Chapter 2

THE NATURE OF THE CATASTROPHE

Jake slept badly. He woke before first light and, unable to lie there, went down and lit a fire in the kitchen grate. Then he sat and cleaned his gun, his mind returning again and again to the events of the previous night.

Until now he’d been all right, or, if not, then he’d at least been able to cope. Much of that was down to Tom and Mary. When he’d been at his most desperate, in those awful first few months after Annie’s death, it was they who had helped get him through.

One kiss and it had all changed.

The thing that nagged at him was this: that he didn’t know why. It clearly wasn’t because Mary was unhappy. He had only to think of her last night, hanging on Tom’s arm, laughing at his awful, corny jokes, to know that she was still in love with him. That much was self-evident. Why, then, tilt her cap at him? Or was that Tom’s doing? Was Tom’s friendship that unselfish, that he’d offer up his wife? If so, then why now? What had changed to make him suddenly so generous?

Only that was it. Jake just couldn’t imagine how, were he in Tom’s place, he could even think of sharing the woman he loved. It went against nature.

What then? What had made Mary come on to him? Why, when she had never asked before, had she asked him to dance with her last night? Was it the drink?

He knew it wasn’t. He’d seen her much more drunk than that. Falling over drunk. But she had never made a pass at him; never given the slightest hint that she harboured any hidden feelings. Until last night.

Jake sighed, then set the gun down.

So what now? Did he pretend it had never happened? Greet Tom with a cheery welcome? Slap Tom’s back and ignore the feelings Mary had woken in him?

It was that which disturbed him most. That he had liked it. That he had wanted it. And much more than just a kiss. In the secrecy of his thoughts he could admit it now. Feeling her against him, kissing her, had affected him profoundly. In the darkness he had dreamed of her. Dreamed of lying naked with her. Of kissing her neck and breasts. Of fucking her.

He closed his eyes. In the corner, sprawled out in his basket, Boy shifted, gave a low growl and then a bark.

Peter stood in the doorway.

‘You didn’t have to get up yet, lad.’

Peter knuckled his eyes and yawned. ‘It’s still dark out. You all right?’

Jake smiled. ‘Just a bit hung over. Did you have a good evening?’

Peter grinned. ‘Yeah. We hung about a bit, up on the battlements.’

‘All of you?’ But Jake knew the answer even before he asked. In any case, Peter, accustomed to his father’s teasing, dodged the issue expertly.

‘Shall I make breakfast?’

‘You don’t have to, lad. We’ll stop off at Wareham and have something there.’

‘Tea, then?’

‘Coffee, if you’re doing it.’

Peter looked at him, surprised. Coffee was a luxury item. It was rare for them to have it. He nodded, then, filling the kettle, set it on the grid above the fire, whistling to himself all the while.

‘You like that tune, son?’

Peter turned his head. ‘What tune’s that?’

‘The one you’re whistling. Josh played it last night.’

‘Oh… right. Did he?’

Again it was a game they played. Peter pretended that he didn’t like any of the old stuff. But he did. He was humming or whistling it all the time.

‘You packed, lad?’

Peter nodded, then reached up to get the coffee tin down from the shelf above the sink. Whenever Jake went on one of his trips to market, Peter – and Boy – went to stay with the Hubbard women. So it had been these past six years.

Jake looked down. ‘Anything special you’d like me to bring back? We’ve got a bit spare. Or should have, once I’ve traded in a few things. Something you need, maybe?’

Peter had been spooning the coffee granules into the cups. Hearing what his father said, he stopped. ‘I…’

He was hunched suddenly, awkward. There was something he wanted.

‘Go on, boy. If we can afford it.’

Peter steeled himself, then turned, facing his father. ‘I… I wanted to get Meg something… A ring.’

‘A ring.’ But Jake knew better than to mock his son over this. He could see in his face just what it meant, asking for this. ‘Is that all?’

For a moment Peter seemed surprised. Then, quickly, he shook his head. ‘No… just that…’

Jake smiled. ‘’S’all right, lad. I’ll make sure it’s a nice one.’

There was the briefest flash of gratitude in the boy’s eyes, then he turned back, busying himself, hoping that his father hadn’t noticed he was blushing now. But Jake had noticed.

He stood, then went over to the window. The sky was brightening. The blackness of the yard had been solid a minute or two ago, but now you could discern familiar shapes.

Jake turned, looking across at the old, walnut-cased clock that stood on the mantelpiece. He didn’t have to be in Corfe for another hour yet, but maybe he’d go a bit earlier this time. Get there before Tom and make sure everything was okay between them.

‘You all right, Dad?’

Jake turned, surprised to find Peter there beside him, holding out the cup for him to take. Had he let something show in his face? He took the cup from the boy.

‘Yeah, I’m fine, lad. And thanks. I thought I might try and get us some cocoa this time. As a bit of a treat, eh?’

