Taylor got driven back to the hospital around four in the afternoon, the day after they all celebrated Robert's birthday. Everything went well when she was home, as she was surrounded by all the people she loved the most, and who loved her just as much. She slept a lot during the night, with Malo curled up between her legs, as if the cat knew it could not climb on her stomach, like it used to do. John took good care of her, just lik she would take good care of Robert.

However, everything was hardly a bed of roses. From time to time, Taylor would suddenly forget things. At one point, she did not even remember the cat's name after she called it many times in a row. At a certain moment, she was convinced she lived in Brittany when she was young, but could not remember her father's name, nor her mother's and sister's. When looking at the scars on her hands, which actually had been caused by Terry and Elenore, she did not have a clue about how they appeared. She thought it was Malo.

John alerted the doctors when he drove Taylor back to the hospital, making sure she was not listening. The doctors promised they would keep an eye on her and examine her. Now, John could only hope they kept the vow.

A few days after, John went back to the hospital for a casual visit, without Robert, who Freddie had taken out for a stroll. He parked the car on the large parking lot, got out of it and locked all the doors. Then, he headed for the front doors, saying hello to the receptionist who looked up from the pile of papers on the desk. He kept crossing the hall, and decided he would not take the elevator this day. He climbed the stairs rather fast, eager to see Taylor. When he reached the fifth floor and started to walk across the long light blue corridor, Doctor McKellen, the one who took care of Taylor, appeared.

“Mr. Deacon!” he called.

“Oh, good afternoon, sir!” John smiled, shaking the doctor's hand. “Is Taylor awake?”

“She is, I've just checked. I would like to ask you a few questions, is it possible?”

“Sure, go on.”

“You told us she had troubles remembering things and that she sometimes replaced memories with false ones. Is that correct?”

“Indeed.”

“Did you notice any kind of change in her behaviour? Like mood changes or anything?”

“Mmh, no, not particularly. She sleeps a lot, so I can't really tell. She can be a bit bad-tempered, but I know it's because of the disease and that she's fed up with all that. I can't blame her. But I noticed she started to take risks. When we were home to celebrate our son's birthday, she removed her cannulas to dance with a friend.”

“Didn't you stop her?”

“She wouldn't listen. But she survived, as you can see. She didn't dance for a long time, and she wasn't dancing the twist.”

“I see. Next time, please prevent her from removing them. Even if it went well, it doesn't mean it can't go wrong. Another question: does she complain about headaches?”

“She told me she had headaches almost all the time. She tries to get used to it, but it seems to be quite serious.”

“I see. And does she stop breathing sometimes?”

“Yes. Not when we were at home, but it happened here, at the hospital. At first I thought it was because of the oxygen tank or something. But it doesn't seem to be the case.”

“I see” the doctor repeated. “Yesterday, we made her go through scanners. We checked her lungs first, but also her full body. And... what you've just told me confirms our diagnosis.”

“What is it?”

“Your wife has a brain tumor. Therefore, she has a generalised cancer.”

John's heart stopped. His eyes widened, and he gulped with difficulty. Taylor... a brain tumor... No.

His life with Taylor flashed before his eyes. He remembered every detail, like a story he read a thousand times at least. He remembered the colour of the dress or the top she wore on this date, he remembered the way she wore her hair as well, what jewels she associated to her outfits, the look upon her face as she faced life with him, hand in hand. He remembered the glimmer in her eyes as she talked happily about something, or when he said a joke; the same glimmer that intensified when he told her they would go on a trip or when he proposed to her. He remembered her grin when she spotted baby Malo in a corner. He remembered all the times she sighed and grumbled as she carried heavy things to move with him. He remembered the way she broke down when they found the article relating to her sister. He remembered how breath-taking she was in her wedding dress. He remembered the way she moved her hands as she danced at their wedding party. He remembered the softness of her touch on the first night of their honeymoon, and the way she parted her delicious lips to free a moan she kept for herself at first; he remembered the beads that lingered on her forehead as her body was trembling with pleasure. He remembered her excitement and the smile that lit up her sweet face as they discovered the multicoloured flowers on this big square in Tokyo. He remembered the weak smiles in the morning, when she hid her pain. He remembered her expression before she passed out at the temple. He remembered her laughter when the whole band visited her to cheer her up. He remembered the tears when she was tired of everything. He remembered the tone in her voice as she announced she was pregnant. He remembered the tender teary smiles when she first held Robert in her arms. He remembered the dullness in her eyes as days went by in the hospital. He remembered all the times she winced or screamed because pain was coming back. He remembered all the smiles she gave to her friends whereas she really was not in the mood. He remembered the silences that actually meant so many things.

How could it even happen to her? After all she went through? Couldn't life stop taking it out on her? John could not believe it.

The doctor rested a hand on John's shoulder, shaking him a bit. He was frowning and snapping his fingers before his eyes.

“Mr. Deacon?” he said. “Mr. Deacon? Are you with me?”

“Y-yes. I am. Sorry.”

John took a deep breath, looking down, though his eyelids were closed. He rubbed a hand against his face, having a lump in his throat. He sighed and stared at the ceiling, blinding himself with the light, his hands on his hips.

