by Terry Tyler
Rowan snatches it back. "This nightmare is going to be over one day, at which point I shall be going back to Surrey to resume my life, and I don't intend to look like a grisly old trout with skin like a lizard when that happens."
I open my mouth to say that if it does, it won't be straight back to the dinner party circuit, not least of all because most of her associates will be dead and there'll be nothing to eat, but I decide I can't be bothered, and shut it again.
"Well, you're not using our precious water supply for exfoliation." Kara rummages through the rest of the stuff. "You can forget that."
"Okay, okay, but it's not all about me. I've got mouthwash and dental floss too; Ozzy and Heath definitely need those," Rowan continues. "And both of them might benefit from some post-shave balm."
I can't help it. I burst out laughing. "I don't think Heath had much use for post-shave balm even in his old life!"
"Well, more fool him." She sniffs. "He's an attractive man. He ought to take care of himself; he could scrub up very well, if he made the effort."
Uh-oh. So she's noticed, too.
"Maybe he doesn't want to 'scrub up well'," I say. "I think he's happy the way he is."
She ignores me. "I just wish they had decent brands. Isn't there a Boots?"
"Used to be. Closed down years ago," Kara says, "and Superdrug's burnt out, so this is your lot, I'm afraid."
"Such a pity we can't go into Newcastle. I love being let loose in Fenwicks."
"You're welcome to go if you like. But you probably won't come back."
Rowan ignores her, too, and wanders down the aisle. I move on to the front of the shop to examine the few boxes of breakfast cereals that are left. I smile when I see Karamel Krunchies, Lottie's favourite, and catch sight of her, out of the corner of my eye.
She's outside, sitting on metal bench next to a bin, chatting to a lad of about her age.
He wears a denim jacket, jeans, a big thick woolly scarf and a grey beanie hat. As I move closer I see that he has beautiful big, blue eyes, his eyebrow and lip are pierced, and that Lottie is behaving in an uncharacteristically coy fashion. Yes, he's exceptionally cute.
"Hey, Mum," she says, when I walk out into the daylight. "This is Joel."
"Hi, Joel." I smile at him, he smiles back.
"He's here with his dad, getting supplies," Lottie says.
"Aye, but it's mostly gone now, isn't it? Home Bargains is empty, and there's nowt in Morrisons 'cept dog food." He grins. "And mouldy stuff. Ew!"
"Ew!" echoes my daughter.
"There's food in B&M." I gesture behind me. "We've taken a fair bit, but there's some left."
"I'll tell me da, thanks! So, Lottie says you're in Elmfield, and you've got a good place, right? Nice."
"Yes, it's really safe, too." She does that coy thing again. It's a side of her I never usually get to see. "It's got high walls, and we've put barbed wire on the top, haven't we, Mum?"
"Ye’ve gotta have a safe place these days." He's still smiling, this beautiful, friendly boy. His face and hands are grubby, though. I'm getting a nose for this sort of thing, now. I can tell who's making out okay, and who's, basically, living rough. Because even living in your own home can be living rough, these days.
"Indeed you have," I say.
"All the good houses round Jarrow and Hebburn, they've mostly been broken into. But you've got high walls? Good locks on the doors?" He tightens his lips, and nods to himself. "Elmfield. That's posh round there. Canny big houses. Is it yours, then? Or one of your friends'?"
A wave of anxiety curls around my stomach. I don't like this conversation. He's too inquisitive.
"We're not actually in Elmfield," I lie. "We're just down the road."
I can feel Lottie opening her mouth to ask me what I'm on about. I glance at her; she catches my eye, and shuts it.
"Yeah?" How appealing those blue eyes are! "Y'girl says there’s eight of you, is that right?"
No, I definitely don't like this. "We'd better get on. Come on, Lottie."
"Howay, stay and chat for a bit!" says Joel, grabbing her sleeve as she gets up. "I don't get to meet any lasses these days. Dad's looking for boots for me mam."
Lottie glares at me. "We've got to go. Apparently."
He stands up. "Well, let me just go and get me da. I know he'd like to meet you; it's good to see some friendly faces now and again."
"Mum?" My daughter looks at me. "What's the harm?"
"No harm. We just need to be getting back."