Peter grinned. ‘Cocoa… wow!’

Jake nodded. They couldn’t afford it, really. None of it. Tea was cheapest, but even that was a luxury these days, as supplies dwindled. But without such treats life wasn’t worth the candle.

‘Dad?’

‘Yes?’

‘Those people we saw on the road yesterday. D’you think something’s happened. You know, in London?’

Jake shrugged. ‘I dunno, lad. I really don’t. But we’re sure to hear something when we get to market. That place is awash with rumour. Aye, and some real news too, occasionally. If anyone’ll know, they will.’

Only Jake wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was happening in London. Nor anywhere else outside of Purbeck, come to that. He’d been at the centre of things once, and look where that had got him! No, this was his life now, this ‘island’, geologically shorn off from the rest of England. This place and these people.

Which was why he had to go and speak to Tom. To set things straight, or at least, to make sure everything was fine between them. Because if it wasn’t…

He sipped the sweetly sugared coffee, then closed his eyes, smiling with the rare pleasure of it.

‘That’s good, lad. That’s a damn fine cup of coffee.’

For once he shunned the road, taking the back way through the meadows, a full pack on his back, his gun slung over his right shoulder. At this time of year the way was often waterlogged by heavy rains, which was why, with the wagons, they took the main road north to Wareham. But today it was fine, the ground beneath his boots firm rather than muddy.

This was the scenic route and, in summer, he often took it for its sheer beauty and peacefulness, but today he chose it for a different reason – so as not to meet up with Tom. Not yet, anyway. He hadn’t rehearsed yet in his head just how he was going to play it.

His natural instinct was to tell Tom everything – to lay it all before him and beg his forgiveness – but how did you tell your best friend that you’d spent the night dreaming about fucking his wife? That wasn’t an option. Best say nothing, maybe. Pretend it hadn’t happened. Only he felt awkward about it. He didn’t like the idea that he was somehow betraying his best friend, even if it were only in his head.

Thought crime, he realized, recalling the classic novel. There were those, of course, who’d not think twice about it. But he wasn’t one of them. The very idea of hurting Tom filled him with horror. It would have been the same as hurting Peter, or Annie, come to that, when she’d been alive.

As he walked he looked about him, taking in the sheer beauty of the place. Some days he felt almost like he had died and come to heaven. At least it would have seemed so, had Annie been at his side. Coming out from the trees beside the Ridgeway he found himself waist deep in a meadow full of wild flowers, their bright, natural colours stretching all the way to the low grey walls of the old graveyard that lay in the shadow of the castle.

Jake slowed, taking it all in, his mood brightening at the sight.

He had done Tom no wrong. He had kissed Tom’s wife, yes, but he had gone no further, and what was one small kiss between old friends? And maybe Tom knew that already. Maybe she had gone straight home and told him, and he had laughed and said something like ‘Poor old Jake. He needs a woman in his bed.’ Which was true, only…

Jake stopped, reaching out to pluck a strand of wild lavender, studying it a while, conscious suddenly of how fragile it all was; of how easily all of this was brought to ruin. Transient, it was. And thus meaningless, some might say. Only it was that very brevity that made it beautiful, that gave it meaning. It was like Annie. Even though he had lost her, he would not have chosen never to have met her, not for all the suffering. Never to have had – never to have risked having – that was worse. Far worse.

He came in from the back way, walking up the long, curving slope of West Street. There beneath the Martyrs Cross, two small, horse-drawn wagons were waiting, packed tight with trading goods, their drivers seated on the steps of the old stone cross, drawing on their pipes. Seeing Jake, the smaller of the two stood and hailed him.

‘Jake! ’Ow’s ’e?’

Jake grinned. Ted Gifford was a small, wiry man in his fifties. He had been born in Corfe and had remained here, and his accent was as local as it got. His companion was his son, Dick, who was much taller than his father with a shock of red hair. It was said by some that Dick was a clever man, though as he rarely spoke it was hard to tell, but one thing Jake did know: Dick was the best shot in all of Purbeck, and he had never see him flinch or run in a fight, even when things looked bad, so he was glad to see him there that morning.

‘How are you two? I didn’t see you last night?’

‘We got some shut-eye,’ Ted answered. ‘’S long journey. An’ the road this year…’

He didn’t finish, but it was clear he thought they were in for trouble. Not that Jake disagreed. It was why he’d brought an extra magazine.

Just then the wind changed direction. With it came the sound of the dogs.

‘Thar’ they be,’ said Ted, pointing with his pipe towards the Bankes Hotel, and as he said it, so the three dog sleds came into view. At the same time two other figures came striding round the corner to the left: Tom Hubbard and Jack Adams, a beefy, bearded man in his mid-thirties who lived on the far side of their village.

Driving the sleds were Eddie Buckland, a local man from Corfe; Dougie Wilson, a slender, taciturn fellow from Kimmeridge; and Frank Goodman, from Langton Matravers, down Swanage way.

