“‘Course,” he said. “Come in.”
He held the gate open as we walked through.
“Go up to the house,” he said. “We’ll have tea.”
We walked to the side of the house and he let us in through a tall oak door. A blast of warmth hit us as we went in.
“Ellie!” he shouted. “Visitors! Put tea on! I’ll just let the boys know,” he said, running around the side of the house. We stood in the hallway and waited. In a minute or two he was back, ushering us through a low archway and into a kitchen, the source of the light and warmth. A single lantern was hanging from an electric light fitting and a wood-burning stove roared in one corner. Next to the stove stood a small woman, who looked back at us with the same expression of shock as the man had worn in the yard. She was younger than him, maybe by twenty years.
“My wife,” he said.
She said nothing.
“Alright, alright,” said the man. “Close your gob, girl, you’ll draw flies.”
The woman looked at her husband, shut her mouth and then looked back at us.
“Well don’t just stand there!” snapped the man. “Put the kettle on!”
She jumped, then shook her head and began busying herself with an iron kettle, which she began to fill from a spout in the wall. She pulled on what looked like a beer pump to force water through it.
“Like I say,” said the man quietly, flicking a thumb at his wife and widening his eyes. “We’re not used to visitors. Sit down, sit down.” He pulled some chairs out from the table and motioned to them. We smiled nervously and dropped our packs, took a seat each. The man remained standing by the stove. I felt warmth begin to flood up my feet and legs from the fire, into my fingers and face.
“I’m Hugh,” said the man, suddenly thrusting a hand in our direction. Harvey took it first.
“Harvey,” said Harvey. “Much obliged mate.”
“Bryce.”
“Richard.”
“Ed. Edgar.”
“Laura,” said Grimes.
We each looked at her in surprise. It was the first time she’d told us her first name.
“And this is Ellie,” said the man.
The woman nodded and smiled nervously as she heaved the iron kettle onto the stove. A slow, tidal roar began to build inside it. She pressed herself back against the sink with her hands behind her back.
“We have two sons as well,” said Hugh. He took a seat for himself and leaned his thick forearms on the table. He shot a dark glance at his wife. I remember this unnerved me, but I shelved the feeling. “They’re out with the pigs, should be back soon.”
“Pigs?” I said. “You have pigs?”
He raised his eyebrows and gave a pleased grin.
“Oh aye,” he said. “Pigs, some hens. Nothing like we had before, but some survived the worst of it.” He smoothed his fingers over the wood of the table and sat back in his chair, hands behind his back.
“We do quite well here,” he said with a wink. “Not too badly at all.”
The kettle started to whistle and he glanced at his wife, who sprang into action again, filling a pot and placing cups in front of us.
“No milk, ‘course,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind.”
I leaned forward to pour the tea. He swatted my hand briskly away from the pot.
“Time,” he said. “Needs time to brew.”
Teapots had always made me nervous. I understand how ridiculous that sounds, but it’s the truth. They seemed to represent something that I was somehow not allowed to attain. There was a ritual to tea-making - the warming, the temperature of the water, the settling, the brewing, the stains maintained within the pot - all part of a delicate care that had just never made it into my life. I made tea by throwing a tea bag into a cup and covering it with water, not leaving it long enough, pouring the milk before removing the bag, then squeezing the bag against the side of the cup with a spoon. The dark tendrils that emerged provided the only flavour in the otherwise pale, tepid mixture. I knew all this was wrong, I knew tea should and could easily be made in a far better way, and every time I was a guest in a place like this I was reminded of this fact. But teapots did not belong in my life. I know, it’s ridiculous, but the truth is sometimes that way. The act for which I had just been admonished - pouring the tea too early - caught me out. It marked me, branded me, weakened me. In that moment, there were two kinds of people: those who knew how to make tea and those who did not. It was clear which side I stood on.
I sat back in my chair.
“Now then,” said Hugh. “What’s all this about help?”
Richard cleared his throat.
“We’re headed south,” he said. “To Cornwall.”
