Outside (13 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Eleanor

*

My brother David ran into the house at five pm on Thursday August 10th.

‘
Turn on the news!
’
he shouted. I heard the crackle of the TV being switched on in the lounge.
‘
Come and look at this, Ellie!
’

Everyone else had been at work that day as I lounged around the house in summer holiday mode and daydreamed about Connor. He was also at work, helping Dad at the factory.

‘
Do you want a cup of tea?
’
I yelled from the kitchen.

‘
No, just come and look at this will you! It’s hit the fan!
’

I poured a few drops of milk into my tea and dismissed my brother
’
s over-dramatic tone. I sauntered into the lounge, where David knelt in front of the television. He looked up at me and shuffled backwards to give me a better view of the screen.

An anchorwoman stood in front of what looked like a shopping centre. Behind her, people were running and screaming. A stream of text scrolled across the bottom of the screen:
so far there have been explosions in London, Manchester, Leeds, Birmingham, Bristol
..
.
The list went on. The anchorwoman spoke,

‘
It’s the same story throughout Europe. Also, the U.S., Australia, South Africa, India
…
A global attack, the like of which has never been seen before
.
.. thousands feared dead
.
.. as I am speaking I am getting reports of still more explosions in Scotland, in Cardiff ...
’

Sirens screamed behind her and she wore a crazed look, like she couldn
’
t believe the enormity of the story she was relating.

‘
Oh my God.
’
I felt sick.
‘
David, what
’
s happening? I
’
m scared.
’

He turned to look at me and we both exhaled slowly through our mouths, at the same time. There had been a couple of terrorist attacks earlier in the summer, but nothing compared to the stories we now witnessed on the screen. I sensed this was something that wouldn’t be forgotten anytime soon.

The next couple of weeks were odd. No one we knew of in our village had been hurt. But we all obsessively focused on the news. Four days after the first attacks, there were more bombings. Again, they were worldwide. Not as extensive as the first round of attacks, but still horrific, and enough to refuel a mass panic of the population. Nobody felt safe. There was none of the distance that normally accompanies big news stories. It all felt real and close. Most of us knew people who had been directly affected.

Because the police had now diverted most of their efforts to stopping the attacks, there were too few of them to deal with the rapidly escalating crime wave that overtook the country. To try to prevent total chaos, the armed forces came onto the streets. Soldiers on the beat meant the police force could concentrate more fully on investigating the terror attacks. But, whilst they had intercepted a couple of plots, the enormity of the task they faced was plain for all to see.

So far, there had been twenty-eight bombings in the first wave of attacks and nine in the second. And this was just in the UK. The devastation had been wrought by a combination of suicide bombers, sophisticated car bombs, plane hijacks and vicious nail bombs left in public areas. The attacks occurred in airports, sea ports, shopping
centres
, transport systems, office blocks and bars.

The damage and suffering grew beyond anything anyone could have imagined and the world could only watch in horror as the death toll mounted each day.

Chapter Seventeen

Riley

*

I climb back into the AV and sit here a moment, trying to decide what to do. Suddenly, there’s a sharp rapping on the windscreen. I jump and look up. It’s Luc with a smile on his face. Standing next to him is a small wiry man in a worn tweed jacket and matching cloth cap. I open the door, ecstatic to see Luc. I get out, wanting to wrap my arms around him, but I don’t. The air smells of wet grass and manure.

‘
You
’
re alright!’ I say. ‘I thought you were never going to wake up and then when I woke up and saw you weren't in the AV I didn’t know what to think. Where were you? Are you okay?
’

‘Hey, Riley,
I
’
m okay. Just feel a bit sick and I've got a banging headache. I woke up and needed a pee. I didn’t know where I was. When I saw you lying on the back seat I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. I had to check you were breathing.’

‘What?’

‘Well I didn’t know. I still don’t know what happened. When I realised you were safe, just asleep, I didn
’
t want to wake you. What happened? How did you get us out of there? Sorry, I haven
’
t introduced you. This is Fred. It
’
s his land we
’
re parked on.
’

‘
Morning.
’
He tips his cap and gives a tight-lipped smile, but his eyes are warm and humorous.
‘
I found your man here, watering my field and was wondering if you
’
d care to take some breakfast with us. Jessie
’
s just gotta take the cows across for milking.
’

‘
Umm, great, yeah. If you
’
re sure that
’
s okay,
’
I stammer, taken aback by the man’s apparent friendliness after the hostilities of last night.

Luc looks at me and shrugs as if to say ‘why not’.

‘How are you?’ he asks me again. ‘Tell me everything. Are you alright? How's the AV? Does it still drive okay?’

‘I'm fine, the AV's fine. It drove okay last night, but it took a bit of a battering. Maybe we better look underneath and we should check the tyres.’

We give the AV a brief once-over and the only damage we can see, is a bent wheel arch and scraped front bumper. The engine still starts fine and miraculously the tyres are unpunctured.

Fred waits while we’re doing this, then he explains we’ll have to take the long way round as his fields are electrified and wired-off and there’s a five-foot-deep ditch around them as well. It crosses my mind I could have easily fallen into this ditch last night. He gestures to us to follow and then strides on ahead, leaving Luc and me to stumble after him.

We make our way across the dew-soaked field. I’m still wearing my flip flops – the most impractical footwear on the planet - and have to skirt around prickly thistles and large steaming cow pats. As we walk, I fill Luc in on what happened last night after he’d been knocked out.