As the two parties merged, there were shouts of greeting, while in nearby houses, doors and windows were flung open, as people got up to watch the men get ready to depart.

As Tom came closer, he glanced across at Jake and nodded, the faintest smile on his lips.

‘You’re looking rough, old friend.’

‘I’m getting old. I can’t drink the way I used to.’

Tom’s smile broadened. ‘Ne’er you mind. You’ll soon walk it off.’

And that was it. If Jake had thought there’d be any more to it then he’d been wrong. As Tom turned away, his movements as natural as ever, Jake breathed a sigh of relief. Tom was no actor, and if he’d noticed nothing strange about Mary’s behaviour, then there was probably nothing to notice.

Maybe he’s left her in bed, sleeping it off.

Only if it were he setting off for a four-day trip, he’d have made sure he’d woken her. As he always did with Annie.

People were emerging from their houses now, bringing a last few items to take to market and trade. Afterthoughts. Things they had no need for. Old Josh was one of them, and, spying Jake, he came across.

‘Jake, boy… you know what I’m looking for. If there’s anything, get it for me, and bugger the cost. But use your judgement, eh? It’s gotta be playable.’

He placed a leather pouch of coins in Jake’s hand.

‘Christ, Josh… must be half your savings here!’

Josh leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘That’s it, boy. Every last crown of it. But I reckons thar’ll be some’at this time, what with all the strangers on the road. But you know what I’m lookin’ for. No crap, mind. You come back with a Kylie album and I’ll be sorely pissed off wi’ you.’

Jake laughed. ‘You can trust me, Josh. If there’s anything, I’ll make sure it’s yours, all right?’

‘Thar’s a good boy, Jake Reed. Good as a son to me.’

‘It was fine music last night, Joshua. Some of the very best.’

The old man nodded and grinned. ‘Thar’s naught like the old songs, eh, lad?’

Jake slipped the coin pouch into his inner pocket, then, the last few pieces stashed, climbed up beside Ted Gifford on the first wagon. There was quite a crowd by now – fifty or more, gathered about them – and as Tom led the party down the slope towards the barrier, so the villagers followed, their chatter filling the morning air.

Ahead of them, the two watchmen – Dick Sims and John Gurney – heaved at the gate, straining to move the massive barrier, once a part of a level crossing, back against the wall. Then they stood aside, joining the others in waving and cheering the party through.

As they went round the curve of the castle mound and out of sight, Jake reached behind him and took his rifle from where he’d stowed it temporarily, then loaded a fresh clip into the magazine.

They were moving slowly, at walking pace, the two ponies straining, heads nodding, as they pulled the fully-laden weight of the wagon.

Jake always liked this part of the journey, down Challow Hill, following the old railway line – the tracks long since removed – and across Middlebere Heath towards the ancient Saxon town of Wareham. There was something eternal about the place, something untouched, that stirred his soul. There were one or two farmhouses here and there, scattered to either side of the track, but you barely noticed them, they were so much a part of the landscape.

Jake leaned out, turning to look back at the rest of the party. Directly behind them, its two ponies keeping pace for pace with theirs, was the second wagon, with Dick Gifford at the reins. Beside him on the long bench seat was Eddie Buckland. Seeing Jake, Eddie touched his cap and grinned.

‘Fine day, eh, Jake?’

‘Looks like it!’ Jake answered him, touching his own cap, acknowledging him.

Beyond the second wagon were the three sleds, the dogs straining eagerly, keen at this stage of the journey to press on, while at the very back of the party, keeping up a brisk walking pace, were Tom and Frank Goodman.

Jake didn’t know Goodman that well. It was only recently that the villagers down there had decided to throw in their lot with Corfe, and on the one occasion Frank Goodman had come along, Jake had stayed at home. But Tom spoke well of him and he was a big, tough-looking man.

Seeing Jake looking, Tom waved, then called out to him.

‘Keep an eye out, Jake! And no nodding off now! You can have a kip when we get there!’

Once more the gentle, teasing tone of Tom’s voice reassured him.

Jake looked beyond them. From where they were all you could see was the great green rampart of earth that formed a natural barrier against invaders. Only as you got further away could you see the castle again, tall and elegant even in its ruination, dominating the landscape for miles around.

He turned back, glancing at Ted Gifford as he did. But Ted was miles away, lost in his own thoughts, snatches of old songs – for the most part unrecognizable – escaping him from time to time.

Beside Ted on the bench seat, Jake noted, was his handgun. A Smith & Wesson M327 with a .357 Magnum calibre. An 8-shot. One of the finest handguns ever made.

‘You think they’ll come at us, even as we are?’

Ted looked at him. ‘Not ’ere. Not out in the open. But there’s places… We need to be cautious, old friend. Things is ’appening.’

