‘What do you think Dr Burman does in that outbuilding so late at night?’ she asked Ben as she stood at their bedroom window, gazing out, before drawing the curtains. ‘He’s in there most nights, often until very late.’
‘It’s his man cave,’ Ben replied. ‘His escape. It can’t be easy being a doctor all day, only to come home and have to look after your sick wife.’
‘I suppose,’ Emily said. ‘But I do find him and his wife odd. We’ve been in this house over a year now and they just about manage to say hello. I’ve tried to be neighbourly, but she doesn’t want to know.’
‘He says a few words to me in passing,’ Ben said, joining her at the window.
‘I would have thought she’d be grateful for some company. I never see her go out or have any visitors.’
‘Not everyone is sociable like you,’ Ben said, kissing her cheek.
‘And all those CCTV cameras at the front of their house,’ Emily continued, reluctant to let the matter go. ‘It’s completely over the top for these houses. I mean, none of us is rich or famous.’
‘Perhaps they’re secret millionaires,’ Ben laughed, then looked seriously at Emily. ‘Em, are you sure you don’t want to go back to work when your maternity leave ends? Is being at home really enough for you?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said, and turned to him with a smile. ‘Thank you for giving me the chance. I want to stay with Robbie a while longer. I know money will be tight, but I really wouldn’t be happy leaving him with a childminder all day until he’s a bit older.’
‘OK, I just wanted to make sure. I should be due a rise soon.’ He kissed her cheek again. ‘It’s late, love, I’m going to hop into the shower now.’
As he left their bedroom, Emily turned again to the window and began to close the curtains. The light went off in Dr Burman’s outbuilding, plunging their garden into complete darkness. Eleven thirty. The same time as the night before. Why she should make a mental note of the time, she wasn’t sure. It was something she found herself doing, as well as looking into their house and garden at any opportunity. It seemed important to keep watch. A gut feeling that it felt safer that way. Although had she told Ben, she was sure he would have laughed.
BACK FROM THE DEAD!
A 15-year-old boy is to be frozen in the hope he can be brought back to life at a later date and cured of the disease that killed him.
The teenager, who cannot be named for legal reasons, is close to death from a rare genetic condition. Because he is a minor he needed the court’s permission to have his body frozen using a process called cryonics.
He told the judge he had investigated cryonics and was convinced that it would give him the chance of life in years to come when a cure had been found. The judge agreed.
Following his death, his body will be taken from where he lives in England to the US, where it will be frozen and preserved at a cost of £40,000.
‘Read it!’ Dr Amit Burman snapped, throwing the newspaper onto his wife’s lap. ‘Perhaps you will believe me now a judge has ruled it’s acceptable.’
Alisha picked up the newspaper, her fingers trembling, and read the article while he stood by waiting impatiently. She hated him when he was like this, all agitated. He scared her even more.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice slight. ‘You know my feelings. I think it’s unnatural, macabre, and against the laws of God and nature.’
‘And where is your God now you, you silly bitch?’ Amit demanded, his eyes blazing. ‘I don’t see him saving your life. Only doctors and advances in medicine can do that, and research is not progressing fast enough.’
‘But …’ she began and had to stop as a coughing fit took hold. She picked up the glass of water she always kept within reach and took a few sips. Her hand shook.
‘Don’t you see there’s nothing else the doctors can do for you?’ Amit persisted, trying to lower his voice. ‘You’d be making medical history. At the forefront of science. I’d do it if it was me.’
‘This is not the answer,’ she said quietly. ‘And there is no proof it will work. I think that poor lad and his parents have had their hopes raised for nothing. It is immoral. All that money that could have been better spent. I would hate to think of being sealed in a metal drum rather than at peace in the earth. He won’t even have a grave they can visit.’
‘No! Because he won’t be dead. You’re not listening to me!’ He thumped the coffee table hard and her water slopped from its glass. ‘He’ll be in a state of suspended animation. Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?’
‘Amit,’ she said, already recoiling from the blow that was sure to follow if she crossed him, ‘I’m not doing it. I don’t want to be frozen when I die and you can’t make me.’
But the look in his eye as he raised his fist said that he could and would if necessary.
‘Welcome to the future. Welcome to ELECT – the gateway to everlasting life. I’m Owen, your guide for the day. You all have your information packs? Good. Sit back and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll start by saying a bit about our organization, then we’ll watch a short film of an operation in progress, followed by a tour of our facility.’
As Owen began his talk, Dr Amit Burman glanced around the room. There were twenty of them seated in rows of matching leather armchairs in this small lecture room. Of different ages, ethnicity, male and female, but united in the belief that they or a family member could be preserved after death and brought back to continue their life. Some were clearly already ill – one woman had a portable oxygen tank hissing quietly by her side, while others, like him, were planning ahead. Here was the proof that old age and terminal illness needn’t be the end, that science would allow them to return and continue where they’d left off. Amit couldn’t understand why there weren’t more here. Twenty wasn’t a huge number considering what was on offer.
He was taking notes, as were some of the others, although he thought he probably knew more than most – from being a doctor and all the research he’d done. He probably knew as much as Owen, he thought smugly, who was, after all, only their rep and tour guide.
Owen was winding up the introductory talk now and about to start the film. The room fell silent as he pressed the remote control to dim the lights, and moved away from the large wall-mounted screen. The film began with a smiling shot of the founder, welcoming them and explaining their mission statement. Then his voice continued on the voice-over as the film moved to the operating theatre.
Amit sat upright in his chair and concentrated hard. It was just like any high-tech operating theatre, and he was used to that. A dozen gowned and gloved staff: doctors, nurses, technicians, but with one significant difference – the patient was already technically dead. As the surgeon cut into the patient’s artery to drain the blood, the camera moved to a discreet angle to protect the squeamish. But Amit didn’t mind blood, not one bit. He saw it a lot in his job.
‘The patient’s blood is replaced by a chemical solution to stop ice crystals forming,’ the commentary on the film continued. A mass of wires and tubes could be seen snaking from the patient to bottles, monitors and a computer. ‘Then the body is gradually cooled down to minus 130 degrees Celsius before being submerged in the aluminium tank.’ A shot of rows of aluminium tanks standing like soldiers in the storage facility, their motors running in the background and labelled with the