Will You Remember Me? (17 page)

Back at home, Martin put Max in the care of his big sister and gave them a bag of crisps each for good measure. Then he followed his wife up the stairs.

Poppy sat on the bed and Martin stood in front of her. He was like a coiled spring. Her hands fidgeted in her lap as the words floated around inside her head, trying to lodge somewhere before finding their way out of her mouth. She felt flat, deflated, and exhausted at the prospect of what lay ahead.

‘Right, no more messing around. What did he say?’ His voice was stern.

‘He… he stopped my treatment.’

‘What? Why?’

Poppy looked up at her husband. ‘He said there was no point. It wasn’t working.’

‘Can he do that?’ Martin looked angry, flexing his fingers and rocking on his heels.

‘Yes, and he’s right, really. It wasn’t making any difference and so there’s no point.’ Her eyes flickered from her husband to her lap.

‘And you are just going to accept that, are you? Give up?’ he snarled.

Poppy pulled her head back on her shoulders. ‘I’ve been waging a war on this bloody disease and I thought I could win, but I can’t, Mart. I can’t.’ As she spoke the words, she felt her resolve slip, her muscles loosen and her spirit flag.
I’m sorry…

‘We should see about going private, can’t we pay for the treatment? Go abroad. I’ll find the money somehow, whatever it costs. We should do that. I’ll ask Claudia, I don’t care.’

‘Mart—’

‘No, I mean it, let’s do it. You need to go abroad and get the treatment somewhere else. What about America, don’t people go there for everything? I’ve read about it before, and what about that kid we had that fundraising supper for at the mess? D’you remember? It was so he could go to America and have treatment. That’s what we should do.’ His words came in a flurry.

‘Mart, please—’

‘No, fuck it, Poppy!
You
may just be rolling over, but I will not let you leave me. I won’t.’

Poppy stood and faced him. ‘Look at me! Look at me!’

Martin stared into her face. His breath came in short bursts, as though he were running out of air. Slowly, he ran his fingers over her pale complexion, pausing at the dark, black circles that sat beneath her eyes.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispered.

Poppy laid her cheek against his palm and closed her eyes. ‘If I could have anything and everything was possible, then I’d get rid of this bloody disease. But I can’t and I don’t think I’ve got much fight left in me, Mart. I’m getting tired.’

Balling his fingers into a fist, Martin spun round and punched the bedroom door, pushing his fist through the first layer of white-painted laminate and the first couple of sheets of plyboard. He pulled back the moment he punched and stared at the gaping hole and the splintered wood around it.

He fell to the floor and sat in a crumpled heap. Poppy dropped down to crouch by his side and placed her arms around him.

Peg appeared, wide-eyed, and poked her head into the room.

‘What was that bang?’

‘Daddy did some karate on the door.’ Poppy smiled.

Peg tutted and raised her eyebrows before going back to her telly and crisps.

The two sat on the floor in silence until their heart rates had slowed and they had stopped shaking.

‘Did you hurt your hand?’ Poppy whispered.

‘Not as much as I hurt the door.’ He gave a small, awkward laugh.

‘Mart, I know that none of this is easy, but I want to talk to you about after I have gone.’

Martin stared at her, unsure of how to respond. He ran his tongue over his lips.

Poppy continued. ‘I want to talk about my funeral, Mart, if that’s okay.’

Martin sighed and rubbed at his nose, transferring a grey smudge of dirt from the fractured door onto his face. It reminded her of his early days working in the garage before he joined up, when he used to come home dusty, grimy and knackered. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Actually, it’s not okay. No.’

‘Don’t be like that.’

‘Don’t be like what?’ he snapped.

‘Shutting me out and making it awkward. It needs to be discussed. It’s what I want.’

‘Is it? And don’t even start on
me
shutting
you
out.’ Martin sighed, still upset that she had kept her illness from him. ‘And here’s the thing, it’s not what
I
want, not even slightly.’

‘Oh God, what now? You can’t keep punching doors!’

‘Can’t I?’ he sneered.

She ran her hand across her brow. ‘Sometimes you can be a selfish bastard.’ She banged her thigh and instantly regretted swearing at him.

