“Don’t worry, Terry, this isn’t a cigarette.” She strikes the match along the side of the box and it catches, lighting her face so I can see the glint in her green eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s cannabis,” she says, lighting up.

“What?”

“Cannabis.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I lifted it from Vera’s stash.”

“You stole it. From your own mother?”

“I figured it was the least she could do.”

“You could have been arrested. At the ferry port. For drug smuggling.”

“I know,” says Iris with a grin. “Banged up abroad.”

“Why are you taking it?” I ask, suddenly worried. “Are you in pain?”

Iris shakes her head. “I just fancied getting a little high.”

“Jesus, Iris, anything could happen to you. You could, I don’t know, overdose or something. Or it could interfere with your medication, and...we’re miles away from a hospital or even a doctor and...”

“Do you want a drag?” asks Iris.

“No thank you.” I try not to make my tone prim, but prim it is all the same.

Iris shrugs. “Suit yourself,” she says, taking another deep pull.

I find myself curious. “Are you...high now?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “It takes a while,” she says.

“What will it feel like?” I say. “When you’re high?”

“Why don’t you have a toke,” says Iris. “Then you’ll know for yourself.”

“What if I become addicted?” It’s a gateway drug, after all? That’s what the man at the drug-awareness meeting at Kate and Anna’s school called it. Next thing you know, I’ll be snorting cocaine and...and heroin. Although I don’t think you snort heroin, do you? You do something with a spoon. And a hypodermic needle. A sterile one. That’s important. It has to be sterile.

“You won’t be addicted after one pull,” says Iris. “I promise.”

“But what will it do to me?” It seems vital that I know beforehand.

“It’ll relax you,” says Iris.

“Really? That’s all it does?”

“Pretty much.” Iris takes another pull, settles back on her cushions and closes her eyes. She certainly looks relaxed. Even though the burning tip of the joint is perilously close to her—inflammable, I imagine—Arabian tie-dye trousers. I remove it from between her fingers. It is warm to the touch. The smell that curls from it in long smoky tendrils is sweet and heavy. I wonder if you can get high from secondhand smoke?

Probably.

Oddly, the thought produces more curiosity than worry. Which means I could be high already. Which means that you can get high from secondhand smoke.

Imagine if I die now. If I have a heart attack and die and the last thing I ever did was take illegal drugs and Brendan and the girls will know that the last thing I ever did was take illegal drugs in direct contravention of my strict policy on illegal drugs.

And many legal ones too. For example, I won’t keep Solpadeine in the house on account of the addictive nature of the codeine. I’ll allow paracetamol, but only if really necessary. A hot water bottle and a good night’s sleep works wonders, I tell my girls, ignoring their sniggering.