‘I want to be cremated,’ said Pearly. ‘Go out in a blaze of glory. It’s cheaper too. No clergy. I think it’s hypocritical to have the whole religious thing when you’re dead despite having ignored it when alive. I like it when people play a Willie Nelson song, or the traction engine enthusiasts ride their puffing billies in.’

‘I think it’s okay to still have hymns even if the rest is secular. And I’d be cremated too. Plaques in a flower garden are so much more attractive than rows of tombstones.’

‘We could write our wishes down. Maybe even have something in our wills. Compose an epitaph.’

‘I’m serious about it,’ said Helen.

Pearly was eating ham and salad. He liked both. Quite suddenly he bit his tongue so severely that it bled copiously, and he cried out with the pain. Helen went smoothly into nurse mode and took him through to the bathroom where he rinsed his mouth, and she inspected his tongue. ‘Wow. It’s a nasty bite on the side,’ she said. Pearly could see it in the mirror. A small raw piece bulged through the tongue sheath.

‘It’s damn sore,’ he said thickly.

‘Thousands of times a day your tongue dodges your teeth without you making any conscious decisions, but just very occasionally it gets it wrong.’

‘Should I go to the doc?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s not bad enough for that. The tongue has a great blood supply and normally heals quickly. Just don’t drink alcohol, and avoid anything spicy. We’ll keep an eye on it, though. It’s just bad luck. Let me know if the bleeding doesn’t stop.’

‘It’s really sore,’ repeated Pearly. He acknowledged Helen’s nursing experience but felt she didn’t quite realise the severity of his wound. ‘Maybe I should ring about it.’

‘No one’s stopping you.’

‘Thanks for the sympathy.’

‘Oh, Pearly, you always make such a big deal of these things. Go ahead and ring if you like, but I’m telling you they won’t do anything. It just has to heal itself. It’s like when you had that bloodshot eye and thought you had a brain clot.’

‘Well, it could’ve been,’ said Pearly defensively. ‘Anyway, I’m off back to work, pain notwithstanding,’ and he took his car keys and went off abruptly in a huff. He felt entitled to more sympathy. His tongue had almost stopped bleeding, but the bite was tender and painful. He inspected it again in the Falcon’s rear-vision mirror when he reached Rawleigh and Gates. He’d have just water for the rest of the day; nothing hot or thick. He thought how easily a mouth cut could get infected. All those gut bacteria circulating.