Forgotten

by Susan Lewis

  He laughed. ‘My office is just around the corner,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, feeling herself starting to colour. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Did you get the new contracts we sent through last week?’

  ‘I’m sure we did. I can check with my secretary …’

  ‘Oh no, it’s not urgent. So how are you? It seems ages since I last saw you.’

  He pulled a face. ‘I’ve been a bit off the scene for a while,’ he admitted. Then, gesturing to the empty place at her table for two, ‘Are you expecting someone?’

  ‘I am, but I’m early and she’s running late, so do sit down if you have time.’

  Pulling up a chair, he said, ‘I’m on my way to the solicitor’s to sign most of my worldly wealth away to a wife who deserted me and took my kids into the bargain. Don’t need to be in a hurry for that, huh?’

  Feeling a huge wave of empathy, Rosalind said, ‘Oh Ben, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’

  He flipped a hand as if to say no big deal, but obviously it was.

  ‘Why don’t I buy you a drink?’ she offered. ‘A bit of Dutch courage to see you on your way?’

  He twinkled. ‘Sounds good to me,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘Let them wait, why not?’

  Feeling herself warming up inside as she laughed, Rosalind turned to catch the eye of a waiter, and after giving their order, she said, ‘So where did your wife take the children, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  Raising a sardonic eyebrow, he said, ‘About three streets away, to someone who’s actually not a bad bloke – if I can get past wanting to punch his lights out – and who’s way better off, financially speaking, than I am, but hey, why not use my income to bolster the whole new-family thing? What the hell else am I going to do with it?’

  ‘Oh God,’ she groaned, wondering if she might have to pay Jerry off at some point in the future and knowing she’d rather burn the money first. ‘It doesn’t sound very fair. Are you able to see your children at all?’

  ‘Two weekends a month and occasional holidays, apart from when I’m required to babysit. I don’t complain, because at least it means I get to spend more time with them.’

  ‘How old are they now? They were tiny the last time I saw them.’

  ‘Would you believe Justin’s going to be fourteen soon, and Sadie’s already twelve going on twenty. Boy, does she like to boss me around, but I suppose that’s girls and their dads for you.’ Grimacing as he realised what territory he’d just trodden on, he sounded genuinely regretful as he said, ‘Ros, I heard about yours. I’m so sorry. He’s such a great …’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine,’ Rosalind quickly assured him. ‘Absolutely fine. He’ll be pleased to know I’ve run into you. Now tell me, what do you think of this wine?’

  Lisa had cried so hard and for so long that her eyes were sore and her ribs ached. Damn Rosalind, she was thinking as she blew her nose and picked herself up from the bed. Or maybe she should actually be thanking her, because after releasing so much emotion she seemed to be feeling less edgy now, and hopefully more able to deal with David – and whatever mood he might be in – when he came home. Miles had woken her up about fifteen minutes ago with a call to let her know that the train had left on time, but she still felt groggy and vaguely nauseous. It would soon pass though, probably once she’d had something to eat, and since it was usual for her to ring David during his journey back to check there were no hold-ups and to assure him she’d be waiting when he arrived, she reached for the phone.

  After being bumped over to his voicemail, she told him to call when he could to let her know if he’d like to go out for an early dinner, and if so, she’d try to get them into Lockside. That might make his homecoming feel more inviting, she decided, just in case he was in one of his more difficult moods. Then, taking her mobile into the bathroom ready for when he rang back, she put it down on a shelf and didn’t notice until she picked it up again twenty minutes later that there was a text message waiting. Opening it, she read, I won’t be home tonight, but please don’t worry. Dx

  Feeling a beat of alarm she quickly rang his mobile, but found herself being diverted to messages again.

  Without bothering to leave one, she tried Miles. ‘Do you have any idea where he might be going?’ she asked, after repeating the text.

  Sounding equally baffled, Miles said, ‘As far as I knew he was on his way home.’

  ‘Are you sure he got on the train? Did you actually see him … ?’

