'Cherry Chocolates' by Alison Woodhouse

               

    ‘Has she filled in her meal options?’

My children are here. A miracle, all three in the same room again, although they’re not children anymore; they’ve got kids of their own and grandkids.
    
    ‘There’s not much choice!’

No need for that tone Katy. It’s the NHS not one of your fancy hotels.
    
    ‘Cauliflower cheese!’

Do you remember Martin, when I taught you how to make cheese sauce after your divorce?
    
    ‘No fibre.’

Dear Johnny, bothering about fibre? Hope you haven’t got a bowel problem.

    ‘We’d better speak to the nurse.’
    ‘It’s her choice …?’

Don’t argue. It’s worn me out, all your bickering. You need to stick close. No one else will care for you like family.
    
    ‘Anyone got a pen?’
    ‘Martin you can’t change it.’
    ‘How’s she going to get better eating that?’
    ‘Is she going to get better?’
    ‘Shhh, don’t wake her, she looks peaceful.’
    ‘Johnny, don't cry.’

Ah, Johnny. Remember that Christmas the year your dad died? We drank every last drop of sherry in the house and played monopoly. You used the cherry liqueur chocolates for your hotels. Every time you lost one, you ate it. Taught me how to turn losing into winning.

    ‘She wouldn’t want it to be like this.’
    ‘Not here.’
    ‘Not yet.’

I’m so happy hearing your voices. Like when you’d bring me breakfast in bed, whispering outside my door. I’d pretend I was asleep. The tea always had leaves floating on the top where you tore the bag, Johnny. And the toast always had a piece missing, Martin. Katy, such a strong little girl, carrying the tray. It was my best meal of the year, I hope you all know that. And that I wish I could turn every disappointment you’ve ever had into cherry chocolates. That would be even better.

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First published by Linkage in 2018.