Lottie looked at him. This couldn’t possibly be a joke. But it had to be. How was Freddie able to just sit there and say something like that? She felt her heart begin to thud loudly, like a drum. How could it be true?
“Oh, Freddie.”
“I know, bit of a conversation stopper. Sorry about that.” Evidently relieved to have it out in the open, Freddie added, “Although I must say, I never thought I’d see you at a loss for words.”
Lottie gathered her wits. “Well, it’s a shock. But the doctors can do so much now; it’ll be fine—they just whip them out these days, don’t they? You wait. You’ll be as good as new in no time.”
It was what she wanted to believe, but even as the words were tumbling out, Lottie knew the situation was far worse than that. This wasn’t like cradling a child with a grazed knee, sticking a Disney bandage on, and reassuring them that it would stop hurting in a minute.
This wasn’t something she could kiss better.
“Right, I’m telling you this, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t pass it on to anyone else,” said Freddie. “The tumor is inoperable, so the surgeons can’t whip it out. Chemo and radiotherapy won’t cure me, but they might buy me a little more time. Well, funnily enough I wasn’t tempted by that, so I said thanks but no thanks.”
“But—”
“I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t interrupt,” Freddie said calmly. “Now that I’ve started I’d quite like to finish. So anyway, I decided pretty much straightaway that if I don’t have long to live, I’d rather live it on my own terms. We both know what Mary went through.” He looked at Lottie. “Two years of surgery, endless nightmare treatments. All that pain. She spent months feeling like death, and what good did it do? At the end of it all, she died anyway. So I’m going to give that a miss. According to my consultant, I have maybe a year. Well, that’s fine. I’ll make the most of it, see how things go. He warned me that the last few months might not be pretty, so I told him that, in any case, I’d probably give them a miss too.”
It was all too much to take in. Lottie, her hands trembling, reached for her glass and knocked it onto its side. Five minutes ago she would have thrown herself across the table and licked up the spilled wine rather than waste it. Now she simply poured herself some more, right up to the brim.
“Am I allowed to ask questions yet?”
Freddie nodded graciously. “Fire away.”
“How long have you known?”
“A fortnight.” His smile was crooked. “Of course it was a shock at first. But it’s surprising how fast you get used to it.”
“I didn’t even know you were ill. Why didn’t you say something before?”
“That’s just it, I don’t feel ill.” Freddie spread his hands. “Headaches, that was all it was. I thought I probably needed new reading glasses, so I saw my optometrist…and when she looked into my eyes with that light instrument of hers, she was able to see that I had a problem. Next thing I knew, I was being referred to a neurologist, having scans and all manner of tests. Then, boom, that was it. Diagnosis. Lottie, if you’re crying, I’ll throw my drink over you. Stop it at once.”
Hastily Lottie blinked the tears back into her eyes, sniffed loudly, and ordered herself to get a grip. Freddie was confiding in her because he thought he could trust her not to dissolve in a heap. She wasn’t the crying type.
“Right. Done.” She sniffed again, took a gulp of wine, and said defensively, “Sorry, but it’s just not fair. You don’t deserve this.”
“I know, I’m marvelous.” Stubbing out his cigar, Freddie said, “Practically a saint.”
“Especially not after what happened to Mary.” Lottie’s throat tightened; she couldn’t bear it.
“Sweetheart, don’t get angry on my behalf. Mary isn’t here anymore.” Reaching across the table, Freddie took her hand between both of his and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Don’t you see? That makes it easier. Finding out about this thing in my head isn’t the most terrible thing that’s ever happened to me. Not even close. Losing Mary and having to carry on without her beats this tumor of mine hands down.”
Now Lottie really was in danger of bursting into tears. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“Romantic.” Freddie repeated the word and chuckled. “Know what’s ironic? That’s how her nickname for me came about. Mary always said I was about as romantic as a string tank. Oh, she knew how much she meant to me, but it was easier for us to tease each other. All that lovey-dovey hearts and flowers stuff was never our thing.”
Lottie remembered. The two of them had always been gloriously happy together; theirs had truly been a marriage to aspire to. Their verbal sparring had been endlessly inventive, as entertaining as any TV double act. She couldn’t imagine how desperately Freddie must have missed his beloved wife.
So that was why Mary had always called him “String.”
The unfairness of what was happening hit Lottie all over again. “Oh, Freddie. Why does this have to happen to you?”
“Or there’s the other way of looking at it, telling yourself you’re lucky it didn’t happen forty years ago,” said Freddie. “Now that would have pissed me off. But I’ve made it to sixty-four and that’s not so bad.” Counting off on his fingers, he went on, “When I was seven, I fell out of a tree and broke my arm. I could have landed on my head and died. When I was sixteen, I was knocked off my bike by a truck and cracked a few ribs. But I could have been killed then too. And there’s the time Mary and I were on vacation in Geneva. We got so plastered with a group of friends on our last night that we missed our flight home. And what happened? The plane crashed.”
