Page 68 of One Last Thing
‘At least it’s memorable.’
‘I’m hardly going to forget this kind of conversation, Mum,’ she tells me, astounded. She shakes her head and then her expression fills with unease. ‘Is it . . . is it bad? I mean, what’s going to happen?’
‘It’s not as bad as it could be. I’m having treatment and—’
‘What kind of treatment?’
‘I go in every six months for an intravenous drip, which hopefully will slow the progression of it. When you think about it, that’s not particularly intrusive, not compared to other treatments for other ailments. It affects me a little during the everyday. Some days not at all, I wouldn’t know anything was wrong. Other days, I might have pain in my limbs or the occasional tremor in my hands. The spasms can be unpleasant, but, you know, it fades.’
Megan’s watching me with a fierce concentration, her eyebrows knitted, her jaw set, her lips pressed together in a hard line. She doesn’t want to get upset, she wants to learn because that will help her process it. She did the same thing when her father was ill. How sorry I am to put her through this sort of thing again. She’s already proven her toughness, hasn’t she. It doesn’t seem fair to try her again.
‘Who has been coming with you for the treatments?’ she asks.
‘No one. But that’s on me. As I say, no one knows.’
‘You told Dad.’
‘Yes. And he was wonderful about it. He tried his best to get me to tell you and Jemma, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do so.’ I give her arm a nudge with my elbow. ‘Don’t blame him for not saying anything, I wouldn’t let him.’
She nods silently, processing it all.
‘Are you all right?’ I check, studying her face.
‘I . . . yeah. I can’t believe you haven’t said anything for so long.’
‘It’s easier than you think. I could pretend for longer. That’s what Françoise made starkly clear yesterday,’ I say, still bristling at our strained conversation.
‘You told Françoise?’ Megan says, justly surprised.
‘Not on purpose. I had a bit of pain and she happened to come along at that exact moment and helped me. She worked out something was worse than I was letting on and it all came spilling out. But she described what I was doing as “pretending” and the word struck a chord, I suppose.’ I stretch my legs out in front of me, staring at my shoes as my toes point up to the balloon carrying us away. ‘I’ve been mostly pretending to myself that not much has changed, but I think I should accept that it might.’
I hear her inhale and exhale deeply beside me.
‘I don’t know much about MS, I’m going to have to do some research,’ she says rather sweetly.
‘I might be able to answer any burning questions you have. If you’re worried about it being hereditary, then I can assure you it’s not, although if you have someone in the family with MS then your chances are slightly higher of developing it, and I should mention that women are more likely than men to develop MS, but there’s a combination of—’
‘Mum,’ she says, blinking at me, ‘I’m not worrying about whetherImight develop it. All I’m worrying about right now is you.’
‘Oh.’ Something swells in my heart. ‘Well. You don’t need to worry about me.’
‘The treatments for MS are good nowadays, aren’t they?’ she asks anxiously.
‘Yes, darling, they’re brilliant!’ I cry enthusiastically, determined to put her at ease. ‘It doesn’t impact me in a particularly challenging way and they encourage you to live your life as normal and with positivity. Carry on as usual, forget it exists.’
Megan attempts a wry smile. ‘That doesn’t sound like the sort of thing a doctor would say.’
‘No, that’s a rough translation,’ I admit. ‘But it’s not far off. And clearly your father agreed with some aspects of how I was handling it. Look at him forcing me onto that horse ride. Talk about a lack of sympathy.’
‘Exercise is probably good for the muscle pain.’
‘Light exercise, darling,lightexercise. I don’t need to become a fucking jockey.’
‘What about you swimming into Collioure from the boat?’ she points out, eyebrows raised. ‘That’s not exactly light exercise. Was that on doctor’s orders?’
‘No, that was your father in my head once again telling me to take the jump. It felt good, I have to say, proving to myself I wasn’t completely . . . broken.’
Megan looks at me curiously. ‘Is that how you feel?’
