A week of Surprises

The last few months have been difficult, observing Himself's breathing difficulties, but following extensive lung function tests and X rays on Monday, we were relieved to find that his lungs are only fractionally worse than they have been, and as his cough is improving very slowly, the consultant will see him in another three months and assess his breathing again then.

Having been told last time that the prognosis for his condition was 2-3 years, and now being told that actually he seems to be reasonably stable, you can understand why I've been worried. And he has been increasingly quiet, lacking appetite, not even enjoying his beer. As a result he's lost weight and several people have commented on how pale he is. So as we drove back home I said to Himself, “you must be relieved.” (Understatement of the year.)

“Oh, no,” he replied, gazing out of the window noncholantly.

I stared at him, stunned. “- er, what did you think had been going on over the past few months then?”

“Well, I wasn't sure, but I'm not a worrier, Pop,” came the reply.

I won't repeat what I said, but I relayed this to a friend who rang up later. Her reply was instant. “What a load of S***E” she said briskly. Which I have to say, I go along with.

But who could ever explain the meanderings of the male mind?

Another surprise – which has to do with the workings of the female mind, I'm glad to report – came today when I collected Himself from a job in the High Street. He'd been making some shelves for a young mum, and was very chirpy when I picked him up.

“She was very interested to hear how we met,” said the old lothario. “Said it was very romantic.”

Being full of sinusitis, I grunted in non-romantic fashion.

“And she gave me more money than I thought, and something for you, Pop.”

At that moment she appeared and waved from the front door: an open face with a warm smile. “This is my wife,” said Himself, and she smiled even wider.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, and turned to Himself. “See you soon, Pip,” she said, like they were old buddies.

I looked from him, down to the large jar of Quality Street in his lap, then at the bunch of paper wrapped tulips: the palest pink with a brush stroke of red.

“Thank you,” I said with a lump in my throat. I wondered what we'd done to deserve that, and reflected how such gestures can transform a day.

My smile as we drove away was almost as big as hers.