‘That changed everything,’ she says quietly. ‘Both for Christianne, and now – dare I say it – for us. There are some of you in this gathering tonight who may be deeply uncomfortable with the very thought of euthanasia, and I happen to be one of them, but that’s not the issue. The issue touches above all on respect. Not just for Christianne, God rest her soul, but of that handful of precious friends who may have helped her on her way. Neither the law, nor those who enforce it, should ever penalize courage, and good works, and neighbourliness, and all the other blessings of a community like this that works so tirelessly for each other. In my view, that’s what has brought us together tonight, and – from the bottom of my heart – I thank you once again.’

Her pause is perfectly judged. She’s centre stage, a slim, slightly stooped figure, peering out at the sea of faces below her, and in that brief, brief moment of time I know exactly what she’s going to look like when she gets properly old. But that’s not the point, because what she’s just voiced is bringing the bulk of this audience to their feet. Couples help each other up. Eighty-year-olds clutch the back of the chair in front for support. Everyone’s clapping, while Beth – subdued until now – mounts the stage to give Evelyn a showy hug.

The assembled media love it. Cameramen are picking their way along the side aisles, trying to avoid the tangle of bodies, hunting for those telling close-ups in the audience that will – fingers crossed – make the ten o’clock news. Old faces. Concerned faces. Affronted. Offended. Deeply upset. Leave us alone, please. Mind your own business.

Evelyn, I can see, is delighted as well as relieved. She may, or may not, have spent time this afternoon rehearsing that little speech, but either way it doesn’t matter because it had a spontaneity, and a heart, that even seasoned thesps can’t feign. As the applause begins to die, she invites contributions from the audience, and tells those outside in the cold to write down whatever questions they might have and give them to the nearest volunteer. These will come to her direct, and she’ll deal with them as best she can.

The debate begins after a showing of Mitch’s video, and it’s quickly evident that these people, hundreds and hundreds of them, are four-square behind everything that Evelyn has touched on in her opening remarks. Many of them knew, and miss, Christianne. People who never had the pleasure of her company applaud her courage in taking her life, quite literally, into her own hands. One fit-looking eighty-five-year-old hopes that he, too, will summon that kind of pluck when the time comes.

‘Here’s to the Budleigh Six.’ He raises a glass of red wine he’s managed to smuggle in. ‘Santé.’