She slipped an arm into mine. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘Polly’s idea,’ Ingrid says now, tipping her head back against the pew we’re sitting in, seemingly to examine the stony skeleton of the ceiling.
‘Don’t knock it,’ Polly says. ‘Churches are usually empty, they’re always open, and there’s rarely a chance of anyone earwigging.’
‘Except God, obviously,’ says Ingrid, with mock solemnity.
Polly shrugs. ‘I come and sit in here sometimes, just to get five minutes to myself.’
‘To be fair, if nothing else, it’s free air-con.’ Ingrid sheds her jacket, lets out a serene breath.
‘Well, thanks for your concern, but it hasn’t come to this.’
She shoots me a look, slides a quarter-bottle of vodka from her pocket. ‘You sure about that?’
I stare at her. ‘Isn’t it illegal to drink in churches?’
‘No,’ Polly says mildly. ‘Just a tiny bit disrespectful.’
‘It’s been a long day,’ Ingrid says. ‘Plus, Polly diverted me en route to the pub.’
I hold out my hand. ‘Fine. Just say what you’ve brought me here to say.’
She passes me the bottle. ‘Actually, we brought you here soyoucould do the talking.’
By her side, Polly nods in agreement.
I told them straight away that Josh had taken the pill, mere hours after he confessed. I turned up on Ingrid’s doorstep and she knew without having to ask what he had done. And we’ve been muddling through the fallout together ever since.
I take a swig of vodka, enjoy the burn. ‘I feel stupid,’ I confess, after a moment or two. ‘Like, maybe it should have been obvious this whole time that Josh wasn’t really going to die, just because all his relatives did.’
‘That’s hindsight bias talking,’ says Ingrid.
‘Sorry?’
‘As in, you think now that you knew all along. But you’d only considered it. You didn’t actuallyknow.’
‘We were staring at the clock for the whole of your birthday,’ Polly says. ‘I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you.’
Somewhere inside, I feel a tiny clutch of vindication. But with it comes a fierce wash of sadness.
At the end of the nave, evening sunlight is streaming through stained glass, spilling rainbows over the stone.
‘I keep thinking. About being an old lady, and Josh still being in his twenties.’
Ingrid smiles faintly. ‘At least you’ll get kudos in the old people’s home.’
‘Go me.’ A beat. ‘Long-term... do you think we can really work?’
‘Anythingcanwork, in theory. Look at Rupert Murdoch.’
‘What about him?’
Ingrid shrugs, takes a sip of vodka. ‘Doesn’t he have nearly forty years on his wife?’
I sling my head back and stare up at the arched ceiling, at the lines of medieval bosses marking the passing centuries. ‘Oh, you’re right. Well, I’ll just model myself on him, then, shall I?’
‘I mean, you’ll kind of have to,’ Polly says tenderly. ‘If you want to get past this.’
