Three of them were dozing in armchairs upholstered in that cheap, easy-to-clean vinyl. The fourth – Ms Ethel Merriman – was in her wheelchair over by the windows, munching boiled sweets and leafing through some photographs. Julie was mopping – old Mr Grant, too much tea this morning, quite a flood it had been – certainly hung-over, but nowhere near where Susan had been on the Richter scale that morning. She was thinking as she was mopping. ‘Ten years.’ ‘How do you like them apples?’ ‘Ethel?’ Julie said, laying her mop against the wall and coming across to her. ‘If you could go back twenty years or so and you had the chance to do something really crazy, something that might wreck your life completely, but also might change it brilliantly, would you do it?’ Ethel stopped flipping through the photographs and looked at her. ‘What’s all this?’ ‘Just – hypothetically.’ ‘Ah, define “wreck your life”.’ ‘Well, say, just supposing, something like you went to prison.’ ‘Oh, prison’s fine,’ Ethel said, going back to flipping through her pictures.
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