We watched him carefully as he chewed, staring straight ahead at the wall. He swallowed with a small shudder, then looked around at the roomful of eyes that were trained on him.
“Not as bad as you think it’s going to be, is it?” said George from the corner.
“I’ve had worse,” said Bryce.
“Abi, darling, take a plate,” said Susan to her daughter.
“I’m not hungry, Mummy,” said the girl. She looked grimly at Bryce as he went to work on his second and third mouthfuls.
“OK, let’s go and get ready for bed then. We’ll let our...guests…eat in peace.” Susan ushered her daughter out of the kitchen by her shoulders, shooting a look at her husband as she left.
“Night, Daddy,” said the girl.
“Sweet dreams, darling,” said George after them.
We heard them climb the stairs and whisper.
“Do you mind if I...?” said George, pointing at the empty seat.
“Not at all,” said Richard. “It’s your house, after all.”
George sat down and raised an eyebrow at Richard.
“Ah...huh, yes, quite,” he said, spooning some rice into a bowl. “Our house. Quite.”
“I’m not trying to be rude,” said Harvey. “But you and your family don’t really seem like you belong here.”
George topped his rice with a spoonful of sauce and three slivers of meat.
“Well, we’ve had to make some adjustments in the last year, of course,” he said jovially. He sounded as if he was talking about some minor economic downturn rather than the almost complete destruction of the country. He looked around at us.
“As I’m sure we all have,” he said. He spooned some curry into his mouth. “Please,” he said, casting his spoon around the table. “Dig in.”
The wall clock ticked and the candle burned, already halfway down. My legs began to twitch and my foot began to tap. I watched as, one by one, Grimes, Richard and Harvey took a bowl and filled it with the rapidly cooling excuse for food. They moved with painful slowness, as if through mud. Bryce’s jaw worked through mouthful after mouthful, the wet squelch of the slurry inside his face seemed to grow louder and louder.
The clock ticked. The candle burned.
“Ed, you should eat,” said Harvey.
“I’m...”
“Huh?” he said. I gritted my teeth.
“I’m not hungry,” I said. Loudly, deliberately.
“Away,” grunted Bryce, his head hanging over the bowl like a pig in a trough. “Sit yer arse down.”
“I’m alright, really, I’m…” I said.
Grimes slurped something from her lip. “Sit down Ed,” she said, not looking up from her bowl.
“Not hungry?” said Harvey. “We’ve barely eaten today…”
I slammed a fist on the sink.
“We’ve barely moved today!” I said, surprised at the sudden thunder in my voice. The room fell silent.
“What are we doing here?” I said. “We’ve got to get moving! Now!”
George’s eyes darted up at me. He pushed back from his chair and took a single long step towards me so that his face was in mine. He was trembling, afraid.
“Keep your voice down,” he whispered sharply. He pointed outside. “There is a guard outside this house. You cannot be heard to say things like that.”
“Why not?” I said. “What is this place anyway?”
“Quiet!” he said. “Quiet.”
There was a knock on the door. George froze, wide-eyed. After a moment he turned and walked from the kitchen.
“George?” came a small voice from upstairs. “What’s happening?”
“Shush Susan! I’ll deal with this.”
“Nice one, Ed,” said Bryce over his shoulder at me.
We heard the door open.
“Hello?” said George. “How can I help you?”
“Everything alright?” said the guard. “I heard shouting.”
“Shouting?” said George. “No, no, just ah...laughter, probably, just enjoying the food.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Right,” said the guard. “Laughter. Any more laughter and I’m calling Jenny, understood?”
“Understood, absolutely,” said George.
The door closed and George walked slowly back into the kitchen. Richard placed his unfinished bowl back on the table.
“Just exactly what is happening here ,George? And who is that woman?” he said.
George shook his head, looking frantically around the floor of the kitchen. “Jenny Rae is a…a fine woman,” he struggled. “She’s built a strong community, given us homes, protection, work, food…we…we really owe her our lives.” He glanced up at Richard and then looked away.
