Looking for something different to read? How about a black mirror look at assisted dying? Six extracts below to whet your appetite.
EXTRACT 1
Dawn and Geraldine bond over their decisions to end it all with an assisted death:
An hour later, as the twelve guests shuffle out in silence, Dawn points down the corridor and makes a cupping action to Geraldine. ‘Coffee?’ One thing she’s learned in the induction is that the world’s largest coffeehouse chain, Ground Swell, has a concession in the relaxation area off main reception. ‘I’m dying for some caffeine.’ Geraldine suppresses a smile and follows her.
Ground Swell is empty when they enter, so they try the vending machine in the corner. ‘Ooh, look, it’s free,’ Dawn cries triumphantly. ‘What a stroke of luck.’
Once served with their lattes, Dawn, who hasn’t taken a single note in the induction, opens with, ‘What did you make of that?’
Geraldine shrugs, ‘It went over a lot of old ground, but I suppose they have to.’
Dawn, to whom much of the information was new, takes a sip of her drink before continuing. ‘My daughter arranged most of this,’ she giggles. ‘I probably should have been paying more attention.’
Geraldine raises her eyebrows. She’s researched the hell out of it. Who wouldn’t? But it’s not her place to probe. ‘I suppose the main thing is that first point they raised: your decision.’
‘Oh, you’re Irish,’ says Dawn. ‘I can always place an accent. I worked in call centres for years, used to love working out where people came from.’ She smiles. ‘Do you know, it’s nice to talk to someone in the same position. I’ve been avoiding the subject for months, but now it’s happening, I feel, I don’t know, free somehow.’
Geraldine is intrigued. Free? She’s not spoken to anybody except Go Gently about her decision, and she’s been as wound up as a ship’s clock since making it. ‘You sound very at ease with your decision, Dawn. That must be a great help. Do you mind me asking what brought you to… making your mind up?
‘How long have you got, Geraldine?’ quips Dawn. ‘I suppose we all reach that moment in life when we ask, “what’s the point?” Well, I reached mine, so here I am.’
Geraldine is taken aback at Dawn’s nonchalance in the face of what’s to come. She herself has wrestled with her decision for months. ‘I admire your strength, Dawn,’ is all she can muster.
‘I wouldn’t call it strength, Geraldine – I’d call it the opposite if I’m being honest. I just….’ She falters.
Geraldine holds up her hands in apology. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t prying. Obviously, it’s a very private decision.’
Dawn is momentarily silenced. She’s surprised at how familiar she is being with a woman she’s only just met, but then she’s always been one for talking. Is it nerves? Partly, but more a need to articulate what’s been going through her mind, an impulse to share. They say it’s easier to open up to a stranger than a loved one or a friend, and it’s true. She feels unjudged by this new acquaintance, somebody who’s in the same boat as her (not like the Go Gently people who, she’s noticed, are a bit overkeen on the sales spiel). This exchange feels comforting in an odd way. ‘You’re not prying, Geraldine. No, what I mean is, well, everything snowballed, and then you’re faced with decisions, aren’t you? It wasn’t a question of me being strong. I looked at the cards I’d been dealt and thought, the game’s up.’ Geraldine doesn’t know what to say. She can equate to a lot of what Dawn has just said but wonders what specific cards she is holding compared to hers. The ultimate game of poker, but it’s not her place to call. But there’s no need because Dawn is about to turn her hand over. ‘I might as well tell you. It’s not going to make any difference now, is it?’ She looks around to make sure nobody else is listening, but as the coffee house is empty except for the two to them, she needn’t worry. ‘Cancer.’
‘Oh, I’m so, so sorry,’ says Geraldine, as if it was her fault in the first place. ‘Is there no hope?’
