On the Third Day

by Rhys Thomas

  McAvennie made a clicking noise with his mouth. ‘It’s funny,’ he said. ‘You don’t seem like the sort of person who’d say something like that.’

  ‘I’m not. I wasn’t.’

  McAvennie leaned forward. ‘You can trust us.’

  Something flashed in her head. The man in the lighthouse. He had said something to her: who will you trust? She looked at the man sitting across from her, and at the map on the table. They want your house – that was what he had said.

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘We’ll stay here.’

  McAvennie sighed.

  ‘Just for the time being. We’ll see what happens.’

  ‘I think you’re making a mistake,’ he said.

  ‘I know.’

  He folded the map back up from the table and went to stand. ‘You know what I heard?’

  Miriam shook her head.

  ‘It was something my first boss used to say. He used to say smile and the world smiles with you.’ With surprising delicacy he tucked the chair silently under the table.

  ‘My grandfather used to say that to me.’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Do you believe it?’

  Miriam blinked. She was tired and needed to sleep. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Sometimes.’

  McAvennie became still. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘We had a guy come in to my work once to tell us about teamwork. He told us about this experiment they did in America. They had five thousand people in a dark room and in front of them was a giant screen and every person had an electric wand in their hand.’ He leaned on the back of the chair. ‘The screen showed a view from the cockpit of an aeroplane coming in to land. So, the people in the crowd, all five thousand of them, had to land the plane together. Their wands had wee sensors in them linked up to a computer that controlled the plane. None of them had any experience, none of them were allowed to speak. All they knew was the left side of the crowd was left and the right side was right. The people at the front could dip the nose and the people at the back could pull it up. So in they went and do you know what happened?’

  Miriam shook her head.

  ‘They went in and they went too steep and at an angle. They were missing the runway. But they didn’t crash. When they realized they were missing, all of them, without saying anything, pulled up into the air. Then they circled round and flew in a few more times, never making it, but never crashing either. And they did it as one. There were five thousand of them but they were one pilot. And they did it. They got it down in the end. They landed it. I mean, don’t you think that’s incredible?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘See, people think they have to struggle alone, that they’re not linked, but that ain’t true, Miriam. It really isn’t.’

  It was so dark. The clouds had settled low over the fields and the night sky was nothing but a black void. Miriam was standing on the road in front of the house, looking in the direction of the village to the east. She could see nothing, not even the line between the land and the sky. She could have been blind. The darkness could have been just in front of her face, or hundreds of yards away.

  The night before she had dreamed again of Henry being pulled into the sea by a monster and the beach catching fire. But the dream had changed. It had a new beginning. She was no longer standing in a library. It now began in the cellar, with her lying on the floor, a dark figure standing over her. Behind the figure she could make out a line of light where the door at the top of the stairs was ajar.

  She put a hand on her belly. Soon there would be no hiding it. The bulge was beginning to show. Perhaps it would be a boy, she thought. The image of the line of light in the cellar cut through the darkness. Whenever the memory of what had happened came back to her, she would toss it aside. Memory was just something in her head. It had no physical basis. It could play tricks, it was unreliable. And if it did not exist, then there was no need to concern herself about it.

  She looked again into the darkness. She tried to focus on the distance. Where was it? The idea of men lurking in the dark, circling the house, waiting to attack, chilled her. The point where she had cared about her own safety was long since past but she still felt it so strongly for her children. How could she possibly keep them safe?

  She had seen the men who were out there, the things they had done. Dread crept through her veins and between the bones of her skeleton. Everything was about to change. She turned towards the house.

  When they had first started dating, Henry had brought Miriam to Cornwall. It was the first time she had met Joseph. She still remembered how funny he had been, how charming. The sun had been shining and the walls of the house had been recently painted. Joseph was with his partner at the time – Deborah, or Diana, wasn’t it? They had sat in the back garden in the shade of the old tree. Their mother was still alive and she had made fresh lemonade. Miriam had thought at the time how perfectly quaint their way of life seemed. Life was so full of hope and prospects then. Everything seemed so solid, so unassailable.

  She pulled her hat down over her head. Sometimes she still thought she would wake up in that same bed in London and Henry would be there, still alive and still himself. She was aware that she was crying only because the wind made her tears cold on her face.

  Crouching down in the road, she lost her balance and rolled on to her side. And there she lay. She brought her legs up into the foetal position to keep the baby warm. She imagined it doing the same thing inside her. That the life in her womb would experience the world in this state brought a wave of desperation.

  ‘Miri?’

  Her mother’s voice was behind her, her hand was on her side.

  Miriam didn’t reply.

  She saw the line of the light in the cellar doorway and felt Joseph’s cold, rough hands on her. His strength pressed down on her and she was pinned against the floor.

  ‘He raped me, Mum,’ she said.

  When the words came out her whole body felt empty. A vacuum was left where the words had waited.

  Her mother sat her up in the road and put her arms round her neck.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  She was sure her mother already knew, but she said it anyway.

  Her mother squeezed her and she was transported back to her childhood. There was a level of safety in the embrace that she had not remembered her whole adult life. It was the safety that could only come from having complete, unthinking trust. Her mother held her tight.

