by Terry Tyler
The beginning of the end came the very next day.
Dex left at seven am. The evening before, we'd just curled up in bed and watched TV. We didn't talk much; he seemed as sad as I was, but he was tucked away inside his own head somewhere, and even though we made love I didn't feel he was with me. He hugged me tight before he left, told me he loved me, and I managed to kiss him goodbye without turning into a soggy mess; I was proud of myself.
Best of all, Mum had Skyped to tell me she and Dad had arrived safely. I'd heard laughter, the sound of corks popping, I saw the French windows of Rob and Sarah's villa opening out onto the sunny day, loungers around the pool.
Walking up to the Shipden Book Exchange on that Friday morning, my mood was lifted by the normality around me. Holidaymakers wandered down towards the sea, some dressed rather optimistically in beachwear, children carrying buckets, spades, and crab fishing equipment. The majority was yet to arrive; most came for carnival week. I thought of mine and Lottie's costumes, hanging upstairs in the spare room, finished and waiting to be worn; carnival floats were the last thing on my mind. But today was just an ordinary day, the same as any at the end of July, give or take the vaccination units in the car parks of the two doctors' surgeries. Campers and locals ate breakfast in cafés, residents shopped, went to work, and stopped along the pavement to chat to people they knew. Friends waved to me from across the street, the church bells rang at half past the hour, and the sun peeped its way through the pale grey clouds.
Passing the Oven Door bakery, I waved at the mum of Lottie's friend, Mia, as she slid trays of warm, freshly baked rolls into the display cabinets. Mr Howes the butcher rolled down his striped blind as the sun moved round to shine in the shop window, Jenny from the deli shouted a 'hello!' as she dragged tables and chairs out onto the pavement. I wandered into the Seagull to buy a ham salad baguette to eat at lunch time, and say good morning to Lawrie and Gemma.
Everyday life, hidden away from the horrors of the world on the peaceful Norfolk coast, the part of the country that some said the twenty-first century had yet to touch.
At the Book Exchange I helped avid readers find the titles they sought, accepted donations, and recorded customer requirements onto our database so I could contact them if the books came in. I chatted about the latest releases from my favourite authors and had the 'I mostly read on my Kindle these days but I still love bookshops' conversation that at least three people started on any given day. And all the time, try as I might to feel normal, I felt cut off from everyone, as if I knew something they didn't, something awful that I couldn't tell anyone.
Except that I didn't, not really. I didn't know anything.
I didn't see any green wristbands, either.
The announcement came that evening. On the six o'clock, national news.
The virus had arrived in the UK, and not just in the UK, but right on our doorstep.
I was sitting on the sofa with a cup of peppermint tea, idly wondering whether to stay in that night or take up Lawrie and Gemma's invitation to join them in the pub, thinking that five days wasn't so long, after all; I wasn't really listening to the TV.
I'd just picked up my phone to try Mum, when I heard the words that were to change our lives forever.
"Three cases of Kerivoula Lanosa or 'Bat Fever’ have been discovered in the small seaside town of Shipden, in Norfolk. There is no cause for alarm, but, to ensure that these cases are dealt with quickly and efficiently, and to avoid further contamination, emergency containment procedures are now in place. Shipden has been cordoned off from the rest of the country, with immediate effect."
I dropped my phone.
Bloody hell.
Cordoned off from the rest of the country?
I watched drone images of our town, film taken outside the town boundaries, of fences being erected on the Norwich and Holt Roads, even on the little B road to Northstrand, and the coast road to Cadeby.
I saw military road blocks, huge rolls of barbed wire. Army trucks. Soldiers everywhere.
This was what emergency containment procedures meant. Army trucks and soldiers.
The newscaster assured us that these methods had proved effective in keeping Ebola under control.
Jesus Christ.
"Purely as a precaution, anyone who has left the town in the last twenty-four hours and has not yet received the vaccine is to call the Virus Hotline number at the bottom of the screen without delay. You will be given the location of an emergency unit where you will be tested to ensure that you are not carrying the virus. Residents wishing to return home will be provided with a similar test at the entry points to the town. The cut-off point is eight pm, after which no one will be allowed to enter or leave."