‘It’s more a case of there being no insurance,’ Dawn snorts. She slaps her hand over her mouth like a naughty schoolgirl. She’s not entirely sure where this is all coming from, but no point in holding back now. May as well go for full disclosure. “I’m old, I’m knackered, the air has come out of my tyres. There’s bugger all to live for and I ask myself is this life worth hanging on to at all costs? No is the answer – I’m finished. And this way, I’m in control and I can leave something to my daughter and grand-daughter without putting them through years of stress and worry about me, without being an inconvenience to them.’
Geraldine shifts uneasily. Her situation is quite different – or is it? ‘It must be very hard for you both.’
‘Yes and no. But when it’s your time, it’s your time. Kimberley has been quite helpful since I told her anyway.’
‘She has?’
‘When I admitted what I had in mind, she did some research, and discovered this new government scheme, Clean Bill. Basically, they buy your house and all your assets from you with a guaranteed no-quibble valuation, with an extra ten per cent on top and a discount for Go Gently. It saves money and makes money, so at least I can leave Kimberley a nice nest egg.’
The stunned look on Geraldine’s face causes Dawn to elaborate further. ‘Oh, it’s not like that. Really. She’s just being practical, and you can’t argue it’s not a good deal. No, the decision is all mine. Come Friday, I’m done.’
EXTRACT 2
Callan Clay of Go Gently is interviewed on the success of assisted dying:
The reporter opens on the anniversary of the passing of the assisted dying bill: How have attitudes changed, if at all, in the intervening period?
A good start for Callan. ‘I think what surprises many people these days is how long it took this country to come into the 21st century on this issue. There is nothing worthy about protracted dying, nothing noble in being subjected to prolonged pain and suffering in your final days. For too long, society was in thrall to centuries-old taboos that needed to be broken, and people are now finally able to make decisions about their own lives, without fear of the law, without interference from a nanny state. And that’s entirely right.’
Ah – but what did Callan have to say to those who argued the bill would be the start of a slippery slope, that the criteria for qualifying for an assisted death would be watered down bit by bit once introduced?
Doctor Clay shakes his head slowly to express his sadness, or perhaps his astonishment, that anybody could hold such a view. ‘Scaremongering, pure and simple. Self-appointed, sanctimonious do-gooders determining how an individual should or shouldn’t live their lives. On whose authority? Their own. On what scientific basis? None.’ He’s not yet finished on this subject. ‘The positive news is, once that long overdue line was crossed five years ago, we’ve been able to widen choice for the individual – befitting a modern society. Thankfully, nobody listens to the voices of doom anymore – their arguments have been totally discredited and stuffed back down their throats.’
The journalist appears to nod in agreement. Next. You established Go Gently in the immediate aftermath of the bill. What challenges did you face as you set about meeting demand?
‘That’s a very good question. I can remember it as if it was yesterday. As you’d expect, in the beginning, we pretty much modelled Go Gently on other markets in the world where assisted dying had been on the statute books for years – like Switzerland, The Netherlands, Belgium, progressive US states like California and Colorado. I don’t mind admitting business was challenging to start with. We had a sizeable education job on our hands – the law’s one thing, but it was all so new our first major task was to put people at ease and reassure them. Before the bill, let’s be blunt, things were bloody inhumane. Think back just ten or twenty years to the stories you used to see – poor patient sets off for Switzerland because he or she can’t get the sort of care they need at home. Criminalising their personal choice. Well, all that takes some correcting in a cultural sense. I think, looking back, end of life was all a bit sombre – too medical, too clinical. Changing that mindset was the biggest test.’
The automatic pitching machine cranks up another floater. And how did you go about that?
Callan beams – he’s getting into his stride now. ‘In simple terms, we shifted the paradigm. That is to say, we recognised we were in a consumer market and our primary job was to offer choice and value for money at the same time as making our clients feel good about their decisions. Why does it all have to be so bloody dismal? Which is why, if you look at Go Gently now, we’re light years away from where we were at the start. We thought: if we can give people the ending they need, why can’t we give them the ending they want? In a nutshell, we knew we had to get away from the Switzerland model, if I can call it that. You know, everybody asking “Are you sure?” every two minutes, more legal paperwork than an international treaty, and the quasi-hospital environment. That’s when we determined to evolve our offering and put the client – note, “client”, not “patient” – in charge. We became all about the experience as opposed to providing a corporeal waste disposal service.’
