by Moody, David
‘What the hell was that all about?’ he asked. He looked around, conscious that the beer garden had become almost completely silent now. Even the lads in the corner had shut up temporarily.
✽✽✽
They hit trouble on the way home.
The roads through town should have been quiet but the traffic was backed-up unexpectedly. A police blockade stretched across the main road, numerous harsh blue lights blinking at varying speeds making it difficult to keep watching. Steven squinted into the brightness, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the glare. ‘See anything?’ Sam asked.
‘Just an accident, I think. Looks like there’s a few cars involved.’
The traffic started to move again, officers signalling for the queue of idling vehicles to snake along a path which had been cleared through the crash wreckage. Steven followed the taillights of the car in front as they wound between a minibus on one side of the carriageway – its bodywork crumpled like paper, every window a spider’s web of cracks – and an upturned car on the other. More flashing lights and more officers kept the traffic moving, guiding the queue of vehicles the wrong way around an obstructed roundabout along a hastily sign-posted diversion. Steven wasn’t concerned. There were plenty of alternative routes home from here. The traffic bunched up, then stopped again.
‘Christ, can you see that?’ Sam said, shuffling in her seat and craning her neck to look back down the length of a road they were level with.
‘See what?’
‘Down there. There are people fighting, Steve.’
She was right. He was only able to see for a few seconds before the traffic moved again, but there was definitely some kind of disturbance at the far end of the street. Two gangs of kids, it looked like, facing off against each other. A turf war, or something equally pointless, he decided. But this was a decent part of Cambridge, for Christ’s sake, not some inner-city ghetto. He was pleased when the traffic cleared and he was able to put his foot down. He just wanted to get home and get to bed.
6
FRIDAY 10 OCTOBER
He’d left the office earlier than usual – quite close, for once, to the time he should have finished – but getting home was slow going. He’d pulled out of the car park into a line of virtually stationary traffic and had barely managed to get out of second gear in the forty minutes he’d been behind the wheel. The air conditioning was on full, taking the edge off the heat. Thankfully the Audi was relatively comfortable. He wouldn’t have swapped places with the red-faced fat guy crammed into the front of an old Fiat Panda behind him. He looked like he was about to pass out. Steven nudged up the volume of the radio again, the presenter’s voice competing with the blowers which were struggling to keep him cool.
The trudge of traffic slowed again. There was something happening in the street up ahead, though it was difficult to make out. He still wasn’t used to this mix of summer heat and winter dark. It confused and annoyed him and by the looks of things he wasn’t the only one getting frustrated tonight. He stopped alongside another motorist arguing with a guy in a high-viz jacket and hard-hat. Like a nosy neighbour he turned down the air-con to eavesdrop on their bickering. ‘You tell me when we’re supposed to do it, then?’
‘Well I don’t bloody know,’ the sweat-soaked motorist said. The back of his work shirt was sodden, clinging to his back. ‘All I know is it’s Friday night rush hour. You know the roads are gonna be busy this time of week.’
‘Yeah, but you don’t get it, do ya? The bloody tarmac’s melted. If we don’t fix this, no one’s goin’ anywhere. End of bloody story.’
Steven was thankful when he made it past the road works. He crawled towards a junction then squeezed through an unexpected gap left by another driver mistiming their turn and blocking the oncoming traffic. He left one queue behind then almost immediately joined another. His phone vibrated on the dash and he picked it up, figuring it was safe for him to answer it as he wasn’t going anywhere fast. It was a message from Sam, asking where he was. In the time before he next moved forward again, he’d been able to compose and send a reply.
Despite it being uncomfortably hot, the quiet isolation inside the car was a relief. He’d had Brian Rose on the phone this afternoon, Rebecca’s boss, banging on about that case he’d sanctioned outside his authority. Christ, Brian had given him hell over it. And the worst thing was, he had absolutely no argument, no defence. He’d overstepped the mark without realising, and if things went belly-up, he knew the only neck on the line would be his. He wanted to forget it until Monday, but when he got home Sam would inevitably give him the third degree about his day, and he’d feel obliged to tell her and they’d spend the whole evening – no, probably the whole bloody weekend – going over it and over it and over it again.
But, on the other hand, talking about his royal fuck-up at work was easier than talking about anything else.
She was waiting at the door when he finally made it home. Ready to pounce. He was being unfairly harsh on her tonight, he knew he was. His defences were up, that was all. ‘You wouldn’t think I left early,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek as he went inside.
‘Busy out there?’
‘Crazy. Like you wouldn’t believe.’
‘I would believe it. You seen the news today?’
‘Haven’t had a second. Why, what’s happened?’
‘Climate change protest in London.’
‘Climate change?’ he said as he kicked off his shoes. ‘Bit late for that, isn’t it? The climate has changed.’
