by Moody, David
‘Like Trevor?’
‘Exactly, like Trevor.’
‘So that’s the epiphany? You finally realised the government might be lying to us?’
She scowled at him. ‘Piss off, you cheeky sod. Governments always lie, everyone knows that. No, I started thinking, what if he’s right? What if our number’s up and we’re all gonna burn? And it occurs to me, there’s every chance things could get really bad here. I start trying to imagine what it’s going to be like if the temperature keeps climbing. You know it’s over thirty degrees near Heathrow today? It’s the middle of October. We shouldn’t have temperatures like that it in the middle of summer, never mind October. This time last year Trev and I were in Morocco. Christ alone knows what it must be like there right now. So I said to Trevor, what happens if the temperature just keeps climbing? I asked him how hiding in the garage was going to help.’
‘And what did he say to that?’
‘Nothing he could say, really. So I’m starting to get a little shaky ’cause these are big things we’re talking about. I was asking him what he’d do, how he’d protect us... and I realised there was nothing there. And I listened to what he had to say and how he said it, and I realised he didn’t really have a clue. And I thought to myself, if my number’s up, do I really want to spend the little time I’ve got left here with him, hiding in the garage? Or do I want to make the most of it and have a little fun? Do all the things he’s been promising me for years that have never materialised? That’s my epiphany.’
‘So where is he, Trevor?’
‘Sitting cross-legged in his shelter, I guess,’ she said. She laughed sadly. Steven smiled as he pictured the desperate survivalist camping out like a Boy Scout in some gloomy, rubbish-filled garage. But the smiles and laughs faded as he thought more about what Lydia had said. Was it really possible that this was the beginning of something more serious, or was he just letting his melancholy mood get the better of him?
‘So what do you say?’ she asked.
‘About what?’
‘About having fun? Jesus, Steve, you’re no better than Trevor. Are you up for it?’
The penny finally dropped. ‘What? No... sorry, you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m married.’
‘So am I.’
‘I’m happily married.’
‘So where is she then? Why are you sitting here in a bar on your own, and not a particularly good bar at that?’
‘My wife’s gone away for a couple of days.’
‘Perfect timing.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Not what you’re thinking. I was just remembering all that crap Trevor was spouting earlier... all I mean is, if what he read about the sun is true, then your wife’s picked a hell of a bad time to go away. If things are going to get as bad as Trev’s predicting, now’s the time to be with the people you want to be with, and away from the people you don’t. That make any sense? You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a little pissed.’
It made perfect sense. ‘I do want to be with her.’
‘I thought you were going to say that,’ Lydia said, her voice slightly softer, sounding disappointed. ‘No chance of disappearing off somewhere for a quick fuck then? No strings...’
He was taken aback by her bluntness. It intimidated him and he admired it in equal measure. ‘No. Thank you, though.’
‘You don’t have to be so polite,’ she laughed.
‘It’s not that I wouldn’t...’ he began to say, worried he’d offended her and digging himself into a hole. She looked far from concerned.
‘Don’t apologise, love, it’s okay. It’s hot, I’m hot, and I’m sure someone will oblige. There’ll be plenty of other blokes, no disrespect. All I want is a bit of excitement. Someone to hold me and make me feel good about myself, someone to make me feel wanted. It’s not a lot to ask.’
‘I’m sorry, I just—’
She put her hand over his mouth, teasing him with her touch. ‘Stop apologising. It’s all right. I can take a hint. When’s she due back, your better half?’
He looked away. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Like that, is it?’
‘Like what?’
‘Having problems? She gone away for a little ‘me’ time?’
‘Something like that,’ he mumbled, surprised by her perceptiveness. Was it that obvious?
‘Like I said, lousy timing. So what are you going to do?’
‘What can I do?’
‘Well you can’t just leave things as they are and wait for her to come waltzing back, can you? Not with the world going to shit out there.’
‘Suppose.’
‘You suppose? Jeez. You’re a bloody drip. Do you love her?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘I should have known the answer to that. There’s not many blokes around here who’d have turned down what I’m offering tonight. It’s not too late to change your mind...’
‘No, I...’
‘I’m kidding. Seriously, don’t worry about it. I think it’s sweet, actually.’
‘Sweet?’
‘You pining after your girl like a lovesick teenager. I just don’t understand why you’re here and she’s there, that’s all.’
‘It’s a long story. You wouldn’t want to hear it.’
‘You’re probably right. Got kids?’
He shook his head and stared into his half-empty beer glass. ‘We lost a baby.’
‘When?’
‘End of July.’
‘Is that what’s caused the problems? Your wife struggled with it?’
How did he answer? Should he even bother? Why not just get up and leave? Instead he stopped. It felt wrong to let this woman – whoever she was – assume. ‘No... Sam’s been okay, actually. She’s handled it pretty well, all things considered.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ Lydia asked, pushing just a little too hard. When he didn’t say anything she jumped to another conclusion. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one who’s got the problem.’
‘Piss off.’
‘You’ve pushed her away, haven’t you? I can tell...’
‘You can’t just forget and switch off, you know.’
