Sarah astounds me with her adaptability. I pick her up from Susan’s just after six and announce that Mummy is staying at the hotel again. Sarah’s only questions are whether it’s the hotel with the magic fridge, or the hotel with the tube-man, followed closely by, can we have alphabet spaghetti again. Even the information that her mum is in a third, different hotel that’s too far to be visited provokes little apparent concern.
As I make her tea, I think about this, for clearly, somewhere within lurks a life lesson, and I come to the conclusion that it’s this: until you start deciding how things should be, until you start having expectations of what will happen next, everything and anything is fine.
Which of course means that if you can be childlike and take each day as it comes, or at least engineer your expectations to include the random changes that life constantly throws at us, whatever happens can at least be considered usual, if not necessarily desirable. Which, I suppose is what the Buddhists mean when they go on about the origin of all suffering being our desire for permanence. Because we expect everything to carry on as today, we suffer every time it doesn’t. And we all know that it doesn’t.
At four and a half, Sarah hasn’t yet developed any expectation of permanence, and it seems that it’s probably just as well.
On Wednesday I talk to Ricardo for nearly two hours. I tell him everything I know about Jenny’s diagnosis and he tells me that he’ll look it up on the internet.
“But I think it’s pretty bad Chupy,” he says. “As far as I can remember it’s one of the worst places to have a tumour.”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m getting that too.”
“Who else is around? To look after her, I mean.”
“Other than me? And Tom maybe … no one really.”
“Family?”
“Her mum was the last to go, I think.”
“And no boyfriend?”
“No. There was some guy - Rodney or something, about a year ago. But she hasn’t mentioned him and I haven’t asked.”
“And Tom. Is he around much?”
“He works all week, so …”
“Right.”
“We haven’t talked about that Ricardo. I think we need to talk about it.”
“What?”
“Tom.”
“What about Tom?”
“Well, why did you ask me if I was going to sleep with him?”
“It was just a question. Are you angry by my question?”
“Well not really. But you should know the answer. I’m not going to sleep with anyone. Ever. No one except you.”
“OK.”
“Because I love you.”
“Me too.”
“Well good.”
“You know, I bet you won’t be able to go to Nice next week,” he says.
“I know. I was thinking that. Does it matter? Does it matter if I don’t visit your flat?”
“No. Not at all. And I bet that you won’t be able to fly back on the twenty-seventh neither.”
“Either.”
“OK, either. Either, neither … it’s never the good one.”
“No. I’ve been thinking that too. It depends what they say on Friday I suppose. If it’s malignant and they have to start treating her …”
“Did they say what treatment?”
“No.”
“Either will make her sick. Radiotherapy or Chemo.”
“Yeah. Still, they might still say it’s benign. There might not be any treatment.”
“They might.”
“Would you mind? If I couldn’t come back so soon?”
“Of course not Chupy. If you need to stay longer, you must.”
At that moment, I realise that one of the things I love about Ricardo is precisely his own childlike acceptance of change. He doesn’t seem to have any expectation either, so nothing phases him. It’s so relaxing after the drama of some of my past relationships. “You’re sweet,” I say.
“You’re more sweet. Maybe you should look at how much for changing the flight though.”
“It’s unchangeable, remember.”
“Oh, yeah. You could still call them. Maybe under special circumstance.”
“Sure. But I don’t know enough yet. We can think about it at the weekend.”
“My back hurts from sitting here. I think the thing I hate the most about you being away is having to sit at this computer all the time to talk.”
“I’m sorry babe. Shall I call you on the landline?”
“No. It’s fine. But if I got an iPhone, could we both Skype on it? Then I can make breakfast and talk at the same time.”
“But you hate them. All style and no substance. You said they’re for fashion victims.”
“I know Chups. But if we could Skype. Especially if you have to stay longer.”
“Well yeah … maybe look into it. I think the deals are quite expensive in Colombia though.”
“I’d have to change my number I guess. I’d have to go to Movistar. I don’t think Comcell do them.”
“No. I don’t think so either. But you can take your number with you these days. At least, you can in Europe.”
“I’m not sure babe. I’ll find out. But I don’t care if I have to change numbers anyway. The only person who call me is you and work.”
“And make sure you can pick up out there. There’s no point if there’s no coverage.”
“I’ll look into it Chupa Chups. OK, I have to go. It’s time for work and I didn’t even eat breakfast.”
“And here it’s just about time for lunch.”
“Happy eating babe.”
“Happy healing the sick.”