I could do.’
‘Ssh or you’ll have me started,’ I tell him, trying to keep things light in the most impossible of circumstances. I don’t want him to cry but I know that the minute I close this door and walk away from him, he will bawl his eyes out. I know, because as he’s admitted to me before, he’s done that many times before when he has tried his hardest to make things work for his patients against all the odds.
‘Enjoy your break,’ he tells me, and I hear his voice crack under the strain of sorrow. ‘Make sure it’s the best of the best from here on in because that’s exactly what you deserve and nothing less. Oh, and Juliette?’
‘What?’
I know what’s coming. I know exactly what he is going to say next.
‘Find Dan, for goodness’ sake,’ he tells me. ‘Find him and tell him you still love him before it’s too … you know what I mean.’
‘Before it’s too late?’ I suggest.
His face crumples and he nods his head. He actually is crying now. My doctor, my good old buddy Michael, is crying.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, putting my hand to my mouth and closing my eyes to push away the pain.
The reality of this is like a deep blow to my gut and the butterflies return again to my insides. I nod and my bottom lip starts to wobble. My eyes sting like hell.
So,
