Free The Day Of Second Chances by Julie Cohen

it. And of
course
I like you in my home, Honor. You are always welcome there.’
    How did she manage to say things like that, and sound so sincere? It was a skill that Honor had never possessed.
    â€˜No,’ she said.
    â€˜As I’m sure you know, Mrs Levinson, we aren’t happy about discharging elderly patients unless there is a homecare plan in place.’
    â€˜Dr Levinson,’ she told him. ‘My name is Dr Levinson. It is not Mrs Levinson. If you don’t like calling me “doctor”, since I’m not a medical person like you, perhaps you will be so kind as to call me “Honor”.’
    The doctor shuffled his notes.
    â€˜We have a bedroom on the ground floor with an en-suite bathroom,’ said Jo.
    â€˜That’s Lydia’s, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Lydia will be happy to let you use it. We’ll repaint the room and hang new curtains. My friend Sara’s husband Bob says he’ll drive his van up to London and fetch any of your furniture you’d like to have with you, so you can sleep in your own bed, if that makes you more comfortable. And Dr Chin says he’s happy to refer you to the Royal Berks if you need any follow-up care.’
    â€˜You seem to have this all arranged,’ said Honor drily.
    â€˜The children would love to have you, too,’ said Jo.
    Honor grunted.
    â€˜They’d be excited,’ insisted Jo. ‘Lydia was going to make you a card – she really wanted to – but she had homework. It’s her exam year, you know.’
    Honor had five cards. One made by Oscar, a finger painting that had been labelled in Jo’s neat handwriting as ‘a dinosaur’. Two made by Iris, with the same fingerpaints but no discernible subject. One from Jo, with a picture of hyacinths. One from her neighbour Charvi, who was in her fifties and complained about her sciatica every time she walked up the front stairs. The cards jostled for space on the tiny bedside cabinet, along with a plastic jug of water and a cardboard kidney dish containing Honor’s toothbrush and toothpaste. They fell down whenever a doctor or nurse drew the curtains around the bed of the snoring woman who was next to her in the ward, and Honor had given up trying to keep them upright.
    She also had one balloon. This was new; Jo had brought it today, along with grapes, a novel that Honor would never read, and a plastic box of homemade brownies, ‘to keep your strength up!’ Jo had bounced in, smelling of roses, her shoes whispering on the floor, and the balloon trailing behind her. It had taken Honor a few moments to work out what it was. It was silver and yellow, round, with a streaming yellow ribbon, and it said GET WELL SOON on it.
    â€˜What is that?’ Honor had said, looking up from the book she wasn’t reading.
    â€˜I thought it might cheer you up!’ said Jo, as bright as the balloon, even though Honor could see that her flat question had hit home. Jo tied it to the railing at the foot of the bed and said, ‘There – that looks jolly.’
    It was ridiculous. It would get in the way of the nurses when they changed the bedlinen. It would lose its gas within a day and droop. It made her appear to be a child. Honor planned to ask a nurse to remove it as soon as Jo left.
    But Jo did not seem eager to leave. She was eager, instead, to have Honor moving in with her.
    â€˜No,’ Honor said again. ‘I’d rather have a nurse.’
    Jo turned to the doctor. ‘Maybe Honor and I need some time to—’
    â€˜I’ll let you talk it over,’ he said, and left them. Jo sat down in the chair next to the bed.
    â€˜Honor,’ she said softly, so bloody kindly, ‘I understand that you want to stay in your own home, but this is just a temporary measure. Nurses are expensive, and although I’m sure the council can help you, with us you wouldn’t have to—’
    â€˜I am perfectly able