Trust

by David Moody

  ‘What’s up, mate? No work today?’

  ‘No work today,’ he replied, his voice quiet and slightly slurred.

  ‘Are you sick? Has something happened?’

  No answer this time. Tom turned his attention to Stephanie who was gazing up at the ceiling. He discreetly leant down, picked up the flap of her open dressing gown, and covered her legs. She was showing herself, and it made him feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Stephanie?’

  He crouched down beside her and shook her shoulder but she didn’t respond. Aware of movement behind him, he turned around and saw Beth trying to watch over his shoulder.

  ‘What’s the matter with them?’ she asked, her wavering voice quiet, almost like she didn’t want to be heard.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Tom replied, wishing he could give her a better answer – any answer, even. ‘How long have they been like this?’

  ‘Just today,’ Beth told him. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  A sudden, high-pitched cry from elsewhere in the house made Tom catch his breath. The baby. He cursed himself for not thinking about little Felicity sooner. When neither of her parents reacted, he stood up.

  ‘Where’s your sister?’

  ‘Still in her cot,’ Beth replied. ‘She keeps crying. I tried to get her to stop, but she won’t.’

  ‘Does she have any milk or anything like that?’

  ‘Mummy feeds her.’

  Now what did he do? Things were happening at such a rate in this house that he didn’t know which way to turn. He ran upstairs and checked from room to room until he found the baby in her cot. Although he knew she’d probably be able to do very little to help, he was relieved when he heard Beth follow him upstairs.

  ‘I don’t know very much about babies,’ he admitted as he peered into Felicity’s cot. The smell was worse than the noise. He was no expert, but it was clear both from the stench and the bulge around the baby’s middle that it had been a long time since her nappy had been changed.

  ‘Stephanie,’ he shouted downstairs, hoping she’d hear him and snap back into life. ‘The baby needs changing. Will you come up and do it?’

  He waited for an answer he knew wasn’t coming.

  ‘She won’t,’ Beth said. ‘I’ve asked her loads of times.’

  ‘Do you know what to do?’

  ‘I’ve seen Mummy do it, but I can’t. Can you?’

  ‘Looks like I’ll have to. You’ll have to tell me if I’m doing it right. Where’s all the stuff?’

  Beth dived over to a corner of the room then returned clutching a fresh nappy, a bag of cotton wool, a tub of cream and a packet of wipes. Not at all sure what he was doing – and feeling distinctly uncomfortable about touching the baby – Tom slowly removed her pyjamas. He braced himself and undid her bulging nappy, gagging both at the smell and what he saw and doing what he could to hide his disgust from Beth.

  ‘I don’t like that,’ she said, backing away.

  ‘You and me both,’ he admitted, eyes watering, swallowing down bile. ‘Now be a good girl and try and find me some clean clothes for your sister.’

  *

  Ten minutes of struggling – both with the distressed baby and his delicate stomach – and the job was done to a decent enough standard. He carried Felicity downstairs to her mother and, between him and Beth, managed to get Stephanie sitting upright. He propped her up in a comfortable position so she could feed her child. Tom cringed at every moment, drowning in the awkwardness of the situation, trying to pull the top of Stephanie’s nightdress down low enough so the baby could get to her breast without inappropriately touching her flesh himself. She didn’t react when he inadvertently touched her breast. Thankfully instinct at last seemed to take over. Stephanie finally held onto her daughter, and the little girl latched onto her mother’s nipple and began to feed.

  Tom turned his attention to James and Mark. He picked the young lad up and laid him down on another chair, covering him with a blanket, then focussed on his father.

  ‘James!’ Tom shouted in his face, pulling him forward and shaking his shoulders. ‘James, mate, what’s going on?’

  No response. His eyes barely flickered. Tom shook him again and then dropped him back into the chair.

  ‘Shall we get the doctor?’ Beth asked.

  Tom couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He didn’t want her to pick up on the fear he was beginning to feel in the pit of his stomach. ‘I don’t know.’

  He put on his coat and moved towards the front door.

