‘Generosity? Hydrogen bombs?’
‘They’re going to die. In England, at least thirty million people are going to die before the rest can scrape a living. Which way’s best – of starvation or being killed for your flesh – or by a hydrogen bomb? It’s quick, after all. And you can keep the numbers down to thirty million that way and preserve the fields to grow the crops to support the rest. That’s the theory of it.’
From another part of the public-house, light music came to them as the barmaid switched on a portable wireless. The ordinary world continued, untouched, untroubled.
‘It can’t work,’ John said.
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Roger. ‘I think the news will leak, and I think the cities will burst their seams before Welling has got his bomber fleet properly lined up. But I’m not under any illusion that things will be any better that way. At my guess, it means fifty million dying instead of thirty, and a far more barbarous and primitive existence for those that do survive. Who is going to have the power to protect the potato fields against the roaming mob? Who is going to save seed potatoes for next year? Welling’s a swine, but a clear-sighted swine. After his fashion, he’s trying to save the country.’
‘You think the news will get out?’
In his mind he visualized a panic-stricken London, with himself and Ann caught in it – unable to get to the children.
Roger grinned. ‘Worrying, isn’t it? It’s a funny thing, but I have an idea we shall worry less about London’s teeming millions once we’re away from them. And the sooner we get away, the better.’
John said: ‘The children…’
‘Mary at Beckenham, and Davey at that place in Hertfordshire. I’ve thought about that. We can get Davey on the way north. Your job is to go and pick Mary up. Right away. I’ll go and get word to Ann. She can pack essentials. Olivia and Steve and I will be at your place, with our car loaded. When you get there with Mary, we’ll load your car and get moving. If possible, we should be clear of London well before nightfall.’
‘I suppose we must,’ John said.
Roger followed his gaze round the interior of the bar – flowers in a polished copper urn, a calendar blowing in a small breeze, floors still damp from scrubbing.
‘Say goodbye to it,’ he said. ‘That’s yesterday’s world. From now on, we’re peasants, and lucky at that.’
Beckenham, Roger had told him, was included in the area to be sealed off. He was shown into the study of Miss Errington, the headmistress, and waited there for her. The room was neat, but still feminine. It was a combination, he remembered, that had impressed Ann, as Miss Errington herself had done. She was a very tall woman, with a gentle humorousness.
She bowed her head coming through the door, and said:
‘Good afternoon, Mr Custance.’ It was, John noted, just half an hour after noon. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’
‘I hope I haven’t brought you away from your luncheon?’
She smiled. ‘It is no hardship these days, Mr Custance. You’ve come about Mary?’
‘Yes. I should like to take her back with me.’
Miss Errington said: ‘Do have a seat.’ She looked at him, calmly considerate. ‘You want to take her away? Why?’
This was the moment that made him feel the bitter weight of his secret knowledge. He must give no warning of what was to happen; Roger had insisted on that, and he agreed. It was as essential to their plans as to Welling’s larger scheme of destruction that no news should get out.
And that necessity required that he should leave this tall, gentle woman, along with her charges, to die.
He said lamely: ‘It’s a family matter. A relative, passing through London. You understand…’
‘You see, Mr Custance, we try to keep breaks of this kind to a minimum. You will appreciate that it’s very unsettling. It is rather different at week-ends.’
‘Yes, I do see that. It’s her – uncle, and he’s going abroad by air this evening.’
‘Really? For long?’
More glibly, he continued: ‘He may be gone for some years. He was very anxious to see Mary before he went.’
‘You could have brought him here, of course.’ Miss Errington hesitated. ‘When would you be bringing her back?’
‘I could bring her back this evening.’
‘Well, in that case… I’ll go and ask someone to get her.’ She walked over to the door, and opened it. She called into the corridor: ‘Helena? Would you ask Mary Custance to come along here, please? Her father has come to see her.’ To John, she said: ‘If it’s only for the afternoon, she won’t want her things, will she?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t matter about them.’
Miss Errington sat down again. ‘I should tell you I’m very pleased with your daughter, Mr Custance. At her age, girls divide out – one sees something of what they are going to turn into. Mary has been coming along very well lately. I believe she might have a very fine academic future, if she wished.’
Academic future, John thought – to hold a tiny oasis against a desert world.
He said: ‘That’s very gratifying.’
Miss Errington smiled. ‘Although, probably, the point is itself academic. One doubts if the young men of her acquaintance will permit her to settle into so barren a life.’
‘I see nothing barren in it, Miss Errington. Your own must be very full.’
She laughed. ‘It has turned out better than I thought it would! I’m beginning to look forward to my retirement.’
Mary came in, curtseyed briefly to Miss Errington, and ran over to John.
‘Daddy! What’s happened?’
Miss Errington said: ‘Your father wishes to take you away for a few hours. Your uncle is passing through London, on his way abroad, and would like to see you.’
‘Uncle David? Abroad?’
John said quickly: ‘It’s quite unexpected. I’ll explain everything to you on the way. Are you ready to come as you are?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then I shan’t keep you,’ Miss Errington said. ‘Can you have her back for eight o’clock, Mr Custance?’
