Lizzie

He went to bed straight after his drink. It really was a lonesome road this way. He thought of the previous time he visited, and of the nice day with Lizzie afterwards. He wished he could just talk things over sometimes, instead of worrying alone. He lay awake for some time before he slowly slipped into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, there was a faint sun through the foggy early morning light. Maybe they were wrong, he thought. He did hope so. He went through his rituals as fast as he could, and got into the car. He first stopped at the local shop for a bottle of wine - suppose his father would get a little better again, than it would be an excellent idea to be prepared - and some food. Then he straightened his back and embarked on the journey.

It stayed dry for about half an hour. Then the first raindrops hit the windshield, and it wasn't long before it really started raining in earnest. The gloom he felt was echoed by the weather - it was murky and very grey and the sound of the water drumming on the roof almost drowned out the music he was playing. Nevertheless he kept it on; it distracted his worries a little.

The rain just didn't stop. It varied in intensity but it was really heavy anyway, and the traffic was much denser that it had been last time. Every car was enveloped in a cloud of water, and the lorries were especially bad. Dan sat staring into the rain, trying not to miss anything on the busy road. The landscape was blurred and the signboards were difficult to read. Not that he had to; he knew the road like the back of his hand. Quite some people apparently didn't and they slowed down to be able to read them, causing the rest of the traffic to slow down, too. It would be a long, hard drive...

After some hours he pulled up at a roadside restaurant for some lunch. He felt tired and cold, and the place didn't really feel warm. But the food was okay, and the coffee hot. He rested for his customary thirty minutes, and then drove on.

He finished the second leg in one go. The traffic had subsided but the weather conditions made it impossible to drive fast, and it was approaching dusk when he arrived. He got his bag from the boot and went inside. He found his uncle waiting for him in the living room, looking worried and grey-faced.

He quickly gave Dan the lay of the land. His father, it seemed, had just not got any energy left, and he was very worried about him. There were no other relatives their age, and when his brother died he would be very alone, except for the occasional visit of Dan's cousins. They didn't come as often as he did, though, not by a long chalk. Their GP was there at the moment, checking blood pressure and deciding on what treatment, if any, to give him. He had asked for him, his uncle said, so he was happy he had arrived in time.

Dan nodded. "That's a good idea. I'd love to hear things from the horse's mouth. I'll just go and get the food I bought inside."

He went into the rain again, and brought the bags indoors. He took them into the kitchen. His uncle followed him there. "I don't think you have to cook for Gerald," he said. "He only drinks a little now."

He looked at the things Dan had bought, and raised his eyebrows when he saw the bottle of wine.

"It was a ritual of ours," Dan explained. "We always had a glass of wine with our meal. Maybe you can have some tonight?"

"Yes please. Shall we go and see if McKinnon has finished with your father?"

Dan nodded and the two men walked to the bedroom. Dan knocked, and McKinnon came to the door. He introduced himself and shook hands, and stood aside to admit the two men.

The room was stuffy and hot, and his father looked very small and thin in the big bed. His face lit up, when he saw his son enter the room.

"Hello, father," Dan said. "It was a long drive today. Rain and wind... You will have heard."

His father gave him the shadow of a smile. "I am happy you are here," he said. "I won't be long any more, and it is a comforting idea to have you around."

He shook his son's hand and sat half up for a moment. Then he fell back into the pillows.

Dan nodded at him. "I'm glad to be of comfort," he said, and looked at him. "I'd like to have a word with McKinnon for a moment, and then I will come and sit and talk."

"Good. Thank you."

The old man smiled at his son, and tried to find himself a comfortable position in the bed.

"Can I help?" Dan asked.

"No, no. I'm fine. Just you go and talk."

His uncle stayed with his brother while McKinnon and Dan left the room. Dan led the way to the living room and the two men sat down to talk. McKinnon was about Dan's age, he though. He was a rather rugged kind of man who emanated a sense of dependability somehow. He had reddish hair and hairy wrists. Dan inwardly smiled at himself for noticing - he wouldn't have, under normal circumstances.

McKinnon looked at him for a moment, weighing his words and wondering if he should mince matters or not, and deciding against it.