I'm not looking at Joel, but I can feel him eyeing up my full bags of swag. Lottie's looking from him to me, from me to him.
She's far from stupid, so why can't she sense that something's not quite right?
I know the answer to that. I can't blame her; maybe I'd be the same if it was Dex sitting there.
No, I wouldn't. But then I'm not sixteen.
Silence falls between the three of us, and I'm all too aware of the tension.
I hear Kara and Rowan emerge from the smashed front window of B&M; as I turn to look at them, Joel takes a few paces back, slowly, slowly, walking backwards, looking at us, then over his shoulder.
At us, and back. At us, and back.
Lottie's asking me what my problem is, and Rowan is squawking about something, but my eyes are fixed on Joel. I hear him whistle—
—and all at once the moment turns from mildly worrying to threatening to oh-Christ-we're-in-trouble—
Joel's whistle brings forth not his friendly dad looking for boots for his mum, but four men. Thugs. Heavy guys. Tattooed faces, bald heads, skinhead boots.
The sort who would scare the life out of me even back in the old world.
We don't even get a chance to run; I can't alert the others to the danger in time, because the five of them are forming a circle around us, and one steps forward. He's the biggest, the broadest. He has a spider’s web inked onto his neck, icy blue eyes like Joel's, hands in the pockets of a black hoodie.
"Been shopping, ladies?"
I step closer to the others.
Kara speaks. "We're just off home. Don't want any trouble."
"You've got a lot of stuff there," Spider Man says, nodding at our bags. "Seems a bit unfair to me that you've been in there and taken it all."
"There's more," I say. "Cereals, and packets." I wonder if Kara has that knife with her.
My legs are weak with fear.
Lottie pulls on my sleeve. "Mum, let 'em have it. We can get stuff somewhere else."
I agree with her, but Kara's looking defiant. So is Rowan, for that matter.
They haven't got a daughter to protect.
All the same, we need what's in those bags. All of it. It's not only the tins. I got the last of the TCP and Dettol, the paracetamol, plasters and bandages. When all the shops and small businesses we raid are empty we'll be down to houses, and none of us like doing that, essential though it will become.
Spider Man saunters nearer, and his posse, including Joel (whose dreamy blue eyes are no longer looking at my daughter with such affection), assume menacing stances, thumbs in waistbands, mirroring their leader.
"I reckon," he says, fixing his eyes on me, "I reckon that you ought to be a bit more neighbourly. You know, help us out. Give us half of the stuff you've got."
I clutch hold of the bags. "We'll give you some of the tins, but we need the rest. There's still stuff in the shop."
He comes closer to me. Closer, closer, until I can smell the whisky fumes from his dentally challenged mouth. Ugh. He grabs hold of my chin. "Yeah, but yous’ll've took all the decent shit, won't you?"
"There's booze left." My voice sounds high, scared. "Loads of it. Sweets and biscuits, too."
"We don't want fucking chocolate bars. Paper shops are full of 'em, still. We want proper food, like you've got."
I'm aware of the others leering and laughing; the day in the Cuthbert Centre hurtles back into my mind.
I get it. It's not only about the food. It's about
power. He's terrorising us because he can. If they hurt Lottie—
I open my mouth but his hands have moved to my shoulders, and I'm so scared I can't speak.
I feel Rowan move forward, beside me.
"Get off her, you disgusting oaf! Who the hell do you think you are?"
Oh my God, no. Rowan, please don't. Please shut up.
"I said, leave her alone, you revolting thug!"
Spider Man laughs, drops his hands, and points at her. "Whoa, what we got here? Fucking Princess Kate?" He turns to his mates, jabbing his thumb in Rowan's direction. "Lass over here says I'm an oaf! Should we show her just how disgusting I can be, lads?" He moves closer to her and makes a couple of obscene gestures, to the tune of whistles and clapping from his gang. Including Joel; Lottie is in tears. Angry tears.
"You scumbags," my daughter shouts. "Leave us alone!"
"Why aye, I'm a scumbag, now!" Joel looks around, laughing. "She was begging us for it a minute ago!"
Kara folds her arms. "Look," she says. "There's stuff left in the shop." She lifts up her holdall filled with that precious food. "How about we give you this, and you let us go on our way?"