“You can sleep in the lounge,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”
He left the room. We heard his dull footsteps on the stairs and then the squeak and click of a door closing. Bryce tossed the last empty tray of seagull vindaloo on the pile. We sat and watched the candle burn to its end.
I woke in the night to voices above me. It was pitch black and the distant drone of the generator had stopped. No electricity. No light. No heat. Frozen air and darkness. I was curled up uncomfortably in an armchair, the side of my head resting on an ancient, hard cushion. Everyone else was asleep on the other sofas and chairs that had been crammed into the Angelbecks’ small front room.
I sat up so that both ears were free, one lobe peeling slowly back from the flesh beneath it. The voices were coming from upstairs; whispers, a hushed argument. Even in the frosted quiet I could not make out the words, just Susan Angelbeck’s high, frantic twitterings steadied by her husband’s calm rumble.
Then I heard a word. Then another. Then there was silence and a door closed. I got up and walked over to the window, pulling back the net curtains. I could just make out the shape of the guard outside the house. A puff of smoke billowed from his mouth and disappeared up into the night. I let the curtain fall back and sat back in the chair.
When I woke again it was still dark. Richard was up and dressed.
“It’s almost dawn,” he said.
By the time we were all awake and ready, we heard footsteps on the stairs and noises from the kitchen. We went through and found George Angelbeck sitting at the table, rubbing his brow over a cup of black tea. He saw us and looked up, smiled.
“Good morning,” he said. “There’s tea in the pot.”
“When will Jenny call?” I said. George gave a little laugh. “Miss Rae is usually very prompt with her calls. I’m sure she’ll be here soon. Please, have some tea while you wait, sit down.”
I remained on my feet, leaning by the sink. Harvey passed me a cup of warm, oily tea which I drank in two gulps. Susan Angelbeck arrived in the kitchen with her daughter, who was dressed in a grey school uniform.
“Good morning, dear,” said George. He stood up, kissed his wife and laid a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Right, must be off,” he said. He drained his tea and placed the cup in the sink, then took a coat from the hook and opened the back door. “See you later.”
“I expect we’ll be gone before you’re back,” said Richard. “So, thank-you.”
George paused and looked back nervously at his wife.
“Don’t mention it,” he said. His cheek twitched once. “My pleasure. Goodbye.”
“Get some breakfast, darling,” said Mrs Angelbeck when her husband had closed the door. “There’s a good girl.”
“I’m not hungry,” said the girl, looking down at her scuffed, plastic shoes.
“Right,” breathed Mrs Angelbeck. I felt a pain in my cheeks watching her smile stretched permanently across her mouth. “Well, let’s be off to school then.” She took two coats from the line of hooks on the wall by the door, putting one on her daughter and holding the other in a tight fist. She turned to us. “I’ll see you in a little while,” she said.
They left through the back door and I heard her brisk, clipped f
ootsteps disappear up the path outside. We drank more tea. Bryce had started to look through the cupboards for something to eat when the front doorbell rang.
“Let’s get our lift,” I said. I walked along the corridor and opened the door. Jenny Rae smiled thinly at me.
“Good morning,” she said. She crumpled her face and squinted her eyes awkwardly. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Truck’s broken down, won’t start.”
“Not to worry,” I said. “Thanks all the same, we’ll be on our way now. If we could just have our packs?”
Jenny Rae held a strong, podgy hand against my shoulder, stopping me from getting down onto the path. I eyed the guard still standing at the gate.
“Woah, woah, easy there,” said Jenny Rae. She smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t say it couldn’t be fixed, did I? My boys are working on it, should be good to go by noon. You stay here, have some breakfast. Then we’ll make sure you get on your way.” She gave a satisfied nod and turned to leave.
“Our packs,” I called after her.
