A Short Stay in Switzerland Page #2

Are you all right?

Oh, don't take any notice.

It's the house,

so quiet without Daddy.

SHE SOBS:

Would it devastate you

if I were to sell it?

Oh, snap me out of this, Edward,

I'm being maudlin!

I should do something to help, hard

work! What do you want me to do?

I'd like you to go back

in the kitchen and make

a cup of tea, please,

because in the garden

you are Genghis Khan.

Really!

It was his children drove

Genghis Khan to destruction! Ha!

And I sympathise!

How was she? 'She seems very

emotional all the time. '

Never know if she's going

to bite your head off, laugh or cry.

She's still in mourning, Edward.

Has she mentioned selling the house?

No, I'm not selling it.

I wasn't being serious.

Edward that worried

about losing his garden?

He's worried about you grieving.

Well, why can't he speak out?

Why send you?

He didn't. I came myself.

I expect Jessica as well.

Are you all on a mission?

Why are you so touchy?

This has come out of the blue.

What has?

Selling the house, moving.

I said I'm not! It's just... Oh,

it's just such a big house

to maintain.

There are always things going wrong.

The lights keep blowing.

Have to get an electrician in.

It's just one thing after another...

And I've had a few nasty falls.

It's probably nothing,

just me being careless, I expect.

You must go to the doctor!

Sophie, I've been practising

medicine for thirty years.

I don't need advice!

Say something.

And have you bite my head off?

You're tearing up

plants, Mother, stop it!

They're my ruddy plants to tear up!

Say nothing to your

brother and sister.

Then you'll go to a doctor.

Promise?

Of course.

But I break promises,

it's part of my charm.

I think I've found the problem!

Mrs Turner, are you there?

See what he wants.

I'll take these upstairs.

Coming!

Don't tell me this

is going to be a big job.

Mrs Turner!

Jesus Christ, Mrs Turner!

We'll have to lift her!

Don't move a muscle of her!

We'll have to fetch a doctor.

Well, get a move on!

I'll stay with her.

What is the matter

with you, Mrs Turner?

Oh, is there much blood?

Don't you worry about that.

Is the laundry ruined?

All that ironing for nothing.

I'll give you a hand...

Just you stay put!

One move and I'll give you laundry.

What is happening to me?

What is happening?

SHE SOBS:

Jack, Sophie, Edward, Jessica.

Jessica, Edward, Sophie, Jack.

Help me, help me,

help me, help me.

Worst diagnosis I could have had.

You would agree with that,

I presume? Yes.

The odds of this happening twice

in one family must be

many millions to one.

So...

a bomb going off

slowly but surely inside my body,

and there is nothing to be done,

is there?

You could lie to me, Richard.

You could comfort me.

I know you too well not to,

Dr Turner.

Yeah.

Thank you for sparing me nothing,

I do prefer that.

Courage, boys, courage.

Richard, it's me.

I'm at the surgery.

I might appreciate

that lift home. Thanks.

Still taking it all in...

the news.

One thing to ask. Fire away.

Any point in more tests?

Any hope they could be wrong?

Well, there's always hope, Anne.

Have you said anything

to the children?

Well, what will they be able to do?

You need to tell them.

Would you like me to break the news?

I'm happy to do it.

Then one of us is.

More tests, then?

Let battle commence.

PSP.

Progressive supranuclear palsy.

Are you going to say nothing?

Better ask me what it bloody

is while I can still answer you.

Is it... is it like daddy's?

Worse.

This can't happen twice. It has.

It can't.

It can't, they must be wrong.

No... they're not wrong, Sophie.

What are the symptoms?

Can't speak. Can't swallow,

fed by tube.

Can't see.

May not be able to even blink.

I'm already prone to uncontrollable

fits of laughter, tears, rage,

for no reason. Falling backwards...

that's how it's even worse

than what killed your father,

to put it bluntly.

That is PSP.

That is what I have.

It's rotten bad luck.

What are we going to do?

I've made up my mind.

I don't want to hear this. I would

like you to respect my decision.

What have you decided?

Suicide.

What have you just said?

Would you be so kind as to repeat

what you have just said?

No, I wouldn't, Sophie.

Why not?

clearly. How else would you like

me to tell you? Morse code?

Bush telegraph? Smoke signals?

I think the world's gone mad.

I feel remarkably sane.

That makes one of us.

What's has made you decide?

It's been decided for me, Edward.

How has it? The disease, Jessica,

that's what's decided it.

We can't allow you to kill yourself.

Allow me?

I can't, mum.

None of the three of us can.

Excuse me. Mother, please,

you must discuss this.

No discussion. Don't be so

damn selfish. Listen to me.

She's just had dreadful news.

So have we, Edward. Come on.

Please don't let this happen.

Please.

Will you read this?

Do you see what it is?

Times and dates and days

What do they mean? You'll know

I've already fallen down the stairs,

well, here are the rest

of those memorable occasions

when I could no longer control

myself. They are a record

of each time I've fallen,

or dropped what I was holding,

or was helpless.

That is my list.

Look at the length of it.

This is already happening so often.

Is this what you want for me?

We just want you to live.

So do I, Jessica.

We want to help you.

We'll all help you.

All right. Tell me.

Mention palliative care,

though, and I'll turn violent.

Perhaps you'll lock me

in the bedroom?

Face it, did the same thing

to your poor father.

You did the very best for him.

That's why we ask you to let us

do the same for you.

Be there for you.

What do you want me to do?

You could move into a house

you can cope with.

Single storey. A bungalow?

Dear, dear, you'd put me

in a bungalow.

It makes sense, mother.

Don't dazzle me with sense, Sophie,

it was never your strong point.

A bungalow! Bungalow!

Perhaps if I keep saying it I might

resist the temptation to emigrate.

I hear Eastbourne's lively.

I wonder if it's full of bungalows!

She makes it sound like we're

putting her in the workhouse.

I heard that! You were meant to!

I knew it. Looks like a Scout hut.

It's less than a mile from home.

It might just as well be Edinburgh.

The cat will hate it.

It's not perfect, but then, what is?

I'm sorry.

cried in front of everyone in the

town by now, it's ridiculous.

I'm either crying

or losing my rag completely.

Sophie, you should tell

me to pull myself together.

Really should.

It's low maintenance.

All on one level, obviously.

No stairs to fall down.

I'll ignore that cheap remark.

Really warm,

not in the least bit drafty.

It does have potential.

Am I in the company

of two estate agents?

We're trying our best.

I do appreciate that.

You will make it bearable.

Here is where I have to manage,

then so be it.

We can bring things from home.

Yes, we can.

We'll be absolutely fine.

Edward, the garden. We'll have a

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