The camera zeroed in on the kind, fatherly face of a spokesperson from the Department of Health, who underlined that these measures were just precautionary. "There is no cause for alarm. The three cases are isolated. We expect the quarantine situation to last no longer than a week, during which time everybody living or temporarily resident in the town will be visited by a mobile vaccination unit. You are instructed not to arrive at hospitals or doctors’ surgeries requesting the vaccine, and are asked to remain in your homes, caravans or hotels where at all possible, to guard against the spread of this disease. An emergency distribution point will be established tomorrow, to ensure that nobody is without food or essential items. More details about the symptoms and emergency arrangements taking place in Shipden can be found on www.virus.gov.uk/Shipden. If you are concerned that you may be showing symptoms, you should remain isolated from all members of your family, and contact the Virus Hotline."
There were ten thousand people living in Shipden, plus tourists. How long would it take to inoculate everyone?
Then it hit me. Dex. Dex wouldn't be able to get home.
The newscaster went on to say that the infection had reached the Norfolk coast via a small craft carrying a cargo of marijuana from the African continent (see, Dex? Thought you said it wasn't in Africa!). The anonymous victims of the virus, currently in isolation at the infectious diseases unit of an unnamed hospital, began to feel ill shortly after taking delivery of this cargo, and, knowing where the consignment came from, remained in self-imposed quarantine at home, and called for emergency medical help.
The programme went on to illustrate the strategies being put in place to make sure such a disaster didn't occur elsewhere around the coast.
I'd just reached for my phone to call Dex when I heard the booming of a loudhailer outside.
I dashed to the front door and out into the humid warmth of the early evening.
At the end of the road was a car with a megaphone on the top, like those used by candidates in local election campaigns. I stood to listen for a moment; a slightly muffled voice summarised the advice on the news.
Claire and her children stood in their front garden, as did Tracy and Jason Mathis, opposite. Others stood on the pavement, looking up and down our little road.
I strained to hear the instructions over the chattering of Claire's children.
"You are instructed to remain in your homes and wait for the mobile vaccination unit to visit within the next few days. We ask you not to leave home for anything other than essential outings."
I walked out onto the pavement.
"They can't bloody do this!" Bob Newnham, the gardener from number nine, sauntered over to join us, arms folded. "I've got over twenty jobs booked in next week, and half of them are in bloody Holt! If they're isolated cases, what's the effing problem?"
Old John from number eleven opened his gate and came over to stand by Bob. "Yeah, that's what I was just saying. Don't they have to officially announce a state of emergency, or something?"
"I dunno, mate, but I'm going to have a choice bloody word or two to say to them military patrols come Monday, I'm telling you," puffed Bob. "They're not stopping me going to work, it's my bloody livelihood, I've got a family to feed."
"Ah, you see, it's like that film
, When The Wind Blows," John said, nodding, sagely. "Remain in your homes and wait for the emergency services, they say, but help never comes."
Linda Thomas, my other next door neighbour at number six, walked out to join the throng. "I'm getting my hair done in Cadeby tomorrow. Do you think they'll let me go?" She touched the top of her hair, scraped back into a ponytail, and gave me a nervous smile as if to say that, being a woman, I'd understand the importance of such things. "My roots are disgusting, and I've got a wedding to go to next weekend!"
Claire was busy scrolling down her phone. "Look! We're all over Private Life!" She looked up at us all, her excitement evident. "Hey, everyone! Shipden's trending!"
Bob the gardener moved over to have a look, and seemed quite chuffed by this development, too.
Tracy ambled over, chubby white legs bulging from cut-off denim shorts.
"This is so scary, isn't it?" Her eyes were wide. "I'm staying put, I dunno about you lot! Still, it's a good excuse to stay in and have a Netflix binge, isn't it?" She forced a laugh. "Bit scared we'll run out of food, though, aren’t you, Vicky? And toilet paper!"