‘I shall try my best.’
She held her long delicate hand out. ‘Good-bye.’
John hesitated; his mind rebelled against taking her hand and leaving her with no inkling of what lay ahead. And yet he dared not tell her; nor, he thought, would she believe him if he did.
He said: ‘If I fail to bring Mary back by eight, it will be because I have learned that the whole of London is to be swallowed up in an earthquake. So if we don’t come back, I advise you to round up the girls and take them out into the country. At whatever inconvenience.’
Miss Errington looked at him with mild astonishment that he should descend into such absurd and tasteless clowning. Mary also was watching him in surprise.
The headmistress said: ‘Well, yes, but of course you will be back by eight.’
He said, miserably: ‘Yes, of course.’
As the car pulled out of the school grounds, Mary said:
‘It isn’t Uncle David, is it?’
‘No.’
‘What is it, then, Daddy?’
‘I can’t tell you yet. But we’re leaving London.’
‘To-day? Then I shan’t go back to school to-night?’ He made no answer. ‘Is it something dreadful?’
‘Dreadful enough. We’re going to live in the valley. Will you like that?’
She smiled. ‘I wouldn’t call it dreadful.’
‘The dreadful part,’ he said slowly, ‘will be for other people.’
They reached home soon after two. As they walked up the garden path, Ann opened the door for them. She looked tense and unhappy. John put an arm around her.
‘Stage one completed without mishap. Everything’s going well, darling. Nothing to worry about. Roger and the others not here?’
‘It’s his car. Cylinder block cracked, or something. He’s round at the garage, hurrying them up. T
hey’re all coming over as soon as possible.’
‘Has he any idea how long?’ John asked sharply.
‘Shouldn’t be more than an hour.’
Mary asked: ‘Are the Buckleys coming with us? What’s happening?’
Ann said: ‘Run up to your room, darling. I’ve packed your things for you, but I’ve left just a little space for anything which I’ve left out which you think is specially important. But you will have to be very discriminating. It’s only a very little space.’
‘How long are we going for?’
Ann said: ‘A long time, perhaps. In fact, you might as well act as though we were never coming back.’
Mary looked at them for a moment. Then she said gravely:
‘What about Davey’s things? Shall I look through those as well?’
‘Yes, darling,’ Ann said. ‘See if there’s anything important I’ve missed.’
When Mary had gone upstairs, Ann clung to her husband.
‘John, it can’t be true!’
‘Roger told you the whole story?’
‘Yes. But they couldn’t do it. They couldn’t possibly.’
‘Couldn’t they? I’ve just told Miss Errington I shall be bringing Mary back this evening. Knowing what I know, is there very much difference?’
Ann was silent. Then she said:
‘Before all this is over… are we going to hate ourselves? Or are we just going to get used to things, so that we don’t realize what we’re turning into?’
John said: ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything, except that we’ve got to save ourselves and save the children.’
‘Save them for what?’
‘We can work that out later. Things seem brutal now – leaving without saying a word to all the others who don’t know what’s going to happen – but we can’t help it. When we get to the valley, it will be different. We shall have a chance of living decently again.’
‘Decently?’
‘Things will be hard, but it may not be a bad life. It will be up to us what we make of it. At least, we shall be our own masters. It will no longer be a matter of living on the sufferance of a State that cheats and bullies and swindles its citizens and, at last, when they become a burden, murders them.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Bastards!’ Roger said. ‘I paid them double for a rush job, and then had to hang around for three-quarters of an hour while they looked for their tools.’
It was four o’clock. Ann said:
‘Have we time for a cup of tea? I was just going to put the kettle on.’
‘Theoretically,’ Roger said, ‘we’ve got all the time in the world. All the same, I think we’ll skip the tea. There’s an atmosphere about – uneasiness. There must have been some other leaks, and I wonder just how many. Anyway, I shall feel a lot happier when we’re clear of London.’
Ann nodded. ‘All right.’ She walked through to the kitchen. John called after her:
‘Anything I can get for you?’
Ann looked back. ‘I left the kettle full of water. I was just going to put it away.’
‘That’s our hope,’ Roger said. ‘The feminine stabilizer. She’s leaving her home for ever, but she puts the kettle away. A man would be more likely to kick it round the floor, and then set fire to the house.’
They pulled away from the Custances’ house with John’s car leading, and drove to the north. They were to follow the Great North Road to a point beyond Welwyn and then branch west in the direction of Davey’s school.
As they were passing through East Finchley, they heard the sound of Roger’s horn, and a moment later he accelerated past them and drew up just ahead. As they went past, Olivia, leaning out of the window, called:
‘Radio!’
John switched on.
‘… emphasized too strongly that there is no basis to any of the rumours that have been circulating. The entire situation is under control, and the country has ample stocks of food.’
The others walked back and stood by the car. Roger said:
‘Someone’s worried.’
‘Virus-free grain is being planted,’ the voice continued, ‘in several parts of England, Wales, and Scotland, and there is every expectation of a late-autumn crop.’
‘Planting in July!’ John exclaimed.