“I’ll get someone to send them over,” she shouted, then suddenly stopped and turned back. “Oh and, er, feel free to have a wander if you like. But keep to this side of the square for the time being. For you own protection, you understand.” She leaned in. “Folk here have had a hard time and they sometimes find it difficult dealing with strangers. They might not understand that you’re our guests, see. They might get the wrong idea.”
She gave us each a concerned look. Then she smiled and left, exchanging a look with the guard as she passed him at the gate. Just then we heard the back door open. We walked back to the kitchen, where Susan was depositing her keys on the table and removing her coat.
“Was that her?” she said, without looking up.
“Yes,” said Grimes. “What’s going on Mrs Angelbeck? Where did your husband go this morning?”
“George?” she fluttered, with a confused smile. “Why, George has gone to work, of course.” Her face was pale and empty as she navigated her way past us, avoiding our eyes, and hung up her coat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to do upstairs. Please help yourself to tea.”
Susan Angelbeck left the kitchen and walked slowly up the stairs. We looked between each other.
“This is balls,” said Bryce at last. “Let’s take a walk.”
The guard let us past in that way big men do when they’re letting you past - chin raised, eyes looking down from their elevated position, a thin sneer creeping onto the mouth.
“This side of the square,” he droned after us, echoing Jenny Rae’s orders. We walked up the street, keeping close. It was still early and not many people were about, although I could feel eyes all around us. There was the occasional blur of movement from an upstairs window, the odd flit of curtain. Guards stood at regular intervals along the wire fence to our left. Each one stood or turned towards us as we passed, tracking us until we had moved into the territory of the next.
“Balls,” Bryce repeated to himself as he walked ahead, hands thrust in his pockets and hunching his coat around him. “Balls, balls, balls.”
It began to drizzle. By the time we had found our way back to the tunnel that led into the main square it was raining heavily. We stopped and sheltered in the overhang, leaning against the wall and looking into the circle of dull red houses with their slate roofs, ragged gardens and broken fences. The tall wooden stake still stood in the centre like some ancient maypole, its ribbons long since lost to the wind.
“What do you think that pole’s for?” I said.
Suddenly a door in the tunnel behind us opened and a woman walked out with her son. He was in school uniform as well, holding a pile of books to his chest. They stopped when they saw us, then the woman ushered her son through and out into the rain without a word. We watched them cross the wet square, the woman protecting her son’s head from the rain with one side of her cardigan until they had darted down the tunnel opposite.
“They have a school then,” said Grimes. “That’s encouraging.”
“That depends on what they’re teaching them,” said Richard.
Grimes frowned fiercely and looked up at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Richard looked taken aback. He stammered and blinked. “It means what it means,” he said at last. “You think they’re sticking to a syllabus? Putting them through exams? Getting a good national average?” He gave a puff of derision and walked closer to the tunnel entrance, folding his arms. “Most of these people never went to school in the first place. Why would they start going now?”
Grimes narrowed her eyes. She walked up behind Richard and cocked her head at him. “These people?” she said. Grimes generally had quite a soft accent, definitely Scottish but hard to place when she spoke normally. Now though, the tight vowels and hard, blunt bite of every consonant told you everything you needed to know. The girl was from Glasgow. “And what would you know about these people?”
Richard glanced back and huffed again. “You know what I mean,” he said. “The kids probably knew more about how to cheat the benefits system than they did about algebra or grammar.”
Grimes’ frown went up a notch. Her teeth were bared. “Oh aye, they’re all benefits cheats, scum of the earth, wastes of space, criminals the lot of them. Not fit for society. Not worth saving.” Her lip trembled a little as she glared up at him. “Not a wee girl trying to do her homework in the toilet because her brother’s using her bedroom to deal drugs, or walking to school and passing her Dad lying drunk and asleep by the bins.”
Richard glanced down awkwardly at her. “Not saying there aren’t exceptions, of course, just…”
“Not like the nice middle-class kids, eh?” Grimes pressed on. “Not like your people.”