"Oh—I hadn't even thought about that." Certainly not about bog roll.
"They're making the community centre a food distribution point, Jason saw it on the website," she carried on, picking at a pimple on her chin, "but it does warn that it'll just be basics. Bread, pasta, soup and baked beans, that sort of thing."
"Yeah, probably be the cheap makes you get in Lidl, knowing them," huffed Bob.
I looked up and down the road. The car with the loudhailer reached the cliff end of the lane; the driver appeared a little hot under the collar as he tried to manoeuvre round to drive back up the narrow stretch between our fourteen houses.
"Anyway, we can all muck in together," Tracy was saying. "And we'll be okay once we get the shot, won't we? Everything will go back to normal then, won't it?" She looked at me, searchingly, as if I had all the answers.
"Yes—yes, of course it will, yes." I remembered to look reassuring. "Sorry, Tracy, I've got to go. I need to phone Dex."
"Oh no, is he not here? OMG, poor you!"
Back I dashed into the house. I was shaking. Where the hell was Lottie?
"I know, I know," Dex said, as soon as he answered the phone. "I've just seen it. God, I had no idea—we never foresaw something like this—"
He sounded so distraught that I tried not to be angry about him leaving me alone while he went off to play WikiLeaks.
"Eight o'clock, that's the deadline. Can you drive really fast and get back?"
"No way. Vick, it's gone six, and it's a three-hour drive even when the roads are clear, which they won't be at this time of the day."
"You could try! Break the speed limit, anything!"
But I knew it was hopeless.
"Listen," he said, "if you look in the wardrobe in the spare room you'll see there's enough food and water in there to last you and Lottie for a month, at a push. Tins and packets, cereal bars and flapjacks, that sort of thing. You'll just need to get milk, and fresh stuff, while it's still available—"
"What? When did all that get there?"
"I've been amassing it over the last few weeks."
"So you did know—"
"No, of course I didn't, I was just taking precautions. I've been thinking about doing it for some time."
"But they say this'll only last a week at the most."
Dex didn't answer for a moment. "Well, we'll see, won't we?"
"So why didn't you say? About the food, I mean."
"Because I didn't want to make you panic. Vicky, listen. Don't believe everything you hear on the news—"
"Well, what do I believe, then? You're not here, are you, and even if you were, you won't tell me anything!" The anger exploded inside me, the frustration, the fear. "And now the fucking town's cordoned off and you can't get back!"
"Well, hopefully it won't last long."
"You just said it might! You don't actually know, do you? You're just saying whatever it takes to stop me being angry. All you do is bloody patronise me, I'm not a child, and I'm not stupid, I can actually take all this stuff on board, even if I'm not bloody Gia and Jeff and all your other conspiracy theorist cronies!"
"Sweetheart, I'm not patronising you, honestly; I don't know how long this will go on for, or how it's going to play out, that's all." Deep sigh. "It's taken us by surprise, too." How calm his voice was. How annoyingly calm.
"What, wasn't Gia able to reveal the secrets of the known universe, after all?"
Oh, why did I have to be so damn childish, when what I wanted to say was come home, somehow, anyhow, just get here—
He didn't say anything.
"Dex?"
"Gia's not here. We're all a bit worried, to be honest; she should have been here hours ago; she's on leave and she was going to set off mid-morning—oh, anyway, she rang Naomi at lunch time, from a phone box; she thought she was being followed, and she's not answering her phone, and—"
"I don't care about Gia!"
I heard him sigh, loudly. "I know. Of course you don't. I'm sorry. Look, it's not safe to talk over the phone."
"What? Why not? Are you in hiding already, then?"
He didn't answer my question. "Listen, I'll be back the minute the cordon is lifted. But just in case it goes on longer than they say, I've written something for you, there's a piece of paper in the front pocket of your backpack. I put the packs in the spare room before I left. Read that, and I'll be in touch, I promise. But—look, we're all worried about the implications of why Gia hasn't turned up—it might be best if you don't ring me. At least, not on this number. Don't text or email either. I might lose my phone, actually, get a burner. Let me wait until I think it's safe, then I'll ring you."