Spider Man stops laughing. Holds up his hand, and the rest of them fall silent, too.
"Not happening," he says. "Might've done, but y'mate insulted us, pet."
And quick as a flash he grabs my arm, whips me around, and I feel a cold, sharp blade against my cheek.
He grins at me, those disgusting yellow teeth and that sickly, whisky breath, and runs the steel, so gently, under my chin. Across my neck.
The world closes down to just him and me.
I shut my eyes. I'm going to die. He's going to kill me for some tins of Stagg chilli, there'll be no one to take care of Lottie, and I'll never see Dex again.
"Think I'll take this 'un wi’ me. Alright, isn't she? You want the lass, Joel?"
"Please, don't hurt my daughter—"
"Back off." The voice at my side is sharp, harsh.
It's Kara.
My eyelids spring open.
She's holding a gun, pointed straight at him.
Kara has a gun.
"I said, back off."
Spider Man laughs, and I'm sure the blade will cut me; the flat of the knife is cold under my jaw.
"Look, lads!" He turns his head to his mates, and maybe I could take that opportunity to push his arm off, wriggle out of his grasp, but I'm paralysed. "Look, she's got herself a toy gun!"
Laughter.
"Put it away, love!"
Kara doesn't flinch. "Get away from her."
Spider Man puts his head on one side, and grins. "You're not fooling anyone, pet. You're just making yourself look daft."
Crack!
It's not a toy.
Spider Man falls away from me, screaming and clutching the side of his thigh.
Bloody hell. She's done it again. Superwoman Kara.
"Fuck! My fucking leg!" His mouth is drawn back in a grimace of agony as he rolls onto the ground. "Don't just stand there, you fucking morons, get her! Fuck!"
But the other men edge away.
"I’m not getting killed over some tins o' soup," says one of them, and runs off.
"Don't leave us here, you bunch of cunts!" Spider Man rolls around. "Get back here! Ow, fuck! Joe, you're not going to let them do this to me, are you?"
"She's got a gun," says Joel. He pulls at Spider Man's shoulder. "Come on, Da, we'll help you, let's just go!"
The lad doesn't look so cocky now.
Kara's still standing there, gun pointing at them. She doesn't move a muscle.
"Bloody hell," murmurs Rowan. "I think we win."
The men are moving away, hoisting Spider Man up, shooting nervous glances back at us.
"Don't shoot!"
"We're going, you can keep your stuff!"
I grab Lottie's arm.
"Yeah, fuck you!" she shouts at them, shoving her middle finger into the air.
"Don't." I drag her away. "Lottie, stop it." I don't want her descending to their level.
Kara puts her gun back in the waistband of her jeans, underneath her jacket.
It's over.
I don't know it's going to happen, hate that it does, but once we're safely in the car I lose it. Shaking, crying, hysteria I can't control. I hate that I've fallen apart in front of Lottie. I'm the biggest wuss in the world, while the others coped like it's just a normal day at the shops, but I can't stop it, until Kara grabs me by the shoulders.
I think she's going to slap me round the face, or tell me to pull myself together, but she doesn't. She puts both arms around me and holds me tight against her.
"It's okay, we've got you, you're safe, it's over," she keeps repeating, and I calm down, but even when I've calmed down I can't stop crying; I'm crying because she's being so damn nice to me.
Even Rowan pats me on the shoulder and says, "Ghastly bunch of yobbos, as if they could get the better of us."
Lottie's crying, too, but she's telling me it's okay, they've gone, and then she says, "Didn't we rock? Kara, you were awesome!" And we all start to laugh. It's a good moment; no, it's an awesome one.
"Girl power, or what?" says Kara, and that leads to a silly conversation about which Spice Girl we are; Lottie says that Kara is Scary and Rowan is Posh, but Rowan says no thank you very much, if it would mean being married to that oik David Beckham. I was a kid when the Spice Girls were around; I wanted to be Geri. Rowan says she was in her early teens (which must mean she's over forty; no way does she look it), and thought they were too hopelessly uncool for words.
Driving home, relief takes over and we're laughing and chatting like we're back in the old world and we've been having a fun girls' day out.