There it was again. That sense they all had. Something had changed, but no one knew quite what. Only that it made them all a little edgy.

‘You lookin’ for anything special this time round?’ Jake asked, changing the subject.

Ted shrugged. ‘Thought I might buy a nice mirror if they got one. You know, with bevelled edges. Betty’d love one. The old ’un smashed, see. Apart from that…’

He shrugged, then turned back.

They were pulling out round the Ridgeway now, heading directly west. In a while the great mound of earth would fall away behind them and to their left, leaving them in the midst of a low, slightly marshy heath that stretched away into the distance. Wareham itself was only three miles away and if your eyes were good you could make it out, far off to the north-west.

This had never been a hospitable land. It was too rough, too raw and untended to be admired in a traditional sense, yet its wild beauty was undeniable. Men had lived here for thousands, maybe tens of thousands of years, and yet they had never conquered it.

Up ahead, the broad path dipped down and to the left, the old railway track they’d been following ducking beneath what had once been the main route into Corfe, the old A351. Slowing the ponies, Ted manoeuvred them down past a row of old cottages that had been long abandoned, and up a small steep slope onto the road. It was a bit of a struggle, what with the full weight of the wagon, and Jake had to jump down and add his strength to that of the ponies to get them up over the lip.

There they paused for breath. Ahead of them the old road stretched off in a straight line across the ancient heath, its surface badly cracked, covered in a thick layer of weed, wild flowers and bracken. Yet the line of it was still discernible, running like a long, thin scar across the landscape.

They came out here from time to time and tried to clear it, making it a day out for the surrounding villages – a picnic of sorts – but their efforts never lasted long. In a week or two it would return, no matter how thorough they’d been. Yet at least it was passable. Like much else about their lives, they made do with things as they were, and this was one of them.

As their party formed up on the road, so Jake and Tom, Eddie and Frank went ahead, using long-handled scythes to cut a way through where the path was overgrown.

Slowly they made their way, while just as slowly the sun climbed the sky, coming up over Studland Bay, to their right as they laboured.

‘’S gettin’ warm,’ Eddie murmured, pausing from his task to wipe his neck. ‘I thought it would be a lot colder than this.’

Tom laughed. ‘Just think of the pint that’s awaiting you…’

‘And a good fry up,’ Frank added, grinning and looking about him. ‘Now set to, lads, else we’ll be here all bloody day!’

They set to work once more, hacking away at whatever lay in their path, and slowly they progressed, the wagons and dog sleds edging their way closer and closer to their first stop. Just over an hour later, covered in sweat from their exertions, they stepped out onto the cleared section, just across the river from the old town.

‘There’s got to be an easier way,’ Frank Goodman said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief.

‘If there is I don’t know it,’ Tom answered. ‘But I do know this. It’s spared us a lot of grief over the years. Just as it’s hard for us to get out, so it’s just as hard for roaming bands to get in.’

Jake looked away. Maybe that was true, but it was far from perfect. They’d lost many a good man to raiders over the years. Yes, and women and children too. But things were far worse elsewhere.

‘Come on,’ he said, looking to the others. ‘Let’s go and freshen up. I don’t know about you, but I’ve a thirst on me could kill a man.’

Wareham lay on the far side of the river, the back walls of its southernmost houses right up against the water’s edge. In ancient days it had been a walled town, built by Saxon kings, and its street plan remained unaltered from those times. Like the Isle of Purbeck of which it was a part, it was a place of great history. Owing to its geographical position, however, it had long been a town in decline. Now it was a total backwater, a place one passed through on the way east. Even so, it had its compensations, among them the finest inn in the locality.

The Quay Inn was on the right as you entered the town, just past the bridge, its long terrace overlooking the river. As they pulled up in the courtyard, two of the tavern keeper’s sons came out, greeting them by name and asking them what their fancy was.

While the others ordered breakfast, Tom and Jake went inside to see the landlord.

Jack Hamilton was a big, cheery man, in his sixties now, but brimming with good health. He had been landlord of the Quay Inn for almost thirty years. When the Collapse had happened, he had helped man Wareham’s defences against the bands of murderers and thieves that had plagued the land back then. Now that things were more peaceful, however, he indulged in what he called his ‘other favourite sport’ – that of talking.

But there was a purpose to their talk that morning. Jack wanted something from market, and he was prepared to pay handsomely for it.

‘I dunno…’ Tom said, feeling ill at ease with the request. ‘Goods are one thing, Jack. But this…’

‘Tom… you of all men must surely know… and you, Jake… A man needs a wife. And where in this godforsaken town am I likely to get one? No. I needs to get one where one’s available, and where’s that if not Dorchester?’

‘But Jack… what if I chose the wrong girl for you? What if—?’

Jack cut in. ‘I won’t hear it. I know you’ve the eye for it. Your Mary now… and you, Jake… your Annie, bless ’er soul… You men knows a good woman when you sees her.’

