Chapters (68)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Dedication
- Prelude
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- Dan
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Lizzie
- George
- Dan
- Beth
- Postscript
- Acknowledgements
- THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
Hello George [reads the note in her neat cursive swirl]
Isn’t Sophie lovely? Don’t judge her by her nose piercing. I rather like it! The fact you are out and about means you’ve managed to feed and dress yourself and you are not sitting in a diabetic coma at home with the radio on. Well done! I hope Barbara hasn’t been driving you mad. I told her to pop in until she was sure you’d manage and not pester you too much. She tries her best. I hope you brought Poppy with you. Why don’t you take her to the Beacon after? It’s lovely up there. Get yourself a Scotch egg from the baker’s. It’s time to confess – I used to buy them, not make them at home. I’m sorry, but you were so explicit about your cricket tea. Corned-beef sandwiches, Scotch eggs, quiche and all those cakes. It used to take me hours, and the raw sausage meat stuck in my engagement ring. Poppy will need a check-up at the vet’s. Sharon, the receptionist, is lovely and knows all about her. [Who isn’t fucking lovely, according to you? thought George.] She’ll need her second jabs done too. I’ve paid already but do be nice to her. She’s only little. Well, not as little now. I bet she’s a beauty.
You know the drill with your medication. The current order will be waiting for you, but you’ll have to ring the surgery in four weeks for repeat prescriptions. Jenny on Reception there is less lovely, but I’m sure you’ll be able to cope.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was dying. But there was nothing you could have done. It wasn’t like Fred, three doors down, with his cancer of the ear. Remember how he misheard the doctor and came round to tell us he’d won Cancer of the Year? Mine is not that type of cancer. There’s nothing funny about it. It’s going to kill me, but it doesn’t have to kill you too. Walk Poppy, twice a day. Eat less cheese.
With love,
Ellen
George reads the letter on the bench overlooking the bowls pitch. The bench has an inscription on it that reads: To Pat, who never liked this view. George has always found it funny, until today. He can’t find anything amusing right now.