We went to see them. And what it privilege it was to sit, to be amongst them. They are in a state of grace. I knew that they would be. Life has brought them this. They hadn’t asked for it, were clearly content to pootle along just living their life with the family around, going on the European River Cruises they so enjoyed, weekends at the the Crowne Plaza in Stratford, weekdays at home bickering over Wordle. It was enough. And they were sunny enough, lolling in a sweet retirement. And then this happened. And now she has a tumour the size of swede oozing from her lower stomach, and its turned black. She manages it. She laughs and cries in equal measure. And he, apart from his voice breaking or reaching high, slightly edgy pitches every now and again. He is hurting but staying stable, for her. “He’s been amazing,” she said. I listened to her stories. The one about how they met (again) at the sixth-form dinner, to which he only went to because, and I quote “his teeth had arrived in the post that morning”, and how he’d worn his suede waistcoat. “Cis had sewn some tassels on it,” he added. It was too short. We had to rush off. I didn’t want to keep her waiting. We will come again. “You’ve had such an impact on my life,” she said to him as he hugged her goodbye. He didn’t hear it all. I told him in the car afterwards. “I’m off to clear out my knicker drawer,” she said to me, “I can’t have my girls doing it.”