“I’m not saying that,” said Richard. “I’m just…”
“And you,” spat Grimes, jabbing a finger at him. “What about you? What were you doing before this happened? What paid for your house on the hill? What were you doing that was such a big help to society? Insurance? Oil? Banking?”
Richard gave the barest of flinches.
“Banking then,” said Grimes. “I rest my case.”
“Yes,” said Richard, turning to face her. “Yes, I made my money. I made my money for me and my family, and I bloody worked for it. That’s what I did, work. Hard bloody work. Something most of these people don’t understand.” He threw a hand out to the empty square. “I deserved what I got because I put the effort in. Why the hell should I feel guilty for that?”
Grimes fixed his glare defiantly. “There are people who work harder than you have ever worked and don’t get a fraction of what they deserve,” she said. “Believe me, I know. And people who hardly work at all and get more than you ever did too, I’d bet.” She turned her back to him and leaned against the wall. “It’s got nothing to do with work.”
“Who are you?” said a quiet voice behind us. We turned to see a boy standing at the other end of the tunnel. He was small, maybe seven or eight, wearing oversized jeans rolled up at the ankles and a dirty, red anorak. His hair was a tousled mop of blonde that hung over his eyes.
“Who are you?” challenged Richard, still riled from Grimes’ attack. The boy slunk back a little and put his hands in his pockets. “My name’s Brian,” he said.
“Shouldn’t you be at school,” said Richard, glancing snidely down at Grimes to make sure he had made his point.
“Little school’s on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Big school’s on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,” said the boy, as if reciting from a rulebook. “’s Wednesday today,” he sniffed. Grimes countered Richard with a similar look, brushing off his attack and stepping back into the tunnel.
“Hello, Brian,” she said, returning to her softer voice. “I’m Laura. Where do you live?”
“Are you soldiers?” said the boy, looking up and down at Grimes’ uniform, then with confusion at the rest of us. Grimes smiled.
“I am,” she
said, then folded her arms and mouthed “but they’re not” behind a palm.
A shy grin grew on the boy’s face. “Not even the big one?” he whispered back.
Grimes gave her best incredulous look and shook her head. “Especially not him,” she said.
The boy looked between us for a while. Then the grin left his face a little. “Does Jenny know you’re here?” he said.
“Yes,” said Grimes. She seemed to be sizing the boy up. “Jenny knows we’re here. What do you think of Jenny? Do you like her?”
The boy frowned and looked away from Grimes as if she had taken a step closer to a line he wasn’t comfortable with her crossing. Grimes seemed to sense this and backtracked.
“We were just going for a walk,” she said. “Would you like to show us around?”
The boy brightened. “Aye, alright,” he said.
The rain had returned to drizzle and Brian led us around the square. He pointed out houses of other people that he knew, told us about the takeaway and showed us the school, which looked like it had once been a dilapidated nursery. We let him walk ahead, chattering, kicking stones and rattling his fingers along fences.
“Jenny said there was a car here,” said Grimes, in a break between things he found interesting.
“Car?” said the boy. “There’s a garage where there’s cars. Do you want to see it?”
“Yes, please,” said Grimes. The boy gave a skip and began to run, leading us down a side street, along a thin alley and out onto a flat area of stony ground. The boy stopped. Across the clearing was another section of fence; the same fence that we now realised surrounded the entire estate. At one end was a gate. Two armed guards stood outside it, looking into the mist. At the other end was a strip of three flat-bricked buildings with metal shutters. One of them was open and we could see a few men in overalls milling around inside by the yellow glow of a work light. There was a tinny crackle of music beneath their voices. The boy pointed. “There,” he said. “That’s the garage. That’s where they fix cars.”
“Sit on their arses more like,” said Bryce. “I’m gonnae say hello.” He made to step out again, but Grimes reached for him and he stopped. All it took was a touch from her now. He was hers completely.
The End of the World Running Club Page 31