‘Who said anything about forgetting? It’s like Trevor and his pointless shelter.’
He was getting angry now. ‘No offence, but it’s got fuck-all to do with your husband and his stupid bloody shelter.’
Lydia was unfazed. ‘It has though, if you think about it. My boring dick of a husband is sitting on his own at home now, shitting himself, and it’s absolutely bloody pointless. I even said as much to him. I said, what’s the point? I said, how’s hiding in the garage going to help anyone if the sun explodes?’
‘This has got nothing to do with me and my wife,’ he said and he started to get up. Quick as a flash, Lydia grabbed his arm.
‘It’s got everything to do with you. No amount of moping around or feeling sorry for yourself is going to bring your baby back, is it? What’s done is done and all you can do now – all any of us can do – is try and make the most of the time we’ve got left. If we are all fucked, none of what’s gone before counts for anything. And that’s why I’m out here tonight, looking for a decent man to hold me and tell me that I matter. And that’s why you should be with your wife, not sitting here crying into your beer like a bloody loser.’
‘You’ve got a fucking nerve,’ he said, incensed. ‘You come in here and think you can tell me what’s wrong with my marriage. You don’t know anything about me or Sam or—’
‘Do you love her?’ Lydia interrupted, asking him for the second time.
‘I already told you.’
‘I’m serious here... I mean do you honestly, genuinely love her? Not like when Trevor says love you, petal, to me and kisses me on the cheek before he rolls over and starts snoring each night. How do you feel when you’re apart like this?’
Steven tried to hide a tear, cursing himself for being so bloody weak. ‘I can’t stand it. Why do you
think I came here? I couldn’t bear to be at home without her.’
‘So go and do something about it, you idiot. Go and find her, tell her you love her and that you’ve been an absolute prick. Sweep her up into your arms before it’s too late because if Trevor and his cranks are right, we might not have that long.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘I never said it would be. It wasn’t easy for me to get dolled up and walk out on Trevor today after nineteen years of marriage, but I did it. Strikes me nothing much is going to be easy anymore. Go home, Steven, get yourself together, and go get your wife back. Is she far?’
‘North Wales.’
‘Far enough then. Seriously, love, do it. You don’t have time to waste. I don’t think any of us do.’
9
THURSDAY 16 OCTOBER
He’d fallen asleep making plans to leave and had dreamed intermittently about cowering away in roasting hot garages, hiding alongside madmen, clock-watching. Despite everything, when Steven got up next morning, he talked himself out of leaving straightaway for Criccieth. Last night... the woman in the otherwise empty bar, the things she’d said her husband had told her... it all seemed implausible now. In the cold light of day (not that it was cold – thirty-four degrees already this morning), all the panicked talk of yesterday evening now seemed foolish and misguided. Steven reminded himself he had responsibilities. He couldn’t just walk out on work. He was a hair’s breadth from disciplinary action, and not turning up would be tantamount to signing his own termination letter. No, he had to do this the right way. He’d go into the office, see how things panned out, tidy up a few loose ends, then take things from there. His mind was made up when he checked his mobile. The screen was blank. No messages from Sam, no missed calls... She’d said she’d wanted space, hadn’t she? He’d already arranged to go on Saturday morning. Surely another couple of days wouldn’t hurt?
The normality of the day was reassuring at first. Putting all thoughts of last night from his mind, he ate toast and drank strong coffee to clear his head and settle his stomach. He switched on the TV but turned it off again after a couple of minutes. A report from a desolate Middle Eastern city, the white-hot streets now empty, a desiccated body lying in a gutter, was followed by footage from closer to home. A fire raging in the New Forest, clouds of dark, choking smoke drifting towards Bournemouth...
The roads into town were quiet, the office quieter still. Only three other members of staff turned up for work, and Steven sent them home after a couple of hours. In the absence of customers, phone calls and emails, there didn’t seem any point in them sticking around. It felt like the diametric opposite of the snow closures he remembered from last winter, when blizzards had threatened to strand staff at the office so they’d been sent home before conditions got too bad. He’d have given anything to feel cold like that again.
Steven stood at his office window again and looked up and down the high street. The brightness was almost too strong to stand. There seemed to be no escape from the heat, as if the sun was hunting down the shadows. He saw barely anyone out there. Everything was grinding to a slow, sunburnt stop.
Almost everything.
At two o’clock, just as he was contemplating giving up and going home, George Frederickson appeared. Mr Frederickson – who came to see Steven at the same time on the third Thursday of every month – seemed unfazed at first. Initially disappointed that he wasn’t going to get away, Steven found the old man’s stubborn refusal to deviate from the norm strangely reassuring. He was sweating profusely in the heavy suit jacket he always wore.
Once his regular business was concluded, Frederickson put away his papers and stared across the desk at Steven. Steven felt uncomfortable, but held the old man’s gaze. He’d inherited this customer from the previous manager. He could be a nightmare at times; he had an overinflated opinion of his own importance and worth, and thought nothing of making outrageous demands on Steven’s staff. He was old-school, mired in the past, stubbornly refusing to move on and catch up because he saw no reason why he should. All that apart, Steven quite liked him. He admired his refusal to bend and break, to stick to his guns. ‘I’m very glad you were here, Mr Johnson,’ he said, unexpectedly.
