Friday 21st September
I looked at my watch, a recent birthday gift. I was going to be late again. Quickening my pace, I began rehearsing an excuse in my head despite my awareness that Alice had heard them all before. This time I knew she would be particularly unhappy; it was her best friend’s birthday and Alice had put a lot of time and effort into the dinner party. All I had to do, she had said, was to bring a half decent bottle of wine and to turn up on time. She had emphasised the last part by raising the pitch of her voice slightly.
As I crossed another one of the narrow side streets than ran down the hill towards the sea I saw, a short way down, an impromptu display of flowers clustered around a lamp post, to which were tied various ribbons and messages. I paused involuntarily and then walked towards the scene. Clearly there had been an accident of some sort and the rather forlorn state of the messages, assailed in turn by rain, wind and sun, led me to assume that it must have been a couple of weeks or so ago. The flowers too were fading. Or rather most of them were. On top of the small, informal pile was a fresh bouquet of deep red carnations, the deepest red I could recall seeing, set amidst a spray of gypsophila. They must have been placed there only recently. I picked up the cellophane-wrapped bouquet and turned it around in my hand looking for a card or message but there was none. Looking back towards the main road I saw no-one; only a few cars sped fleetingly past. The air was unusually humid and still. Dusk was falling and the street lights had yet to cast their glow. In this brief half-light, and without further thought, I placed the bouquet into the plastic carrier bag with the bottle of wine and resumed my brisk pace.
Alice was predictably and justifiably annoyed by my tardiness, but the bouquet had the desired effect of softening her curses and I was teased into a game with her friends of guessing how long it was since I had last given her flowers. Rather shamefully, I didn’t have to feign an inability to remember. The evening, though, went well. Alice relaxed once the food was on the table and she was reassured that everyone was enjoying it, her natural charm soon binding us all together in conspiratorial conversation. For my part I was buoyed by my earlier good fortune and resolved, not for the first time, to be punctual in future.
Sunday 23rd September
Alice and I had decided to take advantage of the last of the summer-like weather by going for long walk on the Downs. But when I eventually rang her that morning, she said that she felt exhausted and just wanted to sleep. We agreed it was probably because she had spent the whole week fretting about the dinner party and that a day’s rest was all she needed. Alice thanked me again for the flowers but this time, distanced from the immediacy of the previous evening, I felt uncomfortable with her gratitude and was pleased to end the call.
Tuesday 25th September
Monday had been hectic at the architect’s practice where I worked and I had been happy to wait and let Alice recover from her mental exertions. I called her just after lunch as I knew that she had no classes to teach on Tuesday afternoons, but there was no reply and I left a message on her voicemail. An hour or so later she called me back. Her voice was so weak that I had to strain to hear her. It seemed that she had barely left her bed since Sunday. She did her best to reassure me that it was just a flu bug of some sort and promised me that she would see her doctor if she didn’t feel any better tomorrow. Memories of the pandemic were still fresh, even though neither of us had been particularly ill ourselves.
Wednesday 26th September
Opening the metal gate and standing on the worn tiled path I looked up at the first floor flat; the curtains to the living room behind the broad bay window were implacably drawn. With the keys that Alice had previously given to me I opened the main door and climbed the old stairs to the small landing, where I knocked hesitantly on the old panelled door to Flat 2. Getting no response, I used the second of the keys to enter the flat. The living room was neat and tidy and I sensed that Alice had spent little time there lately. I made my way to the bedroom, at the back of the flat. The door was slightly ajar and I pushed it open a little further so that I could stand in the doorway. The room was small and the double bed occupied most of the floor area. I could see the shape of Alice curled up beneath the duvet, only her blond head visible outside. I called her name and she slowly turned to face me, smiling weakly. Sitting up she felt suddenly dizzy and I held her arm to steady her.
The doctor was apparently not sure what the problem was but Alice had had a blood test and in the meantime was, predictably, advised to rest and drink plenty of fluids. Not that she needed that advice as she felt like doing little else. Her thirst was a nagging one and I went to the kitchen to fill up the jug of water. The flowers were resplendent in a clear glass vase on the dining table and I added a little water.
Friday 28th September
The doctor had rung Alice to let her know that the blood test had shown that she was anaemic. He advised her to take iron tablets and folic acid and to give it a few days to see if there was any improvement. I went to the pharmacy on the way to her flat, but when I subsequently saw Alice I was alarmed at how pale she now was, the freckles on her nose much more noticeable than usual. I opened the window a little, hoping the fresh air would help. Once Alice had taken the tablets and I had placed a fresh jug of water on her bedside table I waited until I was sure she was asleep before leaving quietly.
Sunday 30th September
Alice was no better. Indeed, she seemed to be getting worse. Her thirst was unquenchable and her breathing laboured. She looked like a ghost. On the dining table the carnations bloomed as deeply red as ever but the gypsophila was wilting a little. I resolved to call the doctor first thing in the morning and slept fitfully on the sofa overnight.