“I'm sorry I had to announce you that, Mr. Deacon. I know things are not going well, and that you worry about your wife, and I understand. I lost mine ten years ago, and she had generalised cancer too. I don't want to scare you, sir, but you must be strong for her. She can't stop telling me how much she loves you and how thankful she is to have you by her side. One day, after you left, she was in tears because she saw you cry. You have no idea how much she hates when you're in such a state. I understand that it's a relief sometimes, but let me give a piece of advice: if you don't want things to get more complicated than they already are, be strong when you're here. Cry as much as you want when you're home. I know the hardest it to act as if everything's fine when you're seeing the person you cherish the most slowly fading away.”

John nodded and finally faced the doctor, his eyes wet with tears that refused to fall, as if they had already been trained to not roll down his cheeks when he was at the hospital. He took a deep breath, quickly holding back his tears. He forced himself to smile and looked at the doctor.

“Thank you” he started with a trembling voice, before clearing his throat, “thank you, sir. But please, just one thing: don't make me tell her. I just... I just couldn't.”

“I will tell her myself.”

“Okay. Thank you again. Then, what about the therapy? Will she keep following the chemotherapy?”

“No. It would be a waste of time. We're giving her other medicines, including some that will try to reduce the size of the tumor. When she's ready, we'll operate her, but it may take some time. For the moment, we give her more morphine than she already had for her lungs and kidney.”

“I see.”

“Now, go to her, and remember my advice. You don't have to follow it, but... you know...”

“I will follow it, sir. Thank you.”

John shook Doctor McKellen's hand and took a deep breath before slowly walking up to the room 539. He gently knocked on a door, and a hoarse voice invited him to come in. He opened the door with a shaky hand, and his lips stretched into a wide grin as he saw Taylor in her bed. She was staring at the ceiling, motionless. John frowned and got closer to her. He leant in to kiss her forehead, but she did not react; she did not even kiss him back when he pecked her on the lips. Her eyes were focused on the ceiling. John looked up to see if there was anything, but no.

“What's the matter, darling?” he whispered, dragging a chair behind him.

“That's beautiful.”

“What's beautiful?”

“That” she said, stretching a skinny finger to point at the white paint of the ceiling. “But they should consider plucking those salads.”

“Salads? What salads?” John repeated, more and more confused.

“Those blue salads! They're growin' right there above me head!”

John wanted to smile because of her cockney accent coming back, but he did not. His mind was wondering about the blue salads growing above her head. What did she mean? Was it a joke?

“Why did they take me to this room? I like the previous one best.”

“You've been in this room for a long time, now, dear. Since we got back from Saint Malo! Yesterday you went through scanners, that's all.”

“I'm not a fool. They changed my room! It wasn't like that!”

“No, Taylor, they didn't change anything.”

She frowned and an angry expression took hold of her face, as she turned her head to look at him. She looked furious, and poor John did not understand why. What did he do to put her in such a mood? Did she know about the disease, and therefore, thought he already knew?

Taylor sighed and almost spat at his face.

“Does John know about all this?”

“Taylor, what do you mean, sweetheart? It's me, it's John! I'm right here next to you! It's me talking, and I swear you weren't taken to another room!”

“Quit talking, you twat! Call John! I want John and Robert to be with me, where's the cot? Where's the baby's cot?”

“Robert needs a cot no more” John felt his tears coming back. “He's with Freddie. He went out with Freddie.”

“Don't talk about Freddie and Robert like that! I'm not going to repeat it a thousand times! Call. John. Call my husband!”

John could not hold back his tears this time. He stretched out a hand to stroked her cheek, but she violently pushed him away.

“Sod off!” she roared. “Get your filthy hands off me!”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“Taylor, it's me, it's John! I am your husband!”

“John?” she suddenly appeased. “My dear, have you seen that? They changed my room! They changed my room! And there was this fucking twat telling me otherwise!”

John's eyes widened. He stroked her cheek with a trembling hand, and she closed her eyes with a tender smile.

“I missed you, John.”

He nodded and felt himself bursting into tears. He coughed and kissed her on the forehead, scartching the back of his head.

“Hold on a minute, I'll be right back.”

She shook her head and watched him quickly walking out of the room and closing the door. John pressed his back against the blue wall and buried his face in his hands. This time, his tears were undisciplined. They were flowing out of his shiny eyes like waterfalls. He felt like screaming, but instead, he bit the palm of his hand quite hard, almost making himself bleed. He heard hurried footsteps coming up to him and he looked up. Doctor McKellen.

“What happened, Mr. Deacon?”

“She says blue salads are growing above her head, she's convinced you changed her room, she insulted me thinking I was somebody else and ordered me to call myself! I was telling her it was me but she wouldn't believe it! She pushed me away, and when I told her again it was me, she suddenly calmed herself, she said she missed me and that there was this fucking twat who kept telling her it wasn't the case! And the fucking twat was me!”

John clenched his fists and his whole body shivered. His mind was all confused. He had this odd feeling that was a mix of rage, sadness, terror and his lack of understanding. The doctor sighed and shook his head.

“It's not your fault, Mr. Deacon, I know what happened.”

“You'd better tell me what is fucking happening!” he barked.

“Calm down, sir. It's the morphine. The amount of morphine we gave her to ease the pain. It makes her hallucinate. She has no idea what she's doing. And it's not good.”