Hugh raised his eyebrows and gave a single laugh that was more like a cough.
“Cornwall?” he said, looking at his wife and then back at Richard. He brought his hands down from his head and folded them across his chest.
“Why?”
“There are boats leaving,” said Richard. “I don’t know if you…”
Hugh waved a hand at him.
“I know, I know,” he said. “Big fuss if you ask me. You want to get on them?”
“Yes,” I said. “We have family...”
“I don’t.” I said. My words seemed hard and forced.
Richard ignored me and went on. “The thing is, there’s no way we can get down to Cornwall in time. Gloria told us that…”
Hugh suddenly sat forwards in his seat and laid his hands back on the table. I saw his wife shuffle uncomfortably.
“Gloria?” said Hugh.
Richard paused. We hadn’t yet said anything about our stay at the farm.
“Yes,” he said. “We came from Gloria’s...I mean...from where Gloria was staying.”
“You stayed with Gloria?” said Hugh. He looked around the table, giving each of us the same serious look. “You met her?”
“Yes,” said Grimes. “We met her last night. We asked her if she knew anyone with a vehicle and she said that we might try here.”
Hugh sat slowly back in his chair and folded his arms again. He nodded lightly, appraising something.
“It’s been very hard for her,” he said. “Very hard. We’ve tried to, er, speak to her, you know, make sure she’s alright up there on her own, what with her condition and all. I’ve been up a few times myself, but we’ve not always…” He broke off. “Let’s just say she doesn’t like company.”
“We got that,” said Bryce, tapping his bandage.
“She told us you had an agreement,” said Richard.
A smile twitched on Hugh’s face. “Agreement,” he said, clearing his throat. “Aye, ‘could call it that.”
“Did you know that she’d given birth?” said Grimes.
Hugh suddenly gave a frown of concern. “No, no, we didn’t, did we, love?” he said, looking back at his wife, who shook her head and smoothed her apron. “Is she alright?” he said.
“She seems to be, given the circumstances.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s good.” He looked at his watch. “Where are them boys?” he grumbled. He leaned forwards and poured the tea, allowing me a small look of superiority which I met with a thin smile.
“So, er,” said Richard. “We were wondering…”
“You want my truck,” said Hugh. He kept his eyes on the cups as he pushed them towards us.
“We know it’s a lot to ask,” said Richard. “And we don’t have a lot to give you in return, some food and blankets perhaps...”
Hugh nodded and tipped his chair back on its legs. He sipped hot tea from his mug and seemed to bask in the warmth from the stove behind him. He glanced at his watch again.
Richard went on. “It’s just that…” He slumped his shoulders a little, shook his head, shrugged. He searched Hugh’s face. “I’m sorry to ask, but we have no other choice.”
Hugh frowned and nodded slowly, running a hand around his stubbled chin.
“Like I say,
” he said. “We do alright here. We live on what we have, just like we did before, you know? We don’t go anywhere, don’t have much need to travel, certainly got no need for boats.” He spat the last word. Then he looked at his watch again.
“I just want to find my son,” said Richard.
“I have family too,” I said. “My wife, a daughter and a son.”
Hugh looked me up and down.
“Family’s important,” he said. Suddenly there was a click behind us and the creak of a door opening. Hugh looked over our heads.
“Ah,” he said, grinning. “Speak of the devil.”
I spun round. Standing behind us were two identical young men, eighteen at most, wearing farm overalls and long boots covered in manure. They had wide faces with small, glittering eyes and cropped brown hair. They were tall and broad with thick arms, like their father, in which they held two shotguns pointing directly at us. The stench of animal shit filled the kitchen. We each reeled back in our chairs, Bryce nearly taking out the table with his weight. My cup shattered on the tiles and I stumbled back, slipping in the hot tea. Hugh was on his feet, laughing. He grabbed me and gave me an almighty shove that sent me sprawling on the floor at the feet of his sons. The one I was closest to moved his boot and I fell face-first in the stain of excrement it had left on the floor.