It's so odd; I actually feel happy. My emotions are all over the place, and I know that my hysteria was a delayed reaction from the Cuthbert day, but for the first time I feel a real bond with Kara, and even a bit with Rowan, too.
We're in such a good mood when we get back; the men think it's because we've got new clothes and toiletries. We don't bother to enlighten them.
Later, I ask Kara about the gun.
"Heath got it for me," she says. "That day they came back with Ozzy and Rowan; they weren't only going for medical supplies. Heath met up with a group of bikers before he came here; they're based over at Tynemouth, taken over a hotel. They said they were willing to trade, so Heath found them enough Jack Daniels and cigarettes to keep them going until the next century."
I smile. "So how many have you got?"
"Three."
I nod. "Can I just ask—why didn't you tell me before?"
She bites her lip. "Oh, you know. Because you've got a sixteen-year-old daughter. I didn't know if you'd approve."
"I approve of us being safe. If it takes guns, I'm okay with that. Don't leave me out of things. I mean, let me in on what's going on. I hate not knowing."
"Okay. Yes, I get that."
"Do I get to have a go?"
"We haven't got much ammo. Certainly not enough for target practice. Phil's had the idea of scouting round the refugee camps that've gone south. Seeing if anything's been left behind. Might be some rifles, even."
"Good idea. I've never even held a gun. You knew what to do today though, didn't you?"
She laughs. "No. I was aiming for his foot."
I need to have a talk with Lottie. When I enter her room, later that evening, her expression tells me she's waiting for a ticking off, although I don't want it to be like that, not now.
"We've got to be more careful when we meet strangers," I say. "We're not in safe little Norfolk anymore."
I get the truculent teenage shutdown. "Yeah, Mum, I do know that. I'm not stupid."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I don't want to talk down to you. But what I mean is that we can't automatically trust people, assume they have good intentions, not like we used to. They're going to have agendas, now." I needed to tell her about the Cuthbert Centre in order to
explain myself properly, but I'm not ready for that.
She lets out an impatient sigh. "I know."
"I hope you do. It's not going to get better for a long time, either. It's going to get worse, if anything."
"Mum, give it a rest." She stands up. "I actually get stuff, believe it or not. I made a mistake because I fancied him, that's all."
"Okay. I understand." I touch her arm, but she shrugs it off.
"It's easy to act dumb when you fancy someone," she says, and stands up to leave the room. As she reaches the door, she looks over her shoulder. "Look at you, with Dex."
She's being hostile because she feels silly for being taken in by Joel, but her words still hurt.
She may not be aware of Dex's betrayal, but she knows that if he's still alive, he's abandoned me.
He's scarcely mentioned by anyone, now. I imagine they think it's been too long, now.
I still think of him all the time. This can't be the end, it just can't be.
Chapter Eighteen
Travis and Aria
Travis lies awake, thinking. He hadn't expected Aria to want to stay there, just the two of them, forever, but he's surprised she has tired of it quite so soon.
A few hours earlier, as they ate the rabbit who'd fallen foul of his snare (rabbit snaring courtesy of childhood lessons from Doug, the gardener), Aria hugged her knees to her chest, gazed into the flames, and said it was time to think about what to do next. How they were going to live. Where they were going to live.
She avoided looking at him; she only did eye contact when she was in sweetness and light mode. He'd got to know her well, over the last three months.
He said, "What are we going to find elsewhere that we haven't got here?"
"People. Other perspectives. Life. And our supplies won't last forever."
He knew she was right, but he didn't want the dynamic of their relationship to change, which it would as soon as other people become part of the equation.
He wasn't ready to go out into the world yet.
When they left London, the quiet after the storm had yet to arrive, and their journey, which should have taken no more than two hours, was fraught with obstacles. Several times they were forced to choose a new route; roads were blocked with barricades thrown up by soldiers, the police or armies of civilians. Everyone wanted to see those green wristbands. Windows shattered and fires raged, the result of the army's attempts to contain the disease, Travis suggested, though Aria thought vandalism the more likely cause. After navigating their way across the capital they used back roads where possible, but these were littered with abandoned cars, most of which were left because they'd run out of petrol, as they discovered when they, too, ran out.