February

Some days now, it’s really lovely – especially in the room at the back of the house, which is almost all glass. When the sun comes out, honestly, if you closed your eyes you wouldn’t know it was only February.

One of my cats – the little grey one – has found a box which is really too small for him – he kind of spills over the sides of it which is quite comical, but it doesn’t seem to bother him so I’ve put it on the floor in there and he spends almost his whole day curled up in it. He isn’t that old – around ten, but he looks much older. He has a dodgy heart, and I think perhaps that has something do with it.

When they first discovered his condition the vet said he had to have pills every day, scans, all sorts of things, and we did that for a year or so, but he hated it. Every day he would get so stressed, it was horrible – miserable. Then one day I stopped. I thought his quality of life was really suffering. It wasn’t that he was sick – he had no symptoms – it was the treatment. I put the pills in the bin, and he is happy – all day long. No stress. No symptoms. Nothing. That was four years ago.

He sits in his cardboard box in the sunshine mainly, and he doesn’t do much of anything else. It isn’t very intellectually challenging but he is definitely happy - you can tell. Then the other day, he started coughing – like he’d swallowed something and was choking. I looked over – watched, waited for it to stop. He did it again yesterday. Doesn’t sound like a big deal but I think that’s the first sign that it might be getting worse.

I hope one day he just keels over - though he’s jammed into that box so tightly he couldn’t exactly keel – I hope he just kind of stops one day, gently, quickly, in his box, in the sunshine. I think it would be a good way to go.

We have been to the chemist quite a few times lately. First for the sleeping pills that didn’t work, then for the sleeping pills that should have worked because they always did before, only they don’t work now either. Each time she brings the little paper bag home, she peers at the printout that comes with the medication

“Oh look … this one says to avoid alcohol too. Well, I don’t think that’s necessary do you?”

By now I’ve realised that this is rhetorical. Or it might as well be. And honestly, on the scale of things, I am not going to say anything. It’s not like she’s going to drive anywhere, or put anyone at risk. It’s her life.

Far more effective than anything else we’ve brought home from the chemist has been the black nail varnish. That’s given her more satisfaction than any of the sleeping pills.

I say “Marnie, how are you taking them – the pills?”

She admires her hands again – she has long fingers, rings stacked on them – beautiful rings

“Well.. I take one at around eleven, and it gets me off, only I wake up again at four or five, so I take another, but then I feel rather wobbly for most of the morning”

She looks at her nails again, and tails off. I am not going to tell her what to do.

She still cries a lot, especially first thing, although she’s never very far from it. It’s definitely worse first thing though. She panics too – when she gets muddled over something, which is all the time – then she says “oh fuck” quite often – castigates herself, says how stupid she is. She doesn’t talk about suicide anymore – not since I said it would be bad manners to do it in my house. That made her laugh a lot – and when she’d finished laughing, she said “yes it would wouldn’t it”.

I think she’s still hoping it might happen accidentally though. She tells me about after Joe died, when she didn’t want to live, how she’d thought of driving the car into the ornamental lake on the estate - making it look like an accident. Then I have to try very hard not to laugh. The lake is quite far from the little road that goes through the grounds, so I’m not sure how she would have pulled it off. I don’t think it’s all that deep either.

When I tell her to be careful of a trailing cable, I say I really don’t want her to trip on it and have to spend the evening at A&E. She laughs again and says “oh god don’t – please – just leave me there – pretend you haven’t noticed” and I laugh too, but I don’t think she’s joking. How awful it is for her – how sad, to feel like you have nothing left. And how unfair it is that Joe isn’t here – telling her to pull her socks up – pull herself together, telling her about her grandchildren – all the children he wanted to have

She won’t tell the doctor. We ‘ve been three times now. She says she is going to ask for counseling, but when she comes out, it’s with a prescription for sleeping pills – nothing else. I say “how about the counseling thing – did you ask?” and she looks muddled and says she forgot. Once I tried to broach the subject - it isn’t easy. I said “Marnie – have you ever thought of telling them about wanting to die?” – and she poured another glass of wine and said she did once, in London, and the GP called an ambulance, right there and then,so she’s not going to do that again in a hurry.

I don’t really know what to do next. I think we’re both counting on the weather. The spring is definitely coming. Some of the trees already have a little green haze around them – even though it’s still cold you can feel the difference in the air – the birds are singing more, and in a different way, and the days are lengthening.

I wish I could do more – I wish I could do something. I wish he would come back – that would give her something to live for. I wrote – emailed him. I didn’t say exactly what the problem was, but I did tell him that something awful had happened. He never replied.

She keeps offering to house sit for me, so I can go to California . I would still like to go away, but I’m fairly sure she would burn the house down by accident if I weren’t here. Instead, I’ve bought her a plane ticket to the island where her villa is. Life is simpler there – slower, easier, and everyone knows her. Not driving won’t be such a big problem. Elderly people are treated with respect – even ones that drink a bit too much. I’ve promised I’ll come out a couple of weeks after she gets there – and perhaps I’ll ask her if Zachy could come too – she would love him, and he is desperate to go. He is busy with an exhibition at the moment though, and his Aleister Crowley thing.

I haven’t been since the summer after Joe died – nearly thirty years. She says it hasn’t changed much except there’s a pool at the house now, and a McDonalds on the island. I’m not sure how it’ll feel. I was kind of hoping the next time I went it would be with him, but there you go – sometimes things work out, sometimes they don’t – and who knows what will happen next. I certainly don’t. Perhaps I’ll start my book there.