Close to Death

In truth, there was no fight to be had. Painkillers and antidepressants helped a little, but the doctors could offer no hope of a cure. Felicity seldom left the house now. Sometimes, when the weather was warm, Roderick might persuade her to come out into the garden, but she found the stairs a challenge and too much sunlight hurt her eyes. She listened to books as it was easier than reading. She also liked classical music, opera, choirs. Roderick had adapted the largest bedroom, making it comfortable for her. French windows on the side of the house opened onto a narrow balcony with a view over the garden of Riverview Lodge, a blazing magnolia tree and a lawn running down all the way to the strip of woodland after which the Brownes’ own home had been named.

This was where Roderick left her every morning. His own life had been heavily circumscribed by the need to look after his wife. When he had first come to Richmond, he had enjoyed sports. He had regularly played bridge with Andrew and Iris Pennington in Well House. He had been a keen member of the Royal Mid-Surrey Golf Club, the Richmond Bridge Boat Club and the London School of Archery, the last of these a hangover from his university days. They were all behind him now, and the garage, tucked away behind his house, contained a sad collection of his forgotten pursuits: sagging golf clubs, dusty tennis rackets, a useless life jacket, the Barnett Wildcat crossbow he had been given by his parents as a graduation present, back in the eighties.

He made one last adjustment to his tie, then left the room and crossed the landing to what had originally been the master bedroom, which Felicity now occupied alone. She was lying in bed, gazing out of the window.

‘I’m just leaving,’ he said.

‘Did you see?’ Felicity could have been somewhere else. ‘There are so many parakeets today.’

‘I haven’t looked . . .’

‘They’re everywhere.’

The bright green parakeets were all over Richmond. Nobody was quite sure how they had arrived. Some said that Humphrey Bogart was responsible, that they had escaped from a film he was shooting at Isleworth Studios. Others had claimed it was the American guitarist Jimi Hendrix who had released the first pair deliberately. Historians insisted that they had been around for hundreds of years, originally kept in a menagerie belonging to King Henry VIII. Whatever their origins, Roderick knew they had become a source of comfort to his wife and he was grateful to them.

‘I won’t be home late,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got a meeting over at The Stables.’

‘You never told me that.’

He had told her the evening before. ‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d mentioned it. We’re just having a general chat about things in the close.’

‘Would you like me to come?’

‘Well, let’s see how you’re feeling.’

It was often Felicity’s way. She would suggest joining him for a cup of tea in the kitchen, a walk around the garden or even a drink at the Fox and Duck, but when the time came, she would usually change her mind.

Roderick heard the front door opening. ‘Damien’s here,’ he said. ‘Is there anything you want?’

‘I can ask him when he comes up.’

‘I’ll see you tonight.’ He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. She smiled at him but in the same way that she might have smiled at a memory.

He went downstairs just as Damien was closing the door behind him. A tall, slender young man with black, curly hair, he was dressed in jeans and a lilac polo shirt with a Whole Foods tote bag over his arm. He had been Felicity’s carer for two years now, coming in three days a week, and although Roderick was paying him – or rather, his agency – a fortune, it was money well spent. Damien was reliable and endlessly cheerful. Felicity felt comfortable when he was there. It was impossible to imagine life without him.

‘Good morning, Roderick!’ Damien had been informal from the very start.

‘Hello, Damien.’

‘I got some of that soft cheese Felicity likes.’ He raised the arm with the tote bag, then reached in and took something out. ‘And this was on the doormat.’

He handed over an official-looking brown envelope, addressed to the owners of Woodlands. Roderick tore it open with his thumb and took out a letter, which he saw at once had come from Richmond Council. His first thought was that it was probably a change to the rubbish collection. Or perhaps they were finally going to do something about the traffic on the Petersham Road. But glancing at the single sheet of paper, he saw the headline and the details that followed.

NOTICE OF APPLICATION

Town and County Planning (Development Management Procedure) (England) Order 2010

Town and Country Planning Act 1990

Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas Act) 1990

Riverview Lodge, Riverview Close, Petersham Road, Richmond, Surrey.

Ref No: J. 05/041955/RIV – Outline Planning Permission

FOR: Residential development of a swimming pool and pavilion and the creation of a new patio area on the eastern lawn of the property . . .

‘What is it?’ Damien asked.