  In the cellar, Joseph pulled away from her and receded into the darkness to die. And at the top of the stairs she saw it: a line of golden light at the edge of the doorway, slowly widening, opening, to reveal the flames of the burning beach.

  Rumours were already going around that something bad had happened. Faint whispers ebbed between the lines of tents and caravans. Charlie, Emily and Fields were sitting on chairs behind the stage, down on the beach. McAvennie was sitting at a table next to them, looking over the map. Beyond the stage Charlie heard the drone of people talking quietly. He could feel the pain in his leg trying to hurt him but the anaesthetic he had been given when they took the bullet out had not yet worn off.

  McAvennie stood up and walked off to the side of the stage to look out on the beach.

  Emily leaned in to Charlie. ‘What do you think he’ll say?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered.

  McAvennie ran his hand over the top of his bald head. There were some metal steps at the back of the stage. He put his hand on the flimsy handrail and pulled himself up. The steps wobbled precariously under his weight as he ascended. He walked to the centre of the stage and his body turned orange as he went into the glow of the firelight. The sound of the people changed. Their volume dropped. He tapped the microphone. Dull thuds rang out around the cliffs.

  ‘Is it on? OK. Hello,’ he said.

  Charlie smiled. This was the fifth time he had seen the big man speak and every time he started in this nervous way.

  ‘So,’ he said.


  And stopped. He surveyed the crowd of people in front of him. Charlie struggled to his feet so he could see out over the top of the low stage. He looked at the orange faces of the crowd in the darkness, looking upwards expectantly at their leader. He could feel the tension striking between them.

  ‘Most of you have probably heard by now about what happened to one of the salvage missions.’

  The crowd stayed silent.

  ‘It is true,’ he said. ‘They were ambushed. The attack was planned and it was efficient. Five men were killed.’

  Charlie heard somebody in the crowd moan. Many of those in the front row dropped their heads. He turned around to see Emily. She caught his eye and smiled nervously.

  ‘They let one of them go. Our man Andrew Fields. He came back.’

  The crowd waited for more.

  McAvennie’s gait was slouched.

  ‘What those . . . people . . . did. It is frightening,’ he said.

  Charlie swallowed hard. McAvennie was telling the truth.

  ‘There are people out there who would wish us harm.’ The intensity of the silence between sentences was almost palpable. ‘I am going to be honest with you. But I must state again that it is my utmost belief that if we stick together then we can make it through this. I say it now because it may be that soon that belief is something you will question. When we are pushed into danger it is easy to fall apart, but if we fall apart, we fall. You understand?’ He paused for breath. ‘Many of you have heard rumours of this band of criminals. I had heard about them, moving around, stealing, burning, making harm. But they’re not rumours any more, OK? These people are real. And they’ve sent us a message.’ He adjusted the way he was standing. ‘By sending Andrew back, they wanted us to know what had happened. They wanted us to know what they had done.’

  The crowd had started moving. The people were uncomfortable. There was murmuring.

  ‘They’ve been attacking places around the area for months now. They attacked the supermarket in town, they’ve raided villages, burned whole fields of crops. And they killed Farmer Thompson and his wife.’

  ‘It’s pointless,’ somebody shouted through the silence.

  ‘Aye, aye. It is,’ McAvennie agreed. ‘It is pointless. They are cruel.’ He stopped again. ‘But we are not. And that is why we will survive.’

  The crowd was becoming agitated.

  ‘Hold on a moment, now hold on,’ he said, raising his hand. ‘We’ve made a map of the places we know they’ve hit. They’ve been attacking places all around the camp, moving inwards.’

  The whole crowd made a deep, discordant sound of shock. McAvennie allowed them to take a moment for the news to sink in. They needed it. He waited patiently.

  ‘Where are they now?’ a woman shouted.

  ‘We don’t know.’

  More talking.

  ‘How can you not know?’ came another voice.

  ‘Just stop,’ said McAvennie.

  Charlie felt a sense of growing chaos in the air. He was losing the crowd. They were buckling.

  ‘Sssh,’ McAvennie said into the microphone. ‘Quieten down now.’

  But the voices grew. Charlie watched in disbelief.

  ‘Please,’ McAvennie said again. ‘Just wait.’ His voice was sterner.

  The people in the front few rows looked up at him again and stopped talking. The volume of the crowd fell away.

  ‘I know how you are feeling. I feel it too. It’s only natural to be worried. But we must work together.’

  ‘Fuck that – we need a plan,’ somebody shouted angrily.

  ‘Aye, we do,’ McAvennie reassured them. ‘And we will make one. But you must understand that it is not so easy. We don’t know where they are. Should we go looking for them?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the angry voice.

  ‘Who? Who should go looking?’

  To this, there was no answer.

  ‘They are dangerous, cruel people. If we were to send people out to look for them, they would be killed. There are more of us, this is what we have on our side. If we send people out then we give up that advantage.’

  ‘So what? We just wait for them to come to us?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ answered McAvennie. ‘What have we always said? Empathy, compassion, trust, aye?’