‘Maybe,’ Jake said, sharing Tom’s unease, ‘but why not go yourself? Or come along with us. I mean, if that’s what you want…’

‘Oh no,’ Jack said, frowning now, troubled by the suggestion. ‘Me? Why I’d just choose the first one they showed me, and probably pay twice the price she were worth. No… I need someone who knows how to haggle. Who can get me a good, fresh girl... an unspoiled girl, if you knows what I mean. Someone as’d be good at cleaning out rooms and serving the odd pint now and then.’

Tom looked to Jake and shrugged.

‘All right,’ Jake said, relenting. ‘But if we don’t see anyone we think is suitable, then we’re not to blame, right? And we’re not bringing back anyone as doesn’t want to come, you understand? You’re not buying a servant, Jack Hamilton, nor a slave. You’re buying a wife, okay? Someone you’ll respect.’

The big man grinned. ‘Now there’s friends for you! I’ll bring you the cash straight away. But you relax now and have a good meal and a refreshing pint. It’s on me, my lads. It’s my pleasure.’ And he turned away and was gone.

Tom looked to Jake. ‘Are you sure? I mean, what if she runs?’

‘Then we choose one who won’t. Who wants to settle. Who’ll see this as a chance for a good life.’

‘And how are we gonna know that? What if she lies to us?’

‘We’ll know.’

Tom stared at him a moment longer.

‘What?’

‘I was just thinking. I mean, while we’re sorting old Jack out…’

Jake sighed. ‘I told you last night. I’m not interested.’

‘No?’

But Jake could see Tom was teasing him again. He grinned. ‘Come on. I’m hungry.’

‘You’re a man in need.’

Yes, he thought, but he had to look away, lest his best friend saw through him and caught the vaguest shadow of his thoughts.

They were sat at the long table by the window when Eddie, who’d been put on guard duty, put his head round the door.

‘Tom… Jake… we’ve a couple of strangers snooping about…’

They were up at once, every last one of them, grabbing guns and piling out the door. The wagons were where they’d left them, beside the sleds in the middle of the yard, the horses tied at the trough nearby. The dogs were sprawled out beneath the wagons, fed now and resting.

‘Where?’ Tom asked, looking about him.

‘They must’a gone,’ Eddie answered. ‘They must’a seen me go in.’

Tom climbed the steps up to the roadway and looked about him. Jake joined him there, just in time to see two men slip down a side street, clearly in a hurry. Tom looked to him.

‘Fancy a look?’

Jake nodded.

Tom turned, looking to the others. ‘Finish off then get the animals in harness again. We’re going to set out in twenty minutes. Meantime, Jake and I’ll go check those two out.’

‘You sure?’ Ted Gifford asked, looking concerned. ‘What if they’re bad ’uns?’

‘We’re going to have a look, that’s all,’ Jake said. ‘Check them out. Make sure they’re not a threat.’

‘They’re not local,’ Eddie said, gravely. ‘Least, I didn’t recognize them.’

‘But they were sizing us up, eh?’

‘They seemed real curious.’

Tom looked to Jake. ‘Ready?’

‘Sure. Lead on.’

Jake took the safety off his rifle then followed Tom.

They went quickly, looking this way and that, careful not to let anything escape them. Locals scattered as they came near, ducking into shops or down side roads. As they came to the street the two had disappeared down, they stopped.

‘Cover me,’ Tom said. ‘I’m going to cross over. See if I can see anything.’

Jake raised his gun, and as Tom ran across, he leaned round the corner, aiming at whatever he could see.

The street was empty.

Jake looked to Tom, who stood there in the open, out in the middle of the street.

Well? he mouthed.

Tom gestured for him to step out alongside him. Jake quickly went across.

‘The Antelope?’

Tom nodded. At the bottom of the street was another inn. The Antelope. They knew the landlord. He was a bit of a braggart and a bully. Not only that, but his beer was sour.

‘What if they come out to face us?’

‘Then we run like fuck.’

Jake grinned. ‘You sure you wanna do this?’

‘I don’t want the bastards pursuing us all the way to Dorchester. I wanna know who they are and what their intentions are.’

Only right then they heard noises from the road behind the inn; the sound of booted feet running away. Briefly they saw movement at the end of the street as a dozen or more men took off. Jake made to follow them, but Tom reached out and took his arm, holding him back.

‘Well… now we know. They’re not friends.’ He looked to Jake, concerned. ‘We’d better get going straight away. Try and keep ahead of those fuckers.’

‘Right,’ Jake said. ‘But one thing first. We go speak to the landlord. Find out what he knows. How many of them there were, and what they looked like.’

‘You think he’ll tell us?’

‘I’ll make him tell us.’

Tom considered that a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay, let’s go speak to him. But Jake…’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t get angry with the man. I don’t want to fight him unless I have to.’