‘I know. About a hundred thousand people in the middle of the city, though, marching in this heat. It was pretty obvious it was never going to go well.’
‘I’ll watch the headlines in a while. I need a drink first.’
She followed him into the kitchen. ‘Are you worried, Steve?’
‘Worried? What about?’ He watched her face anxiously. Had she realised something was going on at work?
‘About the weather.’
He laughed. ‘I’ve got more important things to think about.’
‘People are starting to get really scared.’
‘Then they need to get their heads out of their backsides and get on with their lives. Jesus, I wish all I’d got to worry about was the bloody temperature.’
‘Like what?’
‘Eh?’
‘What else have you got to worry about? Come on, you never tell me anything anymore.’
‘It’s not interesting or important. Christ, I’ve just managed to get out of the office, the last thing I want to do is spend the weekend talking about all the shite going on there.’
‘Who rattled your cage?’
‘Sorry. Long day. Difficult day.’
She looked hurt, not surprised by his short fuse, but disappointed all the same. She carried on regardless. ‘You should have seen it. Horrible, it was. The police had got the march route all marked out, then a bunch of the protestors decided to go another way. The police penned them in close to Trafalgar Square and had to just leave them there ’cause the place was so busy they couldn’t easily move them on. They were giving them water but there was hardly any shade. People started passing out in the heat, Steve, and then other people started panicking. Seventeen dead, they said. Some got crushed by the crowds, others were just out in the sun too long. It was vile. It was all on TV. Most of them were just kids. They were collapsing and being trampled by the others. It was horrible. There was nothing anyone could have done...’
‘Well they could have tried not protesting,’ he said, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He went to the fridge and opened the door, breathing in the cool, eyes screwed shut at the brightness inside the cabinet.
‘What’s got into you?’ she asked. He took a Coke from the shelf and wiped his head with the bottle before opening it and draining it half dry.
‘I’ll be okay in a little while. Just need to get my breath back.’
‘You’re not going to be like this all weekend, are you?�
�
‘Like what?’
‘Snappy... argumentative... I’ve had enough. It’s not my fault, Steve. I’m sorry if you’ve had another shitty day, but I don’t see why you always have to take it out on me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he genuinely was.
She left him to stew for a few minutes and returned to the news. ‘Forgot to say, there’s some dinner in the microwave.’
He’d already found it, but he wasn’t hungry. He warmed the meal and poked it around the plate for a couple of minutes, but didn’t manage more than a mouthful or two. He scraped the rest into the bin, covering the evidence with kitchen roll and his empty Coke bottle. He peeled off his damp, sticky clothes and dumped them by the washing machine in the utility room, then walked into the lounge wearing only his shorts. He sat down on the other side of the room. Sam glanced up briefly.
‘Looking good,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’
‘You should have a shower.’
‘Do I smell?’
‘You’re very sweaty.’
‘I’ll go up in a minute.’
The room became quiet, the only noise coming from the TV. Live reports from the scene of the troubles Sam had been talking about were still being shown, interspersed with clips of the earlier chaos. There were far fewer people about in central London now. Steven, distracted, noticed that the Trafalgar Square fountains had run dry.
‘Did you sort out next weekend?’ Sam asked.
‘Next weekend?’
‘Christ, Steve, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. I want to go to Dad’s, remember? You said you’d try and get time off.’
‘Yeah, and I also said it would be difficult, remember?’
‘Bollocks. You did forget, didn’t you?’
‘How many more times do I have to tell you I—’
‘—had a crappy day,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m sorry if you’ve been busy, but this happens to be important to me.’
‘If you really want to know,’ he said, deciding that telling her about his run-in with Brian Rose might make his screw-up easier to swallow, ‘the reason the day was so hard was because I fucked up. I sanctioned a loan I shouldn’t have, and the reason I didn’t get to watch the news was because I spent half the bloody afternoon having my ear chewed off by the bloody regional manager.’
Sam watched the television, not him. He knew it hadn’t worked.
‘If you don’t want to go with me to see Dad, just say so. I’ll go on my own.’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t want to go, I said I couldn’t go. There’s a difference.’
‘The only difference is you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I know you better than you think I do. You don’t want to go. You’d have found a way if you did.’
‘You’re putting words into my mouth.’
‘Tell me I’m not right then. Come on, put me straight. I can’t take much more of this.’
‘Of what?’
‘The fact you’re not even aware just makes it worse. What’s happening to us, Steve? This isn’t about work or Dad, is it? It’s about you and me. I think you don’t want to be with me anymore.’
‘That’s just rubbish.’
‘Is it? Is it really? I’m not so sure.’
‘You don’t understand...’
‘No, Steve, you don’t understand. Fact is, I’m going to see Dad next weekend, whether you come with me or not.’
‘Wait, Sam...’ he said, but she didn’t. She got up and thundered upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind her. He followed her and knocked. ‘Sam, please...’