‘
God, Riley, you saved our lives! You’re amazing and I was completely useless.’

‘Well, there’s not a lot you can do when you’re unconscious.’ My cheeks flush under his gaze.

‘True.’ He grins.

‘Changing the subject though, do you think it’s safe to follow these people?’

‘Well, I spoke to both of them for about half an hour before you woke up and they seem normal and decent. And they’re offering us breakfast. I’m starving, aren't you?’

I realise I am.

We’re nearly at the barn. The cows are still mooing and I spot a cockerel on the fence, crowing for all he’s worth. A couple of collies sit to attention in the yard and then eagerly circle the woman as she exits the field with the cattle. They make me think of Woolly. It feels like ages since I’ve seen him, even though it was only yesterday. I almost wish we’d brought him with us.

She wheels a large scaffold tower out of the barn and across the smooth surface of the yard, over to where we’re waiting outside the fence by the ditch. Fred pulls out a long wide plank from under a nearby bush. It has a thick groove in the top and he swings it up so it slots into a bar on the top platform of the tower. The bottom of the plank rests on the ground by our feet.

Jessie climbs up the tower and throws us down a rope which is tied to the top of the tower. Fred uses the rope to haul himself, hand-over-hand, up the plank and onto the scaffold platform.

‘
Up you come!
’
he shouts. Luc and I look at each other and follow him up the plank. I’ve got slight doubts about following strangers into a place that obviously has no immediate route for escape. But I follow his instructions anyway and so does Luc. When we reach the top, Fred pulls up the plank and passes it down to Jessie. Then we all climb down the tower and Jessie wheels it away, back into the shed.

‘
Cor, I
’
m getting too old for that climbing malarkey,’ Fred chuckles. ‘Haven
’
t done
that
in a while. We
’
ve got another way in and out, but I don
’
t know you well enough to show you it just yet, no offence.
’

‘
None taken,
’
Luc says.

Jessie beckons us and we follow her past the barn and round the back, to a sweet Georgian-style farmhouse built from mellow grey stone and half-covered in Virginia Creeper.

‘
Fred
’
s going to do the milking. He
’
ll be along later,
’
she says in a gravelly voice.

We enter the house through a side door, which takes us into a freezing scullery. The dogs trot after us and lie down on a doggy-smelling rug where they stay, somewhat dejected. Jessie slips off her Wellingtons and slides a pair of espadrilles on. We wipe our feet on the mat and follow her into the main, warmer part of the kitchen. She gestures to a chipped Formica table with six mismatched wooden chairs and we sit down gratefully and glance around.

It’s a large, but cosy room with a slate floor and awful green textured wallpaper - functional, rather than aesthetic, but with a nice homey feel. On the shabby Welsh dresser sit framed photographs of children - a boy and a girl in various stages of childhood. I feel strangely comforted by the dresser’s warm honey and treacle tones. Its gleaming brass handles rest on backplates shaped like birds with their wings outstretched and I think back to the second scare I had last night when the owl nearly collided with the AV. If it hadn’t been for that startling encounter, I wouldn’t have stopped here, scared and exhausted. I get the superstitious thought that maybe the owl was Skye guiding us to kindness and shelter.

Jessie reaches into a kitchen cupboard and takes out an ancient-looking bottle.
‘
Hydrogen peroxide,
’
she says.
‘
I
’
m going to dilute it to clean that wound on your head,
’
she says to Luc.

I see him wince.
‘
Okay, thanks,
’ he says.

She dabs some on the cut and the liquid starts foaming. Luc doesn’t make a sound, but I notice he’s gripping the sides of the chair.

‘
There,
’
she says.
‘
I
’
ll brew up some comfrey root tea to help the bruising. It
‘
ll take about an hour or so. Remind me after breakfast.
’

‘
Thanks,
’
says Luc.

‘Now, on to more pleasant things.
Tea? I
’
m afraid we
’
ve only got mint, but it
’
s quite delicious.
’

‘
Yes please.
’

‘
I
’
ve got some homemade bread and jam, if you
’
d like, or would you prefer bacon and eggs?
’

I’m absolutely starving. I hadn
’
t realised how much, until she started talking about food and now I can feel the build-up of saliva in my mouth and the giant-sized hole in my stomach.

‘
Tell you what,
’
continues Jessie.
‘
We
’
ll have the lot.
’

She starts to prepare the food on a cream wood burning stove. It radiates a gentle heat, taking the edge off what would have been a very chilly room, if the freezing scullery is anything to go by.

As she cooks, we sip our tea and I tell her about the previous night’s unwelcome encounter. She listens without speaking; just nodding or shaking her head at the appropriate times.

‘
And then I woke up and saw you with your cows in the field,
’
I say, my story complete.

‘
Unfortunately, your tale doesn’t surprise me,
’
she replies, as she serves up our delicious-smelling English breakfast and joins us at the table.
‘
When we go into the village, we always hear some awful tale about run-ins with the raiders. It
’
s getting worse and there
’
s no one to keep them in check. I don
’
t feel as safe here as I used to.’

‘
Are they your children?
’
I point to the photographs on the dresser.

‘
Yes, that
’
s Freddie Junior and that
’
s Melissa.
’

‘
How old are they?
’

‘
Freddie
’
s nineteen now and Lissy
’
s sixteen.
’