  ‘I boarded with him because we were still talking, so he was definitely on it, and it was ready to pull out when I got off.’

  ‘So where is he now?’ she cried. ‘He’s not answering his phone.’

  ‘It’s not even four o’clock, so he must still be on his way home.’

  ‘But he’s not coming home! That’s what he said, so where else would he go?’

  ‘Have you tried Rosalind? Maybe he’s going there for the night.’

  ‘If he was, why wouldn’t he say so? Oh God, why anything with David these days? I can’t call her. She won’t speak to me. Would you try?’

  ‘Of course.’

  While she waited Lisa tried David again, but there was still no reply, so she replied to his text begging him to tell her where he was, if only to put her mind at rest.

  When Miles rang back he said, ‘I didn’t want to alarm her, so I tried to be vague about him mentioning he might go there from the train, but if that is what he’s intending, she’s not expecting him.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Lisa murmured, both angry and worried. ‘What the hell is he doing? How are we going to find him?’

  Miles said, ‘OK, let’s try to think about this rationally. We know he was on the train, so where else might he get off between London and Bristol? Bath?’

  ‘Did he have his station written down?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘I saw it there. He even showed me, Bristol Temple Meads.’

  ‘Then I should go to the station to see if he turns up. Yes, I’ll do that, but it’s not due in yet, so just in case, let’s carry on thinking about what that text might mean. He’s saying that he’s not coming home tonight, so are you sure he didn’t mention anything today that might give us a clue to where he might be intending to go?’

  ‘I’m racking my brains, but like I said, I thought he was on his way home. The only other stations he can get off at are Reading, Didcot, Chippenham and Bath. You know, I’m going to try and get hold of Colin Larch to see if anything came up while David was with him today.’

  As he rang off Lisa fought a wave of dizziness as an awful suspicion started to emerge from her fear. It didn’t seem rational or even possible at first, but only a few seconds of considering it were enough to send her running downstairs to David’s study to turn on his computer. It took moments to call up his emails and there, in the three most recent messages, were the confirmations she’d been dreading. A reservation at the Baur au Lac hotel in Zurich; an invitation from BA to check in online; and a message from a Herr Jorge Wengle detailing the date and time of their meeting – tonight at 2030!

  Grabbing the phone she pressed in David’s mobile number, so afraid now that she was practically screaming as she left him a message. ‘I know where you are,’ she cried furiously. ‘You can’t do this, David! It’s insane. Please, please call me.’ Cutting the connection she raced back to the kitchen and scrolled through her mobile for Tony’s number. ‘You have to help me,’ she begged. ‘David’s gone to Zurich. He’s got an appointment with someone at Exit for tonight …’

  ‘Hang on, hang on,’ Tony interrupted. ‘Try to calm down …’

  ‘How can I when David’s about to take his own life?’

  ‘Lisa, they don’t let people just walk in off the street …’

  ‘He’s got an appointment!’

  ‘But there’s still a procedure you have to go through. Has he been in touch with them before?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can check his emails again …’

  ‘
Listen, before you do that, why don’t you give me the number and I’ll try to speak to someone there …’

  ‘No, I can do that. I want you to go to Zurich and stop him.’

  ‘Are you crazy? Even if there’s a flight out tonight, I’ll never get there before his appointment, unless it’s at midnight.’

  Putting a hand to her head, Lisa said, ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry. I just … They won’t let him do anything, will they?’

  ‘You can be sure of it, but I’ll tell you what, call and get them to put your mind at rest, and if there is a flight to Zurich tonight, I’ll be on it. OK?’

  Starting to breathe again, she said, ‘OK. He’s booked into the Baur au Lac hotel. What are you going to say to him?’

  ‘Well, I was rather hoping you were going to give me some ideas,’ he replied.

  After asking the taxi driver to wait, David put away his notebook and gave a cursory glance around the quiet, rather bland suburb of Zurich he’d been brought to. Then walking up to the front door of a white flat-roofed building with blue blinds at the windows, he found the single word ‘Exit’ next to a bell at the front door. The irony of that wasn’t lost on him.

