For his mid-morning visit, Vinny Fitzpatrick could see Angie had made an effort.

She was sitting up in bed, her auburn locks were untied, and she’d applied eyeliner and a dab of lipstick.

“Jaypurs Ange, I’d be waiting by the lamp-post at the corner of the street to see a certain little lady like you come by,” said Vinny brightly.

“Oh me, oh my,” smiled the burly bus driver as he bent down and pecked his wife on the check, before turning quickly towards the window so she wouldn’t see his eyes fill up.

It was Monday morning, the first day of spring, and from the west-facing corner of Beaumont Hospital, Vinny spied a cluster of daffodils enjoying a sprightly dance.

“Do you remember that old line love?” he said, after a bit. “How did it go? Oh yeah. I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high over vale and hills, when all at once I heard a shout, “get off the bleedin’ daffodils”.

“I read somewhere that Wordsworth took inspiration from seeing a raft of daffodils in mid-April. April, I ask you. Winters were longer back then, I reckon.”

At that, Vinny turned to face his beloved wife; he had composed himself.

He needed to be composed too for Angie was in a bad place, and there was nothing Vinny could do about it.

There was nothing the wonderful team at Beaumont could do either as Prof Rooney, the oncology specialist, had explained over a solemn pot of tea at his yacht club two day earlier.

According to the Prof, the vicious sickness was spreading like a contagion, sucking the life out of good cells and leaving rotten husks behind.

“Angie’s becalmed,” he explained in that nautical way of his. “We’re going to try some radical treatment to try and toss these pesky blighters overboard. It’s unproven but has worked well in clinical trials.

“We’re hopeful, no more, that there will be calm waters ahead.

“Perhaps it’s best Vinny that you break the news to Emma, and the twins, of what may lie ahead. You may have to start thinking about preparing arrangements.”

It was the final two words that hit Vinny the hardest. Prepare arrangements.

Prepare for what?

Prepare for life without the only woman he had ever loved, truly, madly, deeply. His wife was his crutch, the shoulder to lean on and cry into.

How do you prepare for that?

He was eight years older than Angie, four stone heavier and in a far worse physical shape.

Why wasn’t he at the bus stop waiting for the grim reaper to pull in?

Why did it have to be Angie, only 50, who watched what she ate, and played tennis all year, in peril?

Hazel eyes

Sitting beside the bed, Vinny held Angie’s hand tenderly in his ham-sized mitt.

His wife looked back at him through the same hazel eyes which hooked him the day she’d first breezed into Vernon Racing as he was studying the form at Sedgefield.

He reckoned he was a 100/1 shot for a date yet against the odds, Angie had said yes, on St Valentine’s Day, almost eight years ago.

Since then, they’d skinned their hearts, skinned their knees, learnt of love and ABCs. So much joy, so much fun.

“Sorry for giving you a scare the other day,” said Angie in a voice no more than a whisper. “I felt so faint. And when I saw the blood, I must have passed out.”

“I’m much better now and everyone has been so kind. You might bring some complimentary betting vouchers on your next visit. Someone here is bound to like a punt.

“There’s another thing you might do for me, darling,” said Angie, heaving herself up in the bed with an effort.

“Of course, love. Anything,” said Vinny.

“It’s all very secretive. Whenever I ask how I am, the nurses check the clipboard at the end of the bed and mutter about Professor Rooney having the say,” said Angie.

“He was in yesterday and was vague. He said they were waiting for test results to come back and in the meantime I was to rest.

“I’ve been here for six days. I’m rested enough and have slept like a dormouse in hibernation. I’ve a family to get back to, a job to attend. Can you find out what’s going on, please?”

The exertion took a toll on Angie, as she then lay back on the pillow and coughed raspingly. After a bit, she half-lifted herself up on an elbow.

Blood chill

“One more thing Vinny. If there is something I need to be told, you will tell me, won’t you,” she said, her eyes burrowing into her husband’s like magnets.

“Remember what we said from day one? No secrets,” she added.

Vinny felt his blood chill. Should he stick or twist?

"Of course, love. No secrets. I'll suss out the SP for you. Until then, don't worry, I'm sure you'll be going three sets with Serena Williams in jig time.

“As for now, I think you should have a wee Bo Peep, build your strength up. I’ll be back tomorrow with the kids. I’m off work so can stay that bit longer.”

With that, Vinny placed a tender kiss on Angie’s forehead, squeezed her hand lightly, and took his leave.

By the time he got outside, and felt the force of Storm Gertrude, his eyes were watering and salty tears were streaming down his cheeks.

The daffodils were still dancing but as Vinny gazed and gazed, he had little thought of the wealth their show to him had brought.