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“You don’t, you know, with Carl?”
“Oh, he’s all right, but he’s not out there pretending he’s thirty either.”
Drum held his book up higher so if they should turn and see him smiling he’d have a cover.
“Ellen doesn’t care. And now Bill has dementia and she’s so worried about him. Says she’s part nurse, part wild animal keeper.”
“Terrible thing. I can’t imagine.”
“She wasn’t sleeping at all, always had a cold, but I put her onto that pill, you know Circulon.”
He almost dropped the book.
“That’s a frypan.”
“Is it? Well, it’s called something like that.”
He gripped the bottom of the seat. He wanted to leave but the man sitting next to him was big and awkward with a walking prong held between his knees and he was pinned in against the window.
“Anyway it’s marvellous. I’ve used it, Derrick has. They prescribed it for Lisbeth when she was so stressed about her exams. You’re sure it’s not called Circulon?”
Circa. God. There was nothing else it could be. He wanted to leap the seat and tell them to stop, it was dangerous; they shouldn’t use it, ever.
“Sounds like one of those Transformer toys that goes from a frypan to a flying saucer. Eric would like one of those to go with his Optimus Prime.”
Drum’s knees wouldn’t work. He opened his mouth to shout at them.
“Are you okay, son?” The man beside him looked at him with concern.
From in front. “Circa, that’s what it’s called. Circa. Ellen says it saved her life.”
He was breathing too hard, too much lavender fabric softener and baked goods, he was choking.
“Son, are you all right there? Anyone got any water?”
A new voice said, “It is called Circa. It is excellent. Nothing worse than not being able to sleep. Fixes you right up, it does.”
The man put a disposable plastic cup in his hand. “Drink that, make you feel better.”
He lifted the cup to his mouth and another voice from across the aisle said, “Yes. I’ve used it too. After my hip replacement when I was all over the place, not sleeping then frightened of falling again. It really helped. My daughter uses it when she’s travelling to get over the jet lag quicker.”
He gulped the water.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, son. You should take it easy.”
He’d seen three hundred and eighty-seven ghosts and they’d given him tunnel vision, but what he was hearing was that half the carriage had used Circa and benefited from it. He was trapped in a live focus group and there was no way to unhear what was being said, to unsee the evidence of Circa’s proficiency.
He’d heard it all before, of course. He’d ordered study after study looking for answers. Why did it help some people and le
ad others to their death? How was that acceptable?
“Son, son. Do you need help? I’m a doctor, retired, but tell me what’s wrong. I can help you.”
He looked at the man. “That pill they’re talking about, it kills people.”
The two women in front swivelled their heads around to look at him. “Is he talking about the sleeping pill, George?” one said.
“Are you talking about Circa, son? He’s right, some people have had bad experiences,” said George.