‘Stroke of genius,’ Roger said. ‘When there’s rumour of bad news, say that Fairy Godmother is on her way down the chimney. Plausibility doesn’t matter at a time like that.’
The announcer’s voice changed slightly:
‘It is the Government’s view that danger could only arise from panic in the population at large. As a measure towards preventing this, various temporary regulations have been promulgated, and come into force immediately.
‘The first of these deals with restrictions on movements. Travel between cities is temporarily forbidden. It is hoped that a system of priorities for essential movements will be ready by to-morrow, but the preliminary ban is absolute…’
Roger said: ‘They’ve jumped the gun! Come on – let’s try and crash through. They may not be ready for us yet.’
The two cars drove north again, across the North Circular Road, and through North Finchley and Barnet. The steady re-assuring voice on the radio continued to drone out regulations, and then was followed by the music of a cinema organ. The streets showed their usual traffic, with people shopping or simply walking about. There was no evidence of panic here in the outer suburbs. Trouble, if there were any, would have started in Central London.
They met the road-block just beyond Wrotham Park. Barriers had been set up in the road; there were khaki-clad figures on the other side. The two cars halted. John and Roger went over to the road-block. Already there were half a dozen motorists there, arguing with the officer in charge. Others, having abandoned the argument, were preparing to turn their cars and drive back.
‘Ten bloody minutes!’ Roger said. ‘We can’t have missed it by more; there would have been a much bigger pile-up.’
The officer was a pleasant, rather wide-eyed young fellow, clearly enjoying what he saw as an unusual kind of exercise.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he was saying, ‘but we’re simply carrying out orders. No travel out of London is permitted.’
The man who was at the front of the objectors, about fifty, heavily built and darkly Jewish in appearance, said:
‘But my business is in Sheffield! I only drove down to London yesterday.’
‘You’ll have to listen to the news on the wireless,’ the officer said. ‘They’re going to have some kind of arrangements for people like you.’
Roger said quietly: ‘This is no go, Johnny. We couldn’t even bribe him with a mob like this around.’
The officer went on: ‘Don’t treat this as official, but I’ve been told the whole thing’s only a manoeuvre. They’re trying out panic precautions, just to be on the safe side. It will probably be called off in the morning.’
The heavily built man said: ‘If it’s only a manoeuvre, you can let us few get through. It doesn’t matter, does it?’
The young officer grinned. ‘Sorry. It’s as easy to land a general court-martial for dereliction of duty on manoeuvres as it is when there’s a war on! I advise you to go back to town and try tomorrow.’
Roger jerked his head, and he and John began to walk back to the cars. Roger said:
‘Very cleverly carried out. Unofficially, only a manoeuvre. That gets over the scruples of the troops. I wonder if they are going to be left to burn with the rest? I suppose so.’
‘Worth trying to tell them what’s really happening?’
‘Wouldn’t get anywhere. And they might very well run us in for spreading false rumours. That’s one of the new regulations – did you hear it?’
They reached the cars. John said:
‘Then what do we do? Ditch the cars, and try it on foot, through the fields?’
Ann said: ‘What’s happening? They won’t let us through?’
‘The
y’ll have the fields patrolled,’ Roger said. ‘Probably with tanks. We wouldn’t have a chance on foot.’
In an edged voice, Ann said: ‘Then what can we do?’
Roger looked at her, laughing. ‘Easy, Annie! Everything’s under control.’
John was grateful for the strength and confidence in the laugh. They lightened his own spirits.
Roger said: ‘The first thing to do is get away from here, before we land ourselves in a traffic jam.’ Cars were beginning to pile up behind them in the road. ‘Back towards Chipping Barnet, and there’s a sharp fork to the right. We’ll go first. See you there.’
It was a quiet road: urbs in rure. The two cars pulled up in a secluded part of it. There were modern detached houses on the other side, but here the road fringed a small plantation.
The Buckleys left their car, and Olivia and Steve got in the back with Ann.
Roger said: ‘Point one – this road bypasses A.1 and will take us to Hatfield. But I don’t think it’s worth trying it just yet. There’s bound to be a road-block on it, and we would be no more likely to get through it this evening than we should have been on A.1.’
A Vanguard swept past them along the road, closely followed by an Austin which John recognized as having been at the road-block. Roger nodded after them.
‘Quite a few will try it, but they won’t get anywhere.’
Steve said: ‘Couldn’t we crash one of the barriers, Dad? I’ve seen them on the pictures.’
‘This isn’t the pictures,’ Roger said. ‘Quite a few people will be trying to get through the blocks this evening. It will be quieter at night, and better in other ways, too. We’ll keep your car here. I’m taking ours back into Town – and there’s something I think I ought to pick up.’
Ann said: ‘You’re not going back in there!’
‘It’s necessary. I hope I shan’t be more than a couple of hours at the outside.’
John understood Roger too well to think that when he spoke of picking something up he could be referring to an oversight in his original plans. This was a new factor.
He said: ‘Not likely to be any trouble in a spot like this is there?’ Roger shook his head. ‘In that case, I’ll come back with you. Two will be safer than one if you’re going south.’
The Death of Grass Page 7
