Golden Luckenbooth

Fifty-Five

The sight of Harry in the doorway feels like a splash of cold water. Curled on the sofa, a cocoon of blankets wrapped tightly around me and Piper, I resemble a shipwreck survivor clinging to debris. The remains of cheesy chips and curry sauce sit on my belly, a monument to emotional eating. A hiccup escapes my lips, morphing into a full-blown sob as Harry grimaces at the scene.

His usual teasing comment dies on his lips as he sees the wreckage of my emotions. He eases onto the opposite end of the sofa, careful not to disturb Piper who nestles her snout deeper onto my thigh. Lifting the edge of the blanket, he reveals a wasteland – an empty Percy Pig bag, an opened oatcake packet with a single, gnawed treat shoved back in, and a half-empty bottle of Irn Bru. The container of strawberries now holds only hollowed-out shells, testaments to my mindless consumption.

Through a haze of tears, I gesture weakly at the television. The final scene of "Babe" plays, the sheepdog miraculously herding the flock without a struggle. Tears well up again as the two pigs wearing collars exit the ring, leaving Babe to guide the whole group into the pen. The silence hanging over the fairgrounds is deafening, broken only by the cheers erupting as the final judge raises his perfect score.

Just as I think I can't take another emotional beat, Farmer Hoggett's final line washes over me. A sob rips through me, and Harry, ever-supportive, wraps an arm around me. He remains silent, allowing me to stain his expensive-looking jumper with my salty tears. Gently, he removes the half-empty (or half-full?) container of chips, creating a small space for me to curl into him further.

When I finally calm down, sniffling and reaching for a tissue, Harry is there, pulling a fresh one from the box. Even after blowing my nose, fresh tears stream down my face. He dangles another tissue, his silent concern a balm to my raw emotions.

"S-so sorry, Harry," I manage, my voice thick. "I'm feeling a bit...fragile tonight."

He chuckles softly. "Don't worry," he says, "you're allowed to have as many breakdowns as you need over an animatronic pig."

Swatting playfully at his arm, I mumble, "It has nothing to do with the pig."

"It's a cute pig," he presses, a teasing glint in his eye.

The smile I give him is weak, and I pout, a single tear escaping. "Don't wanna talk about the pig that might potentially be bacon one day in the future."

He leans in, his lips brushing the top of my head. "Anything in particular set you off, or are we blaming this on your hormones being out of whack?"

Instead of answering, I take a deep breath, a shiver racking my body. Pulling away from Harry, I scratch Piper behind her ears. "Maybe I was wrong," I whisper.

Silence follows my pronouncement. Harry switches off the television, the sudden lack of sound amplifying the weight of my words. I close my eyes, burying my head in his shoulder, turning away from him. Shortbread, sensing my distress, jumps onto the now-empty space on the sofa, nuzzling me with her wet nose. I push her away gently, the touch too much to bear just then.

"About?" he prompts cautiously.

"Piper." My voice is raw, barely audible even to me.

"If you didn't do the chemo, how much longer would she live?" Harry's voice is hoarse, the first sign of his own struggle.

Calculating the date, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the truth away. "Another couple of weeks, probably."

The room feels devoid of life. I sense Harry release my hair and withdraw his arm.

"I have no words, Anna," he finally speaks. "You're her caretaker, her doctor. I already said I'd support you no matter what. I just..." he pauses, his breathing hitching. "...can you wait until I'm here with you before you put her down? I don't want you to do it alone, and I...well..."