"I think l'd better tell you the way it is, you know - your old man is just too weak to last. I cannot say how long he will be, though. He may hang on for another week, maybe ten days... He may as well be gone tomorrow. I will have to put him on morphine - he is in pain, and ordinary painkillers are not strong enough anymore, I fear."

Dan nodded. He thought about it for a moment. Then he said, "I saw it coming, I'm afraid. He seems to have purposefully starved himself. Er... Is there anything I should or shouldn't do? Do I feed him? And what about the normal things like visiting the toilet, or washing?"

"Don't you worry. I will arrange for a nurse to come and see to that regularly. What you can do is extremely limited - all I could advise is to be there and talk to him as long as he is still lucid. When I have put him on morphine he will slowly glide away from you. I understood from him that you are very close. It will be a comfort to him to know you are there, even when he stops reacting. I don't think he will suffer too much, especially when the morphine does its work"

"I'll do my best. There is no chance the tide will turn?"

"None whatsoever. It will be tough for the both of you. But that can't be helped."

Dan looked at him pensively. "Yes," he said. "I know."

It would be less so if there were someone to share the burden with. Oh well, least his uncle was there.

"Do I stay with him at night?"

"No. You will not be of any use to him then; he sleeps most of the time anyway. And if you can talk, in the daytime, that is best."

McKinnon got up and looked at Dan for a moment. "You'll see me around," he said. "I will look in on him tomorrow morning. I hope it will not be too awful."

He shook hands with Dan and left.

Dan walked back to the bedroom. He found his uncle sitting in a chair, looking at his brother, who had fallen asleep. When Dan came in he got up. "Let's go into the kitchen," he said.

Dan led the way. He made them a cup of tea, while his uncle sat at the kitchen table.

"You are staying here?" Dan said. "I would be glad of your company."

"I hoped you would. I'd like to stay until..." He couldn't finish his sentence.

"I know. I am going to prepare dinner. I don't think father will wake up any time soon, but I'll check when the food is cooking."

He cleaned the vegetables and the potatoes while he tried to distract his uncle a little. When everything was on the gas, he walked to the downstairs bedroom. His father was fast asleep, breathing irregularly. Dan nodded and went back to the kitchen. "He is asleep," he announced.

Then he laid the table and got the wine bottle. "Would you like some wine?" he said.

His uncle nodded and Dan poured him a glass. Then he had one himself, and sat down, too.

"It is strange to sit here without him," he said. "We sat here every six weeks or so for the past ten years or more. I do hope he won't suffer too much. But McKinnon doesn't think he will."

"I know. Gerald used to tell me all about your visits... I started to get really worried when he didn't, last time. I had to drag the words out of him." He looked at his nephew with raised eyebrows. "He seemed to think - or hope, perhaps - that you had found a new girlfriend."

"I don't know. I talked to him about loneliness and about a woman I met a little while ago... She is my old friend Zeb's widow, and I think she is great. But I don't know if Zeb won't stay between us forever - I'm not even quite sure what I think of her, or feel for her."

"Have you tried to allow yourself to set those qualms of conscience aside? Maybe she thinks the same about you..." He looked at his wine and shook his head. "None of my business, though."

Dan looked at him thoughtfully. "Did you ever talk with father about mother's death, and about his being alone? I always felt that in all our talks he somehow refrained from telling me what was really worrying him."

"Hardly ever, really. He once said that life had lost its shine, and that the days were too long without his job. He misses Jo frightfully - but you know that. I think he's just kept on pining for her. He doesn't have any useful ways to spend his time; that doesn't help either."

"I never understood why they kept themselves to themselves like they did. Having friends might have made the difference."

"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you. He never told me, and I never asked. They were of a very retiring disposition... It cannot have been bursting with life when you were young."

"Not really. I don't think I ever saw them touch."

"No. Still, they were completely devoted to each other, but it must have been stifling in the extreme."

Dan looked at him a little dubiously. "I don't really know," he said. "I never knew anything different."

He got up to see to the food. Dinner was a little subdued, but they talked a little about safer things, and they had a pleasant time after dinner, watching the news. There were flood warnings for the north of England and parts of Scotland.