Eddie and Ted were waiting for them at the top of the steps when they came back. They looked anxious.

‘Well?’ Ted asked. ‘What do we know?’

‘There’s a dozen of them, maybe more,’ Tom answered, looking beyond the two on the steps to the others. ‘Landlord of the Antelope says they’re just traders, but how many traders do you know who travel that light? No. They’re raiders. And they’re headed the same way as us. So we need to stay vigilant. And we need to stay armed at all times. You see one of the fuckers you don’t ask him any questions, you just blow his fucking head off, got me?’

‘I’ll be glad to,’ Frank Goodman said. ‘Be a real pleasure.’ Which made the rest of them laugh.

‘Good,’ Tom said. ‘Then let’s move on.’

Peter stood at the top of the tower, the highest point of the ruins, leaning out over the edge, looking out across country to the north-west. Much as he liked being closer to Meg and her sisters, he hated it when his dad was away. Hated how it made him feel, like everything was suddenly much more fragile. He didn’t like that stomach-wrenching sense of uncertainty it gave him, that anxiety he carried with him every waking moment; the fear that he would never see his dad again. It was awful, and nothing Meg could say or do would make it go away. But then Meg didn’t understand. She hadn’t lost someone the way he’d lost someone. She didn’t realize just how brittle it all was.

He wished Jake had let him go with him. At least then he’d have known what was happening.

‘Peeee-ter… Peeeeeee-ter…’

He turned, looking down the bisected slope of the ruined castle. It was Beth, calling him in for lunch.

‘Coming!’

He took one last, fearful look to the north, then ran quickly down the cracked and uneven steps, leaping the gaps.

For a moment he wondered what it must have been like, back in the old days, before things fell apart. His dad had told him once about how some of the people back then had had tiny communicators, specially-designed ‘chips’ which were like tiny slivers of silvered metal, sewn into their heads so they could speak to other people as and when they liked. He had had one himself, in fact, only he’d had it removed years back, long before Peter was born. He still had the scar, a neat little purple line on his neck beneath his right ear, but that was all.

If they’d had them now he could have spoken to Jake and found out what he was doing and how he’d been feeling. Only that was just wishful thinking. When it all collapsed, all of that had gone with it. All of the clever stuff.

Beth was waiting by the gate to the castle’s lower field.

‘You all right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Just that you have this look sometimes…’

Beth was the Hubbards’ second daughter. Seventeen now, she looked every bit a woman. In some ways she was much prettier than Meg, but she was more of a big sister to him than anything else.

‘Do I?’

‘Yeah. Like you’re sad. Are you sad?’

None of your business, he wanted to say, only that would have been rude. Besides, she was only being concerned.

‘Where’s Meg?’

‘Helping Mum.’

Beth began walking down the slope. He followed, two or three paces behind, trailing her.

She turned, looking to him again. ‘You’re a moody little bugger, you know that?’

‘Am I?’

‘See,’ she said, turning to him and laughing. ‘You need to relax a bit. Loosen up.’

He could hear her mother, Mary, in the way she said it. Only wasn’t that the way of it? Didn’t he catch himself, sometimes, sounding like his dad?

‘Sorry,’ he said, looking down, ashamed suddenly of being so stupid. So moody. Of course his dad would come back. Didn’t he always?

Beth looked to him again and smiled. ‘I thought we might play a game tonight. Scrabble, maybe. Or Monopoly. Or… well… you can choose.’

He looked to her and grinned. ‘Beth?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’d make a good sister-in-law.’

‘Yeah?’ And then she saw what he meant and her eyes widened a little. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah… Don’t tell Meg, but I’ve asked my dad to get a ring… you know, from the market.’

‘Oh, Pete-ie…’ She came over and, holding his face, gave him a kiss. ‘You darling boy. Do Mum and Dad know?’

Peter looked down, blushing. ‘Not yet. I was going to ask them… when the men got back.’

They had come to the lower gate by now. He slowed, then looked to her again.

‘We’re not too young, d’you think?’

But Beth was smiling broadly now. ‘Not if you’re sure. Not if you’re absolutely sure.’

He thought about that a moment, then smiled. ‘I’m sure.’

Out on the road again, heading west, they made good time. The route had been pretty much empty, with no sign of the strangers, but now, some three or four hundred yards ahead, the trees to either side pressed in close to the old cracked surface. From here on, for a mile or so, they would be inside the wood.

Tom stood there a long while, staring at the gap between the trees and stroking his chin. They had to go through. There was no alternative. Only it was certain that this, if anywhere, was where they’d make their move.

‘Well?’ Frank Goodman said, coming over. ‘You got a plan?’

‘Me? I’m just savouring the air, Frank. Enjoying being alive, while I still am.’

‘So what do we do? Turn round and go home? Wait another month? Or do we blast our way in and blast our way out again?’

