Echoes of a Life

by Robin Byron

  With her familiar hobbled gait she moves to the window and opens the shutters. The brilliance of the afternoon sun forces her back into the room. In the dimness of the shuttered bedroom the walls had looked grey, but as the sun now picks out the mouldings on the opposite side to her bed, it seems that a more distinct colour has been intended. Is it a long-faded eau de nil? She isn’t sure. She will ask Claire.

  Now she is walking down the corridor to the bathroom and splashing water onto her face. Reaching for a towel she begins to frown: the image on her retina – the sun reflecting off the long gravel drive – isn’t right. She returns to the window. Perhaps she simply hasn’t seen it. Blinking to adjust her eyes to the brightness, she gazes out at the familiar vista. It isn’t the wooded valley that has her attention however, it’s the drive leading down to the gate, and the absence of the old Renault van.

  Jake has been out all day, but Fran was in the house when she went upstairs. She goes to check her bedroom; a paperback lies face down on the unmade bed. Is there still a hint of warmth on the bed? She picks up the book. A thriller – but at least it’s in French, she notes. Good girl. She calls from the top of the stairs. Getting no reply, she searches the house and then goes outside. Fran’s bicycle is propped up against the side wall but there is no sign of the old van.

  Later, when the police arrive at the front door, they almost carry Jake from the car; his red-rimmed eyes and his ghostly white complexion tell her everything. He says nothing while the gendarmes give her an outline of what has happened, and she then has the agonising task of telephoning their mother, Juliette, and trying to comfort Jake. All evening he will neither speak nor eat but she manages to get a little cognac into him. Not wanting to leave him alone, she sits at the end of his bed and talks to him; talks about his sister Fran; talks through the night about her own life and losses; talks till the light begins to creep under the shutters and she is too exhausted to continue.

  Jake got out of bed and pulled on a shirt and jeans, before heading to the corner of his living room which passed for a kitchen; meanwhile Leah was pacing around the flat wearing his baggy blue sweatshirt and complaining about his refusal to take her with him on his intended visit to Marianne. ‘I don’t understand your objection – and I’m a closer relation than you are,’ she said.

  Jake put some water on to boil and looked in his cupboard; food wasn’t in great abundance, so he took down a jar with a little pesto left in the bottom, to which he added some olive oil. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to ambush her like that,’ he said.

  ‘Tell her in advance then – I told you, she knows about us, and she approves.’

  ‘That’s not the point – she chose a way to say goodbye to you that was easiest for her and I think you have to respect that.’

  ‘So I’m never to see her again?’

  ‘I am not saying that. Just let me go on my own this time – I had difficulty enough in persuading her to let me come. When I’ve seen her we can decide what to do.’

  ‘We need to persuade her to change her mind – there’s nothing wrong with her.’

  Jake put a frying pan onto the gas and sprinkled some pine nuts into the pan. ‘Is that really our job? We don’t know what it’s like to be her age. We can’t tell exactly how she feels…’

  Leah sniffed and continued her trawl around the flat – examining objects and putting them down again. Picking up a pad from his desk she studied it. ‘Is this a poem?’

  ‘Don’t look at that.’

  ‘Too late – I already have. I like it.’

  ‘You do want some pasta then?’

  ‘Is this Fran?’ she said, picking up a framed photograph of a teenage girl.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t see much resemblance to you.’

  ‘I’ve put some pasta on for you anyway.’

  ‘Why won’t you tell me about her?’

  ‘She was my twin sister who died in a crash.’

  ‘I mean about her. Everyone says you were very close.’

  ‘She was my twin.’

  ‘Is that all you are going to say? Did you love her very much?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘So are you going to tackle Marianne properly – make her change her mind? I want to know.’

  Jake pulled out a strand of spaghetti and put it in his mouth.

  ‘So you’re not even going to try?’

  ‘I’ll see how it goes – but the best person to influence her would be your father. What are you doing?’

  ‘Getting dressed.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to have something…?’

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Now?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t you want to eat?’

  ‘Do you remember your promise – to treat me as an adult? You’re worse than my parents. A little girl who has to be kept out of adult business – that’s what you think, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And if you want to be treated as an adult you should start behaving like one.’

  ‘Not that fucking cliché. It’s what our Head used to spout all the time.’

  ‘This is about respecting Marianne.’

  ‘Well, I’m off.’

  ‘Leah…’

  ‘Tell me about it when you get back – if you think I’m old enough to know about such grown-up matters.’

  27

  It was, Jake had to admit, a fine example of Victorian gothic, albeit on a domestic scale. Marianne had told him once that the architect, for a long time completely forgotten, was now highly regarded and had recently been the subject of several learned articles. He stood for a while staring up at the roof line of the house, marvelling again at the extravagant flourishes and attention to detail which nearly two hundred years ago had gone into the construction of an ordinary middle-class dwelling.

  As he stood looking up, the front door opened and Anna came out. ‘You like the house?’ she said, coming down the front step to embrace him.

  ‘I do – I’ve always wondered what happens in that little tower?’

  ‘That’s where Marianne locks me if I am bad!’

  Jake laughed. ‘And you let your hair down for your lover to climb up – like Rapunzel. Do you know the fairy story?’

