Quintin Jardine - On Honeymoon With Death

Thank you, Alejandro , I almost said out loud as the baby’s cry came from upstairs. There’s nothing better than a howling baby for dismissing Mr Stiffy, especially if his mother caused him to creep up on you in the first place.

Ramon broke off from a group of Brits, leaving Frank Barnett in mid-joke. ‘We should go home now,’ his wife said as he approached.

‘Yes,’ Ramon agreed. Just at that moment, there was a commotion around the television. The gathering parted and I could see the floodlit shape of Edinburgh Castle. It was ‘Happy New Year’ time again.

However happy we all think we are on high days and holidays, there’s no door that we can step through to leave reality on the other side. (Well, actually, there is, but they don’t sell return tickets.) We were reminded of that eight and a half hours into the new year when the phone rang by the side of our bed.

‘If that’s my sister. .’ I heard Prim muttering drowsily as I floated back up to the surface. ‘Bitch. We agreed that I would call her tonight.’

She picked up the phone, and answered with a slightly threatening ‘Yes?’

About three seconds later her face changed. Her free hand went to her mouth in an instinctive gesture, and she frowned more deeply than I’d ever seen. She didn’t say much, just four more ‘yes’s, each one quieter than the one before. Finally she nodded, and murmured, ‘I’ll call you back when I’ve done that.’

I stared at her, waiting, as she replaced the receiver. ‘That was Miles,’ she told me; her voice was steady, but I could tell she was having to work at keeping it that way. ‘Mum’s in hospital, in Los Angeles. She perforated a stomach ulcer last night. They’ve operated and that’s no longer critical but, during surgery, they spotted some other lesions. They removed them and sent them for biopsy; the hospital’s path lab is closed because of the holiday, so it’ll be a couple of days before they can run tests.

‘But it could be malignant. Oz, Mum could have cancer.’ I was sitting up by this time; I took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. I’ve seen Prim in a couple of crises, and in each one she was unbelievably strong. But this was different; this was her mother she was talking about. I drew her to me, feeling warm wet tears on my shoulder, feeling the tremors of her quiet sobbing. I knew what she was thinking. I’ve been there myself with my own mother, and there was no happy ending then, for sure.

It didn’t last long, only a minute or so, then she was back in control. She looked up at me, embarrassed as she dried her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘What did the surgeon say?’ I asked her.

‘According to Miles, he said there was a chance that the growths will turn out to be benign, but he wasn’t hopeful. That’s exactly what I’d expect from an American surgeon. Say or do nothing that you might be sued over later.’

I blew out a big sigh as I thought about what had happened. ‘Elanore Phillips, of all people,’ I murmured. ‘I can’t believe it. She’s always seemed unsinkable to me.’

Prim chuckled, throatily. ‘Like a galleon in full sail, flying battle flags. That’s how I’ve always seen her, at her best.’

‘I didn’t know she had an ulcer,’ I said.

‘Neither did she. But it doesn’t come as any surprise to me; she isn’t exactly a nouvelle cuisine chef.’

‘So how’s SuperDave?’

‘Dad’s okay. He’s with her at the hospital. She’s still in intensive care, but that’s normal, post-op.’

‘And Dawn?’

From the way she glanced at me; I knew the answer to that one. Prim’s sister is a lovely, incredibly talented girl, but no film director, not even her husband, will ever cast her as a vampire slayer.

‘Miles is worried about her. . worried about the baby, really, I suppose, although he’d never say that. He asked me if I’ll go over there to be with her.’

‘Of course you will. I’m coming too.’

Prim shook her head. ‘No, you’re not. You can’t run out on the boys and your dad.’

‘But Dave might need some support as well,’ I protested.

‘Miles is his son-in-law too. He’s there already. Anyway, my father’s a lot tougher than he looks.’

She bounced out of bed and stood, looking down at me. ‘So am I, for that matter. I can take care of Dawn and him, if necessary. Not that it will be; it’s entirely possible that these growths are just simple polyps, and that all Mum will have to cope with is recovery from her surgery.’

‘Yeah, sure, but what if. .?’

She cut me off. ‘In that unlikely event, they’ll throw the full arsenal of anti-cancer weaponry at her. They’ll scan her for metastases, then treat, or take preventive measures as appropriate. Even if she has got stomach cancer, the survival rates are better than in most other types.

‘You really want to help me?’ she asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Right. Get on the Internet, find the next flight from Barcelona to Los Angeles and book me on it.’

It’s astonishing what you can do these days. By the time Prim came downstairs in her towelling robe, her hair still wet from the shower, I had booked her on a flight from Barcelona to Charles de Gaulle, then on to LAX, first class on the transcontinental leg.

‘Well,’ she demanded. ‘Haven’t you even logged on yet?’

‘And off. You pick up your tickets from the Air France desk at Barcelona, then check in straightaway.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Your flight leaves in just under seven hours. That gives you two hours to get ready, and me two hours to waken up so I can drive you there.’

‘Where?’ asked Jonathan from the staircase. He was bright-eyed; looking at him, I made a mental note to drink Pepsi at our next party.

I told him where we were going. ‘Can I come?’ he asked.

‘No. You and Colin have to stay here and help your Granddad.’

‘Help him do what?’

‘I haven’t a bloody clue, but from the last I saw of him, whatever he plans to do today, he’s going to need help.’

Prim’s sudden departure for California knocked me completely off balance for a while. The family was the main reason why I’d stayed behind in Spain, and yet with her gone, I felt odd with them around; not uncomfortable exactly, but ill at ease. I had run out of interesting things to do with two pre-teen nephews, my dad and I had played all the golf that Mary and Ellie would allow, and so I was quietly relieved as I stood at the end of the driveway on the fourth of January, waving them off as the hired people-mover turned out of Carrer Caterina, bound for their flight home.

By that time, the Elanore situation had resolved itself: not for the better, but at least we all knew what she faced. The bad news was that the lesions removed from her stomach by the LA surgeon were indeed cancerous. The better news was that a full body MRI scan, carried out as soon as she was cleared to leave intensive care, had revealed no secondary growths, or metastases as Prim had called them in medic-speak.

In a rare show of his power and influence, Miles had flown in one of the top oncologists from the Mayo Clinic to supervise the diagnostic procedures. She had pronounced that, with a precautionary course of chemotherapy, our mother-in-law stood an excellent chance. . not of a cure, for a cancer specialist will rarely use that word. . of long-term survival.

Prim’s relief had flowed out of the telephone when we had spoken at seven that morning. ‘Do you want me out there now?’ I’d asked her.

‘No; it’s not necessary. Anyway, Miles says that he’d rather you used the peace and quiet to get on with mastering the script. I’m going to stay on here for a while, though, until the treatment is well under way, to help Dawn understand what’s happening to Mum.’