“But.” Alex heard his own voice as if from the end of a long tin tunnel. The only word he seemed able to get hold of was but. “But. Okay . . . But he looks about forty-something. But you, you must be . . . Right. Grandad: how old are you?”

“Hah. Interesting question. I seem to remember you asked me that once before.” Alex’s grandfather nodded, then fell silent and became very absorbed in his driving.

Alex felt a scream racing through him. He managed to grab its ankles and drag it back so it came out as a strained whisper:

“So what’s the answer?”

“Well, now, you see,” the old man said, “this lies in the whole area I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Alex. I mean, Harry, he’s been pushing me to fill you in, y’know. You need to tell the lad, ’e deserves to know . . . Good old Harry. So, let’s see: what age am I. Well, let me think, where are we, this is the end of April now, isn’t it? The cruelest month, as they say, so . . .”

He lifted fingers from the steering wheel as though counting. “That makes it, give or take . . . I mean, not precisely on the nail, but rounding things up . . .”

“Grandad!”

“Hundred and ninety. Well, closer to a hundred and ninety-eight. Say two hundred. Far as I know, I was born in 1821.”

Another little while passed. Alex had the sensation of his mind folding itself smaller and smaller, packing up to leave. His mouth was open, working slackly, getting ready to speak. He wondered what it was going to say.

“1821.”

“That’s right. Don’t know the exact date. That’s why I decided to make January the first my birthday. Keeps things tidy. And it means I can celebrate it the night before, y’know, two birds with one stone. Although, I’ve been thinking about changing it to summer, to balance the year out. Party-wise.”

After another long silence, Alex heard himself saying: “That’s impossible.” He had probably tried to make it sound decisive, but he was aware that his voice faltered and more painfully aware that, given the amount of impossible things he had experienced, this was hardly an adequate response.

“Impossible, is it?” His grandfather’s eyes reflected red lights from the road. “And why is that?”

“Because.” Alex gestured at the physical laws of the universe around them, trying to catch the last before they all skipped away. “It’s just impossible. A hundred and ninety-eight years old. It’s stupid.”

“Is that so. Well, tell me this, Alex. Did you know that within a couple of hours’ drive from your house, you could put your hands on a living tree that’s over four thousand years old?”

“What?” Alex screwed his eyes shut. “No, but—”

“Yes . . . but. The Llangernyw Yew, in Wales. Magnificent thing. It was already a couple of thousand years old when Caesar invaded—”