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Authors: Alice Adams
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been a mile for the gulf that had opened up in the wake of the evaporated intimacy. What was she doing here when she could have gone home with Benedict and sat on the sofa with a duvet and a bottle of wine and finally caught up? They’d barely had a chance to chat this weekend and he was leaving in a few hours. It wasn’t that there was anything specific they needed to talk about; it was just that there were so many things she’d made mental notes to tell him, nothing of consequence, just anecdotes she’d been saving up because she knew they’d make him laugh. She didn’t really have that in her life anymore, and she missed it, really missed it. Eva looked at Lucien and tried to imagine talking to him about her job, or the book she’d just read, or her hopes and dreams. He looked back at her, grinning and dead-eyed.
‘Right then,’ he said. ‘Time for the walk of shame.’
Chapter 8
Spain, August 2000
O KAY, HERE’S ONE ,’ said Sylvie. ‘If you were offered the gift of immortality, would you take it and why?’
The four friends were trudging through a forest seventeen miles west of Baladas in Galicia, where they’d spent the previous night in a hostel dormitory. It was the penultimate day of a week spent hiking the last ninety miles of the Camino Frances, a pilgrimage route over a thousand years old, to reach the cathedral at Santiago de Compostela. They made an unlikely band of pilgrims, with Sylvie’s fluorescent orange hair and Lucien’s aviator sunglasses and velvet trousers setting them apart from the other walkers in their sensible hiking gear, but having spent months arguing over where to go on a joint holiday they’d all finally agreed when Benedict had suggested this trip. It suited Sylvie because somebody had at last put forward something she could actually afford, walking and staying in hostels, and Eva had figured it would be useful for losing a bit of the extra weight she’d put on over a few too many boozy broker dinners and takeaway lunches. Lucien had agreed because he was up for anything that promised an adventure, and had reached the point where he would have said yes to caving holiday in Timbuktu if it meant they didn’t have to have any more tedious debates about it.
‘Wow. I think this might be the hardest question yet,’ said Benedict, taking a swig of his rapidly dwindling water supply. He’d started the trip the best prepared of the group, with a tiny rucksack weighing less than the recommended ten percent of his body weight, but had ended up carrying most of Eva and Sylvie’s possessions. Both of them had overpacked, Eva with sensible things like suncream and raincoats and perhaps one or two more books than strictly necessary, and Sylvie with an extensive supply of paper and pencils, paints and pastels. ‘What a choice. You’d get to see every bit of incredible technology we develop and learn about every scientific discovery, find out whether we discover aliens and whether we ever manage to colonise other planets, eventually watch the sun go supernova.’
‘Yeah, but picture this,’ said Lucien, going into doomy voiceover mode. ‘The sun is dead, the human race has drawn its last breath, the aliens never arrived…it’s just you…alone…in a vast, cold tract of dark, empty space.’
‘Well, yes, there is that,’ said Benedict. ‘Plus you’d get to watch everyone you love die. But you’d also get to see to the end of the universe and beyond. I can’t decide. What about you, Sylvie?’
In truth, Sylvie hadn’t been particularly enjoying adult life so far and the prospect of an eternity of it wasn’t remotely attractive. Job opportunities had been thin on the ground since she and Lucien had returned from travelling, and accommodation expensive. She’d been reduced to signing up for office temping and even debasing herself in this way hadn’t exactly resulted in a flood of offers. What’s your typing speed? Do you have any experience with spreadsheets?
‘Right then,’ he said. ‘Time for the walk of shame.’
Chapter 8
Spain, August 2000
O KAY, HERE’S ONE ,’ said Sylvie. ‘If you were offered the gift of immortality, would you take it and why?’
The four friends were trudging through a forest seventeen miles west of Baladas in Galicia, where they’d spent the previous night in a hostel dormitory. It was the penultimate day of a week spent hiking the last ninety miles of the Camino Frances, a pilgrimage route over a thousand years old, to reach the cathedral at Santiago de Compostela. They made an unlikely band of pilgrims, with Sylvie’s fluorescent orange hair and Lucien’s aviator sunglasses and velvet trousers setting them apart from the other walkers in their sensible hiking gear, but having spent months arguing over where to go on a joint holiday they’d all finally agreed when Benedict had suggested this trip. It suited Sylvie because somebody had at last put forward something she could actually afford, walking and staying in hostels, and Eva had figured it would be useful for losing a bit of the extra weight she’d put on over a few too many boozy broker dinners and takeaway lunches. Lucien had agreed because he was up for anything that promised an adventure, and had reached the point where he would have said yes to caving holiday in Timbuktu if it meant they didn’t have to have any more tedious debates about it.
‘Wow. I think this might be the hardest question yet,’ said Benedict, taking a swig of his rapidly dwindling water supply. He’d started the trip the best prepared of the group, with a tiny rucksack weighing less than the recommended ten percent of his body weight, but had ended up carrying most of Eva and Sylvie’s possessions. Both of them had overpacked, Eva with sensible things like suncream and raincoats and perhaps one or two more books than strictly necessary, and Sylvie with an extensive supply of paper and pencils, paints and pastels. ‘What a choice. You’d get to see every bit of incredible technology we develop and learn about every scientific discovery, find out whether we discover aliens and whether we ever manage to colonise other planets, eventually watch the sun go supernova.’
‘Yeah, but picture this,’ said Lucien, going into doomy voiceover mode. ‘The sun is dead, the human race has drawn its last breath, the aliens never arrived…it’s just you…alone…in a vast, cold tract of dark, empty space.’
‘Well, yes, there is that,’ said Benedict. ‘Plus you’d get to watch everyone you love die. But you’d also get to see to the end of the universe and beyond. I can’t decide. What about you, Sylvie?’
In truth, Sylvie hadn’t been particularly enjoying adult life so far and the prospect of an eternity of it wasn’t remotely attractive. Job opportunities had been thin on the ground since she and Lucien had returned from travelling, and accommodation expensive. She’d been reduced to signing up for office temping and even debasing herself in this way hadn’t exactly resulted in a flood of offers. What’s your typing speed? Do you have any experience with spreadsheets?
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