The Will, The Will
He had been convinced that his time had come, and had even accepted the inevitable. Then the scan revealed that his ticker was in perfect nick, the pain a fake symptom. He did not immediately understand why he lied to Maureen, the glamorous widow he got chatting to in the waiting room, but thought that as she had heard bad news, it was kinder to tell her that he too had had bad news.
The friendship between them had soon developed into something more meaningful, as they were both unattached. She loved cooking elaborate meals in her Morningside semi, and had said that with only months to live she was not going to scrimp and save. Who for? She had asked.
It was on his way home that he answered her question by one of his own: Why not for me? He had not given her details of his heart condition, but thought that he must let her believe that he too had only months to live. And the opportunity arose next time she was cooking for him. His mobile rang, and he was not going to answer it, but she said, Go ahead, it might be important. It was not. It was a spur of the moment thing. Dr Boyd? he said. The robot just nattered on. No, I told you, I am not accepting defeat, I intend to fight this. Maureen frowned, but went on chopping her herbs. Yes, I’ll arrange a visit and will do as you say. Yes, there’s always hope. Thank you doctor.
He explained to his hostess that he too had been given months, he was meaning to tell her, but Dr Boyd said not to give up. She was going to try a new treatment. He was unconvinced, but had nothing to lose. So we’re in the same boat, he said with a shrug. He looked at the garden through the window. Four hundred K, he told himself.
‘I wonder how you’d feel if I said, Why don’t we take the plunge?’
‘Thought you’d never ask,’ she answered merrily.
When she died two months after the wedding, he found that the posh flat she was living in belonged to her brother.
