I’m at Harry’s.  I called him first, so he’s tidied up and lit some candles.  I wonder if he expects me to think he always lives like this.  He’s cooking dinner for me too.  There’s a tablecloth and everything.  I always forget how horny he is.

‘I always forget how horny you are,’ I say.

He’s coming in with two plates of lasagne.  He makes a point of leaning over me to give me mine and breathing on my ear, and he says, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’  He’s so posh, it’s like being waited on by one of the princes.  ‘I haven’t slipped anything into your lasagne - I know how you loathe aphrodisiacs.’

‘You mean oysters.’

He sits down opposite me and starts eating.  I’m eating already, by the time he gets there.  I’m starving.  I haven’t had so much as a Tic Tac all day.  And my God, that man can cook.

‘Have you ever even tried an oyster?’

Honestly, what a question.  He’d love it if I said no.

‘I have actually,’ I say.  ‘With one of my exes.’  I shovel lasagne down my throat between sentences.  Oh, oh it’s positively orgasmic.  ‘Slime.’

‘The oysters, or your ex?’

‘Both.  God, what a wanker.  Talk about a cliché - he feeds me oysters, makes me a present of lumps of their shit on string and then expects me to sleep with him.’

‘Did you?’ asks Harry, looking interested.

‘A lady never tells,’ I say.

I expect him to make a very obvious joke about my not being a lady.  He doesn’t.  He says, ‘Did you keep the pearls?’

I think for a moment.  I did keep the pearls, but where the hell did I put them?

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘but I don’t know where they are.  Maybe I should try to find them - they might sell.’

‘You never struck me as the mercenary type, Pippa.’

‘I’m not.  But I haven’t got any money.’

He gives me a sympathetic smile.  ‘Oh dear.’

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘How did that happen?’

‘Oh, you know.  General carelessness.  I forgot to apply for my student loan, which doesn’t exactly help.’  It’s funny, really, and he probably wants to laugh.  I laugh first, to let him know that he can, and add, ‘That was clever, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, awfully,’ he says.  ‘You are a silly girl, aren’t you, Pippa?’

‘It’s not my fault,’ I say, which isn’t at all true.  What I mean is that I only let it happen because I’ve had a lot on my mind.  I tell him that.  ‘I’ve had a lot on my mind.’

‘Oh yes?  Anything you want to talk about?’

He’s smiling, and trying not to.  I know what he’s thinking: this is going to be hilarious.

‘Well,’ I say, ‘I had to dump Ryan.’

‘Oh dear.’  He looks delighted.  ‘Might I ask why?’

‘He was getting a bit too close.’

‘How unreasonable.’

‘And my grandfather’s dying.’

‘Oh.’  His smile falls.  That isn’t funny, whichever way you look at it.  ‘I’m awfully sorry, Pips.’

People always say that, when you’re talking about people who are dead or dying.  What’s the correct answer?  I say, ‘Thanks.’

‘I understand completely,’ he says.  ‘I lost both of my grandmothers last year.’

I say, ‘That was very careless.’

I think, Shit.  Shouldn’t have said that.  My hands are clamped over my mouth now, and I can’t look at him.  I’m looking down at the plate of lasagne, and it makes me want to free my mouth because it’s so bloody gorgeous.  I lower my hands, and I look at Harry.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.

He’s looking at me with what you might call a bemused smile.  ‘Don’t apologise,’ he says.

‘Well anyway,’ I say, ‘it’s nothing I haven’t been through before.  All three of my other grandparents are dead.’

‘Yes, well,’ says Harry.  ‘It isn’t a competition.’

‘No one ever says that unless they’re losing.’

Should I have said that?  I catch his eye, and he’s smiling again.

‘All right,’ he says.  ‘You win.’

‘But,’ I say, ‘it’s different this time.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes.  Now I have to decide whether I’m prepared to help him die.’

That’s true.  He’s very sick, my granddad.  He’s got… oh, shit, I can’t remember.  Some sort of cancer, or something.  It isn’t just because he’s old.  He’s weaker every time I see him, and this morning he could hardly talk.  It was like something out of a horror movie.  He was creaking like a rusty door: ‘Pip-paaaa…’

I don’t think I said anything there.

He said, ‘Come… clo-o-o… se-e-er.’

It wasn’t an unreasonable request.  I was right across the other side of the room.  I don’t like that hospice he’s in - it smells of old people, and urine, and vomit, and death - but it’s not quite so pungent if you don’t stand too close to the old people themselves.  But Granddad wasn’t exactly in a position to shout at me across the room, so I held my breath and walked over to him.

If I try to describe the conversation, we’ll be here all night.  Basically, after croaking out a word a minute, he asked me.  I said the first thing that came into my head.  ‘Why me?’  I mean, honestly, he’s got other relatives.

‘You’re the kindest of them,’ he said.  ‘You won’t want me to suffer.’

