The Legacy

eyes strayed involuntarily back to Sylvia’s reflection. Jim saw and grinned. ‘We’ve got some of those if you’re interested,’ he said conversationally. Julia’s eyes narrowed.
    ‘You . . . have?’
    ‘Sure. They’re infused with tea tree oil. Protect you from, you know, pollution, dust, whatever really. They’re getting very popular.’
    ‘Pollution?’ Julia nodded, felt relief flood though her. People weren’t afraid of getting ill, not rational people. She wasn’t ill. There was nothing to worry about.
    ‘Oh, thank God. I thought they were . . . I mean, you hear about people panicking about these supposed Missing, and I thought . . .’ She met Jim’s eyes and her voice trailed off. Thought what? That people were worried about dying? That the Authorities couldn’t be trusted? That the vans that came in the night, glimpsed through windows, filled with grim-faced policemen wearing masks, were not prison vans rounding up Underground supporters? No, these were not things she thought. She refused to think them, refused to let herself even recognise awareness of them.
    Jim was twisting foil round strands of her hair with studied concentration; Sylvia, meanwhile, had glanced up sharply before looking back at her magazine. Julia reddened; she felt stupid suddenly, awkward.
    ‘They’re really popular?’ she asked, her voice more cautious now, softer.
    Jim shrugged. ‘People like to be careful,’ he said evenly.
    ‘And they’re not . . . the disallowed ones?’
    Jim met her eyes briefly in the mirror and Julia felt a thud of fear.
    ‘They’re legal, so far as I know,’ Jim said. ‘So, shall I turn the volume up?’
    Julia frowned, uncertain what he was talking about, then she realised he was looking at the small computer screen embedded in the wall. It wasn’t usually on; Julia knew it was Jim’s way of stopping dead their conversation. He didn’t trust her. She didn’t trust herself.
    ‘Today saw the demise of Margaret Pincent, daughter of Richard Pincent of Pincent Pharma, granddaughter of Albert Fern, the inventor of Longevity, and former House Matron of Grange Hall, who shot her former husband last year. The murderer died after a gradual, humane reduction in Longevity. Her former Surplus son, Peter Pincent, an Opt Out, is a known Underground supporter and on the most wanted list. And in other news, the United States has announced a state of emergency as the death toll from contaminated Longevity drugs reaches 2,565. In the UK, the Authorities have confirmed only two hundred affected people, and say that anyone caught protesting or attempting any seditious activity will be imprisoned immediately . . .’
    ‘Bet a lot of women have thought about killing their ex-husbands, don’t you reckon?’ Jim was smiling again; Julia managed a slightly strangled laugh.
    ‘I imagine they’ll think twice now,’ she said. Her arm was itching unbearably; not scratching it was taking all her concentration, rendering her hot and uncomfortable.
    ‘Bit warm today, isn’t it?’ Jim said. ‘Bit unseasonal, don’t you think?’
    Julia looked at him uncertainly. ‘I’m not hot,’ she lied. She was sweating; she wondered if Jim had noticed.
    ‘No? Must just be me.’ Jim shrugged. He looked as though he was going to say more, but he was distracted immediately by a gust of wind as the door opened. Julia turned her head to see who it was, but she didn’t recognise the woman who rushed in. Her hair was short and severe, the skin on her face lined and coarse. She met Julia’s eyes and came running towards her and Julia found herself shrinking back into her chair.
    ‘Water!’ the woman gasped, grabbing at a glass that had been left on a shelf and bringing the whole unit tumbling to the floor. ‘Water!’
    Everyone stared at her in horror, Julia recoiled violently and Jim immediately dropped the foils. ‘This is a hairdressers, not a cafe,’ he said, attempting a smile as though it might defuse the woman’s anger. ‘Maybe you should go somewhere else.’
    Julia was staring at the woman in fright. She was on the floor now, clutching at her throat. ‘Water!’ she screeched. ‘Give me water!’
    ‘Give her some water!’ Julia heard herself shout, then she clapped her hand over her mouth as two policeman enter the salon. Quickly they bundled the woman out of the hairdressers and into a van that was parked outside. Two salon assistants, meanwhile, lifted the shelving unit back up and