So that’s when you came up with the Go Gently Gallery?
‘Exactly. We did tons of research and initially came up with four different packages that could be tailored to clients’ preferences and pockets. We’re reviewing, adapting and adding new offers all the time. Our best seller remains the traditional Requiem, with candles, harpist, incense for that churchy feel – that’s popular because it’s also our entry-level package. Then we introduced the Last Supper experience where the client shares their last meal with twelve special invitees – that’s going well – and the Hollywood, where guests gather en famille to view photos and videos on the big screen one final time. Last Dance is also popular – a sort of mash up between Strictly and Abba.’
‘You’ve also got a rock ‘n’ roll one too, I believe?’
‘Oh yes. The Room 658. That’s particularly popular with our male clients. It’s a perfect example of creating a market: go out in a blaze of glory with booze, recreational narcotics and as many hookers as you want in a tour hotel suite setting. Sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, the perfect macho fantasy.’
He continues, ‘However small the germ of an idea a client comes to us with, we will make it happen. As Shakespeare said, “Nothing in his life became him, like the leaving it.” We’ve had some very unusual requests, but nothing that’s stumped us yet.’
EXTRACT 3
The overheard conversation in the cafeteria of Charon House:
Geraldine and Dawn are suddenly distracted by the arrival of two newcomers to the cafeteria, both smartly dressed and wearing visitor badges on their lapels. The woman is visibly irked, griping under her breath, while the man looks deeply unhappy and harassed. Her stony face suggests whatever argument they are having is yet to reach its conclusion. Having ordered drinks their intense conversation continues, in that curious way where they think, because they’re whispering, nobody can hear them. Dawn, non-too-subtly, puts their conversation on hold as she takes in the action playing out over Geraldine’s shoulder. Soon they’re both tuned into the urgent and hushed exchange playing out a few feet away.
‘It’s what he wanted?’ bristles the woman. ‘I’ll try to remember that if I ever have to make the same choice for you.’
The man rolls his eyes. ‘How many more times?’ he pleads. ‘You know what he said. “If I ever become doolally, no messing. Straight to Switzerland with me.” He couldn’t have been clearer.’
She throws her head back in scorn. ‘Well, he’d be really pleased to know Stalybridge is the new Switzerland. I haven’t seen any St Bernards yet.’
‘It’s a metaphor, that’s all. You know perfectly well what he meant.’
‘Yes, I do. It’s the sort of thing people say when they’re well, when they don’t really understand the implications. An easy enough line to trot out when you think you’ll never have to go through with it.’
While the exchange has Dawn and Geraldine’s undivided attention the sullen barista carries on polishing the Gaggia – she’s overheard all this before.
The man buries his face in his hands. ‘Whatever I do, it’s the wrong decision. How do you think it makes me feel? How do you think it’s going to make me feel every single day for the rest of my life?’
At this she softens and places her hand on his. ‘I know, Simon, I know. But Jeffrey shouldn’t have placed his life in your hands like this. I’m sure he didn’t mean to, either. “Going to Switzerland” – Stalybridge – is just something people come out with. You don’t have to follow it to the letter.’
This well-intended advice seems to cause him ever more upset. ‘And what’s the alternative, then? Let him suffer for years, not recognising anybody, lost in a world of confusion and fear, incapable of wiping his own arse? It’s all very well to say don’t honour his wishes, Vicki, but do you want to condemn him to that?’
‘No, but it’s less final than being here. He’s not been poorly that long; you don’t really know for sure what direction his illness will take. He could be helped.’
Simon shakes his head in sorrow. ‘You’ve seen how quickly he’s deteriorated in just six months. What will he be like in another six months? Then you’ll be saying we should have acted sooner.’