I know he didn’t mean that.  I’m not kind.  I think he probably chose me because he knows I’m prone to doing stupid things.  After I left, I wished I’d asked him how he expected me to do it.  Aren’t you supposed to stash away half your medication or something, so you’ve actually got a suicide tool when the time comes?  Whatever I decide to do, I’m not going to hit him over the head with a blunt object.

Harry’s staring at me.

‘What?’ I say.

‘You do have the most extraordinary problems, Pippa,’ he says.

‘Yes, it can get very trying.’

‘I thought that only happened on Holby City.’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ I say.

‘Well,’ he says.  ‘It is rather against the law, Pippa.’

‘Yes, I know.  That’s the problem, really, isn’t it?  I don’t have many things in my life to be proud of, but one of the few is the absence of a criminal record.’

‘I sense a “but” coming.’

‘I don’t want to tell him I won’t do it - he might cut me out of the will.’

Harry blinks.  Then he says, ‘You aren’t a terribly nice person, are you, Phillippa?’

‘I can’t afford to be nice.  I need money, Harry.’

‘Well,’ he says.  ‘What will you do?’

‘I don’t know.  I thought I might tell him I’ll do it, and then hope he manages to die without my help.’

‘Yes.’  He’s nodding.  ‘That is a very Pippa solution to a problem.’

‘Oh, you’re horrible,’ I say.

‘Would he cut you out of the will?’

‘He’s already cut out my aunt and her children.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.  Perhaps they refused to help him die.’

‘Well,’ says Harry.  A short pause, then,  ‘That’s the only problem, is it?  That it’s illegal?  You don’t have any kind of… moral objection?’

‘No,’ I say.  ‘Do you?’

‘I don’t know.  I hadn’t really thought about it.’

‘Well,’ I say, ‘think about this: he’s going to be in a lot of pain and he’s going to want to choose death in order to make it stop.  Isn’t that a basic human right?’

‘Probably not.  Basic human rights don’t tend to be illegal.’

‘All right then - shouldn’t it be a basic human right?  I mean, you put your hamster down if it’s suffering, don’t you?  Because it’s cruel to keep it alive.’

‘I think,’ says Harry, ‘that hamster lives and human lives aren’t generally considered quite the same.’

‘Oh, right - so the hamster gets the better deal, does he?’

‘Well, perhaps.  You know how people love their animals - many of them more than they love other people.’

He’s so bloody calm.  I’ve never known Harry to get animated, except when he’s having sex.  Maybe that’s why I like the way he is in bed so much.  Besides the obvious, I mean.  He really goes for it, and I think that’s pretty funny actually.  He’s just so proper all the rest of the time.

‘So anyway, what’s for pudding?’ I ask.

He directs a toothy smile across the table and says, ‘Me?’

‘I’m still hungry,’ I say.  ‘I didn’t eat anything today until just now.’

Harry stands up.  ‘Honestly, Phillippa,’ he says, and disappears to the kitchen.  He comes back with a tub of ice-cream, or rather a giant lump of thick, creamy chocolate coldness filled with gooey lumps of, oh heavenly, chocolate… something.  Oh my God.

‘Oh my God,’ I say.  ‘That is so sexy.’

We sit on the sofa and share the ice-cream while the candles burn down.

‘Can I stay the night?’ I ask, and Harry looks surprised, probably because that’s usually his idea.

‘But of course,’ he says.

‘I put my foot through the bath,’ I say.  ‘And the ceiling leaks.  And anyway I’ve been evicted.’

‘Ah.’  His smile droops slightly, and I can’t help glancing down to see if there has been a similar effect elsewhere.  ‘Do you want to sleep on the sofa?’

‘Why would I want to sleep on the sofa?’

‘I’d hate you to feel that you were prostituting yourself.’

‘I don’t mind.’

And then we go to bed.  Oh dear, what can I say about this?  Sex with Harry is so good, it’s positively embarrassing.  It felt strange the first few times.  There are parts of my body that I don’t like.  Harry likes them, though.  He likes to grab, and squeeze, like a child with Play-Doh.  He seems to like having something to hold on to.

Well, moving swiftly on.  We’re lying in his bed, in the dark, at which point he’ll normally start chatting to me.

‘So.’  His voice is right beside me, as I stare through the darkness at the ceiling.  ‘Your grandfather’s dying, you’re broke, you know you’ll get something from the will and he’s asked you to euthanise him.’

‘That’s about the size of it,’ I say.

‘It all sounds very suspicious, doesn’t it?’

‘Well… yes, when you put it like that.’

‘What are you going to do, Pips?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say.  ‘I’ve got more urgent things to worry about.  Like where I’m going to live, and how I’m going to eat.’

‘You could marry me.’

I turn my head, and can more or less see his shape next to me.  ‘Are you serious?’

‘Absolutely.’

Oh dear.  He isn’t going to give up on this.

‘You’re not going to give up on this, are you?’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘think about it, but in the meantime you know I’m always happy to help.’  A pause.  ‘I won’t kill your grandfather, though.’

‘No,’ I say.  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’