“What the fuck is this now?” I heard Bryce say, as I struggled to my feet, wiping my cheek.
“Boys!” shouted Hugh. “Take our guests here outside. Give ‘em a tour.”
“Wait a minute!” said Richard, standing forwards. “What…”
The son furthest from me swung his gun around and caught Richard in the chin with its butt. Richard’s head snapped back and he staggered back into Bryce, who caught him and held him upright. Harvey stepped forwards to speak, but was held back by Grimes. Richard touched a finger to his bleeding mouth and looked back at Hugh.
“Want my fucking truck do you?” His laughter boomed around the room. “Come on,” said Hugh. “Out.”
The son nearest me grabbed my collar and hurled me effortlessly through the archway into the hall. My legs spun in a cartoon cartwheel behind me but I managed to stay upright before crashing into the front door. He opened it and pushed me outside. The rest fell out behind me and we stood in a huddle, the two teenagers bearing down on us silently from the steps. Their father stood between them on the step above. Ellie appeared at his shoulder and looked around at us like a child from the safety of its parent’s leg.
“Put the guns down,” said Grimes. “You don’t need to do this, we’ll leave now, be on our way.”
“Huh?” said Hugh. “You’ve only just arrived. How very rude.”
He slapped one of his sons roughly on the shoulder.
“Show them the pigs,” he said.
“Hands on your heads,” mumbled one of the twins. His voice had barely broken. “Now,” he said. He jabbed the end of his gun at us. “Turn around. Move.”
It had started to snow again. Soft flakes fell slowly around us as we were bundled across the yard, past the truck, stumbling in the drifts as we approached the main outbuilding.
“Stop,” said the talking twin in a rehearsed monotone. “Face the doors. Keep your hands on your head.”
The other twin pulled the doors open and the air was suddenly filled with squeals. Inside the building was a bare enclosure separated from the main doors by a metal railing and a strip of chicken wire. Four large pigs waddled frantically across the muddy floor and began snuffling at the air and rubbing their glistening snouts up and down the sharp wire. Hugh strolled up to the gate and leaned across it. He dangled one hand down and clicked his teeth. The smallest pig ran up to meet him.
“Aye,” he said, casually, as if he was leading a tour for a school trip. He scratched the pig’s ear. “Of course we had a lot more. We were more protected down here when it happened. I don’t think we got it anywhere near as bad as some other places we heard about.” He looked over his shoulder at his sons, who were now standing on either side of us. “Still scared the shit out of us though, didn’t it?” he said. He winked at them. One of them smirked. Hugh looked back at the pigs. “We did get a few fires, lost a few of these buggers.”
He gave the young pig an affectionate slap around its chops and turned around to face us with his arms along the rail behind him.
“The strong survive though,” he said. He turned to his sons. “Don’t they? Eh?” The twins murmured a response as their mother walked quietly around them and stood next to her husband. Hugh put an arm around her shoulder. “Like Gloria,” he said, and spat in the dirt. “Maybe it’s time to pay her another visit Ellie, see how she’s doing with the baby, eh? I’ve heard it’s quite hard in the first weeks, leaves you quite weak.” He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe that’s how you got past her.” He nodded to himself. “Aye, maybe time for another visit. Maybe time to teach her a lesson for this.” He hissed and pointed to the scar on his face.
After a moment, he laughed and relaxed back against the railing.
“Strong always survive,” he said. He cocked his head and watched us for a while, looking between our faces and chewing his cheek. The pigs squealed and snuffled hungrily behind him.
“Pigs need fed though,” he said at last. “To keep ‘em strong.”
Something bounced in my stomach. I felt panic rise up in the other four too. Bryce shifted his weight anxiously between his boots. Grimes and Richard exchanged looks. Harvey suddenly dropped his hands and stepped forwards, holding out his palms to Hugh.
