Breakdown (2 page)

“I’d heard there might be coffee?” he asked the clerk.

“Nar, not ’ere.” She said it as if she’d heard it many times. “Bristol, maybe, but I doubt it.”

Brian thanked her, then packed the groceries into the rucksacks, leaving out the small bag containing the lunch his wife had sent along for them.

“Shall we eat in the Parade Gardens?”

They walked up Pierrepont Street, past boarded-up hotels and coffee shops. The window boxes that used to overflow colorful flowers late into the fall now held scraggly weeds. Paint flakes and crumbling mortar littered the sidewalk; larger junk and rusting cars sat in the street. They settled themselves on the stone steps leading down to the overgrown gardens. Before the Bad Winter, meticulously manicured flower beds had bordered the open green, and on fine days striped lawn chairs invited you to be lazy for a while. Now tall grass hid the stones marking three long trenches and dozens of smaller graves.

Fiona had packed sandwiches, apples, and a biscuit each. They drank water from a plastic bottle they had brought along and relieved themselves against the stone wall at the bottom of the stairs. Then they climbed back up to street level and set off for the Distribution Center, where the old covered market used to be.

Brian had noticed how much of Ian’s socks showed between his trouser cuffs and shoe tops. Ian admitted that, yes, his shoes had got too tight again, so they started with the racks of used shoes. Ian found a pair of sturdy leather work boots with the soles hardly worn and near-perfect wellies. Brian nodded his approval.

They visited the clothing racks next, checking for jeans and cords in good condition, finding two pairs of each. Brian added three flannel shirts. He chewed his lip as he counted out the coupons, but smiled when he saw Ian watching him.

“You’re growing too fast, old boy,” he said. “We’ll have to wait ’til next month to get you a jacket. C’mon, let’s go do the books.”

The used-book shop was located in a small side street near the abbey, still run by an old man with a fuzz of white hair whom Brian had always known only as Flynn. He had somehow managed to carry on through the worst of times, hardly leaving his flat above the store, or spending his days in the narrow aisles between shelves, sorting and cataloguing, or wrapped in a blanket in an armchair by the door, reading to escape the harshness of the changed world. The place was more of a library now, with no tourists to spend their holiday money on quaint old volumes. Brian visited nearly every week. He had brought two books back to trade in. Ian picked out an adventure about a young American cowboy and Brian got a mystery novel. He gave Flynn a tin of meat, a squash from the garden, and a selection of leftover ration coupons.

“Oh, I say, Brian,” Flynn said as they were about to leave. “Your old mate Chris was looking for you earlier this week.”

Brian stopped dead in the doorway. The name jolted him. He stared at Flynn, who sat reading the fine print on the tin’s label, apparently unaware that he had said anything unusual.

Brian gulped, thinking Flynn had to be mistaken. “Um, are you sure?”

Flynn looked up. “What? Of course I’m sure. Hardly knew him at first, it’s been so long. But yeah, he asked after you, said he’d been round to your house, but you’d gone and did I know where to. I told him you live out in Hurleigh now.”

“Chris Price, was it? You’re sure, Flynn?”

“I’m not dotty yet, Brian. He looked different, you know, but it were him, I tell you. He stayed a good few hours, asking about folks what used to live here. He’d brought some lovely muffins and jam, and we had a bit o’ tea. I told him you were out Hurleigh way.”

Good memories battled with bad ones in Brian’s head. The long childhood friendship had ended with hard feelings and harder words. He remembered the last horrible thing he’d uttered with such contempt, nearly ten years ago, and felt his face grow warm with shame.

Ian was watching him, clutching his bundle of clothing.

“Uh, thanks, Flynn,” Brian said and went out. He headed down York Street. It couldn’t be Chris. It was impossible. Chris had been in New York. By all accounts, New York had been hit hard.

“Dad?”

Brian stopped and turned around. “Sorry.”

“Did he mean Uncle Jon’s brother? Chris, from the band?”

Ian didn’t know how the partnership had ended. All he knew was that his dad and Chris Price had been famous rock stars before he was born. He had seen and heard the CDs kept stored in a cabinet in the sitting room.

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

Brian shook his head. “I think Flynn must be mistaken. How could he have got here?”
Even if he survived.
“He lived in New York, remember? There aren’t many ships, and hardly any planes.”

