The call was scheduled for 10 a.m., the “check-in window,” as the Exitus training manual phrased it — clients are most receptive before lunch, after medication. Gareth Noon took a sip of instant coffee, stared at the blinking cursor beside HOLROYD, DAVID – ACTIVE CONTRACT, and pressed dial.
“Mr. Holroyd? Gareth Noon here, from Exitus.”
A pause. The faint sound of birds.
“Exitus?”
“Yes sir. We last met about six months ago. I came round to your house — we organised your, er… your future arrangements.”
“My what?”
“Your Scheduled Dignity Appointment,” said Gareth, already regretting the phrase. “You may remember, we discussed a one-year timeline.”
“Oh my God,” Holroyd said, with a laugh of genuine astonishment. “That sounds morbid, doesn’t it? I haven’t given that a second thought since that day! You’ll laugh, Gareth, you really will — life’s completely turned around.”
“I’m… glad to hear that, sir.”
“No, I mean it. I met someone — Evelyn. Met her in the queue at the pharmacy, of all places. Can you believe that? I was picking up my prescription, she was there for something to do with her sinuses, and well—” He gave a delighted chuckle that somehow made Gareth feel personally diminished. “We’ve been seeing each other ever since. I’m eating better, sleeping better. I’ve even started jogging, would you believe? Jogging! At my age!”
Gareth tried to laugh, but it came out like a cough. “That’s… tremendous, sir. Truly tremendous.”
“And I swear, Gareth, my tremor’s not half as bad as it was. There’s these natural remedies I’ve been trying — YouTube’s full of them. Turmeric, magnesium, meditation. I tell you, it’s made all the difference.”
“Well, I’m delighted for you, Mr. Holroyd, really I am,” Gareth said, his voice tightening slightly. “It’s just, we’re now halfway to your scheduled date, and from here on we like to make things as relaxed and organised as possible. We’ll be collecting some information from you — medical updates, next of kin, preferred arrangements — and we’ll keep in touch so everything’s seamless nearer the time.”
“Oh. Right. I see. Nearer the time.”
“Yes. About six months from now.”
Holroyd laughed again, an easy, incredulous sound. “You make it sound like a wedding, Gareth. ‘Nearer the time!’ Look, I appreciate the follow-up, but honestly, that’s all a bit — well, academic, now. I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years.”
“I understand that, sir,” Gareth said quickly. “I’m genuinely pleased. But I have to remind you that Parkinson’s is a progressive condition. It doesn’t reverse. You may be feeling well now, but the long-term picture—”
“Oh, don’t start with that,” said Holroyd cheerfully. “The long-term picture’s fine, thank you. Evelyn and I are even talking about a trip abroad. Thailand, maybe. Ever been?”
“Not recently,” said Gareth, flatly.
“Well, you should! Sunshine, decent food, cheap healthcare — people live like kings over there.”
Gareth’s cursor blinked accusingly on his screen. CLIENT SENTIMENT: HIGH OPTIMISM. RISK OF CANCELLATION: ELEVATED.
“Mr. Holroyd,” he began, “I’m very happy for you, truly. But please remember why we did this in the first place. You wanted to spare your children the burden — both financial and emotional. Parkinson’s can be very drawn out. Hospice care can cost—”
“Oh, stop, stop. Please. You make it sound like I’ve already one foot in the grave. I feel great, Gareth. Really. I don’t think I’ll be needing your services after all.”
There was a long silence. Gareth could hear typing in the next cubicle, the distant hum of the office air system.
“Well,” he said at last, with professional calm, “let’s not rush any decisions. You’re okay, Mr. Holroyd. Everything’s fine. I’ll just note today’s conversation as a positive check-in.”
“Fine by me,” said Holroyd, still amused. “And do send my best to whoever runs your marketing — those brochures are something else.”
“Will do, sir.”
The line clicked off. Gareth sat there for a moment, staring at the words POSITIVE CHECK-IN as if they were a death certificate signed in advance.