  ‘Mr Kirby?’

  Turning around, David saw a lanky young man with swept-back shoulder-length hair, a pierced ear and designer stubble approaching him from across the street. ‘Mr Wengle?’ he said.

  ‘That’s me,’ Wengle confirmed, reaching to shake David’s hand.

  Though he was nothing like the image David had created of him, his smile was infectiously friendly, and on closer inspection his eyes showed the sensitivity which someone in his line of work would certainly need.

  ‘Come on up,’ Wengle said, unlocking the door. ‘And by the way, call me Jorge.’

  ‘Jorge,’ David echoed, to try and plant it in his mind.

  ‘There’s no one else around this evening,’ Jorge went on as they walked up a flight of stairs most remarkable for its lack of atmosphere, ‘apart from the guy who mans the overnight phones, but he’s up on the third floor.’

  ‘Are you American?’ David asked. ‘You sound it.’

  ‘My mother is,’ Wengle – Jorge – told him.

  At the top of the stairs Jorge led the way through a small waiting room that boasted a few bucket seats, a water cooler and a built-in tank of tropical fish drifting dreamily around their exclusive domain.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ Jorge offered, as they entered a conference-style room and he closed the door.

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ David replied, sitting down at one end of the long table.

  Wengle pulled up a chair to face him, and clasping long, bony fingers together, he smiled kindly as he said, ‘I have to admit I’m surprised you wanted to come. You got my emails, right?’

  ‘I did,’ David confirmed.

  ‘So you understand that our organisation is only licensed to help Swiss nationals or foreign residents, meaning you have to have an address in this country?’

  David nodded.

  ‘Then can I ask,’ Jorge continued, ‘why you got in touch with us, rather than Dignitas, who I think are better known in your country?’

  Remembering the answer to that, or at least in part, David said, ‘I tried contacting them, but they … They didn’t want to help me.’

  Jorge grimaced. ‘It’ll probably be because of who you are. They’ve had some bad publicity lately, and given your position they could be afraid that you’re conducting an investigation rather than a genuine enquiry.’

  ‘Bad publicity?’ David echoed.

  ‘Mainly here, in Switzerland, because they’re pissing off the locals. It’s all to do with money not going to the cantons, and certain codes of practice that don’t precisely conform to regulations, but they do still operate a service that is open to non-nationals.’

  Again David nodded. Cantons, codes of practice, regulations. He understood what they all were, but it was hard to respond the way he’d like to. However, there was a question he knew he wanted to ask. ‘If I had an address here?’ he said.

  Jorge’s eyes stayed on his. ‘Then we could probably help you,’ he said.

  David continued to meet his gaze. ‘I sent an email outlining my reasons …’

  When he stopped, Jorge seemed to read where he was going, because he said, ‘Would it surprise you to hear that by far the majority of people who come through our doors are suffering from some kind of dementia?’

  David indicated that no, perhaps it didn’t surprise him.

  ‘The difficulty with it is deciding when is the right time,’ Jorge went on. ‘I’d say, out of every hundred sufferers we see, we probably end up helping no more than two or three.’ He eyed David closely, apparently assessing how well he was following. Presumably deciding David was on board, he said, ‘It’s almost impossible to determine when a person moves from being capable of making decisions for themselves, to being incapable, and all too often the time passes before they’re aware of it.’

  ‘I – I understand that,’ David said hoarsely. ‘But what if I wanted to do something now, while we know I’m still able to think for myself? How long would I have to have an address here?’

  ‘Well, there are no actual time constraints,’ he said, ‘but there are a lot of medical and legal requirements that need to be met before we can discuss allocating a time. You would also need to become a member of our organisation.’

  David felt bemused. ‘Is that … ? Can I?’

  ‘Anyone can join,’ Jorge told him. ‘It’s forty-five Swiss francs per year, which I think translates into around twenty-six pounds sterling.’

