How hard it all was. She had made a decision; why was she now being so indecisive? Where was this woman of iron control that Callum had described? I suppose I don’t have to do anything just now, she told herself. I can cancel any time – or else just not turn up. Tell them to stuff their wretched clinic with its giant TV screens and choice of five hundred overused musical scores to die to. I also rather fancy waiting to get Callum and Helen down here and telling them the good news. ‘Hello, my darling son, and not quite so darling daughter-in-law. I have some wonderful news for you. I’m not going to die today. In fact, not today and not tomorrow either. Soon, maybe – who knows? – but I am just not in the mood for death quite yet, so let’s all have a drink to celebrate.’ It would be worth it just to see Helen’s face. Now that is something to live for.
33
Marianne woke from her mid-morning nap to a message from Anna that Callum had telephoned and Jake had called for the second time. She had also had a call from Nikhita Singh. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. It was now Monday 21st November: D-day minus three. She hadn’t said anything more to Callum about her second thoughts – about her morning of euphoria a couple of days previously. Stupid to tell him unless she was sure – and she didn’t feel sure about anything – except that her sciatica was hurting and she needed to get up and try to walk a little.
The persistent rain meant that going outside was impossible but, with Anna’s help, she managed to walk up and down the hall a few times before sitting down at her desk. She took a couple of pain killers while she contemplated calling Callum. If she didn’t, he would be sure to call again and she preferred to get it over with. She looked at the phone, thinking about what to say. With Anna coming in and out it was difficult to speak openly. In the event, the phone rang while she was still staring at it.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ said Callum, when she answered the call. ‘I got my timing wrong. I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep.’ They talked for a few minutes in a coded language. Marianne told him that nothing had changed.
‘But I had the impression when we last spoke that you would at least postpone it like I suggested?’
‘I decided against.’
‘But you haven’t told Anna yet – so you can’t be sure?’
‘You shouldn’t make that assumption. Just imagine how difficult things would be otherwise.’
‘Well, anyway, I have some family news – I’m afraid Leah didn’t get into Cambridge.’
Marianne thought about this information. She remembered how she had longed for Izzy to study at a Cambridge college, despite Edward’s reservations. It’s true, she admitted to herself, I have dreamed of Leah going to Cambridge. I couldn’t help it. I barely knew the girl until two years ago, but as I got to know her and saw how bright she was I began to foster my old ambitions.
‘Are you still there, Mum?’
‘Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry about Leah. Is she very disappointed?’
‘Less than I expected.’
When she had finished speaking to Callum, Marianne moved to her chair and lay back with her eyes shut. She had no intention of calling Jake back or of speaking to him if he called again. Nor would she call back the nurse. The fewer people she had to speak to the better. What had she been thinking, imagining that she could take over Jake’s life to fulfil some fantasy of her own? Building castles in the air; more than castles, giant pyramids supported by nothing more than a little bubble, an absurd, foolish bubble of self-delusion. Putting it off would only prolong the agony. I owe it to myself and I owe it to everyone else in my life. Time to get out of the way.
Marianne dreaded saying goodbye to Dorrie. She didn’t expect her to make it easy; she knew Dorrie was too honest for that.
‘So this is it?’ Dorrie said, after Anna had left the house.
‘Yes.’
‘Time to say goodbye.’
‘I am afraid so.’
‘Don’t expect me to be all soft and sentimental with you because I won’t.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you? Do you really understand how angry I am with you? How absolutely bloody furious? What about me, have you thought about that? How do you think it feels for me when you just go quietly off to die? Do you think that makes me feel good? Are you thinking at all about those you are leaving behind? What value are you placing on our friendship?’
Marianne wanted to reply but she knew it was impossible to explain, so she bowed her head and remained silent.
‘It’s not enough – is that what you are saying? Our friendship – it’s not a sufficient justification for staying alive? What about your son and grandchildren? What about Leah, who seems genuinely fond of you?’
‘It’s not like that…’
‘And Anna – your wonderful Anna – she’s going to feel just great to know that her patient has decided to commit suicide. Quite a testimonial.’
‘In the long run…’
‘No doubt I’m being obtuse,’ Dorrie continued, ‘but I still don’t get why you’re doing this. You can’t control everything in life, you know – or at least you shouldn’t be able to. Die when your body lets you – or if the pain is too much, then maybe a few days early. But for God’s sake, not now.
‘Have you any idea how lucky you are?’ she went on. ‘Sure, you’ve got a few aches and pains, but who hasn’t? You may have to resort to a wheelchair one day, but is that really so bad? There are plenty of people who battle on with far more to put up with than you. And your brain is still functioning; apart from this lunatic decision, I haven’t detected any signs of dementia. You also had a project – your mother’s diaries – which seemed to be keeping you happily occupied.’
‘People leave it too long. If my brain goes, it will be too late.’
‘Is that really the reason?’
‘Do you realise how hard it is to go through with this?’ Marianne said. ‘To fight off well-meaning people who want to talk you out of it. You need all your wits to get to the finishing line.’
‘The finishing line, as you like to call it, will come in its own time. Just because it’s possible to do this doesn’t make it right. Would you have committed suicide if it wasn’t for this idiotic law and these ghastly clinics? Are you sure you are being honest with yourself? Are you really so worried about losing your mind? I feel there are things you’re not telling me. Some domestic problems you think you can only solve by dying.’
‘Death does solve things.’
‘So, the final solution then.’
‘Your words, not mine.’
‘I’m sorry, I take that back, but I told you I wasn’t going to let you go easily.’
Nor did she. They battled on for a long time, or perhaps it should be said that Dorrie railed against Marianne’s decision and Marianne mostly stayed silent. I expect everything she is saying is cogent, Marianne thought, but right or wrong, I have come too far to turn back now.
‘You know,’ Dorrie said, ‘a few days ago I really thought you had changed your mind. You sounded so cheerful when I spoke to you on the telephone.’
‘You are right. For a short time I did.’
‘Did you tell the clinic?’
‘No.’
‘Or Callum?’