‘Is that right? Well, if it’s selfish to not want to think about the person I love the most in the world leaving me here alone with two kids to look after, then yes, I’m selfish. If it’s selfish not to want you involved in any way with what comes after so that I can only think of you as alive and here with me, then I probably am. When you…’ He paused. ‘When you
are
gone, I will face the things I have to, all of them, including your funeral, but until I absolutely have to, you are here and I will not let myself get dragged into that dark pit of shit that is waiting for me. That is how I see my life without you and I see it stretching on for ever.’

The two sat quietly for a minute or two until Martin placed his head in his hands. ‘Christ, what’s happening to us? I feel like we’re falling apart. I’m scared, Poppy.’

‘Me too.’ She kissed his chin. ‘But we need to stay strong, Mart. We need to keep it together because we don’t have that many doors.’ She nudged him with her elbow. ‘Now, what always makes the kids feel better when they’ve been a bit upset is a big mug of hot chocolate – how about we go down, sit with them babies and treat ourselves?’

Martin nodded. ‘Just give me a minute.’

Poppy kissed his forehead. ‘I’ll see you down there.’

She took extra care with their drinks, swirling them with cream and loading them up with marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. They looked glorious. Poppy found a smile and carried them into the sitting room, trying to control the shake to her hands that sent a tremor through the metal tray and made the spoons jump. ‘Here we go!’ she announced as she set the tray on the sofa.

Peg and Max clapped her brilliance. Poppy handed everyone a mug and proposed a toast. ‘To us!’

‘To us!’ Martin and Peg echoed.

Max held up his cup and shouted ‘Three, four hot drinks!’ instead.

Peg smiled from beneath the cream moustache that sat on her top lip. Poppy brought the mug to her mouth and took a sip. She ran her tongue around her mouth and took another. Martin watched as she inhaled the scent of her drink and took another sip.

‘You all right, Pop?’ he asked.

‘I can’t… I can’t taste it.’ She looked up at him, perplexed.

Poppy lifted a chocolate sprinkle and placed it on her tongue, letting it melt before pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth. ‘I can’t taste anything.’

She stood up and wandered back into the kitchen, where she opened the fridge and scanned the shelves. Unwrapping a block of cheese, she cut a small corner and put it in her mouth, then shook her head. Next she plucked a fat strawberry, pulled the little green stalk off and bit into it.

Martin watched her from the doorway. ‘Are you okay?’ he whispered. She looked so preoccupied, he didn’t want to disturb her.

Poppy ignored him, opened the carton of orange juice and took a swig straight from the box. On any other day he would have mocked her hypocrisy, but not today. Next she gulped down some milk. Finally she tore at a piece of ham and laid it on her tongue before swiping it off with her fingers and flinging it in the bin.

She stood with her arms braced against the work surface, staring out at the garden. Martin came over and placed his hand on her shoulder.

‘Are you okay?’ he repeated.

Poppy spoke to their reflection in the window. ‘I can’t taste anything.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I can’t taste a single thing! Everything is like cardboard in my mouth. It’s disgusting.’ Her tone was clipped.

‘It’s probably just temporary.’ Martin tried to placate her.

‘You think?’ She turned around. ‘Well, that’s good, Dr Mart, because with all the other shite I’ve got to deal with, not being able to eat anything would take the cake.’

‘If you want a door to punch, there’s one upstairs that already needs a bit of repairing.’ He tried out a smile.

‘Very funny,’ Poppy snapped. She flashed a look of anger at him and swept past and up to bed.

Martin closed his eyes and threw his head back.

By the end of the week Poppy and Martin had found a fragile peace. Poppy was plagued by a deep and constant fatigue. It was almost as if she had finally allowed herself to recognise how shattered she was, now that they had both acknowledged her illness. Whether psychological or not, it didn’t matter. Most days she woke with a bone-deep ache and the tiredness would wash over her and leave her dazed. Exhausted and in pain, she could not think beyond the everyday; to try and do so left her gasping for breath as a cold fear plucked at her skin. She had quit asking Martin if he was okay, sensing that it was driving him crazy.

Good days were rare, but today was one of them. She had already given the kitchen floor a good going-over and had changed the light bulb in the extractor fan. She switched off the iron and folded the last of Peg’s T-shirts into their pile. They now sat next to three similar piles that she would take upstairs and put away next time she went up. She was happy to be able to do chores. It felt normal and normal was good; in fact normal was bloody marvellous. She was determined not only to get as much done as possible, but also to make plans while she was able.

