The paramedic rocks backwards, clearing the body, and the defibrillator takes over. Just as the first shock ripples through Petey, Jasmine hears a discordant siren blasting through the still open front door. She runs to greet the new arrivals, a crew of two exiting an ambulance. They unload some kit and push past her as she points straight ahead, her body blocking the stairs. Their arrival leaves her pushed out of the kitchen and she stands on the edges, trying to see vague glimpses of Petey. The paramedics work together, exchanging cryptic messages, often comprising letters of the alphabet and numbers. Gillian sees her and smiles, enough for Jasmine to understand the defibrillator has done its job. Petey is alive. She wishes she could rejoice as clearly as Gillian does. But then, Gillian doesn’t know they are already on the last path. This, right here, is a symptom of the end stage.
The paramedics continue to work. Stuck on the periphery, Jasmine still hears enough to realise they are taking him to the hospital. She and Gillian are eventually displaced to the lounge doorway as a gurney is wheeled in. Petey is transferred from floor to gurney and then he is out of the door, together with oxygen mask and defibrillator still attached. Gillian follows the paramedics, and once more, Jasmine is left in the sudden quiet, surrounded by debris.
She sits heavily in a kitchen chair. She debates calling Anna, but what can her sister do? The harshest reality of Petey’s illness overwhelms her. There is no more hope. There are no other treatments. She is not God. There will be no miracles.
She is unaware of how much time passes before she remembers she has things to do. She clears up, packs a case for Petey and heads to the hospital. She swings by the hospital shop and picks up a sandwich for herself and Gillian. It won’t do Petey any good if his carers are incapacitated.
Gillian’s earlier joy has disappeared. Petey is asleep; at least his eyes are closed. His dark hair is stark against the pillow, framing his rounded face – evidence of the high doses of steroids. He refused to shave his hair. The radiation has removed patches but the chemo has had no impact and he has merely re-styled his hair with the classic comb-over. Still on oxygen, various machines trace seemingly random patterns.
Gillian looks up as Jasmine joins her. “It was a respiratory arrest,” she whispers.
Jasmine can’t tell if she is trying not to wake her son or stop him hearing the diagnosis, or if the news is just too weighty to be said out loud, but Jasmine replies in the same tone. “What does that mean?”
“The tumour is affecting his ability to breathe.”
“Oh.” Such a short word, so inadequate.
“The doctor thinks the chemo isn’t working.”
Jasmine sits beside Gillian and takes her hand. She cannot give anything more than physical comfort and a willing ear if Gillian wants to talk. She does not.
Eventually, Gillian rouses herself. “You go home, love,” she says. “No point us both being here.”
Jasmine passes over the car key. “I’ll get a taxi back,” she says. She has no idea when Gillian will leave her son, but it may be late and taxis may be thin on the ground. Gillian nods, her attention elsewhere, but she slides the key into her trouser pocket.
Jasmine goes to bed early. She expects to find it hard to sleep but exhaustion takes over. The following morning, she catches a bus to the exam hall. The car on the drive is the only indication Gillian made it home. In one respect, the timing is fortunate. For Gillian is on leave this week to cover Jasmine’s exams.
Jasmine feels ill-prepared. She has tried to fit in revision wherever possible, but she knows she hasn’t done nearly enough. Never before has she entered an exam hall with this feeling of dread. Normally, there is confidence, even a small measure of excitement. But today, she has more in common with the majority. She looks around at the young faces and marvels at their innocence. These exams are their lives’ greatest test. It is almost laughable to her; she was once this naïve.
The invigilator starts the exam and she reads through the questions. She cannot answer any of them well. She picks the ones she has the best chance on and begins. From time to time, kids get up and leave quietly, sliding out of the hall. The invigilator calls the end of time. She stands and leaves.
She would like to go to the hospital, but the exam has shown how woefully unprepared she is. She takes the bus back to Larkford village and walks the short distance to Petey’s, surprised to find Gillian’s car in the drive.
“Petey was asking after you,” Gillian says as she makes Jasmine a cup of tea. “Will you come in for visiting this evening?”
Jasmine considers her morning’s resolve to study more. But she long ago made her decision to support Petey. What would everything she has done signify if she deserted him now? She nods, then says, “I’ll come with you this evening, but I’ll need to study this afternoon.” It’s a compromise.
And so they continue. Then one day Gillian comes back and asks to talk to Jasmine. She sits across the kitchen table and waits. Gillian puts two mugs of tea down and takes her chair. The older woman’s face is careworn and her eyes are red. She is not yet fifty but she looks a decade older.
“The doctors have suggested a hospice.”
“No …” Jasmine breathes the word. “Petey can’t want that?”
“He’d choose it, if he thought it would spare us.” Gillian lays her hands flat on the table. “But I want to bring him home. If this is the end, I want him here.”
Jasmine nods. She can understand why. Best for Petey, best for Gillian.
“The thing is, it will be a lot of work. He’s not able to do much, even with the oxygen. I’ve asked work for time off, and they’ve agreed. Now, I’m asking you. Do you still want to help? You have been marvellous. But I won’t judge you if you don’t want to stay till the bitter end. No one will. Watching someone die can destroy people.”
“I hear what you are saying and I understand. But I started this journey, knowing how it would end. I will stay. If it isn’t too much for you.”
Gillian reaches across to grab Jasmine’s hand. “Oh! How could you think that! There’s been so many days when the only reason I have got through them has been you. I’ve been so lucky to have had you through all this. To have done it alone would have been so much harder.”
“Then we are agreed.” Jasmine squeezes Gillian’s hand and looks into the older woman’s eyes. “Bring your boy home.”
They resolve to bring Petey home on the day of her last exam. She cannot wait for it to be over, to see Petey’s face when he knows he is home. She jogs from the bus stop, something she hasn’t done since puberty. Then she scrambles up the stairs and breathlessly pushes into his room. His grey eyes light up at her entrance and she crosses the room. Sitting on the newly installed hospital bed, she lowers her head to his, cheek to his cheek.
“Welcome home,” she whispers.