Tom smiled. ‘Sounds about as good as anything I could come up with.’ He turned, looking to Jake. ‘What d’you think, Jake?’

‘We’ve done it before, and there’s not a man here who’s afraid of doing it. And as Frank says, the only alternative is to let those fuckers chase us off.’

Jake turned, looking to the others. ‘All those in favour of going home…’

There was not a movement. Not a flicker of an eye.

‘Okay… all those in favour of the blast-us-in-blast-us-out plan…’

Six hands went up, then a seventh. Finally all eight were raised.

‘Good,’ Jake said. ‘Then that’s decided.’ He looked to Tom. ‘You think they’re watching us?’

‘They’re pretty stupid if they’re not.’

‘Then they’re not far in. They’re probably thinking to unnerve us. To hit us immediately we’re inside.’

‘Or just outside,’ Dick Gifford said, surprising them all by even speaking. ‘So why don’t we just leave all the stuff here and crawl towards them, army style, and take them on, man for man? We can come back for the stuff after we’ve dealt with ’em.’

Jake looked to Tom, who, like him, was grinning now. Tom nodded, then looked to Dick Gifford.

‘Fucking brilliant plan, Dick. And one they won’t expect. We go in there, yeah? And hunt ’em down, one by one.’

Jake’s heart was racing now. But he wasn’t afraid. He’d done this far too often to be afraid. As Tom fixed the details of the attack, Jake looked from face to face, seeing how each of them met his gaze unflinchingly. In the early years after the Collapse, they’d had to do this three, four times a year – mainly in the summer – seeing off raiding parties, fighting for their lives against desperate bands of men who would have taken everything – their food, their women and their children. It had schooled them to be hard as well as fair, to be unsparing when it was called for. There wasn’t a single one of them who hadn’t risked his life a dozen times and more.

Last of all his eyes locked with those of the new man, Frank Goodman. ‘You good for this, Frank?’

Goodman nodded. There was steel in his gaze.

‘Okay,’ Jake said, ‘then let’s do as Dick says. You see any kind of movement, you target it. Only I’ve got one change of plan. We don’t go in. We stay outside, keeping low, until we’re sure we’ve got most of them. All right? We don’t go inside unless we have to, because once we’re inside we won’t know who’s a friend and who’s not. Are you all good with that?’

There were nods all around.

‘Good, then let’s load up and get at them.’

They marched towards the trees in a straight line, the eight of them spread out like gunfighters, guns raised. Tom gave the order at a hundred yards and they went down, onto their stomachs and crawled forward, army fashion, rifles held up in front of them. The way they’d trained to do it years back.

Fifty yards out and the first few shots came from the woods. They whizzed past their ears like angry hornets, or threw up tiny chunks of dirt.

Dick Gifford was the first to return their fire, his single well-aimed shot bringing a howl of pain from among the trees. Next to him, some four or five paces to Jake’s right, Frank Goodman laughed, then opened up.

One thing was clear immediately: the raiders weren’t that well armed. It was likely that only half their number had guns, and not good ones at that.

Too easy, Jake thought, letting off three quick shots at a movement to his left. There was a cry, followed instants later by a terrible screaming that went on and on.

An answering shot whizzed past his ear.

Dick opened up again, a rapid burst, and the screaming stopped.

For a moment there was sporadic fire, single shots, carefully aimed, and then they all opened up at once, the eight of them getting off shot after shot. For a moment the raiders returned a desultory fire. Then, seeing that the game was up, they began to turn and flee.

Or tried to.

Far to Jake’s right, Tom was kneeling now, taking aim at the running men. Dick Gifford was also on his knees, as were Eddie and Frank. In a moment they were all kneeling, picking off anything that moved.

In the silence that followed a thin haze of smoke settled. The smell of cordite was strong in the air, while the barrel of Jake’s gun felt warm against his hand. There was a pulse throbbing in his brow.

He stood up very slowly, still cautious, his gun still levelled at the trees. There wasn’t a sign of life in there. Not a moan or a whisper.

Jake swallowed. They were going to have to go in and make sure. He looked across at Tom and smiled, but it was a strained expression. He’d never liked this part.

He walked towards the trees, his rifle moving slowly, left to right and back again, ready to blast anything that moved, but he could see already how devastating their fire had been.

He could hear a faint moaning now. One or two were still alive, if barely, just away to his right.

Three of them had fallen in a heap about ten yards in. They were clearly dead. Just beyond them another lay sprawled out on his face like he was sleeping. Only there was no movement, just a lot of blood.

Jake turned full circle, trying to make out how many bodies there were. A dozen at least.

Tom stepped up alongside him. ‘You all right?’

Jake nodded. Dick Gifford and Frank Goodman came and stood with them, guns lowered.

‘Serves the fuckers right,’ Goodman said, looking about him contemptuously. ‘Thought they could pick us bare.’

