Echoes of a Life

by Robin Byron

  He listens, encouraging her narrative with appropriate expressions of sympathy. He says that he is ashamed; ashamed at the way his country has treated her – her, a lover of Russian literature. Anyone who loves Pushkin is a friend of Russia. They drink more vodka; he flirts and she reciprocates. She wonders vaguely what he wants from her but she doesn’t care. She knows she is more than a little drunk but, cresting a wave of careless optimism, she allows him to come to her room. After all, it’s been a long time.

  The scene shifts to South America. That magical holiday when everything seemed so right with the world. The return to Cambridge achieved – the disasters in Moscow transformed into an exciting tale; no longer threatening to destroy her marriage and her career, but to be re-inhabited as part of a daring youth. True, her injury has not healed well but this does not intrude into the fantasy of her half-remembered narrative. Large butterflies flit amongst the purple flowers on the banks of the river, and as they approach the bottom of the falls she relives that moment of elation when she, Edward and Izzy seem enclosed in a circle of refracted light – an inviolable trinity.

  Waking from her reverie, Marianne felt so cheerful that she clambered to her feet, walked across to Anna and gave her a long hug.

  ‘So, Marianne – you are very happy today, I think?’

  ‘I do feel much more cheerful today, Anna. I am sorry I have been so bad-tempered.’

  ‘It’s OK – shall I play some music?’

  ‘Yes – anything you like.’

  ‘You must choose.’

  ‘OK – put on Beethoven’s Pastoral. And if you’d like to make some coffee I think I might have another go at my mother’s diaries.’

  ‘Music coming – and I will make the coffee,’ said Anna. ‘It’s good that you feel better today.’

  Listening to the serene but cheerful opening movement of the symphony, Marianne began looking again at some passages from the first of her mother’s diaries that she had not read for some time. The family had arrived in Paris after a harrowing journey from the other side of Rheims. It was the day her mother spent with her aunt before they continued their journey south. They go to the Sorbonne and while her aunt works, the fourteen-year-old Simone has an hour on her own and wanders down to the Seine. She stands gazing across to Notre Dame when a boy comes up and offers her a cigarette. Ah, how much easier pick-ups were when everyone smoked! She refuses but he tells her that they may all be dead in a week’s time and she will never have smoked a cigarette. She relents, they talk, and he tells her that when the Germans get there she will have an easier time than him. It’s a moment of innocence and suppressed sexuality. From the diary entries, the boy seems to have been Jewish but her mother hadn’t picked up on this. I suppose she must have been too young, Marianne thought.

  Reading the diaries again, another daydream had taken hold of her. Perhaps Jake might take a fancy to Anna. He would be about the right age. Really, Leah was a bit young for him. Then Anna could drop that difficult man of hers and if Jake and Anna were a couple – well, Jake could come and stay here and help me with this story while Anna looks after me. Or perhaps Leah will get to Cambridge and Jake will decide to follow her. He could get a job on a Cambridge paper, or maybe do another degree. He could live here with me and Leah would come and visit.

  Fantasy it might all be, but that morning anything seemed possible. Marianne was so cheerful that Anna was amazed at the transformation. When it was time for lunch they opened a bottle of wine and played cards while they ate together – laughing and chiding each other as they had done in times past. Once Anna had gone, Marianne sank back into her chair and fell into an untroubled sleep.

  As Jake and Leah emerged from the entrails of Clapham Junction late in the evening, a bubble of contentment seemed to surround them, protecting them from the icy east wind which blew into their faces. Jake was unashamedly upbeat. Charlie, his boss, had been very excited with the material they had produced on the abuses of the postal voting system and now the lawyers were crawling all over it. A provisional date of 1st December had been fixed for publication. This would be his story; an important step in his career as a journalist.

  As a reward for all Leah’s hard work, Jake had persuaded the Chronicle to allow her name to appear as a part of the investigative team.

  ‘OK?’ he said, taking her hand as they walked up Lavender Hill.

  ‘Stoked… and don’t let them change their minds! That will show Mum I’m doing a real job and not just hanging around you like some dopey lovesick teenager.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Jake put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. He found it endearing that in moments of excitement her Australian accent always came to the fore. Since that strange evening the previous week, when she had pestered him about Fran and he had told her the story and then shocked himself as much as her with the sudden violence of his behaviour, a new calmness had come over him. The tension that had been part of Jake’s life for so long seemed to have dissipated, and something solid and fulfilling was growing in the vacated space. He couldn’t yet articulate what was happening but he sensed the changes somewhere within him.

