“Catherine, I spent a year undercover. I’m afraid to say I’ve had my fair share of hashish. I built up a considerable level of tolerance. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Well, since we’re being honest with each other, Geoffrey, I smoked rather a lot at a yoga retreat a couple of years ago,” she whispered in his ear. “I used to do it all the time in the seventies.”
They each took a bite. Geoffrey commented that it was a little too dry. While they waited for the effects to roll in, they contemplated why the cakes were there. Who knew what went on behind people’s front doors? Had Desmond been running a little operation? He’d never seemed to have much interest in the actual baking the group did, but maybe he’d been doing some on the side.Rather a lot, in fact. Geoffrey had heard rumors about Desmond’s corruption in the past, but it was hard to believe that he had been dealing drugs. If Desmond’s daughter had cleared out the place and left the boxes, surely that meant she was in on it. Catherine had heard she was a piece of work. Her husband had owned a lot of businesses. Perhaps he had some kind of felonious bakery on the go and Desmond was the supplier. But for them to be a criminal family, running a drugs business out of an old people’s home, it just seemed too wild to comprehend.
The room turned sepia and Catherine’s body started to hum. Was the marijuana taking effect? Strong stuff. She felt that old paranoia. Geoffrey was talking about something but she couldn’t focus.
“So, you see, this was the living room but now it’s no longer a living room, Catherine, because no one is living in it, you know? It’s just a room, and what is a room but a box? Why are we naming rooms? I meanbedroom.It’s only a bedroom once you put a bed in it, but the bed takes up space, you know, the more bed…” Geoffrey paused, apparently stunned by his own profundity. “The lessroom.”
“I suddenly feel very stoned,” said Catherine.
“Oh, really?” said Geoffrey. “I don’t think it’s affecting me.”
“You said you’d found something interesting,” said Catherine.
“Huh?”
“Before you hurt your knee, you said you’d found something interesting.”
“Over there,” said Geoffrey. “Look at the floor. There’s a speck of blood. We should probably collect a sample.”
Catherine walked over to the spot Geoffrey was pointing at.She took tweezers from her handbag and scraped up a speck. She inspected it closely, then sniffed. A fit of giggles hit her.
“What?”
“This is…” She struggled to get out the words. “This is ketchup.”
Now they were both in hysterics, laughing like they hadn’t done in decades, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Two retirees, stupidly high, in the middle of what was supposed to be a covert murder investigation. Catherine sat down against the wall, beside Geoffrey. They looked at each other, sharing the moment. Catherine felt she could see Geoffrey, truly see him, the man behind all the nonsense, all the desperation to prove how clever he was. She could see that it came from an endearing vulnerability. He was a sweet man.
He kissed her on the lips. “Sorry, Catherine. I just think you’re quite lovely.”
She smiled. “No, it’s fine.”
They were silent again, their eyes still connected.
“How are your knees feeling?” said Catherine.
Geoffrey stood up. “I think they’re all right. Wonder drug. Did you say you had a key to Carol’s flat?”
“Yes.”
“We should take a look now.”
—
Walking down thecorridor, Geoffrey and Catherine held on to each other for support. Going out into the world was frightening. They didn’t want to be seen, not in this state.
Elisa walked by, heading in the direction they’d come from.
“Hello!” she said cheerfully. They looked at the floor and mumbled back. Catherine held on to her handbag tightly.
They were on their way to investigate Carol’s flat when Geoffrey mentioned that he had the munchies, and their priorities changed. Holding on to each other, trying their very best to look sober and normal, the pair took the lift downstairs and headed for the Apple Tree.
With lunchtime nearly over, there was hardly anyone in the restaurant, but to Catherine and Geoffrey it looked like a terrifying mass of people. The truth was that they were too stoned to do something as taxing as sitting down at a table and ordering something to eat. They stood at the edge of the restaurant, staring at it as if it were an obstacle course beyond their current capabilities.
“I’ve an idea,” Geoffrey whispered.
He crept along the wall in the direction of the kitchen’s swinging double doors. Catherine followed, tiptoeing like a child at a sleepover on a midnight snack run.
