When the Feast is Finished. Brian Aldiss

takes the form of a fibreglass tube containing a lighting and lens system. A clawlike attachment can be inserted to cut a sample of tissue.

      The worst news.

      I was at the Acland before six, in plenty of time to see Moggins being delivered back into Room 3.

      She was awake and on a drip, looking rather the worse for wear. An analgesic suppository had been inserted into her anus. Beside the endoscope in her stomach, she had had a laryngoscope down her throat.

      I sat by the bed and held her hand. We spoke a little. She asked after the cats. She was hot and I gave her some water.

      It grew dark outside. Mr Kettlewell finally appeared. He muttered that the source of the secondary tumour on the liver had been traced to the pancreas.

      It cannot be cured. Its progress might be slowed by chemotherapy, which treatment could be started almost at once. No wonder Kettlewell muttered. He had to deliver Margaret’s death sentence.

      She scarcely wept. This was everything we had feared. The all-devouring anaconda within …

      A lady of massive kindness, by name Nikki Driscoll, an oncology clinical nurse specialist, then came in. She talked to us, explained, tried to reassure us.

      She couldn’t say how long my darling has.

      Margaret had to remain in the Acland overnight. At last I had to drag myself away.

      I returned to Hambleden. I have managed to speak by phone to all members of the family except Tim, who was working. Clive phoned almost as soon as I got home.

      What Margaret’s state of mind might be I cannot tell.

      Farewell, our carefree happy days!

      Friday 8th August

      So, I brought her back from the Acland some time after noon. She was brave and bright. The Acland staff could hardly have been more considerate.

      When we were home, she sat on the sofa. I made us scrambled egg for lunch. Moggins followed it by yoghurt with Greek honey. Then she slept for quite a while. Both Tim and Charlotte phoned during the afternoon.

      Margaret spoke a little about her bitter disappointment. She had expected to enjoy another twenty years – time to see Tim and Charlotte happily married, and producing grandchildren. To grow old.

      She was more unwell than she had been before entering the Acland, and she suffered from the heatwave. I drove to Currys superstore on the ring road and bought her a good 12-inch three-speed fan.

      Moggins is upstairs now, having a cooling wash. Wendy is coming to see her at six.

      My dear Wendy! What an encouragement she was at this time, despite her own troubles – of which she made light. The babe within her had been diagnosed as having a slight kidney problem, which would have to be rectified once it (or he, rather, for we knew which sex it was by now) was born. A report out at this time stated that ‘the family is still central to most people’s lives’. In our case, it was stating the obvious.

      Saturday 9th August

      Our practical, dependable Wendy arrived at six with a fine standing fan for Chris! Unfortunately, I had pipped her at the post; so she would use it in her own house. She also brought a little bouquet of roses and a novel type of ‘air cooler’, which we were to find very useful by Chris’s bedside.

      She stayed for an hour, while I watered the garden and prepared supper for my poor old battered girlie. She retired to bed after long phone conversations with Tim and Charlotte. They’ll both be here next week, as will Clive, flying in from Athens.

      When did this horrible thing begin to spread? As long ago as May of last year she could not face going to Israel with me. In September, in Portugal, she was rather under the weather. Yet in May this year, she seemed fine, although she had begun to leave her food. Clive took photographs of her on his balcony in Prigipou and she looks so well and beautiful, eyes bright, colour good. She’s so brilliant in her own domain, so uncomplaining. Her heart trouble evidently masked this more insidious misery.