  ‘You going?’ Bethany asked. ‘Please don’t go.’

  Tom didn’t want to leave the children, but he knew he had to go. They weren’t his responsibility, Siobhan was. ‘Is there anyone else who can look after you?’

  ‘Mrs Price,’ Bethany said.

  ‘Who’s Mrs Price?’

  ‘Don’t know. Just this old lady who comes around when Mummy and Daddy go out sometimes.’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Does she come in a car?’

  ‘No, I think she lives near here. Mummy makes Dad walk her home. I’ve stayed up and heard them talking before now.’

  ‘Which way’s her house?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘I’ll go and find her.’

  With that he opened the door and took a step out onto the street. He turned back. Bethany was standing in the doorway, eyes wide. Behind her he could see Stephanie, head drooping, just about managing to hold onto her baby.

  ‘Will you come back?’ Beth asked.

  Tom steadied himself. He had to do this. ‘I’ll go find Mrs Price. Either she’ll come and look after you or I will. I won’t leave you on your own, okay?’

  She nodded and he forced himself to go.

  Tom tried five houses before he got any answer. It wasn’t Mrs Price, but he did find a Mrs Simpson, a reassuringly lucid woman in her late-sixties. When he explained what was happening she immediately agreed to look after the kids. She knew them – rather, she’d heard them – and, more importantly, she too had realised something was seriously wrong this morning. She tried to ask Tom about it, pleaded with him to explain the inexplicable, but he couldn’t. Despite her protests, he left her.

  He felt like a callous, uncaring shit as he drove away, but the truth was James, Stephanie and their family were not his main concern. He needed to get to Siobhan.

  CHAPTER 29

  Tom continued out through the village and on towards Siobhan’s flat. He fought to keep his attention fixed on the road, struggling despite there being hardly any other traffic or pedestrians around.

  What he’d seen at James and Stephanie’s house had terrified him. Until then he’d been trying to convince himself that this morning had just been a series of bizarre, unconnected events, but the further he travelled, the more he began to realise that was bullshit. He’d been lying to himself, trying to keep calm and not blow things out of proportion, convincing himself that the reason everything felt so quiet today was just because he’d got used to everywhere being busy these last few bizarre months. The truth was, whatever it was that was happening to the people of Thatcham, it was no bizarre coincidence or isolated issue. It was fucking huge. Fucking terrifying.

  He passed only one other car and just a handful of people in all the time he was driving. One young lad was sitting on the step of a driverless bus going nowhere. A woman was walking along the side of the road like a drunk. If only drink had been the reason for her freakish behaviour, he thought. Once he’d passed he looked back in his rear view mirror and saw that underneath her long brown coat she was completely naked. Elsewhere he saw several other folks who looked like they’d just given up and stopped. Some were lying on the pavement. One man was face-down on the white line in the middle of the road. Everyone was grinding to a halt. The more of them he saw, the more frightened he became.

  Tom’s heart thumped in his chest as he pulled up outside Siobhan’s
flat. He looked in through the window, his breath clouding the glass, but couldn’t make out anything in the gloom. He rang the buzzer but there was no reply. He unlocked the door and went inside.

  He found Siobhan sitting on the end of the bed, naked but for a bra which wasn’t even done up. She didn’t move, didn’t react to his presence at all. Her hair was a mess. The remains of yesterday’s makeup smudged around her eyes.

  ‘Siobhan?’

  She didn’t flinch.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked. Still nothing. ‘Are you sick?’ He reached across and touched her arm. She felt ice-cold. ‘Siobhan,’ he said again, his voice louder, ‘what’s wrong?’

  Very slowly, almost undetectably at first, she moved her eyes slightly. He couldn’t tell if she was looking at him or trying to look away. He picked the duvet up off the floor and draped it over her shoulders. Not knowing what else to do, he filled up the kettle and put her last two slices of bread in the toaster. The sink was full of dirty plates, the bin overflowing.

  Is this the best you can do, you useless fucker? He screamed at himself. Your girlfriend’s catatonic and you’re making toast?

