by Andrew Tudor
Such thoughts were preoccupying her now because in the past few weeks trouble had erupted in and around the estates. Their often disaffected young men and women had always been potential recruits for the criminal gangs that had in the past marred Edinburgh’s respectable image, but now they had been joined in their sense of grievance by whole families, both old and young. This had been precipitated by the fact that people were starving. There was no other way to put it now that widespread food shortages had pushed up prices. For those who could afford it, that was still just about manageable, but the poor had no way of feeding themselves and neither the state nor charities were in a position to provide for them. At first, violence and theft had been largely confined to the estates, all the more so since Police Scotland had given up on a presence within their boundaries. But it was not long before desperate people, whether singly or in gangs, invaded more affluent neighbouring areas, looting such shops as were still open and terrorising residents into yielding up their supplies.
This was just what Douglas had predicted, Ali thought morosely, precisely the situation in preparation for which they had been transferring resources to her father’s Argyll home. If events continued after this fashion they would soon have to implement their plan and flee the city. It was for this reason that she was now sitting staring vacantly out of the window in Douglas’s New Town apartment in company with Sarah, Hugh and Charlotte, as well as Ravi, Eleanor, and their son Iain. They were waiting for Douglas to bring the latest intelligence so that they could decide the best way forward, but he was already over thirty minutes late.
Suddenly Ravi’s voice interrupted Ali’s ruminations. “Isn’t that right, Ali?” he said.
“Sorry, I was miles away. Isn’t what right?”
“I was just telling Hugh about the chaos in the Department and the fact that, in effect, we’re all on notice to quit.”
“Yes, it’s a weird situation. They’re still paying us but they’ve nothing for us to do, and they don’t want us going into the office in case we spread infection.” Ali half smiled. “At least there are no more Baby Bug Hunter meetings to drive me crazy,” she added, then, nodding towards Hugh and Sarah, “it’s only your group who are continuing work.”
“And we’re not really getting anywhere,” Hugh replied. “Still running up against a brick wall. Zeno is not giving up its secrets at all easily.”
“But it is worth continuing,” Sarah interjected, half paying attention to the adults and half focusing on the old-fashioned board game, Ludo, which she was playing with the two children. “We know more than we did at the start even if it’s not directly relevant to a cure or a vaccination. You never know. There might be a breakthrough.”
Ali smiled at her. “Ever the optimist,” she said, “that’s why I need you around. Without you I’d tumble into the slough of despond.”
Charlotte gave her a puzzled look. “What’s the slough of despond, Auntie Ali?”
“Well,” Ali began, looking around at the others for help and finding that none was forthcoming.
“Yes Auntie Ali,” said Hugh, “what is one of those?”
Just then, much to Ali’s relief, they heard the apartment’s front door open and a shout from Douglas.
“Sorry we’re late. Unavoidably delayed.”
He entered the room followed by two men, one of whom was Jimmy, their driver from the border crossing, while the other was new to them all.
“You remember Jimmy,” Douglas said, adding for Jimmy’s benefit, “that’s Eleanor and Ravi and wee Iain.” Then, gesturing to the other man, “This is Jimmy’s partner, Kenny. I’ve invited them along to join us.”
Introductions complete, Douglas sat down beside Ali, looked around at the waiting company and began counting off points.
“I’ve got various bits and pieces of news for you, gleaned from all sorts of sources but reliable I think. First, the trouble in the Edinburgh estates is getting worse. The looting seems to be more organised now, presumably by the gangs, and violence is spreading further into the city. Nor is it only here. Glasgow, where Jimmy comes from, has even worse problems, and there are similar situations in Aberdeen and Dundee. Second, the disturbances in the Borders are spreading further north. Bands of Reivers have plundered towns like Kelso and Melrose and Peebles…”
“And Coldstream?” Ali interrupted, concerned for Uncle Bill and Jess.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Douglas replied. “Most of the towns down there have suffered and there have been claims of isolated incidents as far north as Pathhead. That’s getting pretty close to Edinburgh. There have been raiders over on the west side too – I’ve seen reports from Ayrshire and some of the smaller towns south of Glasgow.”
He paused for a moment taking in their gloomy faces.
“Third,” he continued, “this is still a bit vague, but it looks as if something like a war has broken out between various nations’ fishing fleets in the North Sea and the Atlantic. If that’s true then another significant source of food in Scotland will soon become even more curtailed.”
Once more he stopped to survey the group until finally and firmly announcing: “I think it’s time to take action. We’re still safe here right now but it can’t last much longer.”
Ali listened but said very little as possibilities were tossed to and fro until, after half an hour or so, they arrived at broad agreement on a timetable. In ten days’ time the three no-longer-working adults would move to Argyll, taking with them the two children whose schools had long since closed. Shuttles were still running into the Highlands so they ought to be able to travel without difficulty. Once there, they would help her father make ready the house next door for the arrival of the rest of the group. This house had been a holiday rental owned by the London-based daughter of the original occupants and for several years she had paid Ali’s father a token sum to look after it. Nothing had been heard from her since early in the epidemic, nor had there been any take-up from holidaymakers, so for all practical purposes the house was in their hands. The others, whose jobs would no doubt disappear soon enough, would join them when that happened or when the situation in Edinburgh became too dangerous. They would use the lorry to travel and to carry everyone’s possessions, as well as bringing additional supplies.
