Ah, the wonderful idealism of youth, she thought. Twenty-year-olds – full of optimism, immortal gods of the planet. The idea of death – the reality of death – offends them.
‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s too late for all that.’
‘I thought that’s what you’d say.’
‘If they promise to behave and not to make a scene they can come and say goodbye – but I don’t want them here at the end. Now can you find out what’s going on. I haven’t seen a doctor yet. No one’s told me anything.’
Callum scuttled off to find someone to talk to, while Helen went on muttering about how intrusive Anna and Jake were and how brave and sensible she was being.
‘It’s Thursday today, isn’t it?’ Marianne said suddenly.
‘Yes, why?’
‘Nothing.’ The last Thursday in November, she thought. Thanksgiving. How curious that I should have chosen this day without realising it. Appropriate, I suppose. After all, I have much to be thankful for. Both in my life and now, finally, at the end; I get the chance to atone – and my death now can still do some good.
Callum was now back in her room. ‘Mum, I know this is really the last thing you need, but it seems there might be some delay. There’s a story in the press this morning about the De Zeeou chain – which runs this clinic – suggesting that in some cases they may have been bending the law.’
‘Delay?’
‘Apparently, the board at the head office in Holland are in emergency session at this moment and in the meantime everything is on hold – a moratorium on all activity, they told me.’
‘I see.’
‘Yes, but the manager here thinks it could be lifted at any time, so he recommends just waiting for a while.’
‘Well, that’s what we’ll have to do, I suppose.’
‘Yes – Mum, I’m so sorry. This must be very upsetting for you.’
‘It’s certainly unexpected.’
‘Do you want me to get you a coffee or anything?’
‘No, they advise against it. But you and Helen go and get a coffee. I would appreciate a little time to myself.’
When Callum and Helen had left, Marianne lay propped up in bed in a state of stunned disbelief. This does seem a cruel trick, she thought, when I am ready to flick the switch. A stay of execution – except in this case I am trying to die and the clinic is forbidding it. What happens if they refuse to proceed today? Suddenly, the idea of going home terrified her. How long would the delay be? Would she ask Anna to come back? What would she tell her? Then there were all those people she had sent emails to. And Dorrie – it was agony being berated by her yesterday; she would see this as a timely intervention by fate – a message that her death was not supposed to happen yet.
But would she be right? Perhaps this is my rescue, the cavalry cresting the hill in a cloud of dust. Perhaps I am the ceremonial turkey to be saved by the president? If I go home today how will I feel about coming back? An unexpected sensation, warm and seductive, seemed to be infiltrating her body, creeping up slowly through her stomach. Was that a tiny flicker of relief that I felt when Callum told me the news? Like hearing that the dentist can’t see you after all and, despite the continuing toothache, you feel relieved that you won’t have to endure the extraction that day.
‘No, no,’ Marianne muttered to herself out loud. ‘I can’t allow myself these thoughts. That way lies madness. I must be strong.’
She thought of her dreary prison room in Moscow and the endless and increasingly pointless interrogation. Time distorted by unfamiliar environments. Watching the minute hand on the wall clock, it seemed barely to move. Was this how it had been when she sat with Izzy at the hospital? Time like an amorphous blob, like Dali’s wall clock, melting in front of her, mocking her need for movement.
She thought of those moments after the air crash: moments of crushing pain and terror, terror at the thought of being roasted alive, the unimaginable agony, and how she had willed herself to die. She hadn’t burnt, nor had she died – and for that salvation she had often given thanks – but now her time had come; this time she should have the magic box to switch off her life, only she couldn’t get her hands on it.
Downstairs Callum reported Marianne’s wishes. ‘You’ve got to promise me, no begging – just goodbye.’
Anna put her head in her hands. ‘So that’s it then?’
‘Yes.’
Leah moved around to sit next to Anna and held her hand. ‘Can we go up now?’ she said, looking at her father.
‘Not quite yet – we have a bit of a delay at the moment. There are stories in the press this morning – things are on hold…’
Jake sighed. ‘Yes, it’s our paper, I’m afraid – but I had no idea that…’
‘Of course not – but you can imagine how distressing it is for her.’
‘I’m going,’ said Anna.
‘No, stay,’ said Leah. ‘Please stay. Maybe they won’t go ahead at all now – what do you think, Jake?’
Jake shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘I think this is fate intervening,’ Leah said. ‘The Chronicle have rescued Gran. It’s like a miracle.’
‘You mustn’t think like that, darling,’ said Callum.
‘I really need to go,’ said Anna. ‘It’s too hard for me. Yesterday, when she say goodbye, I cry all night. I can’t say goodbye again.’
Jake watched as Leah hugged Anna. Both were crying now.
Up in her room, Marianne preferred not to think what would happen if she was sent home. She tried to clear her mind of all the jumble of thoughts. Callum and Helen came in and out without knowing what to do. Everyone thought they had to say something, but nothing made much sense. Was the room too hot, or perhaps too cold? A sip of water, maybe? Listen to some music? Something on the television screen would pass the time? Marianne declined. Nikhita Singh came in, looking a lot more frightened than Marianne herself. Was everything still OK? Any particular concerns? (You’ve got to be joking.) A decision was expected any minute, or soon, certainly within the hour, without fail by lunchtime (lunchtime – what the hell has lunch got to do with dying?). What if normal service could not be resumed? If ‘procedures’ were permanently suspended? No one dared ask. Just keep on waiting. Was she alright? they kept asking. Yes, yes, yes, she repeated, though she had lost any sense of what alright meant for her. Perhaps this is how all life ends, she thought, spouting nonsense to each other like Didi and Gogo. Impossible to die because the rope’s too short or the belt has broken – and Godot will surely come, only not quite yet.
When it happened, and the moratorium was lifted, time seemed to speed up alarmingly. Marianne didn’t know how she felt because everything was happening so fast. The doctor came in for his last check to ensure that her mind was sound and that she still wished to end her life. She signed the final consent form.
Jake and Leah appeared in her room. Jake came forward and kissed her. ‘Thank you for everything – and for being there for me in France…’ he said.
‘Goodbye, Jake,’ she said.
Then Leah came to kiss her; half lying on the bed, she pushed her wet face against Marianne and emitted a small choking noise. ‘…love you, Gran.’
‘I love you too, darling. Good luck with everything – you’ll make a success of your life, I know.’
‘Don’t do this, Gran – don’t kill your self. Please, please don’t do it. I love you – don’t do it…’
‘Leah, darling, you promised…’ said Helen, taking hold of Leah’s arm.
‘I don’t want you to die, please, Gran. We can take you home…’