“But Flynn said it was him, for sure. Maybe he got on a ship.”

“I doubt it.” Brian stood looking into the distance, his eyebrows drawn together. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Where?”

“We’ll go to the Government Center. He’ll have to register there if he wants to get his coupons.”

They queued for half an hour at the information desk, then watched as a pale girl searched through a box of cards. Not too many years ago, she would have punched the information into a computer and had their answer in seconds. But despite all the public assurances six years ago that the cyberattacks were causing only temporary shutdowns, nearly all the computers were junk now.

The girl finally told them she did not have a card for a Chris Price. She suggested they try the Health Center, two floors up.

“Sometimes the cards don’t get filed right. But he’ll have to have a blood test to relocate here, and they’ll have the record of that.”

The queue for the Health Center was even longer. The man on the end said he didn’t know if he would get in before the place closed at six.

“Well, that’s out then,” Brian said to Ian. “It’s nearly time for the bus.”

They walked back toward the bus station.

“Uncle Jon never talks about him,” Ian said.

Brian sighed. “No. I don’t talk much about Uncle Colin, either, do I?” In the beginning it had hurt too much to even think about his dead brother, Colin, and how Colin’s stubbornness had doomed him and his family. Now, Brian thought maybe he should make the effort at some point, so his sons would know about their uncle, aunt, and cousins.

“Did I know him?”

Brian thought Ian meant Colin, then realized he meant Chris.

“No, you were just a baby when he moved away. When we get home, I’ll show you some pictures, okay?”

“I’ve seen the pictures,” Ian reminded him. “And Uncle Jon has some in his room, too. Y’know, if he wants to get to Hurleigh, he’ll have to take our bus.”

“You’re right,” Brian said, his mouth gone dry, as they turned the corner into the station. Brian scanned the place.

Most everyone in the bus station lingered near the stalls. Three people had already queued for their bus. Brian caught sight of a man sitting on a low brick wall in the afternoon sun. He held a bulky brown jacket in his lap and kept his head down. At this distance, there wasn’t much to distinguish him from any other stranger in the street. But Brian stood rooted, staring with his mouth open. He put a hand out in front of Ian.

“Stay here,” he said. He walked forward, breathing as if he’d run the last two blocks. “Chris?”

The man on the wall looked up, saw him instantly. Brian stopped, choked on guilt.
Not dead...

Chris eased himself off the bricks and came forward a few steps. He wore his brown hair long, pulled back into a ponytail. A few pieces had come loose and hung down around his face. He hadn’t shaved, and his clothes looked like they needed a wash. His eyes had a haunted, uncertain look to them. Brian knew that look; he’d seen it in his wife’s eyes occasionally as she had gazed at their children during the Bad Winter, when so many were dying.

Chris glanced down. When he brought his eyes back up, the haunted look was gone, and he seemed suddenly unburdened. His mouth formed a silent word:
Brian.
He took a deep breath. His voice came out relieved.

“You look good.”

CHAPTER 2

“C
hris—” Brian gasped. He started to move forward, but Chris took a quick step back. Brian’s stomach balled up. He tried to keep his voice steady. “Have you had a blood test?”

“Of course. Negative.”

Relief flooded through Brian. “Then you’re good,” he said, but he stayed where he was.

“Yes, I suppose.” Clutching the jacket, Chris stared at Brian.

“It’s good to see you,” Brian said, thinking it was a phrase more appropriate for an acquaintance at a party, not someone you thought had been dead for six years. But no other phrase came to mind.

“It’s good to see you,” Chris returned. It sounded automatic. His next words were barely audible. “I didn’t think I’d find you.”

“How did you get here?” Brian asked.

Chris was looking past Brian at Ian. “Is it safe to bring him here?”

“He has to know. He has to learn how to go on, doesn’t he?” Brian had been through this with Fiona, over and over.

Chris nodded. “Well, you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, but maybe it’s different here.”

Brian’s answer came out harsher than he expected. “How do you know what I’ve seen?”

“You look like you’ve got it easy.”

“Better than most,” Brian agreed. “But nothing is easy anymore.”

Chris drew himself up, his face hardening. “Yeah, I know.”

It occurred to Brian all at once that Chris shouldn’t be alone. He should have a wife and child with him, but he didn’t. Guilt hit him again.

Brian turned to Ian. “Go queue for the bus, old boy.”