  ‘Of course – we have same story in Latvia. But the tower is disappointing inside: so small all you can do is just stand in it – no real use.’

  Jake had been told that Anna knew nothing of Marianne’s decision to have an assisted death and consequently he avoided the subject. ‘I’ve come to help Marianne with her mother’s old diaries,’ he said.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Anna, suddenly more serious. ‘I think she needs help – recently she seem a bit… well… quiet.’

  ‘Then we must cheer her up.’

  ‘Looking at the old books may help. You know she found out her real father was Latvian, like me.’

  ‘Yes, Leah told me – incredible.’

  ‘Marianne say it is fate. Such an interesting lady. She was a spy in Russia once, you know.’

  ‘I heard the story.’

  ‘Callum told me. She was supposed to be a teacher but she was expelled for spying. I ask her once and she laugh and say, “It’s true, I was thrown out, but I was never a spy.” But I’m sure she was.’

  ‘You must have become very fond of her?’

  ‘Of course. I do everything for her. And when I am not working sometimes we play cards or just talk together. When she needs to go somewhere I drive her. I try to be like daughter to her.’

  ‘I think she is very lucky to have you,’ said Jake.

  Despite her original refusal to see Jake, Marianne had begun looking forward to his visit. Perhaps I was right and he will be the one to complete the project, she thought. She was fond of Jake; he had been so devoted to his twin siste
r that for a time Fran’s death had completely destroyed his confidence. For a year or more she had heard reports that he was suffering from depression and Juliette and Tom had tried to get him into therapy. It seemed that he had managed to dig himself out during his university years, and when she had seen him since he had struck her as a charming and articulate young man.

  On this occasion, Jake did not disappoint her. It might also be said that Jake surprised himself with his enthusiasm for her project. What had seemed like an assignment which promised to be both awkward and depressing, now seemed a fascinating piece of detective work. Instead of having to feign interest, he found his natural enthusiasm for history was provoked by what he saw of the contents of the diaries. Sitting together with Marianne, they looked at random pages and Jake began to get a sense of life with her mother’s family, their relationship with the German soldiers billeted on them and, as the bombs began to fall, their understandable anxieties about being caught up in any allied landings.

  ‘Leah told me about your real father being Latvian.’

  ‘Yes. I was a war baby. I used to think from a German father, but actually he was Latvian – though part of the German army.’

  ‘And he died in the war?’

  ‘Almost certainly.’

  ‘Did you want to publish the diaries when you finish?’

  ‘Possibly, but to tell the truth I had another idea. The material is quite fragmentary with a lot of gaps which one longs to fill in. It could form the basis for a marvellous work of historical fiction.’

  ‘Of course you were quite a famous novelist in your time – I loved those Russian stories.’

  ‘Don’t flatter me. Three novels to my name only; the first one attracted some favourable reviews – the two I wrote after my retirement less so. It will be up to you and Claire what you decide to do; it’s too late for me to contemplate anything like that now.’

  ‘I don’t see why. I mean I saw what you wrote to Claire, but it seems like you still have plenty to live for.’

  ‘We won’t discuss it.’

  ‘I’m sorry – I know it’s really none of my business, but I’ve been looking into the whole subject and it would really help me to understand…’

  ‘I’m not a test case, Jake. Try to use your imagination. I don’t want a messy end. Get out while you’re ahead. Now the subject is closed.’

  ‘But it’s not just me – I don’t think Claire understands it either.’

  ‘Well, perhaps she will when she reaches my age.’

  ‘Callum told Leah in the car – after they visited you. She was quite upset.’

  ‘Of course. I was upset to say goodbye to her. What do you expect?’

  ‘I mean – because she didn’t know she was saying goodbye.’

  ‘I think she did know.’

  ‘You guessed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you didn’t say anything?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, but it was easier for me that way. Tell her I’m a selfish old woman.’

  ‘She wants to come again…’

  ‘No, Jake – please tell her not to. You understand, I’m sure. You can explain to her.’

  ‘But she doesn’t understand why you are doing it. Just being… whatever age you are – it doesn’t seem enough.’

  ‘I can’t help it if people don’t understand. Now, I’m not going to discuss this with you anymore. I’m sorry, Jake, but if you persist in asking more questions I’ll have to ask you to leave.’

  ‘OK. I’m sorry…’

  ‘Incidentally – I gather you and Leah have got together. I hope you are serious. You have some responsibility – being that much older.’

  ‘Of course – I mean, it’s only… but, yes, I am serious.’

  ‘Good. I am naturally protective of my grand-daughter; I think she is a special girl and I hope it works out for you both.’

  Once they had discussed the diaries, and his feelings for Leah, and with further discussion of AD being off limits, conversation drifted towards the past and it wasn’t long before it lodged on the craggy rocks of the Auvergne and that hot night in August when she had sat on the edge of Jake’s bed and tried to console his grief.

  Jake remembered how Marianne had told him something of her own agony at her daughter’s death, but such was his self-absorption at the time that the words had meant nothing to him. He also remembered – and this he had never forgotten – that she didn’t try to minimise his pain, or tell him that he would get over it in time, or bring out any clichés about growing up and new friends. She had talked about Fran, her wonderful spirit, the way she lit up the room, her sense of humour and how lucky he was to have had such a twin sister.

  ‘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.’