  The crowd mumbled. It was obvious to Charlie that this was the last thing they wanted to hear.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said McAvennie. His voice was louder. It rang out. ‘What? Now that things are getting tougher it won’t work?’

  The crowd was silent.

  ‘That it worked while things were good but it won’t work when things are bad? Your solution is to fight back, just have a fight – is that it?’ He looked at them, his head shaking from side to side. ‘This is a sight I didnae want to see. Has nothing I said meant anything to you? Hmm? Have you really only stayed here because you get food and shelter and be damned with the rest?’ He tapped his finger to his head. ‘Think,’ he said. ‘Think about it. I can’t just guide you through this. I’m not your guardian angel. We’re all in this together. If something good happens, it is because of all of us, not me. If something bad happens, it is not my fault; there’s no room for blame any more. That’s part of the old world.’ He gestured at the space behind him, the past. ‘Remember what I said before to you? About darkness being the absence of light? Well, think about that. We are the light. We are not going to become like them,’ he said, sweeping his arm into the air. ‘We are not going to burn things, or needlessly kill people. You think I’m not a realist? I am. You think I lack courage?’ He looked at the crowd but nobody answered. ‘I promise you I don’t. But consider this: everything we have done here, everything, has been based on the idea of kindness. And look at what we’ve got. Would you really be so willing to go back to the old ways so easily? We don’t need to start fighting. Not yet. It has to be the very last resort. And if we compromise these new ways once, what then? It’s backsliding, and I do nae want to do that. If we go back to the old ways, this place will fall apart. I guarantee you that.’

  The crowd were hushed. There was an electric buzz in the air. He seemed to have won them over. For now. He turned away from the microphone and came towards the back of the stage. As he descended the metal steps Charlie could see the look of worry on his face.

  Emily stood up from her chair.

  ‘George,’ she called.

  The Scot saw her and stood there at the bottom of the steps. The image of him pulling Emily out of the burning car blazed up in Charlie’s mind.

  He came over to her and the bond between them was immediate and strong. Emily stepped forwards. McAvennie was unable to hide how upset he was.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  McAvennie’s smile was weak. ‘I was just doing what anyone else would have done.’

  ‘You saved me.’ She lowered her head. ‘And I want to say that what you’re doing here –’ she nodded to the camp – ‘I think it’s amazing.’

  ‘Thank you, Emily.’

  Something flickered across his face and when it was gone his energy had started to kindle in his eyes again. Emily touched Charlie’s hand. He linked his fingers through hers.

  ‘It makes you proud to be a part of something like this, you know, after everything that’s happened. And I just wanted to say it. Because that’s how I feel.’

  Two weeks passed. New salvage teams were sent out and all returned home safely. Nothing was heard of the men in black clothes. There had been no fresh attacks. Some people had left the camp out of fear, whilst others arrived with meagre possessions and gaunt bodies and tales of how they had found themselves still alive in this new, dangerous world.

  A week after McAvennie’s speech the sun had set through a veil of purple haze hanging over the horizon. Hundreds of people went down to the beach to watch it. Miriam and her family were joined on the cliff top by what people remained in the village to the east – the same people who had come when the tanker first ran aground that nigh
t. When the sun sank into the haze it turned from orange to red. It became massive in the sky; its corona flickered and spat. As Miriam looked at it she thought of her baby and the life it could have if things would only work out well. It would be born into a strange world, but it needn’t be a hopeless one. There is always that see-saw, she thought: hope on one side, despair on the other.

  Emily had stood next to Charlie outside their campervan and he had put his arm around her. Her mind became light and she thought of a day in her childhood when she had watched a boy sitting underneath the apple tree that grew in the field behind her house. There had been a stillness in that day she had fallen in love with, and she had looked for it since, for that pocket of serenity in the hustle and bustle of life, but she’d never found it again.

  McAvennie had been on the main gates when the sun moved into the haze. He had sat down in one of the plastic chairs, turned it towards the sea and let the gentle heat of it warm his face. He closed his eyes and thought of the harbour in the village where he had been brought up, and remembered his father coming home on the fishing boats.

  When Miriam’s mother saw it she thought of her wedding day, of confetti flakes drifting slowly before her eyes, of the sound of people laughing and clapping. Life had looked so full.

  Mary had run to the edge of the cliff, right out to where the grass fell away to nothing. The sun looked as if it was so close that if she ran fast enough and jumped far enough she might be able to land on its surface and walk on the mountains there and lie amongst the red flowers her father had told her about.

  Edward had followed her. He had walked slowly, with his hands in his pockets, not thinking of anything. He wanted to make sure Mary didn’t go too close to the edge.

  When Charlie saw it he thought for a moment that its sight would burn away the black clouds of darkness, but it didn’t. The clouds remained. The deep orange sky and the huge red orb made him feel desperate. His heart scratched against his ribs and he thought of the man he had killed in the small hamlet next to the farmhouse. He kept seeing the silhouette of the man’s head appear at the roof. He hadn’t even thought about what he was about to do – he just did it. That was perhaps the hardest thing to accept. The image was becoming seared on to him.