Vicki is not having it. ‘I don’t even think he’s that bad. Sometimes he’s quite lucid. It’s too soon to be doing this. I’m not sure we should be doing it at all if I’m being honest.’
It’s a circular argument, and it spins around to Simon again. ‘The doctor was unequivocal – there’s only one direction this is going. Dad made his wishes clear to me, and I agreed to fulfil them if it ever came to this. That’s what I’m doing, and it makes me feel like a murderer.’
Silence descends on the room. They’ve nothing left to say. Dawn and Geraldine exchange glances. They have nothing to say either. Their thoughts plunge down familiar rabbit holes once more.
EXTRACT 4
Go Gently unveils the next generation of assisted dying despatch to the eager minister
Lawrence Pestel is genuinely excited as his ministerial car sweeps towards the rear entrance of Charon House. For a man who has achieved so much for his country such animation is rare, and he is careful to keep it concealed from his aides. His rise from junior backbencher to secretary of state for wellbeing has been spectacular, but to him these are merely stepping stones on his way to Number Ten. To get there he needs to plot his course with yet more ground-breaking initiatives to shape and reform society, to smash another pane in the Overton window. Today promises to see the opening of the next chapter in the remarkable Lawrence Pestel story.
This early morning meeting isn’t listed in his diary, and security is tight. Callan Clay himself meets him on the steps, and they exchange a manly fist bump before heading inside. They pass through three keypad protected doors before entering what looks like a huge operating theatre. Bright overhead lights are focused on a large, sheet-covered object in the centre of the room. Four or five technicians in red scrubs scurry about making last minute adjustments on their keypads; the sense of anticipation is high.
Callan Clay seats Lawrence in the single chair positioned opposite the looming, spotlit shape, and stands to make his presentation. As there are only two of them it’s all a bit formal, but the entrepreneur is determined to do justice to the moment. He and Lawrence have been discussing Project Doorway for months, but now it’s arrived, it’s important not to rush things.
‘As you know,’ opens Callan, ‘the dissolution of a state-aided health service has saved the exchequer billions of pounds, which has been further augmented through considerably higher tax contributions from private health insurance and medical services companies. The legalisation of assisted dying pioneered by the government – by you, Lawrence – has been an enormous success, providing a humane, and convenient, end of life choice for many who in the past would have simply hung on, in pain and misery, and at great cost to the state.’ Lawrence nods in recognition of these accomplishments. ‘The Go Gently concept is ever evolving, and many lessons have been learned. First, cost controls. Our primary method of despatch remains barbiturates but, as the market has grown, we have seen big pharma exploit the situation by increasing its prices out of all proportion, significantly eroding our margins. Secondly, these same pharma costs have prevented us from widening the market on a price-led basis. The minimum cost we can charge for our services is constantly under threat, meaning we have been unable to create a price point that would significantly expand take-up.’ Lawrence knows all this already but is enjoying the framing of the pitch. He’ll be able to use a lot of this himself in time. ‘So, the challenge we set ourselves, with your guidance, was to find an alternative, cheaper, method of despatch. Quick, clean, painless, and capable of increased daily throughput.’ Lawrence nods enthusiastically. ‘One that will bring the final journey within the grasp – and the pocket – of a far higher percentage of the population.’ He stops, as if waiting for a drumroll. ‘At last, following months of exhaustive research, we are ready.’ Another pause, this time even longer. ‘Lawrence, prepare to meet the Peregrine Pod.’ At this, with a dramatic flourish, Callan sweeps back the cover from the hidden object to reveal a gleaming capsule constructed of glass and aluminium. The supersized, coffin-shaped vessel is tilted forward at a forty-five-degree angle to present a clear view of its lush heliotrope-coloured interior.
Lawrence, like a little kid in Santa’s grotto, jumps to his feet to take a closer look. ‘Oh, I say, it’s beautiful,’ he purrs. ‘Like the cockpit of a jet fighter. How does it work?’
