‘Maybe I do. Maybe this is the kind of thing... Josh and I should do together.’
‘Because you’re married?’ Ingrid snorts. ‘If you need something to obey, make it your own instincts.’
‘We leftobeyout of our vows, remember?’
‘Exactly.’
Polly fixes me with hazel eyes. ‘But once you’ve taken this pill there’s no going back, right? The effects would be permanent.’
‘Well, yes,’ I say, my voice small. ‘But so is death.’
Ingrid tuts. ‘If Josh really believes he’s doomed to an early death,that’swhat you need to address. There’s no pill that can fix that.’
I play devil’s advocate. ‘Look at all his relatives. He can’t rewrite history.’
‘Okay,’ says Polly. ‘Maybe we need to be practical about this. Say he does take the pill. If you have kids, when they turn twenty, Josh will be in his fifties. But he’ll look like—’
‘—he’s twenty-something,’ Ingrid muses, then nods at me. ‘Steady, cougar.’
‘This isn’t funny. What about when I’m sixty? Josh will look – or be – half my age.’
‘Hmm. Might be good for his book sales, I suppose.’
‘What? How?’
She shrugs. ‘Curiosity sells.’
‘Ingrid—’
‘I jest. Listen, I don’t actually think you should worry. If it came down to it, I’d be willing to bet Josh wouldn’t take it.’
I consider this. Perhaps she is right, though I can’t deny Josh does have an impulsive streak. A part of his personality that leans into risk, if the weather is just right. His enthusiasm for buying the flat which every expert we’d encountered had warned us not to touch. Some worryingly fearless potholing with Darren in Wales that time. Befriending the particularly aggressive border collie that used to live next door to Ingrid. Agreeing to take a ride in a helicopter flown by a guy seemingly keen to impress Josh’s mum, who might or might not have actually been qualified to pilot the thing.
I frown. ‘I’m not sure Josh thinks it’s that much of a risk, though. Or maybe that’s what he’s telling himself, anyway. He reckons everyone’s going to be taking them soon.’
Polly looks alarmed. In the lamplight, her high cheekbones are gilded gold. ‘But who knows what could be in them?’
I’m so close to saying,I do trust Wilf, in a way, and only just stop myself.
‘Would either of you take it?’ I say instead. ‘Joking aside.’
‘Nah,’ Ingrid says, after less than a moment’s consideration. ‘I’m quite looking forward to getting old. Can’t wait to be able to get away with some of the shit my nan does. The woman isoutrageous.’
I smile, despite myself. The latest story to come out of the nursing home was that Nana Watson had recently feigned whatamounted to a full psychotic break just to liven up an otherwise boring Tuesday.
‘Poll?’ I say, turning to my oldest friend.
‘A tablet to preserve me like this? Christ, no,’ she says, almost apologetically. ‘Might have when I was eighteen, though.’
Ingrid reaches out and takes my hand, which she doesn’t do very often, not being predisposed to tactility. I try not to look at the skull ring on her middle finger, the rubies for eyes seemingly trying to find mine.
‘The only thing you both need to do now is hang tight,’ she says. ‘In a year’s time we’ll be sitting here saying how relieved we are that all this is behind us. Trust me. It’s going to be okay.’
11.
Josh
March 2000