‘Why’s that, Mr Frederickson?’
‘I thought it was important to get everything in order before...’
‘Before what?’ He thought he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Frederickson himself. Frederickson shook his head.
‘Thank you for your time and attention over the years, Steven. It’s been very much appreciated.’ He got to his feet and held out his hand. Steven stood and shook, still bemused by the fact his notoriously difficult customer had used his first name. Such familiarity was unheard of.
‘Same time next month?’ he instinctively asked.
Frederickson smiled. ‘I hope so.’
✽✽✽
Steven spent another few minutes hurrying around the office, closing the windows he’d had open all day, shutting down the few computers he’d switched on, and locking away anything of material or confidential value. His last walk around the place felt unexpectedly poignant, completely different to how he’d felt yesterday when he’d carried out the same routine. He longed for a return to normality. He’d begun to miss the pressure and noise he’d come to expect here. There was nothing in the diary for tomorrow. He knew he could leave early for Criccieth if he wanted to.
He’d parked in the same side-street as usual, and as he made the short walk from the office he sheltered close to the buildings. Only their lengthening shadows and the rapidly encroaching afternoon gloom gave any indication that it was autumn. Christ, the heat in the car was going to be unbearable. He’d have to open all the doors and windows and leave the air conditioning on full blast for a few minutes before he could even think about getting in.
Steven was pleased to see he wasn’t quite the only person mad enough to have been working today. Several shops were trading, their lights now coming on as the daylight faded, and more people were out on the street than there had been earlier. It was as if the working day had been delayed to miss the worst of the heat; afternoon becoming morning, and night becoming afternoon. He thought about going back and re-opening the office, then he thought again. Fuck it.
Steven had almost reached the car when he sensed a change in the atmosphere, so subtle at first that he thought he’d imagined it. He stopped walking and saw that some of the other people still outside appeared to have picked up on it too. But what was it they’d all sensed? The already arid air felt drier still, as if the last molecules of moisture had just evaporated away, and there was a noticeable change in air pressure, as if the sky itself had inexplicably become heavier or gravity had increased. And then a furious gust of wind more than matched the pressure, a sudden sharp blast of intense dry heat which almost knocked him off his feet. The setting sun, just visible over the tops of several buildings, rapidly increased in intensity and brightness, quickly lightening the sky around it as if a switch had been flicked and time had been reversed, sunset becoming sunrise at ten times normal speed. It was hard to keep watching: everything like an over-exposed film now, all remaining colours bleached to white.
Steven’s stomach was churning with nerves. It was another energy wave, of that there was no doubt, but what was happening now was significantly stronger than the wave he and Sam had witnessed in the night sky outside the pub late last week. He shielded his eyes but kept trying to watch, the seconds ticking by and the brightness continuing to increase until it became too much to stand. He looked down at the ground and was vaguely aware of other people reacting nearby. Some cowered and waited for it to end, others rushed to get out of the light. Just ahead, a woman tripped over, her uncontrolled movements little more a blur, becoming more indistinct as the brilliance increased. Next to Steven, a small dog yapped in panic. The scrawny little mutt, tied to the railings outside a church, strained at its leash, barking and snarling at a directi
onless threat it couldn’t understand.
Steven couldn’t take much more of the brightness and he dived for the nearest doorway. It was a café, the glass windows packed with those frightened people who’d already taken shelter inside. His exposed skin was prickling with the uncomfortable heat now and he half-fell into the building, just managing to stay upright. Despite the light still flooding in from outside, the relative darkness indoors was equally disorientating, the stark contrast making it hard to focus. And the noise... the roar of the wind was like an express train. The windows rattled in their frames and the door slammed shut.
The light outside began to fade. Steven looked around and then, slowly at first, the shapes around him found form and structure again.
‘You okay?’ a woman asked him.
‘I’m fine,’ he mumbled, not yet sure that he was. ‘Just had to get out of the light...’
He looked around at the other people here with him, their faces coming into focus. An elderly woman was slumped over a table, sobbing uncontrollably. The floor was covered with scraps of food and broken crockery. The linoleum under her chair was soaking wet. She’d emptied her bladder with fear.
Someone opened the door, instinctively trying to aerate the place, but only succeeding in letting in more heat. The world outside appeared deceptively normal now but the temperature was unbearable, somehow even hotter than before the pulse. The old lady’s unfortunate stench added to the uncomfortable awkwardness of the moment.
‘Sorry,’ Steven mumbled, composing himself again as he tried to get through the crowds by the window, colliding with some people and tripping over others. ‘I need to get out of here...’
There was a bottleneck at the door. When he got back outside the air was so hot and dry that it felt almost impossible to breathe. He could feel the lining of his throat drying out and he swallowed hard but there was no moisture there. He walked towards the car, desperate to get home, and he tried to call Sam, figuring there was no reason to think what had happened here hadn’t happened there too. But either the networks were busy or something had been damaged by the heat because he couldn’t get through.