EXTRACT 5
Go Gently go through Geraldine’s Elvis-themed assisted dying plan with her:
There is a gentle rap on the door and Geraldine admits to her room the same young woman who conducted the induction session on arrival. Same smart black blazer, matching skirt and crisp white blouse, same professional and attentive manner.
‘And how are you finding Poppy?’ she asks pleasantly of the accommodation.
‘It’s very nice,’ says Geraldine. ‘Lovely views.’
‘Now, if it’s all right with you, I want to take you through the plan for Friday, make sure that everything is just so for you.’ She takes two documents from her leather folder and hands one to the client. ‘You’re obviously a big fan of Elvis.’ Geraldine nods. ‘Well, that goes a long way to explaining your preferences. We’ve found the Love Me Tender package to be very popular since we launched it and it’s marvellous that you’ve gone for the deluxe option.’
Geraldine remains impassive. It’s hard to remember everything she picked at the time, it being a couple of months back. It puts her in mind of the annual staff Christmas party where nobody could remember if they’d ordered the turkey or the beef.
‘Let’s start with the music, shall we? “Are You Lonesome Tonight”, correct? Very poignant. And you’ve opted to have it sung live by our Elvis tribute artist, channelling the ’68 Comeback Special era. Oh, he’s marvellous. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.’ They being girls together, she adds, ‘And he suits black leather very well, I must say.’
Geraldine shifts uncomfortably. It’s one thing ticking boxes online, but it feels awkward discussing her choices in the flesh. She’d be altogether more comfortable with a little less conversation.
‘Attire next. You’ll be wearing your favourite blue silk dress and emerald pendant necklace. Oh, and blue suede high heels. A lovely twist – I like that. You did remember to pack everything?’
Geraldine steals a look towards the wardrobe where her special outfit is hanging. She’s not forgotten anything.
‘Food next. You’ve gone for the Fool’s Gold for your special meal, so I just wanted to check a couple of things with you on that. First, you’re not a vegetarian are you, because it does contain bacon.’ Nope. ‘Now, we do make the actual sandwich much smaller than the original as we find some clients can be overfaced. One alternative – still on theme, of course – is the fried peanut-butter and banana sandwich that Elvis loved. It’s slightly more manageable. Would that be preferable, do you think? There’s still time to change it, kitchen is very flexible.’
Geraldine automatically starts to calculate the calorie intake of the competing snacks until a voice in her head reminds her it doesn’t really matter either way. ‘I’ll stick with the Fool’s Gold, thank you.’
‘Now, the highlight. Have you ever used a gun before?’ Geraldine admits such an experience has eluded her until now. ‘Well, nothing to worry about as we will have a firearms expert on hand to show you what to do, and it’s all perfectly safe. You’ll be using a silver-plated Colt .45 automatic pistol, exactly like the one Elvis owned. So many of our clients tell us it’s a deeply cathartic experience to shoot a bullet at the TV and see it exploding.’
Geraldine reddens on recalling she’s agreed to – and paid a large amount of money for – these supplementary components to her package. One of those ‘it seemed a good idea at the time’ moments. Well, she’d paid for it, so she may as well have it.
‘And lastly on the Love Me Tender package, I’m very pleased to tell you that I’ll be your chaperone on Friday. Your Priscilla you could say. I was due to be off that day, but I’ve managed to swap shifts to be with you.’
When Geraldine had come to the part on the online form asking to name a friend or family member who might be in attendance, it had only gone to underline her decision for signing up in the first place. She could think of no one whose name she could put down, which is why, spending money like a drunken sailor, she’d ticked the box for Go Gently to provide an experienced escort to wave her off into the blue. (Like the opposite of a birth-partner she’d thought at the time.) She’d not reckoned on it being a ‘Priscilla’ (who she knew for a fact had been divorced from Elvis for four years at the time of his passing) but wasn’t going to start arguing the toss now.
