Swallowing hard, she said, ‘I know Gramps, I know.’ She pulled him closer for a moment then rescued the eggs from boiling over. ‘Shall I bring lunch up to you or would you like it in the garden?’

He looked at her, but she knew he wasn’t with her in the here and now. She only hoped his thoughts had taken him to a happier time and allowed him to escape for a moment.

‘She won’t take any real pain relief,’ he said turning back to her.

‘Why not?’ She didn’t know much about lung cancer or any cancer, for that matter, but Gran must be in terrible pain.

‘She doesn’t want to lose control over her mind, her thoughts, her emotions . . .’ His shoulders sagged. ‘She wants to be conscious until the end.’

‘Oh Gramps.’ Lottie threw an arm around his shoulders and helped him up the three steps to the courtyard. ‘Take some fresh air and grab me a few cucumbers if there are any ripe ones.’

‘I will.’ He squeezed her hand.

She kissed his cheek and watched him enter the walled garden. Once he was out of sight, she raced upstairs to try to catch the nurses. They might not tell her much, but she needed to know how she could help. There was no reason for Gran to suffer for the sake of suffering.

40. Joan

40

Joan

4 August 1962, 12.30 p.m.

Opening my notebook, I glance up at Mrs Hoskine then back to the menu and the seating plan, so carefully wrought but now in ruins. Everything had been as it should have been, but no longer. Tapping my pen on the page, I don’t need this right now. I would rather be sailing with Allan and Diana. Instead I am sitting here chewing my lower lip and tasting the remnants of my lipstick, waxy and unpleasant.

I flip back to last year when the menu differed, but the guests – bar the Venns and Eddie Carew – had been the same. Now I am stuck trying to fit these newcomers into the seating plan. At least I know I have never served these dishes to them. Of all our guests tonight only Tom has had a repeat of any of the food. The pudding is the exception. Since Diana had been old enough to express an opinion, she has chosen silverbelle, a chocolate charlotte. Her thinking is beautiful. It is her favourite and therefore it must be her father’s. Of course, she is right. Allan loves anything chocolate, just like his daughter.