Once the details had been agreed the visitors dispersed in their various directions leaving Ali and Douglas alone.
“What’s the matter, Alison?” Douglas asked. “You’ve been unusually quiet and you’re looking very pissed off.”
“Well, yes I am,” she conceded.
“But why? We’ve settled on a workable plan. This was bound to happen sooner or later. We always knew we would have to move in the end.”
“I know. It’s not that. It’s Jimmy and Kenny. God, those names, they sound like they’re a fifth-rate Scottish comedy duo.”
Douglas looked at her quizzically. “What about them? They’re decent guys and I’ve known Jimmy for years.” He paused. “Do you have a problem with them being gay?”
“What?” Ali exploded. “No, of course not. It’s you I’ve got the fucking problem with. You bring two more people into the group without consulting any of us, without so much as even mentioning it to me. You should have discussed it with us all first.”
Douglas, taken aback at the intensity of Ali’s fury, held up his hands in capitulation. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but they’ll be very useful. They’ve got practical skills that the rest of us may not have. You’ve seen it with Jimmy and the lorry already, and Kenny’s a hands-on engineer – one of those folk who can fix broken stuff and make anything work.”
“That’s not the point,” Ali sighed, exasperated. “You really don’t get it, do you? You can’t just take decisions as serious as that and expect everyone to fall into line. That’s the kind of shit managerialism that led to Zeno in the first place. We’ve got to get away from this behaviour – I suppose
you’d call it strong leadership – or we’ll just end up making the same mistakes again.”
Douglas gave her a hard stare. “But you chose all the people who were here today,” he insisted. “I didn’t have a say in that. They’re all your friends.”
“But you knew them too and we talked about it way back at the beginning.” Ali stood up and began gathering her things together. “I can’t help it if you didn’t have any friends to suggest – that’s your problem,” she added acidly, regretting the insult even as she said it, but too angry to bring herself to take it back.
“That’s not fair, Alison, and you know it. I was happy to go along with your suggestions. Now I come up with a couple of useful people and you take exception.”
Ali shook her head. “I already told you – it’s not the people, it’s the way of doing it. But this isn’t getting us anywhere, Douglas. I’m going home. I’ll see you later in the week.”
As she made her way along Princes Street, Ali felt her anger slowly subside only to be replaced by feelings of guilt. She was right in principle, she knew, but she shouldn’t have lost her temper. Douglas was doing his best to help them all and there would have been much better ways to make her point. The stress was getting to her, she told herself, you can’t watch your world falling apart without it taking its toll. She’d once had so many hopes for her life, for her country, for a good future, and now they were all in ruins. Well, maybe not entirely in ruins. She had Douglas, or at least she hoped she still had him despite the way that she had treated him today.
Dusk was beginning to slip into night as she turned up The Mound. The Princes Street Gardens away to her right were completely dark now, as was the castle above them. Winter had brought energy-saving measures and they had not yet been lifted. Perhaps now they never would be, Ali supposed. Yet another small step along the road to social disintegration. Moving into the warren-like Old Town she became aware of just how dark it was, with only the occasional lamp illuminating its immediate surrounds. The streets were deserted. What on earth was she doing walking alone at night in this now deeply troubled city? Her nerves were jangling and she grew increasingly convinced that she was being followed, that there was someone in the darkness behind her. Unbidden, Coleridge’s famous lines came to mind, a passage that she knew very well and had first encountered in a short ghost story by M.R. James.
Like one, that on a lonely road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
Defying the poem’s advice she several times halted and looked back, seeing no one but becoming more and more uneasy. At last – it seemed to take for ever – she was in Forrest Road and at her door. Greatly relieved, with one final look behind her she retreated into the safety of the building, for a moment leaning up against the inside of the closed door breathing heavily. Fear was an insidious emotion, she reflected, but maybe it was something they would all have to learn to live with.
Some way back down Forrest Road a figure emerged from the shadows and stood for a moment looking at the closed door. That’s her safe then, Douglas thought, as he turned around to make his own way home.
Irene was wandering along in a daydream when she ran into the soldiers. Her mind was occupied by memories of a particularly delightful holiday on the Greek island of Santorini back in her student days. She could still vividly recall the beauty of the light and how it set off the contrast between the white walls and blue domes of the tiny churches scattered across the island. Her musings were rudely interrupted, however, when she rounded a corner to see half a dozen camouflage-clad soldiers coming down either side of the street towards her, ducking in and out of doorways, weapons at the ready. The contrast with her memories could hardly have been more extreme. So it’s come to this, she thought, in my old age I’m living in a military dictatorship as bad as any suffered in Greece.