"Not to worry," his uncle said. "We are not in the danger zone at all."

No, Dan thought. Lizzie might be, though. But he shook it off and offered his uncle a dram. They sat talking about old times together until ten, when his uncle went upstairs and to bed.

Dan went down the corridor to look at his father. He was fast asleep, fortunately - no need to go and do things. He went back and had another drink, and he sat down to think things over. He did wish there were internet in the house. But alas, he just felt isolated and rather upset. If only Lizzie were there to talk to. She had been on his mind rather often, and after his visit he had found himself wondering if she liked him as much as he did. Her smile made him feel all warm and happy, that was for certain. Now if their relationship weren't coloured by Zeb... He sighed. It was difficult.

He rolled his drink in his glass and took his notebook from his jacket pocket to write a few lines of poetry that somehow inflicted themselves on him. They arranged themselves into a poem about Lizzie. When he had finished scribbling he finished his drink, had a look at his father again and turned in.

XXIII

The next morning McKinnon arrived very early, together with a nurse, to examine his charge and to have him washed. While she busied herself with his toilet, the GP installed a drip next to the bed, and eventually he inserted a needle in the old man's hand.

"This wilt hurt a little at first," he said. "But when the morphine gets going, you will be alright."

Dan waited for them to finish in the corridor. It wasn't too long before the nurse came out of the room. "We are ready," she said. "You can go in."

Dan entered to find his father looking a lot worse than the day before. He greeted his son with a nod, but that seemed to be as much as he could manage.

Dan said good morning and nodded to McKinnon. He nodded back, rather grimly. Then he shook his head.

Dan went to the bed and stroked his father's cheek. "I will come and sit with you," he said. "I will talk to McKinnon for a moment."

They stepped out of the room. "How is he?" Dan asked.

"Getting worse more quickly than I'd thought. His heart is strong, though. Still, when the pain gets worse I will step up the dose of morphine. I don't think he will live to see the weekend - but you never know. He will not want any food, and I doubt whether he will want to drink anything. If he does it's best to stick to water or lukewarm weak tea."

"So nothing for me to do than keeping him company?"

"I am afraid so. I will be around again by four - unless things get worse fast. Please don't hesitate to call at any time, right?"

"I won't, thank you. It is the best for him, I think."

"It is. He is in a lot of pain, and he has nothing to keep him going, physically."

"No. I can see that. He has lost the incentive to go on, on top of that."

"I guessed as much. I had just started my practice when your parents came to live here, and I have seen your father go silent after your mother died. Oh well, such is life. Keep up the good work. See you this afternoon."

McKinnon left and Dan went back to the room. He sat down and took his father's hand. He squeezed it ever so lightly, and got a squeeze in return. The two men smiled at each other for a second. Then the old man closed his eyes and lay back, and he fell asleep almost at once.

It wasn't long before Dan's uncle joined them. He looked at Dan quizzically, and Dan pulled a face and shook his head.

"I thought as much," his uncle said. "It's good to be here together."

Dan nodded at him, grateful for his presence. He had not expected that his father would make such a turn for the worse so fast.

"I spoke to McKinnon just now. He seems to think it may be over at any moment." He still held his father's hand, wondering it it would be of any comfort to him. "It is a strange way of taking our leave."

They sat in silence for a long time after that. At ten thirty Dan relinquished his father's hand, and he went to the kitchen to make some coffee. He was back very quickly and handed a mug to his uncle.

They had just finished their coffee when the sick man suddenly sat up. He looked around the room with wild eyes, groaned and sank back into the pillows again. His breathing sounded very shallow, and now and again it seemed to stop completely. Dan took his hand again and stroked it, and after quite some while they saw his chest move more regularly again. Dan looked at his uncle.

"I thought that was it," he said.

"I remember this sort of thing when your aunt died... It could happen any couple of times again, you know. And you get a start every time, and you just don't know."

He shook his head. "I have never forgotten those hours - days, actually. She was unconscious for over forty-eight hours... Is there any coffee left in the kitchen?"

"I made a full pot."

His uncle got up and came back with it. "We can do with some more," he said.

Dan nodded. "Yes please," he said.

