This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(126)

When Emma was finally confined to her bed, Dr Richards warned Harry that it could now only be a matter of weeks.

Although Harry rarely left her alone for more than a few minutes, he found it hard to bear the pain she had to endure. His wife was now barely able to swallow anything but liquids, and even the power of speech had deserted her, so she had begun to communicate by blinking. Once for yes, twice for no. Three times please, four times thank you. Harry pointed out to her that three and four were somewhat redundant, but he could hear her saying good manners are never redundant.

Whenever darkness crept into the room, Harry would switch on the bedside light and read her another chapter, hoping she would quickly fall asleep.





After one of his morning visits, Dr Richards took Harry to one side.

‘It won’t be long now.’

For some time, Harry’s only concern had been how much longer Emma would have to suffer. He replied, ‘Let’s hope you’re right.’

That evening, he sat on the edge of the bed and continued reading. ‘This is a puzzling world, and Old Harry’s got a finger on it.’

Emma smiled.

When he came to the end of the chapter, he closed the book and looked down at the woman who had shared his life, but who clearly no longer wanted to live. He bent down and whispered, ‘I love you, my darling.’ Four blinks of the eyelids.

‘Is the pain unbearable?’ One blink.

‘It won’t be much longer now.’ Three blinks, followed by a pleading look.

He kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I have only ever loved one woman in my life,’ he whispered. Four blinks. ‘And I pray it will not be long before we see each other again.’ One blink, followed by three, followed by four.

He held her hand, closed his eyes and asked a God of whose existence he was no longer sure to forgive him. He then picked up a pillow before he could change his mind, and looked at her one more time.

One blink, followed by three.

He hesitated.

One blink, repeated every few seconds.

He lowered the pillow gently on to Emma’s face.

Her hands and legs twitched for a few moments before she fell still, but he continued to press down. When he finally lifted the pillow, there was a smile on her face as if she was enjoying her first rest in months.

Harry held her in his arms as the first of the autumn leaves began to fall.





Dr Richards dropped by the following morning, and if he was surprised to find that his patient had died during the night, he did not mention it to Harry. He simply wrote on the death certificate Died in her sleep as a result of Motor Neurone Disease. But then he was an old friend, as well as the family doctor.

Emma had left clear instructions that she wanted a quiet funeral, attended only by family and close friends. No flowers, and donations to the Bristol Royal Infirmary. Her wishes were carried out to the letter, but then she had no way of knowing how many people looked upon her as a close friend.

The village church was packed with locals, and others who were not quite so local, as Harry discovered when he shuffled down the aisle to join the rest of the family in the front pew and passed a former prime minister seated in the third row.

He couldn’t recall a great deal about the service, as his mind was preoccupied, but he did try to concentrate when the vicar delivered his moving eulogy.

After the coffin was lowered into the ground and the rough sods of earth had been cast upon it, Harry was among the last to leave the graveside. When he returned to the Manor House to join the rest of the family, he found he couldn’t recall Lucy’s name.

Grace kept a close eye on him as he sat quietly in the drawing room where he’d first met Emma – well, not exactly met.

‘They’ve all gone,’ she told him, but he just sat there, staring out of the window.

When the sun disappeared behind the highest oak, he stood, walked across the hall and slowly climbed the stairs to their bedroom. He undressed and got into an empty bed, no longer caring for this world.





Doctors will tell you, you can’t die of grief. But Harry died nine days later.

The death certificate gave the cause of death as cancer, but as Dr Richards pointed out, if Harry had wanted to he could have lived for another ten, perhaps twenty years.

Harry’s instructions were as clear as Emma’s had been. Like her, he wanted a quiet funeral. His only request was to be buried beside his wife. His wishes were adhered to, and when the family returned to the Manor House after the funeral, Giles gathered them all together in the drawing room and asked them to raise a glass to his oldest and dearest friend.

‘I hope,’ he added, ‘that you’ll allow me to do one thing that I know Harry wouldn’t have approved of.’ The family listened in silence to his proposal.

‘He most certainly wouldn’t have approved,’ said Grace. ‘But Emma would have, because she told me so.’

Giles looked in turn at each member of the family, but he didn’t need to seek their approval, because it was clear that they were as one.





HARRY ARTHUR CLIFTON


1920–1992





52


HIS INSTRUCTIONS couldn’t have been clearer, but then they’d been at it since 1621.

The Rt Hon. Lord Barrington of Bristol Docklands was to arrive at St Paul’s Cathedral at 10.50 on the morning of April 10th, 1993. At 10.53, he would be met at the north-west door by the Very Reverend Eric Evans, canon in residence. At 10.55, the canon would accompany the Lord Chancellor into the cathedral, and then they would proceed to the front of the nave where he should land – the canon’s word – at 10.57.