by Robin Byron
Marianne woke with her nightdress soaked in sweat, conscious that something strange and alarming had happened. Fear, which she thought she had skilfully circumvented, had found her out. Such a dream would have been nothing, except that being awake failed to calm or reassure her. For years now, even before she had ever visited the clinic, Marianne had contemplated her death with relative equanimity. Indeed, she had practised dying. She had lain in bed with her eyes shut ready to flick the switch; she had reviewed her eighty-odd years, marked her conduct, felt gratitude for the good things, sadness at the losses, guilt and shame where she thought she had behaved badly and then slipped into an imagined death with scarcely a moment of regret. Reviewing her ‘death’ with the benefit of hindsight it had seemed easy, welcome even, a friendly companion ready to be called upon whenever she should demand it; or, should it conspire to take her by surprise, she was prepared to go quietly. There would be no rage – and above all, no fear.
And yet she was afraid. And more than afraid; she was in a black hole of lethargy and depression which she had not felt since Izzy’s death nearly fifty years earlier. She spent all morning in bed; she was unable to contemplate food; she was surly to Anna and refused to speak to Dorrie on the telephone. She was hating the world, and most of all hating herself.
Suddenly, she realised, nothing had meaning anymore. I am trapped in a cul-de-sac of solipsism; Callum, the girls, Anna and Dorrie – when I die, they die too. The world that I have known, that I have tried to understand, occasionally hated for its cruelty but more often loved for its magnificence, will end with me. None of it will matter anymore. My own existence is the only reality. My non-existence, which I have contemplated with equanimity for so long, now seems impossible to comprehend.
Anna came into Marianne’s bedroom. ‘I will go now,’ she said, ‘but Dorrie coming to visit you this afternoon.’
Marianne said nothing.
‘Did you hear what I said? Dorrie will come to visit you.’
Marianne kept her face turned away from Anna.
‘I know you’re not well today, Marianne, but please say something.’
‘I told you, I don’t want to see her.’
‘But, Marianne, she worries about you. She is a good friend. You must see her.’
‘I’m really very tired today, Anna.’
‘Is this something to do with the test you have at the hospital? Did they give you some new drug?’
‘No, no new drugs.’
‘And your tests are OK?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe you have tired yourself out with all this work on the old books?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Anyway, Dorrie say she is worried about you and is coming to visit. She has her own key so she will be able to let herself in.’
Marianne didn’t reply.
‘OK, you are not well today, I think. Say hello to Dorrie for me,’ she added, closing the door behind her. Marianne kept her eyes closed.
Jake woke late on Sunday morning. Leah was lying with her back to him, seeming to hug the far side of the bed; still apparently asleep. He slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. He tried to focus on the events of the night before but they had a dreamlike quality – dissolving into mist when he tried to interrogate his conduct. Finally he had told someone – though not his parents, as it should have been, nor even Marianne. He stepped into the shower and let the water cascade onto his face. Although the telling had been cathartic, his subsequent behaviour was impossible to explain.
Back in the bedroom he stared at the bed. Was there perhaps some movement? ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ he said, as if to himself.
While he was in the next room he sensed rather than saw Leah disappear into the bathroom. It was a long time before she emerged.
‘Would you like me to cook some eggs?’
She didn’t answer but carried on dressing without looking at him.
He walked over, intending to embrace her until he sensed her body stiffening.
‘I’m really sorry about last night…’
She nodded without looking at him.
‘I think I’ll just go home now,’ she said when she had finished dressing.
‘Please, Leah. Have some coffee and let’s talk.’
She stared at him with eyes which didn’t want to see; a blank stare, stripped of any emotion, naked as glass. The look terrified him.
Her voice came out close to a whisper: ‘I don’t know who I’d be talking to.’
‘Leah…’
‘No doubt we’ll see each other at the office tomorrow.’
She ignored the first knock on the door, and the second. After the second, Dorrie entered her room.
‘Anna tells me you’re not your usual self?’ she said.
‘I’m tired.’
‘Just tired? Or is it something more?’ Dorrie brought a chair up to Marianne’s bed. ‘Anyway, I take this as a good sign. If you’re feeling depressed about your recent visit to the clinic and your idiotic plan to kill yourself, then that’s the best news I’ve heard for a long time. Humans are designed to resist death up to the end. Anything else is unnatural.’