She halted and moved to the side of the pavement to allow the soldiers free passage, turning her head away to avoid any confrontational eye contact. Then, as they came closer one of them called out.
“Hey, Granny J, how are you doing?”
There was only one person, Peter, who called her that. She had met him several months earlier when in a similar encounter with soldiers she had slipped on the icy pavement and he had caught her as she fell.
“Careful Granny,” he had said, “you’ll hurt yourself.”
“I’m not your Granny,” she had replied haughtily, irritated at her unsought need for his helping hand. “My name is Mrs Johnson and I’ll thank you to call me that.”
“OK,” he said, “then I’ll call you Granny J.”
This was accompanied by such an infectious grin that Irene could do nothing other than smile back and, more gracefully now, thank him for his help. Ever since, whenever she encountered him with his patrol he hailed her with her new title and stopped to chat. Truth be told, she was now quite fond of the soubriquet, dubbing him Corporal Peter in return.
“So, Corporal Peter,” she said, “I haven’t seen you for weeks. Where have you been hiding? I’ve missed your refined conversation.”
He laughed. “Good to know that my efforts are appreciated,” he told her, signalling to his colleagues to wait. “We were transferred for a while, up near Loughton. The PeePees were pushing down through Essex and causing trouble so we were sent as reinforcements.”
“PeePees?” Irene inquired.
“Sorry. The Peculiar People. The religious maniacs led by that mad Essex preacher. There’s almost an army of them now. Anyway, we made them retreat with their tails between their legs and now we’re back here to look after you.” He paused, checking that the other soldiers were out of earshot, and then continued almost in a whisper. “Is your daughter still with you?”
Only just recalling that he thought Julie was her daughter, she managed to stop herself from saying that Sarah was in Scotland. “Yes,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“A warning. I hear that the Recruiters are coming into this area the week after next. While you might be safe – they don’t generally take the over-sixties – she certainly won’t be. Young and able-bodied is just what they’re looking for. They’ll know where the two of you live. If you can find a hiding place, then do it.”
“Thanks, Peter,” replied the now worried Irene. “We’ll see what we can do.”
“Great, great,” he said, voice back to full volume. “We must get along. You take care Granny J. See you soon.”
Irene walked slowly on towards home, disconcerted by Peter’s warning. ‘Recruiters’ was a euphemism for what amounted to modern press gangs, introduced by the military government to provide labour for the Work Camps that they had set up in the Kent and Surrey countryside. Rumours abounded about the camps. Work was long and hard, and although workers were at least fed regularly – how else could they be kept working? – the rations were the absolute minimum. Most of the camps were processing agricultural products, planting, tending, harvesting and packaging basic foodstuffs, though some, it was said, were in the manufacturing business. Quite what they manufactured remained a matter for whispered speculation. It was unwise to be heard speaking of the camps and those who were recruited did not return. It was as if they had disappeared through a wormhole into an alternative universe, never to be seen again.
At home, after depositing the rather dismal fruits of her shopping expedition, Irene sought out Julie.
“I’ve bad news, Julie. I ran into Corporal Peter and he says that the Recruiters will be coming here in a couple of weeks.”
Julie’s eyes widened. “That is bad news,” she said. “What can we do?”
“I don’t know. Peter said that if we could find somewhere to hide then we should do that. You, in particular. He didn’t se
em to think that they’d be very interested in me. Too old and decrepit for the Work Camps.”
“But where could we go?” Julie asked. “From what I’ve heard about the other areas that they’ve been to, they come in with dogs and thermal sensors and stuff so they can find anybody who is hiding. I don’t see how we could escape them. And I certainly don’t want to be sent to the camps. Just last week someone in the rations queue was telling me about a girl they’d heard of who’d escaped. She said that many of the younger women were taken to special R & R compounds for the soldiers. Brothels in all but name.”
“Yes,” Irene said, “I’ve heard that too. But we don’t know if it’s true. There are so many rumours going around.”
Julie shook her head. “True or not,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to take the chance. Besides, I’ve no intention of being picked up for a Work Camp either. I could easily get recognised and arrested. After all, they were looking for me back when I first came here.”
“You’re right, Julie. We can’t hide around here. We need to leave. Maybe get out of the Homeland altogether.”
“Yes,” Julie agreed. “Or at least I do. You’ll be safe enough if you stay. Like Peter said, they don’t send older people to the camps.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve no intention of staying here without you. If we’re going to run for it then we should do so together. The only question is where do we go? If I thought we could make it I’d try for Scotland and Sarah. They’re expecting to move to Ali’s father’s place in Argyll when things get too bad in Edinburgh. But I don’t think we’d have any chance of reaching them. It’s too far and very lawless between here and there.”
“Uh-huh, you’re right about that.” Julie stopped, lost in thought. “There is one possibility I’ve been thinking about. Remember I told you about my family being farmers over in the Malvern area?”