Martin swooped by with a dirty oblong thing that he had removed from the Golf’s engine.

‘What’s that?’ Poppy asked as he whisked it past her and into the kitchen.

‘Air filter, just giving it a bit of a clean. I was hoping you wouldn’t see, I know what you are like with mess and dust.’

Martin smiled at her as he knocked the filter over the sink with the heel of his hand and blew into its little crevices.

‘Actually, Mart, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.’ She coughed.

‘Now?’ He looked from her to the filter in his hand.

‘Yes.’ Poppy sat down.

‘Oh God, what have I done? Is it too late to say it wasn’t me? Because it wasn’t. Or do you have evidence? Which, I might add, Peg is very good at fabricating.’ He sat in the chair opposite her.

‘No, nothing like that. Unless there is something you
want
to confess?’ She narrowed her eyes.

‘Ha! You’re not going to get to me that easily. I am blame-free, I think. What’s up, Poppy Day?’

‘This isn’t easy for me to say.’ She swallowed.

Martin knitted his grubby, oil-covered fingers and rested them on the table.

‘I think it might be an idea if we get some help, with the house.’ She paused, taking his silence as a cue to continue. ‘I’ve been given the names of charities and agencies that can come in and help with everything from childcare to taking me to appointments, anything really. I thought it might be a good idea?’

Martin scraped the chair across the floor. ‘When I want some bloody busybodies coming into my home and sticking their noses into my family’s life, I’ll tell you.’ With that, he grabbed the filter from the sideboard and slammed the front door on his way out.

‘Well…’ Poppy spoke to Toffee, who had poked his nose through the cage. ‘That went well.’

Martin found her lying on the bed an hour later. She was humming and reading an article on how to decorate your home for Easter. ‘Just getting ideas on how to “create the perfect environment for fun and frolics with your houseguests this Easter”!’ she read from the magazine.

He shifted from foot to foot. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. I guess I just don’t want to think we’re at that stage yet.’ He addressed the floor.

‘I know. But I think the more we can put in place, the easier it will be for the kids.’ She was blunt, without the time or the inclination to sugar-coat their situation.

Martin took the magazine from her hand and ran his eyes over the article. ‘I thought we usually just bunged the kids some chocolate for Easter and hoped for an extra hour in bed?’ He laughed.

‘We do, but if ever I get me that kidney-shaped pool and my ice-cube diamond, this will be how I celebrate Easter.’ She turned the page to show him the image of a kitchen decked out with lilac and lemon ribbons and chicks and bunnies aplenty.

‘Looks bloody horrible!’ He screwed his nose up.

‘Don’t ever think of trading soldiering for interior design – you haven’t got a clue.’ She swatted him with her magazine.

‘Someone seems to have got a bit of their mojo back. Nice to see some of your old spark, Mrs Bossy Boots.’ He jumped onto the mattress and grabbed her around the waist.

‘Maybe I have.’ Poppy smiled. It had been a while since either of them had shown the slightest interest in each other physically, other than in a caring capacity. To have even the smallest flicker of sexual desire felt wonderfully life-affirming.

‘Ooh, lucky me!’ Martin nuzzled his wife’s neck.

As he did so, she was hit by a wave of nausea. ‘Oh God, Mart, sorry, stop, stop!’ Poppy pushed him away and sat upright against the headboard.

‘What’s the matter? Oh God, did I hurt you?’

‘No, I just feel really sick. I’m sorry.’ She took deep breaths and clutched at her stomach.

He nodded. Not as sorry as him.

The two sat, feeling an awkwardness that was strange to them after so many years married.

Eventually Poppy found her voice. ‘Claudia arrives tomorrow. I was wondering if you fancy taking me on a little trip, a day out. I’ve already asked her and she’s happy to sit with the kids.’

Martin nodded. ‘Sure. Where are we going?’

‘Ah, that’s the surprise.’ She did her best to smile, hiding the discomfort that racked every inch of her.

Claudia pulled her pashmina around her shoulders as she stood on the doorstep to see them off. She had arrived, bringing with her an air of serenity and organisation, and the whole family had heaved a huge sigh of relief. Everything was okay, Granny Claudia was on hand.