‘Is it?’ Marianne said. ‘Is it natural to resist when every part of me aches?’
‘Cogito, ergo sum, Marianne – have you forgotten that? Your brain is still there and that’s all that matters at your age.’
‘I remembered that boy again last night. But this time I was the one who drowned. Then it all turned into a terrible falling dream.’
‘We’ve talked about this before. It’s not a memory, just your overactive imagination. Your mother’s instinct was right – she should never have told you.’
‘I had the memory before she told me. Just not all the detail. More importantly, I had the feeling – that sick dread that something terrible had happened – and now I know for certain that it did.’
‘Even if what you remember was true, it’s like Siamese twins; sometimes one has to die so the other can live.’
‘But I was a sentient being. I was three years old. Even if I couldn’t help myself in struggling to get out, I could have run to his mother – they might have been able to save him. You know, I’ve read about it – children have been rescued from under the ice after thirty minutes or more; the cold protects their brain…’
‘I am not going to listen to any more of this. I am going to make some tea and I’ll make some for you.’
When Dorrie came back into the room Marianne had turned on her side and lay with her face to the wall. ‘I’ve brought you some tea,’ she said. Marianne gave no response. Dorrie started to talk to her. She told her some gossip from the village. Marianne didn’t respond, so Dorrie talked to her about some things that were going on in her own life. After a while she said, ‘Now it’s your turn to talk to me.’
‘Memories,’ Marianne mumbled into her pillow without turning around.
‘No more about the drowned boy, please.’
‘It’s the way the mind controls them. I’m not thinking of the boy. I’m thinking about the confession I signed in Russia. Somewhere inside me I think I’ve always known that there was something in that document that I shouldn’t have put my name to. That it wasn’t entirely harmless. But I supressed it. Blocked it so successfully that you could say I had forgotten. But at a deeper level I think it’s always been there, waiting to be rediscovered – to be released.’
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 vi
sit 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.’
‘I didn’t disturb her – naturally she didn’t want to speak to me about her plans, but I just wanted to know what you thought about it and whether you supported her.’
‘It’s not a question of whether we support her…’ began Callum.
‘I suppose what I’m saying is… shouldn’t you be trying to dissuade her?’
‘I really don’t see it’s any of your business,’ said Helen. ‘I mean, it’s not as if you are direct family.’
‘Well, I’m direct family – as you call it,’ said Leah, emerging into the room, ‘and I think it stinks.’
‘Leah! Really, I don’t think we should be having this conversation,’ said Helen. ‘And if you are…’
‘Letting Gran go off and kill herself…’
‘I
know you’re upset about this, Leah,’ said Callum, interrupting his daughter. ‘It’s quite understandable. It’s upsetting for all of us.’
‘Neither of you seem very upset,’ said Leah.
‘Leah, honestly…’
Callum held up his hand to silence his wife and daughter. ‘Leah, we’ll talk about this again later – and Jake, I’m sure you mean well, but I think it’s really a matter for my mother and, to some extent, for us. I don’t think you should get involved.’
‘No, of course. I’m not involved and I don’t want to be,’ said Jake. ‘I simply wanted to know…’
‘I’ll just say this to both of you,’ said Callum. ‘I don’t want my mother to die yet, and I am trying to persuade her to change her mind. But several years ago I promised her I would support her if, one day, she wanted to choose an assisted death. If she remains determined, then I will honour that promise. Now let’s go and eat and talk about something else.’
While conversation at dinner limped and meandered around topics designed not to cause upset or embarrassment to anyone, Jake contemplated their earlier exchanges. Not surprising that they should be a little hostile, he thought; it is, after all, none of my business. Marianne is the sort of person well able to make up her own mind and it can’t be an easy situation for Callum. All the same, what Leah had said about not being very upset…
Jake was shaken from his contemplation when a situation arose after dinner – no doubt carefully engineered – which he had hoped to avoid; as he loaded plates into the dishwasher he heard the door close and he found himself alone in the kitchen with Helen.
‘So what’s going on between you and Leah?’ she said, standing with her back to the door.