  David took out his wallet. ‘I have some currency,’ he said, and after handing over the correct amount he took a moment to consult his notebook. ‘Going back to an address. If I rented an apartment, here in Zurich, would that qualify me for your services?’

  Jorge nodded.

  David made a note.

  ‘Would it be where you’d want to spend your last days?’ Jorge asked.

  David wasn’t sure how to answer that.

  ‘The alternative would be to do it here,’ Jorge explained. ‘We have a room next door to this one that I can show you, if you like. It doesn’t get used often, because most of our members prefer to leave from their own homes. Tell me, have you discussed any of this with your family? Are they supportive of your decision?’

  David swallowed. ‘Not yet,’ he admitted, ‘but I’m hoping … I … I don’t need their permission?’

  ‘No. We’re all about your right to choose,’ Jorge reminded him, ‘but when you’re ready to take the step, you will be urged to consider how distressing your actions are likely to be for your relatives if you act without their knowledge.’

  David’s eyes began drifting around the room. Simply being here felt surreal, to be having this conversation was proving almost impossible to grasp. ‘What … ?’ He swallowed again. ‘How does it happen?’ he asked.

  Jorge’s elegant hands locked and unlocked. ‘It’s all in the documents I emailed across,’ he said, ‘but to precis, once we have all the requisite confirmations from your doctors that you are suffering with this illness, you will be able to select your own date of death, which can be postponed or cancelled at any time. Once you’ve selected your date, a physician here in Zurich will prescribe the medication that’s necessary, and either an Exit assistant or a doctor will collect it from one of the specially designated pharmacies and bring it to you.’

  ‘What …’ David cleared his throat. ‘What is the medication?’ he asked.

  ‘It consists of two tablets of Dramamine, which will help you to relax. Then around half an hour later you’ll be given ten grams of sodium pentobarbitone, dissolved in water. Usually no more than five minutes after you’ve taken the drink you will fall asleep, and within the next hour or two, without regaining consciousness, you will pass peacefully away.’

  Feeling oddly dizzy, David took in some air and blew it out slowly. ‘And then?’
he asked.

  ‘Then we call the police, who will make sure no Swiss laws have been violated.’

  ‘And my … after … my remains? What will happen if I come alone?’

  ‘Cremation is generally recommended in Switzerland, which we can organise for you. The urn and the ashes can then be sent on to whomever you have chosen.’

  Thinking of Lisa and Rosalind, David raised a hand and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘We would always urge you to discuss everything with your next of kin,’ Jorge told him kindly, ‘and if possible to have them with you for the time of passing. To borrow from an overused American phrase, it helps to bring closure.’

  As the words and images blurred together to make an abstract kind of pain for his conscience, David sat staring at nothing. He wasn’t ready for this yet, he knew that, but on the other hand if he waited too long …

  Oh Catrina, Catrina, he was saying to himself when he finally returned to the taxi. Am I crazy? Is this what I should be doing? I know you never considered it an option yourself, but I’m not Catholic and nor do I know if I have your kind of courage to suffer through to a natural end.

  The next morning Lisa was in the arrivals hall waiting for David to come through from his flight. She’d learned from the operator at Exit when she’d rung last night that David wasn’t a member, so couldn’t possibly be scheduled for an assisted suicide, so at least she’d been able to set that fear aside. It was merely a consultation, as David himself had explained, when he’d finally got in touch after his insane mission was over. They hadn’t discussed it then, had simply gone through the details of his return journey, and had wished one another a tender goodnight. Afterwards, she’d spent over an hour on the phone to Amy, pouring her heart out, while Tony, who’d almost made it to Heathrow by the time she rang him, had turned around and gone home again. The apology and thanks she owed him were so huge now that she needed some time to work up to them, but for the moment, what mattered was getting David home.

  The instant she saw him, looking so together and distinguished amongst the crowd, she was caught by such a conflict of emotions that she barely knew whether she was laughing or crying or seething with anger as she embraced him.