I’ve lost the love of my life… David is dead. These were the final messages he sent me – and the WhatsApp from his son about his touching parting gift: LIZ JONES
After two days of no contact, David replied. I was tempted to say, ‘Stop ghosting me, literally!’ He had been talking to the hospital staff about my offer to have him with me, at home.
‘I’m over 90 per cent sold on it. I get to be with you in a fabulous and peaceful setting. With the bonus of Pissy Missy overnight. Drawbacks: the disruption to your life will be greater than you imagine. I will need a hospital bed and many machines: oxygen, drips, drugs. You’d have to store your bed. I am concerned about the journey. If I exert myself, even by sitting up, it can set off a bout of panic breathing, which feels like drowning. I’m not sure I’d survive the journey.
‘Not least, I would have to say goodbye to my family and friends way too soon. Who knew so many people care about me! I’m blessed. It’s only the distance that is a worry. But then not being with you doesn’t feel right. What a conundrum you have set me.’
I told him my bed could be put in my office for guests. That I am going to Belfast for Halloween, but that I can cancel.
‘For God’s sake, do not cancel your plans.’
The next day he suffered an attack of being unable to breathe. ‘Trying to stay calm through sheer panic is challenging. The craziest thing is after all the nurses’ care, the oxygen and the pills, the action that gave me most relief was Vicks, which I had in my bag.’
Liz Jones and David Scrace at the Alexander House Hotel & Utopia Spa, East Grinstead, after their engagement
That’s David all over. A crazy, risk-taking rebel but also curiously old-fashioned. He still drinks Lucozade.
I doubt the hospital will discharge him any time soon. But, feeling useless, I purchased a Smeg espresso machine. I sent him a photo: ‘I can now make your sugary lattes and cappuccinos!’
His reply shocked me.
‘I wager it makes great coffee. I regret I will never get to taste it.’
Later. ‘Breathing worse. When are you in London?’
‘Not sure yet. Obviously, if you need me, I will just hop on a train.’
‘That is good to hear. Not needed yet but if the situation changes, I will let you know. x’
I sent him our engagement photo, published in this newspaper. He replied, ‘Whatever happened to that lovely young couple?’
Me: ‘Speak for yourself!’
It’s funny. When I think about dying, I think about missing my animals, but also great TV and films. How terrible not to be able to finish this season of Knife Edge: Chasing Michelin Stars, or rewatch To Catch a Thief.
A much-replayed scene in my head is my own funeral. I’ve always pictured David sobbing, regretting the times he ruined our mini-break at Lime Wood hotel and spa and my niece’s wedding in Edinburgh, called me the C-word via text, and took back the engagement ring when I started dating Neil. He once kidnapped his cat, whom I’d been looking after, without telling me, so I was searching for days.
‘I sent him our engagement photo, published in this newspaper. He replied, “Whatever happened to that lovely young couple?”‘
He always hated my column, and my writing was a huge factor in why we never worked as a couple. He was privy to my inner thoughts, while most men carry on in blissful ignorance. (He has, though, given his blessing for me to write about him now.) Despite it all, he would do anything for me. When I was losing my house, I knew I could turn up on his doorstep with myriad dogs and cats.
When I learned three Herdwick lambs were being exported from the Lake District to France for ritual slaughter, I asked him to follow the lorry and buy them for me. He found them, then spent six months babysitting (it proved impossible, with all the paperwork, to repatriate them) until he could find them a forever home. He was there in France so long, grass grew in the boot of his Jag.
It seems now that he won’t even be at my funeral.
It’s Sunday night. I just got a WhatsApp. ‘Hi Liz, this is David’s son. I’m really sorry to have to tell you that my dad passed away last night. I was there with him right up until the end with my partner and son and a few family members. He wanted you to have the ring he bought for you. I have it, let me know when you’re next in London or I can post it to you. I’m really sorry x’.