The remainder of the meeting is taken up with what ‘Priscilla’ describes as ‘the boring bits’, which she adroitly gets out of the way as quickly as possible. The times at which all of this will take place (we pride ourselves on running to schedule to avoid undue anxiety). Confirmation of the client’s consent (sign here and here). The order in which the barbiturate package will be administered and how long it will take (all perfectly painless). Geraldine would be the first to admit she’s a bit of a hard-headed woman but even she finds the exchange soulless and a tad perfunctory. It’s like signing up for a new kitchen or double glazing without having to worry about the ten-year guarantee.
EXTRACT 6
The long night of the soul for Dawn as her last day draws nearer:
Dawn is getting ready for bed when a wave of pain sweeps over her. She slumps to the vanity stool and stares at her ashen reflection in the dressing table mirror. ‘What a mess,’ she pronounces. Kimberley has been arguing with her mother for months now over her aversion to potent painkilling drugs. It’s one thing to refuse surgery, but why suffer unnecessarily when it’s avoidable? At first, gritted teeth, over-the-counter medication and a Yorkshire determination helped to mask the pain, or at least make it endurable, but there’s little doubt it’s getting worse by the day. ‘Stubborn old mule,’ Dawn confides to her twin image. ‘At least we won’t have to worry about it after Friday.’
She picks up the framed photograph of Mark from the bedside cabinet and pulls herself together. He wouldn’t like to see her struggling. ‘Well, love, not a pretty sight tonight, eh?’ she says to his smiling face. ‘What was it you used to say? Pretend it doesn’t hurt and then it won’t. Well, I have news for you, darling: it bloody well does.’
A lot has changed in the eight years since Mark passed away. For years he’d gobble down whatever opioids they threw at him for his hip, the cheaper alternative to expensive surgery according to his employer’s insurance company. By the time they accepted surgery was unavoidable, he was hooked: difficulty with his breathing, stomach ulcers, internal bleeding – the lot. Dawn had worried about how they’d wean him off the pills following the operation, but then they managed to kill him anyway. Problem solved! ‘I know you think I’m a silly bugger,’ she tells him, ‘but one of us had to go cold turkey.’ Even if Dawn could have afforded to buy strong analgesics, never mind surgery for her cancer, it would have taken every penny she and Mark had ever earned. No insurance, no national health scheme these days. No guarantees. She thinks back to her own mother’s death – she’d been on palliative care and spent the last few weeks of her life in a hospice, dwindling away, but at least not in pain, or so they said. No, the pain was all theirs, watching her fade away like a portrait left in direct sunlight. But that was twenty years ago, no chance of that now unless you had money to burn.
What would Mark say to her if he was here now? If he knew? Mark loved life, and so did Dawn, but what was the alternative, really? There was a lot to be said for living a long and healthy – a long and wealthy – life, but what about people like her? She was going to die anyway, so she might as well pass jail and go straight to Go. Lots of other people were. It was the easy option all round. They’d made it so simple; it was almost an obligation to go along with it. She feels his eyes boring into her. ‘You’re in no position to lecture, so don’t start,’ she chides. ‘You’d laugh at the paperwork, though. I think we had to sign more forms when we got Milo from the cat’s home. Basically, three questions: do you consent to an assisted death? Tick; do you agree to allow us to liquidate your assets? Tick; who do you want the balance to go to? Insert name and bank account details here.’
It’s comforting to talk, to share her thoughts with her husband, and she feels the pain easing. ‘This is your last chance, Mark. If you are out there, you’d better send me a sign,’ she teases. After five seconds, ‘No? Thought not.’
She plants a warm kiss on his glossy 8 x 6 image and replaces the frame on the bedside cabinet before climbing into bed. ‘I’m all right, really, I’m all right. Don’t fret.’ Mark looks back adoringly, but she perceives the look of concern in his eyes.
‘Tell me I’m doing the right thing, Mark. I’ve been over it so many times, I’m sick of it.’ He gazes deep into her being but says nothing.
She reaches for the light switch and the room is plunged into darkness, causing her to start. She stares into the void and is gripped with a sudden panic.
‘Mark,’ she whispers, ‘I’m scared.’
