Who Wants To Live Forever?. Steve Wilson

him. Skype is so easy to use.”

       “Now, Jules, you know that I’m a bit of a technophobe. I just can’t seem to get the hang of computers, so, much as I’d love to, it just isn't me, I’m afraid.”

       “Then why not look for a beginners’ course in computing? That would solve both problems.”

       “It just doesn’t sound interesting enough, and if I wasn’t interested I’d stop going.”

       “Okay then, why not follow one of your interests? You’re always saying you could do better than those detectives you watch on the TV. There must be something in that area you could enrol on.”

       “Oh, I tried, but ‘How to catch a murderer in ten easy lessons’ was all booked up.”

       “Ha ha, very funny. You should be on the stage. But, seriously, you know I’m right, don’t you? You love your puzzles, so even if there isn't a course for prospective Inspector Morses, there must be something that will stretch your brain.”

       “Okay, you win. I’ll look, I promise.”

       “Good. And I know you. Don’t think you can get away with making something up and telling me about it during our phone calls. I’ll expect you to show me some solid proof when I next visit.”

       “Will do. When is that again, late November?”

       “Yes, that’s right. I’m coming up for a work conference, so Dave won’t be with me. I’m presenting my first advertising campaign, so it’s a big chance for me.”

       “That’s good, isn’t it?”

       “Yes. But it’s a lot of pressure.”

       “Are all the junior staff involved?”

       “No, I’m the only one.”

       “That must be really good, then. So let’s get together afterwards, and I promise I’ll have something to tell you about my reintegration into society by then.”

      Promise made, I knew I couldn’t let my daughter down. Most of the courses on offer didn’t appeal to me, and I was beginning to think that I’d have to take something I wouldn’t enjoy just to placate Julie when I saw one that caught my attention:

       Local History — Learn about life in Lancashire during the last hundred years. Your experienced course presenter, Louise James, will take you on a ten-week journey through the county’s many towns and cities and you will experience life as it was for the inhabitants in those times.

      I had lived on the Fylde all my life, yet knew very little about the rest of the county. This course sounded as if it would be interesting and so I decided to enrol. It had taken everything I could muster to venture to the enrolment day, but at first a small amount of self-assurance had returned, and when I saw a few women enrolling on the courses I even began to look forward to this evening with an anticipation I hadn’t felt for over thirty years. Although I wasn’t used to interacting at a social level with the opposite sex, I found the prospect to be far from unattractive.

      When I mentioned what I’d done to her, Julie was a little surprised to hear that I’d be studying history. “I hope you’re not the only one on the course,” she joked. I laughed; I was looking forward to the course with a confidence I hadn’t felt in a long time.

      But now, standing looking at the imposing college entrance, that confidence dissipated. I might have turned away if I hadn’t remembered the money; granted, a hundred pounds wasn’t a lot to spend on a ten-week course, but I’d paid it and I wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the doors and entered the foyer. Nobody was about, but a laminated sign on the noticeboard directed me to follow the purple line to room M6 for “A course in Lancashire history” and I followed the purple footsteps pasted on the floor — intersecting at times with yellow for “Photography” and red for “Life Drawing” — until I came to the designated classroom.

      As I opened the door it was like stepping back in time to my first day at senior school. The classroom was big enough for thirty or so pupils, containing five large circular tables and a front teacher’s desk. The two tables towards the rear of the room and the one in the centre all had chairs stacked on top of them, leaving just the two at the front for me to sit at. One of those was empty, the other had half a dozen people already sitting around it, and a dozen eyes focused on me as I entered.

      I headed for the far, unoccupied, table, but a woman who looked to be in her thirties rose from her seat and directed me towards the seventh chair around the nearest table. As I sat I took a closer look at the other occupants. The three women, who I judged to be in their thirties, forties and fifties, included two who I had seen at enrolment six days earlier; I noticed now that only one of them wore a wedding ring. The woman who had directed me to my seat hadn’t been there at enrolment — at least, not while I was there — and the other two were a man and woman barely out of their teens.

      All seven of us sat there, some of us fidgeting nervously, all of us trying to avoid eye contact, as we wondered what was going to happen next. The three women were to my right, the two youngsters to my left, with the woman who had directed me to my seat almost opposite me. I looked at my watch — two minutes past seven — and unwittingly caught her eye.

      “Yes,” she said, “I think it’s about time we started. I had hoped that we might have a few more late enrollers, but it looks like half a dozen is all we’re going to have on the course.” She looked round at the six of us. “I recognise a couple of you from last week, but not all,” she added, looking in my direction as she spoke.

      “Just in case any of you have come to the wrong room, this is the Local History course, where we’ll be taking a closer look at some of the events that have taken place across Lancashire over the last hundred years.” She looked to see if anybody had come to the wrong location — again, I noticed her glance more at me than anybody else — and then continued. “Good, it seems we’re all here for the right reasons.”

      I looked at her as she began giving us a brief introduction to the topic. She was almost librarian-looking, with short bobbed brown hair and glasses; she reminded me of Donna Reed in the alternate-reality portion of It’s A Wonderful Life, but I soon saw that she portrayed none of the timidity of that character.

      “Before we begin,” she said, cutting across my mind-wandering, “I think it would be helpful if we all introduced ourselves and said a little about what we hope to gain during the next few months. I’ll start. I’m Louise James, and, as you’ve gathered, I’ll be teaching this short course and, over the next ten weeks, I hope to introduce you all to some of the more interesting events and characters associated with the county of Lancashire since 1911. Some people think of history in terms of wars and nations, but it is much, much more than that. A single unsolved murder that took place a century ago can still have relevance today…”

      There was a sharp gasp from one of the women to my right, but when I instinctively turned to look all three looked deep in concentration on Louise’s words and I wondered if I had imagined it.

      “Everybody has a history, something that is personal to each and every one of you, and I want to begin by exploring that. So come on now, it’s your turn, stand up and introduce yourselves to the group. Tell us what you hope to get out of the course.”

      I always hated that sort of thing, and I tried to sink down into my chair to become less noticeable, but Louise was looking directly at me and I had no choice. I stood and, in an unsteady voice, I began. “Er, I’m Ethan Hudson, and I’m fifty-nine years old. When I was younger, I hated my name, but now it’s come back into fashion it makes me feel a bit younger.” I could feel sweat beginning to trickle down my temple. That wasn’t what she meant when she