Dorrie sighed. ‘Let’s forget memories. Let’s talk about the present. How was your visit from Callum and Leah?’
‘Fine.’
‘And?’
‘Just a trot around the same circuit – no change.’
‘You told Leah?’
‘No, but Callum has told her.’
‘What about Claire? Did you write to her?’
‘Yes, and I had a surprise visit from her grandchild, Jake – sent to spy on me by Claire. And guess what,’ she said, turning to face Dorrie. ‘I think he’s sleeping with Leah.’
‘Cousins?’
‘So what.’
‘You don’t mind? She’s quite young.’
‘Eighteen for God’s sake – I was in love at fourteen – but there was no pill in those days. No, I think it’s wonderful. You know what a terrible old romantic I am. It brought back memories of Daniel.’
‘I remember about your Daniel. “I was a child and she was a child” – how does it go? You quoted that Poe verse.’
‘I don’t remember exactly, but yes – he quoted it in a letter to me before he died. Sometimes I still feel like a teenager.’
Dorrie got up and walked to the window. Autumn was now well advanced; the trees almost bare against the grey sky. She gazed down towards the small pond at the bottom of Marianne’s garden where the water was barely visible through the covering of leaves. ‘To ourselves, we’re always young,’ she said. ‘That’s the irony of old age. All our self-discovery – our self-awareness – happens when we are young. By the time we have become fully formed adults we know where we belong – to the tribe of the young. We never desert that tribe – it’s who we are. Our friends get older; children – our own or other people’s – get rapidly older. Others see us getting older and it’s true we begin to suffer creeping decrepitude – but to ourselves we will always be young, because that’s how we first defined ourselves – different, and forever different, from the old.’
Dorrie stayed on and talked for another hour. Although Marianne still felt low, she knew that she had been distracted for a time from her self-absorption and she felt grateful to Dorrie for her loyalty and friendship. She turned on an audio book in the hope of distracting herself but, as the evening turned towards night, her fear and distress returned.
30
Monday lunchtime found Jake and Leah in the basement bar close to their office, engaged in an intense conversation about what had happened on Saturday night.
He tried to explain the emotion that had overwhelmed him when telling her about Fran, repeatedly apologising for his rough behaviour. He told her how much it meant to him to have confided in her and how close he felt to her now. For her part, Leah was prepared – once enough protests had been registered – to give some limited indication of forgiveness, acknowledging that she may have acquiesced but that she certainly didn’t expect him to treat her like that again.
‘We are having dinner with my parents tonight.’ The abrupt change of tone seemed to indicate that Leah regarded the previous subject as closed.
‘Tonight?’
‘You promised, remember? I want you to tackle Dad about Marianne.’
As their tube train rattled its way towards Victoria, Jake had a sense that this was far more like a joint endeavour by two work colleagues, rather than a girl taking her boyfriend to meet her parents. He tried to lighten the atmosphere by taking Leah’s hand but she batted him away. ‘Just remember what I told you. Concentrate your fire on my father. Mum will be more difficult – and bear in mind she has been trying to grill me about you but I have refused to say anything. She knows now that I’ve spent nights with you and she definitely doesn’t approve.’
As Jake walked down Victoria Street with Leah, past the byzantine edifice of Westminster Cathedral, with its crazy domes and striped brick tower, he wondered how best to open the discussion. Whilst he was supposed to tackle the highly delicate question of Marianne, he was conscious that it was his relationship with Leah which was likely to be of more immediate concern to her parents.
Arriving at their flat, the door was opened by a blonde woman in her late forties or early fifties with a narrow face and multiple small creases around her eyes and lips.
‘Hello, Helen,’ he said.
‘Come in,’ she said, turning back into the hallway and not giving Jake a chance to kiss her on the cheek, as he had been intending.
The atmosphere was noticeably chilly as Jake and Leah followed Helen into the living room, but Callum seemed intent on being friendly. Getting up to shake his hand, he offered Jake a drink, and enquired after his mother. Jake made the customary joke that she had not succumbed to any more snake bites despite spending all her available hours out of doors. In the meantime, he noticed that Helen and Leah had left the room, no doubt for a mother-daughter face-off.
Jake explained about Marianne’s letter to Claire and his trip to Cambridge to look at the French diaries. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘your mother wants Claire to have the diaries and perhaps for me to finish the work of translating them that she has started. But, I mean, Claire wanted to be sure that was OK with you. I mean, in case you had any interest in them yourself?’
‘That’s thoughtful of you,’ said Callum, ‘but Claire knows I don’t read French so there’s nothing much I could do with them. Claire is welcome to have them.’
‘OK, thanks. I just didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. And, well, the other thing is, I was quite shocked that she has apparently decided to have an assisted death – I mean, very soon, judging from the letter she wrote to Claire.’
‘I realise it might come as a surprise to you, but then you wouldn’t have seen much of her recently. She’s been planning it for years.’
‘I can understand it in principle, of course. But she seemed very well – and mentally alert.’
Callum was silent for a moment and Jake saw a mask coming across his face while his body language showed an element of discomfort. ‘It’s what she wants,’ he said.
‘I think it’s such a relief for old people,’ said Helen, coming back into the room and joining in the conversation. ‘Being able to go when they want to, such a blessing.’
‘You are obviously a supporter of assisted dying,’ said Jake, who noticed Leah hovering in the doorway.
‘Oh yes, absolutely. Quite a few of my friends’ parents or grandparents have gone that way; it’s so much more dignified for them.’
‘You don’t think sometimes they feel pressured into doing it?’ said Jake.
‘Definitely not in my mother’s case,’ said Callum sharply.
‘I don’t mean that anyone actually puts pressure on them – but they might feel, you know, that it’s somehow expected of them?’
‘Nothing could make Callum’s mother do what she didn’t want to do,’ said Helen. ‘No, if you ask me, it’s one of the best changes to the law that’s been made in my lifetime. It’s saved so much suffering.’
‘Leah has told us about your interest in this,’ said Callum, ‘but you wouldn’t have had much personal experience at your age. We’ve seen quite a lot of it and old people really know when they want to die.’
‘I’m sure that’s often the case,’ said Jake. ‘It’s just… I mean, she still seems to have a lot to live for.’
‘I hope you didn’t say anything to disturb her,’ said Helen. ‘It’s a difficult time; it’s vital we let her make up her own mind and that no one tries to influence her. I’m not sure it was such a good idea for you to visit her.’