“Now look,” he said, his voice cracked and wavering. “Just hold on a…”
Hugh glanced at one of his sons, who drove the butt of his gun hard into Harvey’s belly. Harvey’s lungs emptied themselves with a high guuuuh and he fell to his knees in the muddy snow. I went to help him up, but was dragged back to my place by the other twin. Harvey knelt with his hands in the snow before him, gasping.
Hugh pushed himself up from the rail and walked towards Harvey. He held out a hand to him. Harvey grimaced up at it, then knocked it away. He fixed Hugh in the eye and got himself to his feet, spat in the snow to his side. Hugh rolled his eyes and motioned to his sons, twirling his finger around in the air.
“Turn around,” one of them said. “Move along from the shed.”
They ushered us around so that we were standing in a line facing back towards the road. I was at the end, the other four to my left. My heart, which had been racing since we had been in the kitchen, picked up the pace. The pigs were next to us, still squealing urgently and straining against the clattering chicken wire. The family stood before us, the sons on either side of the parents. Hugh’s left hand curled around the small shoulders of his wife and his other was a tight fist against his hip. Smoke trailed from the chimney of the white house behind them and up into the snow-heavy pines.
One of the twins turned to his father, who nodded. The two boys raised the butts of their shotguns against their shoulders.
I felt my knees weaken, my bladder too, felt the uncontrollable and ridiculous urge to turn my head from the blast. My heart was now struggling against my chest like a crow trapped in a bucket. I felt like my neck and eyes might burst with blood, had a last hopeful thought that there might be some chance of me passing out before the end.
I heard Bryce groan, looked sideways and saw Richard staring straight ahead, trembling. Grimes dropped her hands and lifted her chin. Her lip flickered once and tightened. Next to her, Harvey dropped his hands and looked down at the floor, shaking his head.
Different rays… he seemed to say Different rays…
I have no idea if there are common human responses to circumstances like this. Perhaps it is predictable, perhaps everyone facing sudden death like this - particularly execution - goes through the same mundane series of states as their brain searches in vain for the right tools to counter the inevitable. Perhaps it is all logged somewhere in a psychiatric journal, I don’t know. All I can say is that, in my case,
it was not quite what I might have hoped for: strength, peace, dignity, that kind of thing. I think I wet myself a bit. Then I lost control of my facial muscles. My mouth seemed to spasm and gurn as if it was chewing something too big for it. My eyes lost the ability to focus. Strange things happened around my knee area. My throat dried up completely so that a huge portion of what was set to be the last few moments of my life was dedicated to trying different methods of swallowing. While all this was going on, some frantic part of my cranium was having a last-ditch attempt to find some meaning to a life that was about to end, flitting through ideas and abandoning half-finished philosophies like an accountant shredding incriminating paperwork to the sound of police sirens. Nothing flashed before my eyes. I had no sudden feeling of inner calm, no feeling that I was going to be OK, that everything was for the best. I just felt the same mixture of confusion and inability to cope as I always had done, only this time compressed into microseconds. I thought about Beth and Alice and Arthur, wondered if there was any possible way they would find out that this had happened, felt dutifully bad that I would not see them grow up, then pitiful about the fact that I might not want to know what the world had left for them anyway. Then I felt disappointment. Then I probably wet myself again. Then I heard two loud shots.
I opened my eyes to see the two twins lying face down in the dirt. Hugh was kneeling behind them in the snow and looking at them. His face was confused, as if he was searching for a word. Blood appeared at his shoulder. He looked down and watched it spread through his shirt. Behind him stood Ellie. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was clamped shut. There was a fine spray of blood across her pale face. She held her arms diagonally out from her sides, her fingers stiff and open so that the skin stretched tight around their bones. She stared down at her sons and her husband and breathed a few shuddering breaths. Then, with her arms still held out, she spun around on her heels and faced Gloria, who was stood by the house, looking back at her down the barrel of her still smoking gun. Sofia was upright in the sling around her mother’s chest with her arms and legs sticking out in a star. She was looking at the pigs, still squealing and snuffling in their pen. I swear she gave a chuckle.
The End of the World Running Club Page 20