"What?" My heart was pounding. "Hang on a minute—Dex, have you left me? Is this what it's all about? Have you sneaked off up there because you didn't dare tell me?"
"No! Vicky, listen! Please. Please calm down. Of course I haven't left you, I love you, I'm trying to keep you safe—"
"Yes, so you keep saying." I could hear the desperation in my voice. "Come back, then, come back now, you've had the vaccine, there's nothing wrong with you, they'll let you in—"
"They won't. If they say no access they mean no access, and if something's happened to Gia—"
"Fuck Gia!"
"—if something's happened to Gia," he continued, "I've got to lie low. Darling, please try to calm down and listen to me. I know things I can't tell you over the phone, and Jeff thinks this house might be being watched, so we're leaving; it really, really isn't safe for us to be in contact. Please believe me. We'll be together soon. Look, someone could be tracing this call; I've probably been on too long already."
"Dex—"
"I have to go. I love you."
And that was that. He was gone. I tried to phone him again, but it was switched off. I was just about to text him, but I stopped. He said, don't text or email. Okay. So I wouldn't.
He was leaving, he said. Presumably to Jeff's bunker, or this safe house. I didn't even know where either of those places were.
I gulped back tears, and plonked myself down on the stairs.
Oh yeah. The note.
I dragged myself up to the spare room.
Tucked into the front pocket of my backpack, just as he'd said, I found one sheet of lined A4 paper, and sat cross-legged on the floor to read.
'I'm writing this on July 15th. If I've told you to read it, it's because I'm not with you and you might need to start being extra vigilant. Don't mention me, or Unicorn, or anything related, on the internet or in texts or phone calls'.
So he was up to something that put Lottie and me in danger. Great, just great. Angry tears flooded down my face, and I let them fall. They blurred my sight, my head careered off in every direction, my heart thumped, but I took deep breaths and tried to focus on the words he'd written.
I couldn't take them in, at first. Had to read it thre
e times.
'In case you need to get away in a hurry, there is a car for you at Mal's garage down Morgan Street in Cadeby. It's a black Fiat Bravo, and has a full tank of petrol, with spare can in the boot. The keys are in the zip pocket on the inside of this pack. There are tools in the boot of the car, too, and other equipment for emergencies. I hope you won't need them. If you have to leave our home and you can't get in touch with me, go to our safe house, which is in Tyne and Wear, and I will get there when I can, whenever that may be. The address is on a piece of paper inside my old copy of Bleak House, on the bookshelves.
Keep these packs downstairs and by the door at all times, in case you need to leave in a hurry, so you can grab them. There's room in them for some personal items, but please make sure Lottie packs for practicality, not style!
I know you think I'm paranoid; let's hope you're right, and we don't need these emergency measures. And whatever has happened, I hope we'll be together soon. I love you. D.'
Do you, Dex? Do you really?
And what the hell was all this? Never mind me—he appeared to think we were living in a Netflix conspiracy thriller.
He could have come back. He could have tried, even if they wouldn't let him in.
That was what hurt. That he didn't even try.
Well, he could get stuffed. I longed to be with him, but anger had taken over. How the hell was I supposed to get to Cadeby when there were military road blocks in place? Over the cliffs, too, maybe. Sod that. Even if I could, did he really think I was going to leave our lovely house, our home, to drive up to Tyne and Wear? When I'd wanted to go with him, he wouldn't let me! He was right, Lottie wouldn't want to go, anyway. I'd never been there. The very name gave off an image of an unfriendly, industrial landscape. Shabby buildings, huge bridges. I'd hardly driven for the last few years, not since we became a one-car family, and I've never felt confident on the motorway.
I stood up and went over to the window. My neighbours were still outside, gossiping, consulting their phones. Claire, Tracy, Jason and Linda were scrolling up and down, comparing screens.
You went away and left me, Dex.
I needed a stiff drink.