Pedigree Crush With a Twist of Passion: Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty One

Her business needed her. Connie was a shrewd businesswoman and knew that leaving her managers to their own devices for too long would lead to sloppy standards and a decline in honesty. She had good people in place, but every army needs a general and hers was no exception. She’d been home for a week and the second that she stepped foot on Spanish soil, she knew that it was exactly that, home. But she couldn’t settle there. Everything was ready for her to step back into the wonderful life that she’d built for herself but her real work, for the time being, was back in England. There was also something else back there that she missed. She found that, with being away, she missed Simon terribly. She rang him most nights and knew that sometimes he was so angry with her for leaving him, that he didn’t answer the phone, but usually curiosity got the better of him. It was good for him to be on his own, sometimes. When he did answer she always got a buzz out of hearing him say, ‘The Woods Rebidenth. How may I help you?’ She was just sorry that she couldn’t answer with, ‘I’m in the bat mobile. You can get the kettle on.’ So she made do with, ‘I’m in Spain, and I’m missing my Simon smiles.’ Simon was over ten years her senior, but he filled a big hole that Vicki had left. Connie had a child-sized crater, and while Simon would never replace Vicki, he filled that hole and spilled out over the sides. She realised that she had taken on the role of a mother figure to him, and she made a conscious decision to not back away from that responsibility. She welcomed it. She was standing in her spare bedroom, looking at the blue Mediterranean tiles and wondering if Simon would be happy there. She would buy him a desk, just like the one he had in his flat, if that’s what he wanted. For the first time she let the thought flood in that maybe, when this was all over, She could buy a plaque for his door saying ‘Sala Simón’ and that he might like to move out here, permanently. But Simon loved his flat and his new friends. He was happy there. He might not want to move to Spain. It was just a germinating idea, something to talk to him about—in the future.

She’d been in Spain for the aftermath of the Andrew scandal, but she was back now. Her flight had originally been arranged for a week later, but she’d brought it forward because, on one of her routine phone calls to Cheryl on the phone, Cheryl had told her that Simon had to go to the hospital for a barrage of tests to ascertain the long-term damage that had been done to his heart after his attack the previous year. He’d panicked and become frightened about it, the attack weighed heavy on his mind and it had been a terrifying time for him. He’d decided that he didn’t like hospitals at all, not, and that he wasn’t going to go, not. And they both knew how stubborn he could be. The women had become friends through their mutual concern over Simon, and Connie had gradually, over two bottles of wine, told Cheryl her story, all of it, beginning to sorry end. The only bit that she hadn’t confided was the story of her ongoing revenge. Gradually, she had convinced Cheryl that her intentions towards Simon were good ones, that she cared about him and that she wanted to be a permanent and positive influence in his life. Cheryl realised that this could only be good for him.
Connie said that she wanted to be there for the appointment and that she’d fly in and surprise him. She’d meet Cheryl at the hospital and they could speak to Simon’s consultant together. Connie knew that having no legal or hereditary right to be there, the consultant would never have spoken to her without the social worker’s blessing. Simon had already had one significant heart attack, his life expectancy from here on in, wasn’t a long one. Connie wanted to make sure that it was a good one.

She knocked on the door. ‘Surprise!’
Simon looked shocked; his eyes were huge in his confused, round face. He ran away from the door and left her standing there. It wasn’t the greeting that she had expected. She signed and followed him in to the kitchen.
‘Simon, It’s me, aren’t you going to say, hello?’
‘Shhhhh,’ he replied, putting one finger up to his lips and spitting all over it. Simon studied his calendar. He had his finger over a tick. Connie saw that it was today’s date. Simon must have ticked it when he got up that morning. The next square had a blue star in it and Cheryl had written, hospital appointment, underneath, for Mrs Pickering’s benefit. The next five squares were empty, and then on the day that Connie had been due to arrive back in England there was a big gold star. She smiled. ‘I’ve come home early, Simon. I’ve come especially to see you.’
Simon was agitated; he hopped from one foot to the other and pointed to his calendar. ‘Not six sleeps, not. Not gold star, not.’ He went into the lounge and picked up the telephone handset, because that’s how he talks to Connie when Connie’s in Spain. He pointed at it. ‘Connie in Spain. It’s hot and ever body say, “Hola,”’ He looked at the handset again, put it to his ear, said, ‘Thank you, Goodbye,’ and hung up.
‘I missed you, Simon. I wanted to come and see you. Haven’t you missed me?’ She put her arms around him and gave him a hug. Simon stiffened. ‘Shimon miss Connie in six sleeps,’ he said grumpily. Connie sighed; she went into the kitchen with him trailing behind her. At the calendar she carefully peeled off the gold sticker and put it beside the last tick. ‘Hooray,’ she said brightly. ‘Its Connie day.’
‘Hooray,’ Simon agreed, but he didn’t look convinced.
‘I swear, Simon, sometimes you’re like the fly around a horse’s arse.’ Simon had to stop and think about that for a little while. He was frightened of horses and didn’t want to be a fly, or a horse’s arse. ‘Put the kettle on, Cielo.’ He said, picking up the kettle and remembering to fill it with water before putting it on to boil. This was his third kettle and Mrs Pickering said she wouldn’t buy him another one. She said that he was a liability. Simon didn’t know what a liability was, but it had to be better than a fly or a horse’s arse. ‘Put the kettle on, Cielo,’ he repeated, flicking the switch. This wasn’t a request for Connie to make tea, nor was it a term of endearment. He was simply parroting the phrase that Connie always used when she came in, using the same flat monotone that he used when he was coning to terms with changes to his routine. He turned around with an enormous beam on his face. ‘Connie, Shymon, go ice cream, in a little minute?’
‘Why not,’ she agreed, before broaching the delicate subject of the following day’s hospital appointment.

Mr Bell, the consultant, looked up from Simon’s records. He took a moment to order his thoughts and then looked from Cheryl to Connie and back again. The results aren’t as optimistic as we’d hoped, I’m afraid. Downs sufferers have a far shorter life expectancy than the rest of us as it is, and with Simon’s heart complications, it has just compounded the issue.’
‘Is he going to die?’ asked Connie, her throat had dried up and she felt sick with worry.
‘We have no way of knowing how long Simon’s going to live, Ms Vengarse. His heart attack has seriously affected the function of his aortic efficiency, there’s some decline in kidney function, his white cell count is on the low side. The muscles that work his heart are weakened. The best that I can tell you is that he could die tomorrow, or, with a good head wind, he could live for another ten or twelve years. I would anticipate that his life expectancy could be somewhere down the middle. The good news is that his weight is down on six months ago. He’s lost ten pounds, that’s going to help to alleviate some of the pressure on his heart. He doesn’t smoke or drink, his little job is keeping him active. And perhaps the greatest thing on his side is that he’s a very positive individual. We aren’t as happy with the results as we’d hoped, but it could be very much worse. I don’t think he’s ready to leave us, just yet.’ He smiled encouragingly at them.
‘Thank you doctor.’ Cheryl offered him her hand to shake. Connie just nodded and attempted a watery smile. Once released the tears wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—not now. Cheryl took her for coffee in the canteen before they picked Simon up from the day room. She was hard on Connie and told her that Simon wasn’t about to die at any second and to pull herself together, for his sake. If she’d had any doubt that Connie’s feelings for Simon were genuine, that worry was long gone. Connie was like any mother after being told that she was going to outlive her child, a fact that she had known all along, but hadn’t done anything about coming to terms with, yet.