They sat drinking their coffee in silence, looking at the sleeping figure in the bed. Now and then he stirred a little but he didn't wake up. They neither of them felt like talking, and the morning passed very, very slowly. In the room the only sounds were the irregular breathing, the occasional beep of the drip and the relentless rain against the window. Dan would remember them for a long time to come.

At twelve the nurse came in. She busied herself with the old man while the two others went to the kitchen for lunch.

"No sense in starving ourselves," Dan said.

"No. It's tough, isn't it? And you don't really want to leave - I'd hate the idea of his dying alone."

"Yes. I'll have to find out whether McKinnon thinks I'd better stay up and wake over him."

"I'll take turns with you if you don't mind. If things go wrong we can wake each other. What do you say?"

"I'd really appreciate that. Yes, that will be a great idea."

"Alright then. Can I have some toast?"

They had a nice lunch together, notwithstanding the sad circumstances, and they returned to the bedroom a little while after the nurse had popped her head around the kitchen door.

"Everything alright," she had said. "He is sleeping peacefully."

The two men sat keeping vigilance all afternoon. McKinnon dropped by a little after four.

"I'm sorry," he said, " but I had an emergency. All solved, now. So how is my patient?"

He examined the sleeper, taking his pulse and listening to him breathe by unbuttoning his pyjamas jacket. He didn't wake up.

"Mmm. No big change - but his pulse is weaker than it was this morning. Will you sit up with him tonight?"

"We decided to take turns, yes," uncle Jack said. "Do you think he might die tonight?"

"He might die any moment. But I wouldn't dare predict a time; I have seen too many unlikely prolonged sickbeds in patients like this. I hope for him he will. Even so, you may be in for a couple of long wakeful nights." He looked at the others and shook his head. "I wish I could be clearer."

Dan nodded. "I understand," he said. "Better tell it like it is. I will resign myself to it."

"So will I," his uncle said. "It's the least I can do."

"Alright then. See you in the morning, if he is still alive. If not I will be around sooner."

McKinnon got up, shook hands and left.

The men looked at each other.

"I think he expects he will die tonight, don't you think so?"

Dan nodded. "Yes," he said. "Er... Do you mind staying here for a while, so I can do the cooking?"

"Go ahead. Perhaps we better have our dinner in here then."

"Yes. Alright. I'll try and be quick."

He was back within thirty minutes, carrying a tray with two plates and two glasses of wine. The smell of food made Jack's mouth water.

"My, I can really do with something to eat. It smells good."

Dan smiled a little tiredly. "Thank you," he said as he handed his uncle one of the plates and a set of cutlery.

It tasted good, too. Dan felt really hungry, and he polished off his meal in five minutes. His uncle took his time. He slowly ate his meal while sipping his wine and they actually enjoyed the feeling of togetherness.

After dinner Dan took the tray to kitchen to do the washing up, and to make them some coffee again. "Better make sure we won't drop off too easily," he said with a little smile, to mask the sorrow he felt. They had some more coffee around eleven, and then uncle Jack left to have some sleep. Dan would wake him up at two.

He went into the living room to pick up his briefcase and settled into his chair with a book, next to the bed. He looked at the sleeping form of his father every now and then but there was no visible sign of change. He made a couple of notes while reading to distract his thoughts, but he didn't succeed too well. His father was foremost in his mind all the time, sometimes replaced for a moment by Lizzie. The memory of her smile was a great relief. He wished he could talk to her for just a moment, and he briefly wondered how the rains were affecting her village.

At a quarter past twelve his father suddenly sat up for a split second. "Dan," he said. Then he lay back again, and made some indeterminate sound - Dan could not for the life of him say what it sounded like - and stopped breathing.

Dan, who had felt a bit sleepy by the time, was wide awake at once. He felt his father's chest, but there was no motion there, nor could he hear any breathing any more. His eyes filled with tears, but he went to his uncle's bedroom at once and woke him up.

"It's over, I think. Please, could you come?"

Uncle Jack got up immediately. He put on his dressing gown and went into bedroom of the deceased.

"I will go and call the doctor," Dan said. He took his phone from his pocket but there was no connection, and he used the landline instead. Thank God there is one here still, he thought.