Monday 1st October
Alice barely recognised me when I walked into the bedroom early in the morning. The doctor advised me to take her straight to A&E and said he would phone ahead to let them know. Despite that we had a long wait to be seen and it was mid-afternoon by the time I sat at her bedside as she slept, an intravenous drip attached to her arm. I had phoned Alice’s elder sister Amelia, as next of kin, who would drive down from Shropshire the following day.
Wednesday 3rd October
Through Amelia I learned that the doctors had tried injecting Alice with an iron infusion but that this had made little or no difference to her blood count. She now had an oxygen mask to aid her breathing. I couldn’t understand how this had happened so quickly and, reading between the lines, I had the impression that the doctors too were taken aback by her rapid decline and failure to respond. They had decided to give her a blood transfusion and fortunately Alice had group O blood so there would be little delay.
Sunday 7th October
Back home amongst familiar comforts, Alice had regained much of her colour and most of her appetite. Her short blonde hair was once again neatly brushed and her infectious laughter filled the small room as we looked forward to the imminent second anniversary of our first date (for which I had of course been late). Amelia, who had been staying at the flat, cooked a farewell dinner as she planned to drive back to Shropshire early the next morning. In the centre of the table, next to the bottle of red wine, was the now familiar sight of the carnations, though Amelia had had to throw away the dried-up gypsophila.
Monday 8th October
Autumn had well and truly arrived and as I left work early a strong north-easterly wind whipped through the tall Elm trees and numbed my face. I called on Alice, hoping to coax her into a short walk in the nearby park, but she didn’t feel up to the chill evening air and after making her a cup of tea I eventually left her dozing on the sofa.
Wednesday 10th October
Her local doctor was a little concerned about the surprisingly slow rate of Alice’s recovery but she herself was determined to remain positive, which was typical of her. As she already had an outpatient’s appointment at the hospital on Friday the doctor had agreed to wait and see what the specialist said. I took Alice home and made her some soup and a sandwich. Alice herself remained cheerful and optimistic, though understandably tired.
Friday 12th October
Alice was readmitted to hospital and I could tell that, despite the calm words that were no doubt intended to reassure me, there was now a much greater level of concern about her deteriorating condition. More tests were being planned, with an increased sense of urgency now. That evening after work I called at Alice’s flat to pick up a few things she had asked for. The sofa was buried beneath a crumpled duvet and cushions. The carnations were now on the coffee table, along with a pile of magazines, an empty water jug and two glasses; they bloomed as perfectly as ever in their crimson glory. Later, as I sat beside her hospital bed, Alice’s face brightened when I mentioned their surprising longevity. She said that they must have been expensive. I looked away.
Saturday 13th October
Something had been nagging away at me for some time, despite my preoccupation with Alice’s health. Or perhaps because of it. An internet search with a few key words soon brought me to the local paper’s website. An article dated Thursday 6th September told of a fatal accident the evening before. A young woman, only 22, had been killed when she was thrown from her bike whilst trying to avoid a speeding van, hitting her head on a lamp post. She had died in hospital some hours later. The same hospital, I noted, where Alice now lay sleeping, hooked up to tubes and drips. There was a photograph accompanying the article, probably taken from social media, in which the pretty young woman, her long blonde hair falling loosely around her face and shoulders, smiled warmly and directly at the camera. Her name was Lily. Later, as I sat on the crowded bus on the way to the hospital and watched the rain beat remorselessly against the steamy glass, I thought of the impromptu kerbside memorial and I thought of the fresh, impeccable bouquet.
Sunday 14th October
It was Amelia who called me, her voice distant and faltering. Alice had died late in the morning with a suddenness that the doctors had struggled to account for. It seemed that in the end there was simply nothing that they could do to stop her losing red blood cells. There would be an inquest and Amelia confirmed that she would be down from Shropshire again as soon as she could manage.
Without thinking, I soon found myself walking up the familiar hill to the street where Alice’s house lay, typically quiet for a Sunday. Her house was nestled in the centre of the unassuming Victorian terrace. The rusting metal gate creaked mournfully, as it probably always had. Soon I was turning the key in the door to Flat 2. Inside it was gloomy and airless. I drew open the heavy curtains to the bay window and stood there for some minutes, unable to face the familiar sights of the room, Alice’s room. The sky was sullenly grey and, below, the small front garden was strewn with newly fallen leaves, crumpled and yellow-brown. A solitary magpie pecked at the damp earth, beneath the crown of the small willow tree.
Finally turning back to the room I saw the bouquet, its petals the same deep crimson as the day I had found it, as I knew they would be. I grabbed the carnations from the vase, dripping stale water over the table, and with a new sense of purpose went down the stairs and out into the street. Dusk was falling and the sky was now pregnant with rain. I knew there was a communal waste bin about 20 yards to my left. Its lid was hanging invitingly open and I threw the enduring flowers forcefully into the gaping void. As I returned to Alice’s gate once again, I looked up at the small cream-painted house and for a startled moment, in the deepening gloom, I thought I saw her standing in the bay window. But it wasn’t Alice. It was a younger woman, her blonde hair longer and falling loosely around her face and shoulders. A face I knew I had seen before, seen recently. She looked directly down at me from the window and smiled. But this time there was no warmth in that smile, only malevolence. And then she was gone.
