‘We’ve got a load of confectionery and snacks,’ he repeated pointing towards the racks of chocolate bars, crisps, sweets and canned drinks in the newsagents, Dillon’s. ‘And then burgers, chicken, potato fries, we have in the freezers over there,’ he said pointing towards the two fast food counters sitting side by side. ‘We’ve got an auxiliary generator that kicks in if there’s a power failure, and that’ll keep going for about a week at most, and then of course the frozen stuff will start to go off. So we’ll munch our way through that stock first. That’s my plan.’

‘So you’re sorted for a while then?’ said Paul.

Mr Stewart nodded eagerly. ‘We’ll be just fine here until things right themselves once more.’

Jenny looked out at the scuffed and damaged glass wall at the front of the pavilion. It had taken a pounding. It didn’t look pretty any more, but it wasn’t going to give any time soon.

‘How did they manage to get in and assault your assistant manager?’ Jenny asked.

‘That was unlocked,’ said Stewart pointing to the large revolving door in the middle of the front wall. ‘I’d just sent Julia to bring in the ice-cream signs and other bits and pieces we have outside, when they turned up.’

He turned to face them with a confident smile. ‘It’s locked now, that’s for bloody sure.’

‘You think they’ll be back?’ asked Jenny.

‘They might,’ he answered quickly, ‘and they can prat around out there and hurl as much abuse as they like, those little bastards won’t be able to get in. Just you see.’

They heard the sound of someone moaning in pain.

‘Ah, that’s poor Julia. I better go and see how your friend is getting on with her.’

Mr Stewart turned smartly away and walked with an echoing click of heels across the foyer towards the manager’s office. He passed by a huddle of his staff sat amongst the tables in the open-plan eating area and offered them a way-too-cheery smile.

‘Cheer up!’ he called out as he breezed past.

His staff, a worried and weary-looking group of eastern European women and a couple of young lads, nodded mutely and then returned to whispering quietly amongst themselves.

‘I can’t stay here any longer, Paul,’ she said quietly. ‘Every minute I’m sitting here, is another minute away from my kids. I’ve got to go.’

Paul looked at her. ‘Listen to me. The smart thing to do, the clever thing to do, is to sit tight. Just for another day, and see how things are.’

‘What?’ she whispered. ‘I can’t stay! I have to get home!’

He nodded, thinking about that. ‘I’d like to get home too. But you know . . . look, yesterday afternoon, at that roadblock was pretty scary, wasn’t it?’

She nodded.

‘Well, I think it’s going to be even worse out there today and worse still tomorrow. You don’t want to be out there walking the roads whilst things are so unstable.’

‘My kids, I have to get home to them.’

‘You said your kids were tucked up safely at your friend’s home? And they got in a whole load of food? That’s the last thing you heard right?’

Jenny nodded.

‘Then, right now, they’re probably a lot better off than everyone else.’

Jenny thought about that for a moment, and realised that Paul might well be right. Sitting tight in Jill’s modest terraced house; one anonymous house amongst many identical houses in a sedate suburban back road, riding this thing out quietly, not drawing anybody’s attention . . . Leona and Jacob were doing exactly the right thing.

‘You won’t be doing them any favours heading out there today,’ said Paul. ‘Not whilst it’s one big lawless playtime for the kiddies. Hang on a day or two, let the worst of it pass. The police will get a grip on things later on today or tomorrow, mark my words. Then, shit, I’ll come with you. I want to get home too.’

Jenny decided that he might have a point. On her own, today or tomorrow, out there on the road, anything could happen.

Jenny would have happily sold her soul for five minutes on a mobile phone that worked right now. Just to know the kids were still okay, just to know that Andy was okay, and perhaps tell him that - you know what? - maybe she’d been a little hasty. Maybe she did still love him after all.

‘You go wandering out there today, and well . . . your kids’ll fare a lot better with a mum than without.’

Jenny looked uncertainly through the scuffed plastic.

‘Hang on for today, okay? I promise you, we’ll see police cars out there tomorrow.’

Jenny nodded. ‘Okay, just today then.’

They heard the door to the manager’s office open. Ruth and Stewart emerged and walked over towards Jenny and Paul.

‘They broke her nose and dislocated her shoulder, and her jaw’s swollen. I’m going to pop her shoulder back, but it’s going to really hurt her. I’ve given her a load of painkillers,’ she looked at her watch, ‘which should kick-in in about ten minutes.’

Mr Stewart muttered angrily. ‘Those vicious little bastards. What I wouldn’t give to catch one of them and give him a damn good hiding.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Jenny.

Ruth nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks. You may need to hold her for me. It won’t be nice.’

Jenny grimaced, ‘I can handle it.’

Ruth looked at Mr Stewart. ‘Is there any booze in this place?’

‘Uh . . . yes,’ he answered awkwardly, ‘there’s ahh . . . a bottle of brandy in my office.’

‘Good, I need a nip, you might want to have one too,’ she said to Jenny, ‘and I’m sure poor old Julia might want a slurp too.’

Mr Stewart nodded, a tad reluctantly. ‘Help yourselves.’

‘Ta. Come on.’

Jenny looked at Paul, ‘You going to give us a hand?’

But Paul was studying the glass front to the pavilion; his mind was elsewhere. ‘So, you think those lads will be coming back?’

The shift manager nodded and smiled grimly. ‘Oh yes. They said they’d be back sometime soon. And promised me that once they got in they would . . . what was the phrase? Oh yes, “happy slap me till I were a shit-stain on the floor”.’

‘Nice.’

‘Oh, I’m not worried. In fact I think I’d like it if they did come back. It’ll be fun to watch those violent little shits getting hungry outside our nice big window. They can watch me serve up burgers and fries to my staff.’

‘Yeah, that’ll be great fun, better than TV,’ he smiled uncertainly back at Mr Stewart.