  He also knew that Leah was more relaxed because of what her father had told her that morning about Marianne. He felt sure, he had said, that she would change her mind. She hadn’t said so exactly, but he had sensed it. At the very least she would delay any final decision.

  ‘Are you going to help Gran with those diaries, then?’

  ‘If she asks me.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you should wait to be asked. Especially in her state of mind. Call her up and offer to help. It might be just the incentive she needs.’

  Jake thought for a moment. ‘You’re right. It might help. I will call her.’

  As they entered Jake’s flat together, relieved to be out of the wind on what was surely the coldest night of the year so far, the reassuring warmth which they expected was absent.

  ‘Shit, it’s cold in here,’ said Leah, as Jake went to the kitchen and started fiddling with the boiler.

  ‘Bloody thing seems to have seized up,’ he said.

  Leah looked at him. There was nothing in her facial expression which an observer would have noticed but a split second of eye contact was enough for Jake to follow her to the bedroom, shedding his coat on the way and falling onto the bed beside her.

  ‘Hey, your hands are cold,’ said Leah, laughing.

  ‘Sorry, it’s not exactly warm in here,’ said Jake, pulling the duvet over them as they embraced and began undressing under the covers, exploring each other’s flesh with cold hands.

  ‘Fuck, I can’t get these off…’ said Leah.

  ‘Let me help.’

  ‘You need to pull from the bottom.’

  ‘Shit… it would help if you didn’t knee me in the balls.’

  ‘Sorry. Let me make them better.’

  And so, with occasional curses, and small cries of painful pleasure, they removed their clothes in the chill of their unheated flat and made love to each other with humour and tenderness.

  Meanwhile Jake’s phone buzzed repeatedly. Fortunately, both had long since mastered the art of ignoring their phones and the bleating failed to distract either of them from their more immediate concerns. It wasn’t until later that Jake listened to the message.

  ‘It’s only George,’ he said. ‘Advance warning that Pauline in HR wants to speak to me tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About you, he thinks. A warning against inappropriate conduct with an intern.’

  ‘Screw inappropriate conduct,’ she said, nestling close to Jake.

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  Perhaps it was too much to expect the mood to last. Marianne awoke to a fit of coughing, which sometimes happened for no apparent reason when she had been lying back in h
er chair. A terrible dry cough which made her feel she was going to choke. She had also drunk too much wine and now badly needed the lavatory. The room was almost dark – she had slept longer than expected – and as she fumbled for her glasses she knocked over the small table beside her chair. Cursing silently amid another spasm of coughing she pulled the lever to get her chair upright – but now her sticks were out of reach. Then she couldn’t hold it any longer – her bladder let go and she felt the warm, wet spread of her urine.

  It took her almost an hour to sort herself out, change her clothes and wipe down her chair; and sitting now at the kitchen table she tried but failed to revive the optimism of the morning. That small benevolent snapshot of Russia now seemed absurd; it had been the place where her life had taken the wrong turning, where she had deceived her husband and gravely injured herself – where, as she now knew, she had helped deliver a man into the hands of the KGB and to his death in a Siberian gulag.

  What had she been thinking, imagining she could fly off around the world, spending money she didn’t have? She had already taken out far more of the value of the house than she had intended – or that Callum was aware. Every month, the interest reduced the balance of her equity and ratcheted up the future interest payments. She had a responsibility to ensure that at least something went to her grandchildren – it was unfair that they should be burdened by debt that she had never had to cope with.

  This, of course, was the secret she was keeping from Callum, from Dorrie – and most especially from herself: a sense of duty to those with a life still to lead. How could she think of wasting what little money she had left, when others needed it more? Why should she linger on when Callum and Helen needed to get on with their lives in Australia and Anna would be better off going back to Latvia with her boyfriend? A dozen times she had denied it to them, just as she continued to deny it to herself. Some part of her knew that such reasoning could not exist. To think it would be to risk communicating it; and to communicate even a hint that she was choosing to die now in order to liberate those closest to her, would destroy anything good which might come from her death. The easiest way to keep a secret, she knew, is never to know the secret – to forget what you might know but can’t divulge – and so she wiped these thoughts from her mind before they could gain a foothold.

  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 proj
ect – 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.’