‘Leave me alone.’
He opened the door and took a step inside. ‘Can we just talk about this?’
‘I’ve been trying to talk to you for days and you’ve not been interested. Actually, no, I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. Don’t insult me by deciding you want to talk now.’
‘But Sam...’
‘But nothing. Leave me alone.’
He waited, watching her. She was lying on the bed with her back to him. He wished he could talk, he really did, but he didn’t know what to say. The words refused to come. Instead he left the bedroom and went back downstairs and slumped in his usual position in front of the TV, cranking up the volume to fill the void with noise.
It was a family-friendly magazine show, complete with family-friendly scientist to talk about the conditions: a popular, good-looking bloke with a natural ability to explain even the most complex ideas in layman’s terms. Steven thought he’d probably made a fortune in appearance fees recently from this bloody heat-wave. He concentrated on the scientist’s words because that was far easier than thinking about anything else tonight. He was talking about what had happened last night, when he and Sam had been sitting outside the pub, when the dark of night had been temporarily lifted. ‘All indications are that what we experienced was some kind of energy pulse emanating from the sun. In fact, it wasn’t the first of these pulses. There was another at the end of August, and several more before that.’
‘So they’re increasing in intensity?’ the programme’s presenter asked. This guy annoyed Steven. He was infuriatingly likeable. If it was the end of the world he’d still have that bloody fixed grin on his face.
‘Their strength has increased,’ the scientist said, ‘but I have to stress there’s no evidence they’ll continue to do so. This is a type of solar activity we’ve not come across before, but that’s almost certainly because the last time this did happen, we didn’t have the means to properly monitor events.’
‘So this has happened before?’
‘We believe so, though maybe not for a hundred years or more. We think there are a series of complex reactions taking place deep in the heart of the sun itself, and they’re manifesting themselves as these energy pulses as well as the increased temperature levels we’re continuing to experience.’
It was clear to Steven that this man was talking with great authority but little knowledge. There were lots of blanks, lots of gaps in the facts being filled with supposition and speculation. Most of the viewing public would have swallowed it all without question, Steven was sure of that, but to a cynic like him, it made the scientist sound like he didn’t have a fucking clue.
The presenter asked an obviously rehearsed question, designed to prompt a reassuring answer. ‘So these extreme conditions may well peak soon?’
‘They may have peaked already. Whilst we’ve not previously seen solar activity of this type, strength and duration, people really shouldn’t be alarmed. There’s much we don’t yet know about the sun, but one thing we do know is that solar activity is generally cyclical in nature. Once this current cycle ends, we’ll be back to normal. Until then, I’d recommend people just keep calm and carry on. Follow all the usual precautions for avoiding prolonged exposure to sunlight and heat, and enjoy this beautiful weather while it lasts.’
7
TUESDAY 14 OCTOBER
They barely spoke all weekend, and didn’t leave the house. By Sunday they were just about on speaking terms again, Steven having promised to sort things out at work so they could go and visit Sam’s dad next weekend. He didn’t know which he feared most, risking leaving the office when things were so difficult there, or pissing Sam off again and pushing her even further away.
Sam had been upset when he’d got home on Monday evening, but for once he didn’t seem to be the cause. He asked her what had happened. ‘It was horrible,’ she told him. ‘He was out of his bloody mind. The delivery had been delayed, or something like that. The assistant was trying to explain that there were shortages everywhere, but he wasn’t having any of it. He had her by the neck, up against the wall. All the other staff and customers were panicking and I’d got a trolley full of shopping so I couldn’t go anywhere... He was just standing there in his shorts and flip-flops, like he’d just come in off the beach, then he stopped and looked around and it was like realisation dawned. He let the
woman go and he just broke down in the middle of the supermarket. He was sobbing, going on about his wife and kids and how all he wanted was to keep them safe but couldn’t...’
‘Heatstroke,’ Steven had unhelpfully suggested.
‘It was more than that. He’d properly lost it, Steve. And the thing is, once one person starts, other people start acting the same. This woman started yelling at me, accusing me of taking the bag of potatoes she had her eye on... honestly, it was horrible. It’s panic, pointless panic. It spreads like wildfire. It scares me. It makes me want to lock the door and never go outside again.’
✽✽✽
Tuesday had been unexpectedly quiet at work. When Steven made it home that evening, there was a car outside his house he recognised but hadn’t expected to see. He thought about going around the block a few times or even going back to the office, but he knew that wasn’t an option. It was his house, for Christ’s sake. He cursed himself for being so spineless. Was he really going to allow himself to be pushed around like this in his own home?
Deep breath. Calm.
The windows were open. He could hear them talking. He unlocked the door and went inside. They were both in the kitchen. Sam looked up as he entered the room. She’d been crying. Not good. Not good at all.