  He didn’t know what else to do. Was there anything else he could do? If he called for a doctor or an ambulance, would anyone come, or were they all in the same state as this? His mind filled with images of silent hospitals, all the people there completely unmoving, lying in the corridors, slumped at the bottom of staircases. He imagined Drayton in the same state as Thatcham was this morning, then cities like Birmingham and London, then the rest of the world…

  The toast popped up, the sudden noise making him catch his breath. He took the plate through to Siobhan and put it down next to her, then tried tearing a strip of toast off and offering it to her like she was a pet. He even pushed it up against her mouth but she didn’t react at all, didn’t even lick away the crumbs on her lips. Should he force feed her? Try and make her eat? Did it even matter anymore?

  His mobile rang. He fumbled for it in his pocket and answered quickly, hands shaking, heart thumping.

  ‘Tom? Tom, is that you?’

  ‘Clare?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at Siobhan’s house.’

  ‘Can you come over?’

  ‘Not really… Siobhan’s sick. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Penny too.’

  ‘No better than last night?’

  ‘Worse. She’s barely moving. I’m scared.’

  Tom looked down at Siobhan, still comatose. Should he bother telling Clare everything he’d seen this morning? He struggled with his next question, knowing it would sound bad, no matter how carefully he phrased it.

  ‘Clare, is there anyone else who could—’

  ‘There’s no one else,’ she answered immediately, cutting across him. ‘You’re the only person still answering.’

  Tom paced the room. The plate of toast slid off Siobhan’s bed and hit the floor. Holding the phone to his ear with one hand, he struggled to clean up the food with the other. Siobhan still didn’t move.

  ‘Tom… you there?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘I need help. Can you come? Please, Tom.’

  ‘I can’t leave Siobhan. She’s hardly moving, Clare. Barely even knows I’m here. I think Rob might be the same. He’s still at home…’

  ‘Sorry… I’ll keep trying, see if I can get anyone else to answer. Sorry, Tom.’

  She was about to disconnect the call when he realised he didn’t want her to go. Didn’t want to lose her voice.

  ‘Wait, Clare. Just give me a little time. I’ll come over.’

  ‘But what about Siobhan and your brother?’

  ‘Don’t do anything,’ he said, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to anymore, just glad to have found someone else still able to communicate. ‘Stay there and I’ll be over.’

  Tom’s head was spinning as he ended the call, trying to balance Clare and Penny’s relative importance against Siobhan and Rob’s. And then there was the mess he’d left back at James and Stephanie’s house… Where the hell did he start? Could he do anything for any of them?

  He made a half-hearted attempt to move Siobhan, pulling her arms and trying to get her up onto her feet, but she didn’t respond. She remained a dead weight.

  ‘Help me!’ he yelled at her, but her face didn’t flicker. He yanked her arm again and pulled too hard, almost dragging her over. She fell onto her side and remained where she’d fallen. She looked at him – through him – with vacant eyes, and he gave up. Admitting defeat, he draped the duvet over her again. ‘I’ll be back. I’ll go and get the others and I’ll be right back.’

  CHAPTER 30

  Clare was out of the door before Tom had even stopped the engine. She ran across the road and grabbed hold of him. He revelled in the sudden close contact of another lucid person.

  ‘You okay?’ was all he could think to say. Stupid bloody question.

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on. I can’t get anything out of Penny. I tried calling the doctor, but no one answered. I tried 999, Tom. I couldn’t get an answer on bloody 999!’

  He followed her inside. The last few times he’d been here, the place had been full of Penny’s noise and bluster. Now the building felt cold and unwelcoming, as unnaturally quiet as everywhere else. Clare stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Her room. She hasn’t moved all morning, Tom.’

  ‘Can I see her?’

  She nodded and took him up to her little girl’s bedroom. She seemed to slow down as she approached the door. She reached out for the handle but didn’t open it, turning back and looking to him for reassurance. He braced himself, not sure what to expect. Clare pushed the door open, peered inside, then stood out of the way to let Tom through.

