Page 40 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
“Oh, no, I think we should stay married,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders, as he knew it would provide her with some comfort and reassurance. His research had shown that divorced men are more likely to live shorter lives.
So, as Elizabeth watched, eyes ringed with makeup smudges, he packed up his little travel suitcase and walked away from the home he’d shared with his family for more than a decade. Helooked back and saw Louisa’s strawberry-blond fringe poking out from between her bedroom curtains. For a second, he pictured the five-year-old Louisa who had waved him off to work every day from that very spot. But teenage Louisa just glared and then was gone. Walking away from that house wasn’t easy for Gordon, but he was determined to stick to his plan and felt that, ultimately, the move would be beneficial to his longevity. After a few nights in a hotel (with the highest hygiene rating he could find), he managed to secure a furnished flat within walking distance of the university. It was in a new block, built just two years ago, and the landlord had assured him that all the furniture was brand-new. He arrived at the flat armed with a cornucopia of cleaning products, along with new white bedsheets, towels, and some essential consumables. He’d even bought one of those UV lights to check for stains on the mattress and carpets (all clear, thankfully). Elizabeth had filled their home with garishly colored rugs, cushions, and various trinkets. She favored reds, oranges, and purples (which, Gordon liked to joke, reminded him of the birth canal). Gordon himself had always liked the color white, or—to be more precise—the shade of white. It was clean and practical; you could see clearly if something was dirty. So he kept his new flat entirely white and even took to wearing white coveralls when he was at home or a white tracksuit on the rare occasion he went out. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get away with this at work, where the accepted dress code for teaching staff was a suit, but after work, he made sure to strip off in the doorway of his flat and pull on the coveralls.
Then Gordon set up the flat ready for work, with twobrand-new whiteboards and two packs of whiteboard pens, one all black and one all red. Using a black marker, he wroteExperiment Serendipityat the top of one board andExperiment 54with a red marker at the top of the second board. On the first board, he drew a circle to replicate the dinner table, wrote their seven names around it and their numbers next to each one. Just Vivienne’s was missing. Next to Stella’s name and number, he wrote:Ignored. Next to Matthew’s, he wrote:Took matters into his own hands. And next to Janet’s:Overindulged. Then he carefully drew a line across each of their names.
On the second board, he wrote53at the top. Underneath, he wrote his three commandments:
I will take my number seriously.
I will fight my number.
I will not overindulge.
Inspired by the findings of Experiment Serendipity, Gordon plans to write his own paper, using himself as his main research point, aiming to beat his number of fifty-three. To make it to fifty-four, and beyond. He reached the conclusion that the secret science group had selected him for their experiment, sent him the challenge to beat his number. Not only would he do that, but he would use their findings to write a paper so extraordinary that it would gazump theirs and make him a star in the science world. Then they’d be begging for him to join their group.
Gordon had already achieved his first commandment and now was embarking on the second: fighting his number. Starting with the basics, he worked his way through the research, reading thatwomen tended to live five to ten more years than their male counterparts, with 85 percent of people living to one hundred being women. This was partly due to the XX chromosome, which means women are less likely to suffer from diseases associated with genetic mutations such as hemophilia, as well as testosterone, which causes aggressive behavior in men and may lead to road accidents, fights, and the like. These elements were out of his control, but there were other factors he could control: his risk of developing cardiovascular disease by eating a nutritious diet, taking regular exercise, and cutting down on alcohol consumption. This led very nicely into commandment number three. Unlike greedy Janet, he wouldn’t be overindulging. He would do the opposite.
Back in 1935, a scientist found that rats with severely restricted diets lived up to 33 percent longer than previously known possible. Similar experiments on other animals more recently backed up the theory. By restricting calorie intake by around 50 percent, lifespans extended by up to 300 percent, as a result of reducing metabolic rates and free radical damage. In other words, the body is healthier when it’s processing less food. For ethical reasons, this theory had not yet been tested on humans, but Gordon has the scientific knowledge, plus the self-control, to be the perfect candidate. His first step was to reduce his calorie intake by 50 percent, which he hopes will provide a range of benefits, including a lowered risk of developing cancer, diabetes, and heart problems. To keep it simple, he eats the same three meals every day, making up 1,300 calories. Breakfast is a boiled egg and single slice of toast; lunch is cheese, rye crackers, and a sliced apple; and for dinner, he has salmon steakwith steamed broccoli and a kiwi fruit.
His research also showed the irrefutable health benefits of weight training, so he’d invested in some weights and gym equipment for use in his flat (he had concluded that the potential risk of an accident was outweighed by the physical benefits). When he’d lived with Elizabeth, he cycled to the university every day. The thought of such a treacherous journey now makes him shudder. He finds he can gain the same benefits by setting his bike on a stand and never having to leave his flat. To make space for his new equipment, he asked his landlord to remove the dining table, and he now eats standing by his kitchen counter. Every day after breakfast and after work, he embarks on a one-hour fitness program, alternating cycling and weight training. After ten minutes rest, he then spends three minutes and thirty seconds performing a perfect headstand, which is known to alleviate stress as well as activate the pituitary gland and stimulate the lymphatic system.
