‘Edward’ – her tone is apologetic – ‘you know I’m not the sort of person who wants to upset people.’
Stan pats her hand. ‘Nobody’s upset, love. Just try not to refer to people’s spouses as vegetables, okay?’
Lizette nods. ‘That’s very fair,’ she says. Then she turns back to me. ‘So, what happened to your husband that made him a vegetable?’
I feel a laugh building up and I catch Edward’s eye and see that he’s also laughing. I guess that’s all we can do.
‘It was a car accident,’ I say.
‘Oh, how awful. Car accidents are terrible. Terrible.’ Lizette says this like she has just realised the truth of it, and she shakes her bouffant sadly. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’d have to agree.’
She perks up ‘I knew you would,’ she says, like we’ve just agreed on a very obscure point. ‘I’m sure we’re going to be great friends. I’m the sort of person who has a feeling about these things.’
I’m tempted to tell her that I’m not ‘the sort of person’ who has friends, but that would upset her, and anyway I’m not even sure it’s true any more. So I smile, and sip my gin before asking Lizette what she does, allowing her to give a soliloquy on the sort of person she is, which only requires me to nod and smile.
As Lizette is telling me that she’s not the sort of person who likes death – because of course the rest of us are simply mad about it – another man enters the room. He is tall, with grey hair and bright-blue eyes. Stan jumps up and shakes his hand, and Lizette stops mid-sentence to embrace him warmly.
Edward waits for Lizette to let go – which takes slightly longer than it should – and then introduces me. ‘Helen, this is Larry, Miriam’s brother.’
I stand up and shake Larry’s hand. His skin is warm and dry, and his grip is strong.
Edward, however, is smiling. ‘Helen’s husband is also in a coma,’ he says, much like you might mention a shared profession or hobby. ‘So she knows all about what I’m going through.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ says Larry. ‘How long has he been in a coma?’
‘Twenty-six years.’
Lizette turns to Stan. ‘That’s a terribly long time, you know.’ Stan pats her shoulder. ‘It is, love. Poor Helen.’
Lizette looks at me with her wide eyes. ‘Helen’s not the sort of person to wallow in her grief,’ she announces. ‘Helen’s the sort who keeps her chin up.’
We all look at her. I’m stunned that anyone who has spoken even three words to me can hold this opinion. Larry and Edward look interested, although Edward must surely know I am an absolute expert in wallowing in my grief.
And Stan’s chest swells. ‘Lizette’s the sort of person who has a good grip on other people.’ He is so proud and she looks so happy that you can’t even be angry with them. I catch Larry’s eye for a moment, and I could swear that he winks at me, his eyes glistening with humour. I must be mistaken, but I allow myself a small smile.
‘Helen visited Miriam this morning,’ says Edward.
‘Oh,’ says Larry. ‘And how was she?’
I take a deep breath. ‘Well, actually,’ I say. ‘Something happened, but please don’t get too excited.’ I say the second part to Edward.
‘Did she die?’ whispers Lizette. Everyone turns to look at her, even Stan.
‘She’d hardly have kept that to herself until now, love,’ says Stan, with a slight question in his voice.
‘And why would that excite anyone?’ says Larry. ‘Honestly, Lizette. Think before you speak.’
I expect Lizette to be dampened by this quite blunt admonishment, but she just smiles and says, ‘Well, what then?’
Edward is pale, saying nothing.
‘I was chatting to her, telling her about the lunch, and her arm moved.’
‘What?’ Edward grabs hold of my arm. ‘She’s waking up. I must go now.’
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘The doctors checked her and she isn’t waking up, Ed. They say it was a purely neurological thing. They didn’t even think it worth mentioning to you. But I thought you’d want to know.’
There is so much hope in his face, and I hate myself for putting it there. I should have kept quiet.
Larry takes Ed’s arm. ‘Why don’t you phone the doctor?’ he suggests. ‘See what he has to say. And then decide what to do.’
‘Isn’t this exciting?’ says Lizette, looking from me to Ed to Larry.
‘Very,’ says Stan, expertly shepherding her away from Edward. ‘Come tell me again about what happened at book club last week. I can’t hear that story enough.’
Ed steps outside to call the doctor, and we see him through the window, pacing as he talks.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ I say quietly to Larry. ‘It means nothing.’
‘Maybe it is a good sign,’ says Larry, and I remember that Miriam is his sister and he doesn’t know how unlikely it is that she could wake up.
‘You mustn’t get your hopes up, Larry,’ I say, in what I hope is a gentle voice. ‘People like Miriam very seldom recover.’
Larry sighs. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘But it would be so wonderful, wouldn’t it?’
‘Indeed,’ I say, smiling. ‘It would.’
Ed comes in. ‘The doc says that there’s little point in me rushing over,’ he says. ‘It’s all back to normal. But,’ he says, with a smile, ‘he says that while it’s not something to get excited about, it’s also not a bad thing. So that’s a reason to drink some champagne, right?’
‘I’m not the sort of person to say no to champagne,’ says Lizette, and we all laugh – the tension that was hanging over us dissolves.
At lunch, Larry and I are seated together, and as he offers me some wine, he mutters, ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m the sort of person who