Ian shuffled off, looking back several times.

Brian swallowed hard. This wasn’t going well. Chris’s sudden appearance had unbalanced him. The whole thing had an unreal, dreamlike quality to it. He hadn’t really believed Flynn, even though he’d gone through the motions of checking at the Government Center. Until Ian had suggested it, he never thought Chris might be waiting at the bus station.

“Chris, what happened? We thought you were dead.”

“No, not dead. Almost, a few times.”

“How did you get here?” Brian prompted when Chris said nothing else.

“I walked, mostly.”

Brian did not understand. “Walked? I thought you were in New York.”

“No, from—” Chris said, then stopped. He seemed to be thinking hard. “It’s a long story.” He did not go on.

At a loss, Brian did not know what to say, what to do. It was starting to sink in: Chris was alive, standing here in front of him, and he had done nothing to show he was the least bit happy about it. He felt he should make some gesture, but at the same time, it was as if Chris didn’t particularly care. Or maybe Chris was taking cues from him, Brian thought. Had he come across as indifferent? Was it too late to change the tone of the conversation?

“Look,” Chris said suddenly, making Brian flinch. “Except for Flynn, I’ve not found anyone. He told me about my mother. Is Jon dead, too?”

“No,” Brian said, glad to have some good news for him. “Jon’s all right. He’s well. He’s with us out in Hurleigh.”

Chris took a deep, ragged breath and let it out as he closed his eyes. He looked like he might fall down. His shoulders sagged. He put a hand up to rub his face, then looked at Brian again.

“What does he know about Kevin?”

Kevin, the middle of the three Price brothers, had been living in London with his girlfriend and her daughter. Brian shook his head. “We’ve never heard. He rang Jon, back at the start, and said they were coming. But they never did.”

“He’s dead. They’re all three dead.” Chris’s face went hard again.

“Can you be sure?”

“I’ve been there, to London, to his flat. The door was marked.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” It all came back to Brian, the enormity of it, symbolized by rows of stone markers in the parks where children used to play. At times it still threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to focus on those who depended on him, not on those who were gone. Now a familiar grief trickled past the dam he had built to hold it, grief he usually felt only late at night in the dark, or as he trimmed the weeds around three small graves in the Hurleigh churchyard. He took a few deep breaths and shored up his dam, and the spillage drained away.

“But Jon’s with you?” Chris asked. He looked at Brian as if he hardly dared to believe it.

“Yes, he’s fine.”

“Sandy?”

Brian hesitated; he didn’t know the name. “Um, I don’t—”

“Jon’s girlfriend.”

“He never mentioned a girlfriend,” Brian said. Chris took it in with a curious expression, then a resigned shake of his head.

“Fiona?”

“She’s fine, and Preston. Simon is with us, and Alan, and Laura—”

“
Laura?
”

Chris and Laura had been engaged and lived together for three years when the band was at its most popular. They’d called it quits without getting married.

Brian nodded. “I found her here in Bath, took her out to Hurleigh.”

As close as they’d been once, Brian had hardly recognized her. She had lost her husband, her sister, and her job. She had burst into tears when Brian asked if she needed help.

The haunted look passed across Chris’s face again. “All this time,” he said, “you were all here, safe. And I—” He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut.

Brian didn’t know what to say. Chris shook himself and got his composure back. Brian glanced over to where Ian stood. “Look, the bus will be along soon. Do you have any money?”

“Yeah, I’ve got money.”

“Right, then. If we want a seat, we should queue.”

Chris nodded but didn’t move. “Is it okay?” he whispered, not looking at Brian.

“Of course,” Brian said. “Yes, of course! God, why wouldn’t it be? Chris, I—” Brian had to stop, swallow. “We’ve missed you. I always hoped you were okay.” But as he said it, he knew it wasn’t completely true. Maybe since the crash, since he’d had to reevaluate his life, but before that, for years, he had nursed a festering resentment, and New York was not far enough away to suit him. He had argued with Fiona about Chris’s few visits with Ian and put a stop to them. When the crash came, he had felt a sort of remorse, a sense that there was a small, ugly part of his past that could never be changed, never put right. He had mentally put Chris in the same sad category as so many others, whether they were in the Hurleigh churchyard or somewhere unknown and far away, with nothing to be done about it. He took a breath, forced a smile. “Jon’s going to be over the moon.”