And so far, it is working wonders, he is sure. His skin and hair are shining, his stomach is never bloated, and he feels younger than he has in years. Admittedly, he does seem to have lost some weight, but he’s enjoying the leaner look of his body thanks to the strength training. He is starting to feel excited at the prospect of presenting his findings to Professor Goodacre, picturing the look of enlightenment on the man’s face.
“I must admit, I never did warm to Janet,” Vivienne says, as if this information is somehow significant. “But I was impressed when I read about the campaigning she’d done from within thecompany, encouraging them to hire more diverse models.”
“Yes, it seems she had a lot more integrity than she perhaps let on,” Melvin says, nodding.
“Do you think?” Gordon asks, picturing her nearly toppling off her stool, burger oil rolling down her chin, and flaunting her assets at Matthew and Melvin.Thatcertainly didn’t look like integrity to him.
Nor did stumbling out of some man’s Notting Hill apartment in the early hours of the morning, strutting down the street in a skirt that barely covered her derriere, oblivious to anything except satisfying her own base needs…
Gordon isn’t here for small talk. He doesn’t want to hear about Janet’s redeeming features, socialize in grubby public houses, or listen to Vivienne’s crank theories. He’s here to keep track of his fellow dinner guests, to see how they are reacting to their numbers so he can keep up-to-date with the rival experiment. The dinner guests have thrown around all sorts of theories, from serial killers to psychics to self-fulfilling prophecy. Gordon doesn’t know exactly how the secret science group has organized the deaths, but it’s irrelevant. There’s something much more important at play here. Sacrifices must be made in the name of scientific advancement.
Three months after he’d moved into his new flat, Gordon’s boss, Professor Linus Goodacre, knocked on his office door.
“All well with you, Gordon?” he asked, sitting down in the chair opposite Gordon’s desk without waiting for an invitation. Gordon sighed and put down the paper he’d been reading. Professor Goodacre was an ambassador for informality, had neveronce used the title “Dr.” when speaking to Gordon, as if he hadn’t toiled away for five years at medical school.
Gordon nodded. “Yes, thank you, Professor.” He made sure to always give others their full title, hoping they would follow suit. In the past five years, this hadn’t worked once, yet Gordon wasn’t about to give up.
“Linus, please. I haven’t seen you pop up on my morning television lately. No longer doing your cameos?” Professor Goodacre asked.
“Oh, no. I felt my time was better served elsewhere,” Gordon responded, taken aback that his boss had ever watchedThe Morning Show.
Professor Goodacre nodded knowingly, adjusted his maroon tie, then leaned across Gordon’s desk (spotting ink on his thumb, Gordon wondered when he’d last washed his hands) and picked up the paper he’d been reading.
“The Longevity Project. Not your usual area of expertise.”
“No, but I’ve been considering how calorie intake and exercise might impact life expectancy,” Gordon said, thinking on his feet.
His boss nodded. “Oh, fascinating. I could put this to the board, see if we can send some money your way.”
“That would be…most beneficial,” Gordon told him.
Watching Professor Goodacre walk out of his office, Gordon was struck by the thought that perhapshewas part of the secret science group. He’d never once encouraged Gordon’s research or shown any interest at all. Now here he was, offering up funding and support. Now that he thinks of it, had the maroon tie been a sign?Back in his university days, the tie had been a sign of membership in an elite group at the college, only accessible by personal invitation, only for the most intelligent and best-connected students. Despite his excellent grades and highly regarded research, Gordon had never once received the invitation. Professor Goodacre, then just Linus, had been a few years younger than him but had suddenly started wearing the maroon tie. Was the secret science society linked to this group? Gordon would just have to wait for explicit notification from them. It wouldn’t be long; he was sure of that.
Though his experiment had been an unrivaled success up until now, there were some slipups. He blames Elizabeth for those. Every week, she phones him up, asking how he is, what he’s working on, when he’s planning on seeing Louisa next. He finds her never-ending questions wreak havoc on his clean and serene mind. As soon as he hangs up, he inevitably starts to doubt his new life, even thinking fondly of the warm double bed (with its ugly purple bedspread) back in their bedroom in Wandsworth. Sometimes the only thing that wipes the slate clean is to splurge on some disgusting takeaway food from the twenty-four-hour burger restaurant opposite his flat or a large fruit pie from the bakery, depending on whether his savory or sweet tooth kicks in that day. He stands in front of his white kitchen countertop, plants his feet squarely on the floor, and focuses all his being on consuming every crumb of food in front of him. He then allows himself ten minutes to lie on the sofa, stroking his bloated belly and picturing the food slowly working its way through his digestive system, unaware of where the journey will end. Then he makes his way to the toilet, retrieves histoothbrush from under the sink, and rids his body of the vile pollution. The guilt he feels immediately afterward is fleeting. Once it passes, he’s flooded with a feeling of renewal, of calm, ready to continue with his experiment the next day.
“How’s your daughter getting on, Gordon? It’s Louisa, isn’t it?” Melvin suddenly asks.