He was getting carried away now. Lottie had heard this story before.
“It didn’t crash,” she corrected Freddie. “One of the wheels came off and it tipped over on the runway. Nobody was killed.”
“But we could have been. People were injured.”
“Bumps and bruises.” Lottie wasn’t to be swayed; there was a principle at stake. “Bumps and bruises don’t count.”
“Depends how bad they are.” Freddie eyed her with amusement. “Are we bickering?”
“No.” Ashamed of herself, Lottie instantly backed down. Bickering with a dying man; how could she stoop so low?
Evidently reading her mind, Freddie said, “Yes we are, and don’t you dare start giving in. If you won’t bicker with me anymore, I’ll find someone else who will. I only told you what’s going on because I thought I could rely on you to handle it. I don’t want the kid-glove treatment, OK?”
“You don’t want any treatment at all,” Lottie retaliated heatedly. “The thing is, maybe radiotherapy and chemo would work.”
“You’re allowed to bicker,” Freddie said firmly, “but you definitely aren’t allowed to nag. Or I shall have to sack you.”
“You’re selling the business.”
“Ah, but I could sack you now. Sweetheart, I’m a grown-up. I’ve made my decision. If I’ve got six good months left on this earth, then I want to make the most of them, do what I want to do. In fact, that’s where you come in.” He was more relaxed now, casually swatting away a hovering wasp as he spoke. “There’s something I’m going to need a hand with, Lottie. And I’d like you to help me out.”
For an appalling moment Lottie thought he meant help with doing away with himself when the time came. Jolted, she said, “In what way?”
“Good grief, not that kind of help.” Yet again reading her mind—or more likely the look of absolute horror on her face—Freddie gave a shout of laughter. “I’ve seen you clay-pigeon shooting. The only thing you managed to hit was a tree. If I need putting down when the time comes, I’ll ask a damn sight better shot than you.”
“Don’t joke about it.” Lottie glared at him. “It’s not funny.”
“Sorry.” Freddie was unrepentant. “But the thought of being aimed at by you and a twelve-gauge is. Look, I’m dealing with this in my own way,” he went on, his tone consoling. “We all have to go sometime, don’t we? I could have a heart attack and drop dead tomorrow. Compared with that, being given six months’ notice is a luxury. And that’s why I’m not going to waste it.”
Lottie braced herself. He’d said he needed her help. “So what will you do?”
“Well, I’ve given this a lot of thought. And it’s actually not as easy as you’d imagine.” Freddie pulled a face. “I mean, what would you do? If money was no object.”
This was surreal. Morbid and surreal. But if Freddie could do it, so could she. Lottie said, “OK, it’s a cliché, but I suppose I’d take the kids to Disneyland.”
“Exactly.” Looking pleased, Freddie nodded vigorously. “Because you know it’s what they’d love more than anything.”
Defensively Lottie said, “I’d love it too!”
“Of course you would. But if the kids couldn’t make it, would you go along by yourself?”
The penny dropped. Feeling terrible all over again, Lottie longed to hug him. Instead she said, “No, I suppose not,” and took another gulp of wine.
“You see? My point exactly.” Freddie sat forward, his elbows on the table. “Years ago, before she got ill, Mary and I used to dream of retiring one day and traveling the world. She wanted to walk the Great Wall of China, visit the Victoria Falls, and explore the lost city of Peru. Top of my list was a fortnight at the Gritti Palace in Venice, followed by trips to New Zealand and Polynesia. Then we’d start arguing, because I said when the traveling was out of our system we should buy ourselves a little villa in Tuscany, and Mary insisted that if she was going to be old anywhere, she’d rather be old in Paris.”
He paused, gazing for a moment at the almost empty bottle of Château Margaux. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? The whole plan was that we’d be old together. Now I can afford to go anywhere I want in the world, but there’s no point anymore because where’s the fun in going on my own or with a bunch of strangers? I only wanted to see those places with Mary.”
Lottie pictured him in front of some spectacular view with no one he cared about to share it with. It was how she would feel, sitting all alone in a carriage on one of the roller-coaster rides in Disneyland. Without Nat and Ruby there at her side, how could she possibly enjoy it?
“Traveling’s out, then.”
Freddie nodded. “And I’ve decided to give the dangerous sports a miss. Doing a parachute jump, rappeling, white-water rafting.” His mouth twitched. “Not really my scene.”
How could he be this cheerful? Mystified, Lottie said, “So what are you going to do?”
“Well, that’s why I’m asking you to help me.” Freddie looked pleased with himself. “You see, I have a plan.”