When Helen returned to the table they both sat for a few moments in an uncomfortable silence.
‘What news of Emma?’ Marianne asked.
‘Working hard for her end-of-year exams,’ Helen responded brightly, appearing relieved that Marianne had broken the silence and not raised any more difficult subjects. ‘She’s still playing a lot of hockey.’
‘I’ve given them our orders,’ said Callum, returning to the table.
‘You must miss Emma?’ Marianne said, then instantly regretted the remark as soon as she had uttered it.
‘Yes, of course, but we plan to go back to Oz for Christmas and…’
Helen had suddenly spotted, as Marianne had a moment earlier, that the conversation was drifting perilously close to the forbidden subject. By Christmas I shall be dead, thought Marianne – or at least I will be if things go according to my plan – so Christmas was not a proper subject for discussion. Callum had also spotted the danger and dived to the rescue.
‘Well, we haven’t made any definite plans yet… Now, Mum, how is Anna looking after you? Are you getting enough decent food?’
‘Yes, I’ve already told you, Anna is looking after me as well as ever.’
As they waited for their lunch to arrive, Callum kept the conversation reassuringly general. Dangerous subjects were circumvented: climatic differences between England and Australia, Callum’s job in London, political issues in England and America – these were all safe subjects, but not the immediate future. Not for Marianne, nor for Callum and Helen.
‘Ah, this is ours, I think,’ said Callum, as a waitress brought over their lunch, allowing the conversation to be diverted to their choice of food.
‘Ta,’ said Helen as the waitress put down her caesar salad. Marianne was having the fish pie while Callum had a steak and ale pie with chips, causing Helen to comment, ‘Chips as well, Cal?’, eyeing his plate with disapproval.
Throughout the meal Marianne felt a curious detachment. She was both sitting in her corner seat and at the same time surveying the scene as if from above. Dorrie had mocked her when she said she had a strange kind of excitement, an intensity of feeling which she had not experienced before, but it was a fact that since her decision on Wednesday she had felt both part of the life she was leading but also separate from it, as if already viewing the life of another person.
Callum was asking her whether she wanted dessert but suddenly she had an urgent need to get back to the house and for Callum and Helen to be gone.
‘No thank you, darling,’ she said, ‘I feel a bit tired now. I think we might go back.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll just pay the bill,’ and once again Callum got up and went to the bar, leaving Helen and Marianne alone. Marianne was about to launch into another bland conversation to cover an awkward silence when, to her amazement, Helen plunged into the forbidden subject.
‘Are you still planning to go to the clinic on Tuesday?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Would you like me to take you? It’s just that I know Cal would want to take you himself, but he has an important meeting on Tuesday.’
‘Well,’ Marianne said, hesitating; she had been wondering how she would get to the clinic. Normally Anna would take her anywhere she wanted to go but she hadn’t told Anna yet.
‘Well, if it’s not too much trouble?’
‘No, of course not. I’ve already discussed it with Cal.’
Have you indeed, thought Marianne. So, despite all Callum’s expressed unhappiness about my decision, their expectation has been that I will go through with it, not that they will persuade me otherwise.
‘Ready to go now,’ said Callum returning to the table and taking Marianne’s arm. As he helped her to her feet and they made their way out to the car park she wondered what further arguments might be in store when they got home. But back in the house, the second phase of their conversation which Callum had promised was over almost before it had begun. Helen had taken herself to the upstairs bathroom.
‘So, Mum,’ Callum began, ‘are you sure you don’t want to just forget about all this…? I mean, the AD clinic.’
‘No, darling, I’m going to the stage two appointment on Tuesday.’
‘Well, perhaps they will talk you out of it.’
‘Perhaps they will,’ she said (but if he really thinks that he doesn’t know how these things work).
‘Well, if you are determined to go, Helen has said that she will take you. I would come myself but I have a rather difficult day on Tuesday.’
‘That’s alright, Helen has already said she would take me.’
‘Has she? OK then. What time should she get here?’
‘The appointment is at eleven, so if she’s here by ten thirty that would be fine.’
‘OK, Mum, but remember what I said, won’t you?’
‘I will, darling. I will.’
21
Marianne sat in the Iris reception room waiting to be seen while Helen read – or pretended to read – a magazine. Every now and then Helen looked up and gave Marianne an encouraging smile, rather as if she was an anxious child before a visit to the dentist. There appeared to be some sort of glitch before Marianne could be seen and this gave her an opportunity to read some of the clinic’s literature. Apparently, the Iris was the fifth clinic to be opened in England by the Dutch de Zeeou Group, now popularly known as the Daisy Chain. There was also literature explaining the environmental, cremation and burial services on offer; another arm (and a highly profitable one she had read) of the de Zeeou Group.
Eventually Marianne was called in to meet the support nurse. Helen was not allowed to accompany her during this interview. Marianne was pleasantly surprised by the attitude of the nurse. She introduced herself as Nikhita Singh; aged about fifty, with small brown, slightly hooded eyes and noticeably crooked teeth, she seemed friendly but respectful.
‘I have read through your stage one notes, Mrs Davenport, and you seemed very confident that AD would be the right solution for you when the time came.’
‘Yes, I have always believed in AD.’
‘Yes indeed, and I understand why from your previous interviews. Now I am going to have to ask you a number of questions and you must give me an honest and truthful answer. Never say what you think I might expect or want to hear. Only your own view, is that clear?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Right, here is the question sheet so you can follow what I’m asking.’
And so the process started. Marianne had an idea what to expect, from her friend Millicent who had gone through AD a few years earlier. She had explained that it’s all about getting the right score. Most of the questions are about evaluating certain aspects of your life, both physical and mental. The scoring system seeks to achieve a measure of uniformity, so:
‘On a scale of one to ten, Mrs Davenport, with ten being the most happy, and zero being the least happy, how would you describe your state of mind?’ Of course, the questions were in many ways absurd but Marianne knew that you have to play along with the system and exaggerate a little. She opted for a two. They moved on to physical suffering.
‘What aspects of your physical life cause you distress and suffering, Mrs Davenport?’
‘Well, there’s my hands and my hips,’ she said. ‘I broke my pelvis in my twenties and it didn’t heal well.’
‘Ah yes,’ said the nurse, studying her notes.
‘You will see that I had hip problems quite early in life and had replacement hips about twenty years ago. Apparently my bones have now degenerated so that it’s not considered possible to have further surgery. So sooner or later I’m likely to end up in a wheelchair.’