Christmas at Willoughby Close by Kate Hewitt

Author:Kate Hewitt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance
ISBN: 9781952560941
Publisher: Tule Publishing Group, LLC
Published: 2020-12-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“What we really need to be thinking about now, is palliative care.”

The words seemed to fall in the unhappy stillness of the consulting room and then evaporate into nothingness. At least, that was how it felt to Roger. He certainly didn’t absorb their meaning, for he was still staring dumbly at the consultant, a kindly looking woman in her fifties with frizzy grey hair who had been seeing his mum from the start, with a look of blank incomprehension.

“Roger?” Ellen prompted gently, and he realised his mother must have said something, and he hadn’t heard.

“Sorry…what were you saying?” He turned to her, trying to focus on her face yet for some reason it blurred in front of him. Still, he knew it so well. A neat grey bob. Faded blue eyes. Skin that was wrinkly and yet soft, a smile that curled up at the corners.

“I was asking Ms Weston if I should look into hospice care,” Ellen said, her tone soft and full of sympathy…for him. She was the one with cancer, and yet she was treating him as if he were the one in need of care and support.

“No, of course not,” Roger answered swiftly. “There’s no need for that. I moved to Wychwood to take care of you, and that’s what I’m going to do.” Belatedly he realised how aggressive he sounded.

Ellen laid a hand on his arm. “Roger…the burden might be too much for you. And the last thing I want is to be a burden, to you or to anyone.”

“There is a very good hospice locally,” the consultant supplied. “A very welcoming and homely place.”

Was that supposed to make him feel better? “I don’t understand why we’re talking about hospices,” Roger declared. He still sounded aggressive.

“Because it’s time, Roger,” Ellen said gently. He couldn’t stand the fact that she felt the need to comfort him.

“But you’re perfectly healthy. I mean, you seem perfectly healthy. I know that is not actually the case, but…” His mum was fine. Yes, she was thin and frail and tired, and she often fell asleep on the sofa several times a day, and going to the ballroom dancing class was just about the only thing she could do all week, but still. She didn’t need to go into a hospice. Not yet.

“Of course, Ellen, you don’t need to go into hospice at this very moment,” the consultant said in a strangely jolly tone. Talk about inappropriate. “I think perhaps after Christmas, maybe January or February would be the time to make that transition. But it’s important to be prepared, and also to contact the hospice in question, to make sure there is space.”

“Book a room like in a hotel?” Roger filled in bitterly. The notion was offensive to him, but the consultant gave him a level look.

“Yes, more or less, I’m afraid.”

“Roger,” Ellen said softly. “We knew this was coming.”

Yes, they did, especially when, six months ago, the consultant had advised no further treatment. But there was, Roger realised, knowing something in theory, in his head, and knowing it in reality, in his heart.

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