‘I think I understand now a little about how you must have felt when your daughter was killed. Even worse to lose your own grown-up child…’
‘There’s no competition in grief, Jake.’
‘No – but there is responsibility. A few years ago, I tried to tell you – I never told my parents – but it was me; I persuaded her to take the car that day. It was quite wrong of me. If I hadn’t…’
‘Jake, don’t torture yourself. An accidental death has a million tiny precursors – if I hadn’t done that, if I had said something different. I went through it all myself. If I hadn’t told Izzy she had to come back to Cambridge for the weekend, she might still be alive.’
‘But…’
‘No buts – it’s always the same. Everyone feels it. Part of the guilt of the living. It’s unavoidable but you must try to overcome it or it will eat you up. I said we wouldn’t talk about my decision to have an assisted death but I will tell you one thing. When I’m gone – even at my age – certain people may feel guilty. They shouldn’t – but they may.’
‘I understand,’ said Jake.
‘Do you?’ she said. ‘I hope so. You must tell Claire and your mother and anyone who may be interested that nothing and nobody can make any difference to my decision. It’s my long-held and deeply considered wish to control the time of my death. Only I can know when the time has come and no one should gainsay me. Please remember that when I’m gone.’
Jake was only a few miles out of Marianne’s village when he turned off the main road and drove down a small country lane desperately looking for somewhere quiet to stop. After half a mile, he saw a farm track and, turning down it, he drove another fifty yards before pulling up. Getting out of the car he walked to a gate and, leaning on it, gazed sightlessly across the flat Cambridgeshire field, his body casting a long, ghoulish shadow in the late afternoon sun.
In planning his visit to Marianne, Jake had been so concerned with the practicalities – would she see him; what about the diaries; should he be trying to dissuade her – that he had overlooked the obvious fact that in all probability this would be the final goodbye to his Auntie Manne who had been such a fixture in his life. He had been quite unprepared for the emotional turmoil he felt as he hugged her for the last time before turning to leave the house; now he needed to calm himself and gather his thoughts.
As he began to regain his composure, Jake felt distress turn imperceptibly to anger, though the exact object of his anger was not easy to determine. Partly it was directed at himself: had he handled the meeting well? Should he have tried harder to get her to change her mind – or at least get to the root of her decision? The other source of his anger, though he was reluctant to admit it, was Marianne herself. Couldn’t she wait a bit longer till she was clearly on the way out, and not cause her relations all this stress? Christ, this AD business is so fucking cold-blooded, and he gave the gate a hefty kick.
There was another source to Jake’s frustration – usually well buried but capable of coming to the surface when the subject of this sister’s death was mentioned. He wanted to explain to her how it had happened, and how he felt about it now. He needed the absolution that perhaps only she who had been there could give him – but she wouldn’t listen. Twice he had tried to talk to her and twice she had dismissed it as the cliché of survivor’s guilt. Why the fuck couldn’t she listen properly? he thought, and he kicked the gate for a second time.
28
During a tedious drive back from Cambridge, Jake spoke briefly to Leah and arranged to meet her at his flat. When in London, and to try to improve his mood, he went for a run round Clapham Common and had just arrived back and turned on the bath when Leah rang the bell. He let her in, kissed her, then went back to the bathroom while she stood at the door listening to the description of his meeting with Marianne. He knew she would be disappointed with what he told her.
‘Why are you being so feeble about this?’ she said, taking off her jacket and throwing it onto the bedroom floor. ‘Are you happy with what she is doing?’
‘No, of course not – but it’s not so easy. I did try, but after all it’s her life. If she really wants…’
‘Unless there’s something she’s not saying, I don’t see that she qualifies. I’ve looked at the rules…’
‘What are you suggesting – we call the police?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then I don’t see there is much we can do. If she’s determined and the clinic accepts her…’
‘But you told me, the clinics almost never turn people away – that’s the whole fucking point. I thought that’s why the Chronicle are doing this investigation…’
Jake took off the last of his clothing and lowered himself gingerly into the hot water. The old bath in his flat might have lost some enamel but it was long, and putting his feet each side of the taps at the far end, he lowered his shoulders and head below the water and stayed under for several seconds. Sitting up again, he pushed his hair back and said, ‘Let’s separate these two things, Leah. Maybe there are abuses in the way AD works and perhaps Charlie and Mills will uncover them. Marianne’s decision to end her life when she is nearly ninety is nothing to do with that – it’s just a coincidence. It may or may not be strictly within the law but it happens every day and I don’t think it’s our role to try to stop her.’
‘That’s all your aunt is to you then – an unfortunate coincidence?’
Jake sighed. ‘You’re picking out words. Look, I’m as upset about her decision as you are. For what it’s worth I think she’s wrong. Her life is still worth living – no question – and I don’t agree with what she is doing, but the only person who has any chance of making her change her mind is your father.’
‘I’ve tried. Dad says she might still change her mind, but if she doesn’t we have to respect her decision.’
‘Well then…’
‘Why don’t you speak to Dad – to him I’m just a child. He might listen more to you.’
‘Fine. I will if you want me to.’
‘Promise?’
‘Of course.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘If you want.’
‘Sweet. Thank you – sorry for going on at you. It’s just that no one is arguing against her. Dad should be on his knees pleading with her not to do it. That’s what I would do. Can I get into your bath? I’m shit cold.’
‘Sure.’
Leah stripped off quickly and stepped into the opposite end of the bath from Jake, sinking slowly into the hot water and causing it to rise perilously close to the rim. Wrapping a towel over the taps, she lay back and stretched out her legs between Jake’s, letting her feet rest either side of his chest. ‘I got really cold feet coming here,’ she said.
Jake took one of her feet and began rubbing soap into it. ‘Better now?’
‘Mmm, good as, you can do that all day if you like.’
After a few minutes Leah said, ‘I haven’t done this since I used to bath with Emma. Did you bath with Fran?’
‘Of course, when we were young. I mean, being twins it was logical for our mother to bath us together.’
‘So, like, for how long did you go on bathing together?’
‘Probably till we were about eight or nine.’
‘What made you stop?’
‘Well, you get to a certain age…’
‘Yeah, but I just wondered, which one of you didn’t want to go on…’
‘Actually, I think it was our mother. She just said, “I think you’re getting a bit old to bath together,” and that was it.’