Page 82 of Before You Say Goodbye

“Please let me say something to you,” he said. “You’ll hate it, but it’s really important.”

She nodded, resolving to let him tell her whatever it was he felt he needed to, without interruption, even if she didn’t like what he had to say. It was the very least that she could do for him.

“You can protest all you want, but I know Marley better than you do. Better than anybody. I know him better than he knows himself. He loves you and if you ever find yourself loving him too, then be together. Please. Ignore anyone who tells you that it’s wrong. You could have sixty years or more together and you have my blessing. It won’t take away from these months we’ve had. If there is an afterlife, which there isn’t, but if there is, I’ll be partying with the greatest musicians of all time. I’ll be waiting to hear about all the fun you had without me. I’ll be glad you found comfort in each other. So, do whatever it is that makes your heart happy. Don’t give any thought to what I might hypothetically think about it. Promise me.”

She sobbed into his chest and told him that she promised. She was surprised to find that she meant it.

“Can we make this an official rule?” he murmured. She nodded. “Are you sure? You know that those rules can’t ever be broken? They’re binding.”

She laughed softly, in spite of herself.

“What are we up to?” he asked.

“Six,” she said.

“Rule Number Six.” He kissed her cheek tenderly. “Do what makes you happy.”

“I love you,” she whispered, holding him tighter still.

“I love you too,” he said.

* * *

The next day, his brothers picked them up from the train station and helped Bowie back into his bed, and he never got out again. When she looked back on their charmed day in London, the third best day they’d ever spent together (after their cinema date and the day they’d spent in rehearsals at the theatre), Autumn knew that Bowie had poured every last bit of strength he’d had into their little trip, and it was a comfort to her.

That afternoon was the worst of her life, without question. Bowie had exhausted himself and his body was unforgiving in making sure he knew it. He lay rigid with pain, crying out for help from anyone who would listen. His legs were in agony, his back was sore, his head was pounding. It hurt when he moved, and it hurt when he didn’t. Breathing was painful and thinking about anything except for how much pain he was in was impossible. He kept clutching his temples and telling them over and over again that it was in his head, he could feel it, he was going to forget who he was and who they were. He was in equal parts hurting and terrified, and it was horrifying to behold. They took it in turns to sit beside him, holding his hands when he could bear their touch, trying to remind him that the pain always passed eventually, but she knew that none of them believed he would get better this time, any more than she did. The cannabis was no longer working and nor were their words of comfort. There was something different in the way he writhed. He was still adamant he did not want professional palliative care and insisted nobody could look after him in this vulnerable state better than they could. Maddie was using every single scrap of knowledge she had about end-of-life care to try to make him comfortable, but nothing really made him feel any better. Autumn knew that it was finally time to say goodbye.

In the early evening, he started begging them to kill him. He had been howling incessantly for hours. It was torturous to listen to. Autumn closed her eyes and tried her hardest to ignore his pleading.

“Just do it and it will all be over,” he said, utterly desperate to convince her. “Autumn, please.”

She shook her head, but could not look at him.

“Autumn, help me. Please.” He gasped the words over and over and over again.

In the end, she could bear it no longer and had to leave him by himself. She was dangerously close to helping her boyfriend end his life and she needed time to think without his desperate interruptions. She marched out of their room, past his vacant and devastated parents. They were sitting on the sofa, listening to him scream. They stood up and went in to him, as she’d known they would. Autumn stepped outside, taking her helplessness and the rage it inspired out on the front door by slamming it behind her with enormous force. She leaned back against it, caressing it apologetically.

“Rough night?” asked Marley. He was sitting on the steps. She hadn’t seen him in her turmoil. She nodded dolefully and sat down beside him. He lit a cigarette, holding it out for her to take.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome,” he said. There was genuine warmth to his tone for the first time since their night together. He was trying to tell her that their ever-present awkwardness was not appropriate tonight. They stared absently out across the garden. It was starting to rain and she could see fog in the nearest fields. She willed it to creep over her. It would soak her irritated skin and hide her from the rest of the world. It would give her sanctuary from the overwhelming temptation she felt to help Bowie end his life. She knew that his continued existence depended on her establishing several reasons why it would be wrong to end his suffering firmly in her fragile mind. She was sure that the absence of his screaming would help. But even in the silence, she could think of only one. It was illegal. That was all she had left.

“We have to help him,” she whispered. Autumn had long believed that legality was not an indicator of morality. It was legal to do lots of things she did not agree with and illegal to do many things she felt should be allowed. Bowie could no longer bear his pain and he should be freed from it if that was what hewanted. If he were a dog, they’d have ended his suffering weeks ago.

“How?” Marley asked, his voice drenched in caution.

“We have to find a way to help him go,” Autumn said decisively, with more confidence than she was feeling.

Marley reacted violently, leaping away from her as if she’d slapped his face. He was shaking his head combatively.

“No, Autumn, no, no, no.”

“Marley, we have to listen to him,” she said.

“We can’t,” he said. “I can’t.”

“Marley—”

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