  The small room was just as he remembered; bright, colourful, innocent. There were toys scattered all about the floor, but no sign of Penny. The bed was unmade and empty. Clare gestured over to the other side of the bed. Tom walked a little further, cringing as the floorboards creaked loudly under his weight, and then he found her. She was slumped on the floor in the corner of the room, her head lolling over to one side as if she’d cricked her neck. Her eyes were open. She was staring right at him, and yet at the same time it was as if she wasn’t looking anywhere at all.

  Penny’s unnatural appearance increased his unease. Tom wanted to get out but he made himself move closer. He crouched down in front of the little girl, feeling sure that at any second she’d snap out of this trance and start laughing like a kid again, as if it had all been one big joke. But she didn’t. She remained completely still. She didn’t even react when, out of sight of her mother, he gently picked up one of her hands and pinched her skin so hard it must have hurt.

  ‘Well?’

  Tom looked over his shoulder. Clare was standing just behind him, waiting at the foot of the bed.

  ‘Have you seen anyone else today?’ he asked.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Because they’re all like this, Clare.’

  ‘All of them?’ The disbelief in her voice was evident.

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense…’

  ‘I never said it did. I know, Clare, it’s fucked up. I don’t have a clue what’s going on. Penny’s exactly the same as Siobhan. And James and Stephanie too.’

  ‘James and Stephanie? Christ, Tom.’

  ‘One of the kids phoned me and I went around. Same reason you managed to get me – I’m the only idiot still answering. It’s like they’ve all just stopped…’

  ‘But why? What’s caused this?’

  ‘Come on, Clare, how the hell am I supposed to know?’

  ‘You should try and find your brother’s alien friend. He’ll know. It’s got to be something to do with them. Where is he?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, how am I supposed to know?’ he snapped at her.
He hadn’t realised he was yelling, but he could see it in Clare’s frightened reaction. He tried to apologise but he couldn’t find the words. He was scared, unable to think straight. He turned back to Penny, hoping she might have reacted to the noise too, but she hadn’t. She was stuck in the same uncomfortable-looking position.

  Tom got up and left the room, thumping back downstairs.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Clare shouted, chasing after him.

  ‘Siobhan and Rob,’ he replied, sounding as unsure as he felt.

  ‘Please don’t leave us here, Tom.’

  Confused, he walked back out to the car. He paused before getting in. He walked up to the front of the house next to Clare’s and rang the bell. When there was no immediate answer he began hammering on the door with his fist. ‘Who lives here?’

  Clare was right behind him. ‘His name’s Graham,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never had a lot to do with him.’

  ‘Is he likely to be in?’

  ‘Rarely goes out. Doesn’t have a job, as far as I’m aware.’

  There was still no answer. Tom rang the bell again, this time leaving his finger on the buzzer. Although muffled, they could clearly hear the shrill, continuous ringing from outside. He moved to the nearest window and peered in. He beckoned Clare over. She looked over his shoulder and saw her neighbour sitting on a sofa on the far side of the room, staring into space. He was just like the rest of them. Frozen. Unresponsive.

  ‘This is fucking crazy,’ Tom said, climbing over a low picket fence to get to the next house along. He used the brass knocker but had barely waited for the noise to fade before he tried the door and found it unlocked. He went inside. Clare was hesitant to follow. They could hear running water. The kitchen was flooded, the ceiling bowed, water dripping down.

  ‘Let’s go, Tom. Please.’

  ‘Wait here.’

  Tom ran upstairs. In the bathroom an overweight, middle-aged man was sitting in the base of the shower cubicle in several inches of water, his legs hanging out over the edge, water pouring over the top of the tray and flooding the carpet. The man – head bowed, skin pruned, water running into his open eyes and dripping off his forehead, nose and chin, didn’t react. Tom didn’t say anything, he just rattled the shower cubicle door. The man did nothing. Tom pulled the power cord and the water flow immediately stopped, but even that failed to illicit any response.