Postscript (P.S. I Love You #2)(70)

31


Unable to take any more time off work, and still feeling revived and enthusiastic a week after my great epiphany, I decide to begin my days earlier. It’s 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and I’m feeling positive about the next mission with Paul. I wait in the vast empty car park of a retail park, which is the address he’s given me. I have no idea why I’m here. I don’t have any control over Paul’s ideas, I’m merely the camera holder and that’s all he wants me to be. I wonder if I should be more, if he will make room for me to be more.

A car finally enters the car park and I can’t help but laugh. It’s a bottle-green Morris Minor, not Paul’s usual car. I film his arrival, keeping my laughter silent and trying to hold my hand steady. I’m not supposed to be seen or heard. He parks beside me and lowers the window, which takes a while as it’s a manual roll-down, but adds to the humour.

‘Hi, Casper,’ he says to the camera. ‘You’re sixteen. Looking good. I’m sure the girls love you. This here is the car that my dad, Grandpa Charlie, taught me to drive in. It wasn’t cool then, it isn’t cool now, but today I’m taking you on your first driving lesson in the same car Grandpa Charlie taught me to drive in. Hop in,’ he says, winking.

‘What’s wrong?’ he looks at me, uncertainly, when we’ve finished filming the driving lesson. ‘Not good? I’m not sure if you were feeling that one.’

‘It’s great!’ I plaster a smile on my face, but I’m worried. He made quite a few comments that I don’t think will be relevant in sixteen years, and I don’t think Paul has thought this through entirely. He’s acting as though this driving lesson is about to happen to his two-year-old son tomorrow, mentioning friends his son has now, referencing everything from now, or things that it is impossible to predict in fifteen years’ time. I don’t say anything because I don’t want to spoil Paul’s mood. His wishes are my command and it’s uplifting to be with him when he is in such a cheery mood. Preparing the letters and films doesn’t steep us in darkness as one would imagine, as Gabriel feared; it’s all positive and fun and forward-thinking. I’d like him to see me as I am at this moment; laughing and smiling, enjoying time with someone he assumed would drag me down into a deep depressive state.

‘Are we still good for Eva’s videos tomorrow?’ he asks, high-energy, anxious, worried as if I’m going to say no.

‘Everything is organised.’

‘Great,’ he says. ‘Then we’re almost finished. I need to have it all complete by next week.’

Once I’m finished with Paul, there’s only one person left. What will I do then? ‘Why next week?’

‘The craniotomy is scheduled.’

Without a doubt, brain surgery of any description is probably the most dangerous surgery you can undergo. A craniotomy is the most common type of brain surgery to remove a brain tumour, where the surgeon cuts out a part of the skull to get to the brain. Often it’s not possible for the surgeon to remove all the tumour so they remove as much as they can; this is called debulking. The risks are infection, haemorrhage, or bleeding in the brain, blood clots, brain swelling, seizures, some patients can develop a stroke due to low blood pressure.

‘My husband had one.’

‘It will be my third. The surgeon has suggested there may be left-sided paralysis.’

‘They have to give you the worst-case scenario.’

‘I know. But I want to have all the messages ready, just in case. I’ve written the letter for Claire, and we’ve dozens of videos, you’ll have them all ready, won’t you?’ His legs bounce nervously beneath the steering wheel.

‘I’ve been sending them to the email address we set up for Casper and Eve,’ I say calmly, trying for my tone to be an influence.

‘My letter will tell Claire what to do for the kids,’ he says.

I nod. I hope Claire will think it’s a good idea, otherwise she will be burdened for the rest of her life delivering emails to her growing children. I wonder if I should ask him this, but instead I ask, ‘Paul, should you even be driving?’

He’s irritated by this question.

‘I ask only out of concern.’ For almost four years my days revolved around what Paul is experiencing. I know about the double vision, the seizures, the immobilisation. Gerry’s licence had been suspended.

‘After next week, I won’t be. After next week, I won’t be doing a lot of things. Thanks for your help, Holly.’

It’s blunt and I know it’s my cue to get out of the car.

A tap on my window gives me a fright.

Paul looks up and curses.

I look out and see a young woman, around my age, with a yoga mat bag over her shoulder, glaring angrily through the window.

‘Shit,’ I whisper. I look at Paul, who’s white in the face. ‘Is that Claire?’

He paints on a wide grin and gets out of the car.

‘Paul,’ I hiss, my heart pounding with nerves.

‘Just go with what I say.’ He smiles at me through gritted smiling teeth.

Claire backs away from my window.

‘Hi honey,’ I hear him say warmly, oozing with charm and in my opinion lies.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ I whisper to myself before taking a deep breath and opening the door.