The Legacy by Caroline Bond (e book reader for pc .TXT) 📕

he was talking about it was obvious. He explained, at length, his joy at seeing that Megan’s house was back on the market at the beginning of the year, courtesy of Zoopla, and the hoops the solicitor had had to jump through to make the purchase legally watertight. As he spoke, Lisa glimpsed the man Jonathan must have been before he fell ill.

And at no point in their conversation had Lisa been in any doubt about his motivations.

Love.

And guilt.

But as Jonathan laid it all out in front of her, expecting her admiration and approval, Lisa had spotted the major flaw in his carefully thought-through plan. ‘Have you told Megan what you’re planning?’

He’d fallen silent then.

‘Well?’ she’d pushed.

‘I’ve tried.’ He looked away. ‘But she refuses to talk about the future and what’ll happen after I’m gone.’

Lisa nodded. She sympathised with Jonathan’s compulsion to try and control what was happening, and she understood Megan’s refusal to accept how ill he was. They were both in denial. It was a natural, logical reaction to the nightmare they were trapped in. But conditions like MND were brutal, efficient levellers. Everyone, irrespective of how intelligent, educated, well off or powerful they were, had to accept the fate they’d been dealt – no matter how unfair it might seem.

Jonathan leant forward. Coughed, cleared his throat. Coughed again. She waited. ‘That’s why I need your help, Lisa. I need someone I can trust.’

‘And that person is me, is it?’ Lisa asked.

‘Yes, it is.’

She’d been touched, surprised and a little fearful. It was stepping over any number of professional boundaries to get so involved in Jonathan’s life and death. But was that not what caring was: doing what the patient needed? Nevertheless she resisted him, out of principle and good practice. ‘You need to try to talk to her again.’

But he was adamant. ‘No. It’s too cruel. Megan doesn’t want to think about my death. She wants us to have these last few months together. Be happy for what little time we have left, if we can. I have to respect her wishes.’ He straightened himself in his chair, as much as he could. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to die, and sooner rather than later.’ He studied Lisa intently, checking she understood his meaning. ‘What I need is someone to be here for Megan at the end, and once I’m gone. I want you to make sure she understands that she has a future.’ Lisa said nothing. ‘Well?’ He was so impatient.

‘Just a minute. I’m thinking.’

Jonathan shuffled, trying to find a comfort that now forever eluded him. ‘Lisa. Please. This is something I can’t do without your help.’ He conjured up a crooked smile. ‘You wouldn’t deny the last wishes of a dying man, would you?’

And, in the end, she hadn’t.

But as she sat in Edinburgh, wrapped in her beautiful warm coat and scarf, Lisa vowed never to get so close to a patient ever again. She was there to help the dying, she had a gift for it, but it was not her place to get enmeshed with the living.

Hence her signing on with the temp agency as soon as she returned from holiday.

And it was exactly what she needed: high-volume, high-turnover work – still valuable, perhaps even more so – but there was blessedly little opportunity for emotional attachments to develop.

This evening her charge was Margie. Ninety-four years old, bed-bound for the past three months. Ready, waiting, wanting. Margie was on ‘death watch’. Hence the one-to-one care. Lisa had volunteered for another night shift with her, much to the relief of the other staff, thereby fulfilling a promise made to Margie when she’d been lucid. They’d sat together a lot over the past month, talking occasionally, but more often just watching the birds in the garden. Lisa had met Margie’s son and grandsons. Bumped into her daughter once in the corridor. Shared a hug and some words of comfort. She’d encouraged them to ‘say their goodbyes while Margie was still “present”’. Too much was made of ‘deathbed farewells’, in Lisa’s view. Death wasn’t a performance that needed an audience. In reality, many of Lisa’s charges waited until their loved ones left the room before finally breathing their last.

She instinctively pulled the covers up around Margie, but it was a reflex action. She no longer needed keeping warm. The old lady’s breathing creaked and juddered as Lisa sat at her bedside, calmly, quietly – a benign participant. She waved the drugs nurse away when she did her rounds, saying Margie had no need of anything; nature was taking its course, drugs would only prolong the process.

The corridor outside grew quiet. It was a big home with only a skeleton night crew. Once the day staff left for the evening, Lisa was confident they would not be disturbed.

She left the light off. She watched the colours in the room fade to grey as Margie’s breathing started to catch; when it became laboured, Lisa took hold of the old lady’s small, frail, thin-skinned hand and helped her to let go.

Chapter 58

AT ELOISE’S prompting, Lorna went up to her room at about 10.30 p.m., exhausted after a day of sightseeing and a long, lazy evening of eating and drinking in the hotel’s elegant mirrored dining-room. It was amazing how tiring having a good time could be. They’d splashed out and booked separate rooms for the trip, at Eloise’s insistence. To hell with the cost, this was her treat or, to be more accurate, Jonathan’s treat. As much as Eloise got on with Lorna – they’d been friends since university – she was glad finally to be on her own. There was an ulterior motive for their jolly nice city break to Venice, besides shopping and sauntering and pretending to be young and carefree. Eloise slipped on her jacket and wove a path through the clumps of couples in the bar. On the steps of the hotel she paused, taking in the softness of