Jake took a long breath. He could smell the dead men. Could smell their blood and faeces. At the end they’d been afraid. As well they ought. They’d not had a clue who they’d taken on.

He knew he ought to be unsentimental about all this, but when it came to it he couldn’t stop himself. He always felt sorry for them. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that it was ‘us or them’, as Tom so often argued, it simply didn’t matter. They were still living, breathing human beings. Or had been, until a few moments ago. That was why he couldn’t share Goodman’s contempt, his cynicism.

The moaning came again. Goodman turned, looking towards the noise, then went across. There was a gunshot, then, four or five seconds later, a second.

Again it made sense. There was no use taking chances, and they couldn’t afford to take on a badly injured enemy. Even Jake knew that that made no sense. Yet it seemed a touch too ruthless somehow.

Goodman returned, his face hard. He passed by them silently.

‘He lost a brother to raiders,’ Tom said, speaking quietly, for Jake’s ears only. ‘Ten years back. His brother bandaged the guy up. Saved his life. First opportunity the bastard had he shot him… in the back. So now Frank doesn’t take chances.’

Tom straightened up, looking about him, then raised his voice. ‘Guess we’d better see what they’ve got.’

Again, Jake loathed this part. Stripping dead bodies – it seemed indecent somehow. He himself would have left them, but it made sense. Life these days was about surviving, and anything that helped tip the balance had to be embraced. They had no one but themselves to rely on.

He walked across to the one who lay face down, then, steeling himself, turned the body over.

‘Christ…’

It was a girl. A teenage girl. Her face was scabbed and pale and her hair was cut shoulder length, but there was no mistaking it.

Tom came across, then winced. ‘Jesus…’

Jake looked into his face; saw what he was thinking.

It could so easily have been one of his girls.

‘Leave her be,’ Tom said quietly. Then, looking about him again, he gave another order. ‘We’ve not time enough to bury them. But we can’t leave ’em here. Who knows what diseases they’ll spread. We’ll pile ’em up and burn ’em, okay?’

There were nods at that.

‘Look at this!’ Frank Goodman said, straightening up above the corpse he had been searching, his face lit up with a beam of a smile. ‘It’s a watch. It’s a fucking gold watch!’

Tom took a step towards him.

Crack!

Jake was still staring at the girl. For a moment he didn’t understand. It sounded a bit like a gunshot, only they’d stopped firing minutes ago and all the raiders were dead.

Crack!

Wood splinters flew from a nearby tree.

Tom grunted, then dropped to his knees.

‘Tom…?’

Behind him, Frank Goodman was crashing through the trees, heading further in. After a moment two shots rang out and then a third.

There was a yelp, then further crashing.

Jake knelt beside his friend. ‘Tom… where are you hit?’

Tom gasped for breath, then let out a tiny moan. ‘My shoulder… my right… shoulder…’

Jake looked to the Giffords, who were staring out through the trees, watching the pursuit.

‘Ted… Dick… give me a hand. We need to carry Tom over to the wagons, and we need to do it now. He needs this cleaned up and bandaged.’

From deep among the trees, Frank Goodman’s voice floated back to them. ‘What was the fucking matter with you, you stupid cunt! You’d got away! You’d fucking got away! Now look what you’ve done!’

They heard the click as he cocked the gun again, then a soft, almost muted explosion.

Jake closed his eyes. It was best not to imagine.

‘You’ll be okay,’ he said, helping Dick and Ted get Tom to his feet. ‘We’ll put some iodine on it and some nice clean bandages. Then we’ll get you home…’

Tom shook his head. ‘No, Jake. We’ve got to go on. We haven’t got time to go back. I’ll be okay. It’s just a flesh wound. A few painkillers and I’ll be fine.’

Just then Frank Goodman returned. He had a sour look on his face. ‘There were three of them, further back among the trees. I got one of them, but the other two escaped.’ He looked at Tom. ‘What’s the damage?’

Tom grimaced. ‘It stings like fuck, but I’ll be okay. At least he missed my head.’

Goodman nodded. ‘Well, I didn’t fucking miss his. You should have seen his eyes when I put the gun in his mouth…’

‘They’re just boys,’ Eddie said, coming across. ‘There’s not one of ’em over twenty.’

‘City boys by the look of it,’ Jake said. ‘Shanty-dwellers, I’d say. But what are they doing this far west?’

And the girl…

They had come to the edge of the trees, but every tiny movement was making Tom wince with pain.

‘Sit him down,’ Jake said, taking charge. ‘Let’s bring the wagon over.’

They did as Jake said. Ten minutes later it was done. The wound was cleaned and bandaged, while a heavy dose of morphine had numbed Tom’s pain.

Jake crouched beside him, watching as the others made a pile of the bodies in the clearing beside the road.

Frank Goodman took the petrol can and poured it over them, then looked across at Jake. ‘You want to do the honours, Jake?’

They were all here. All fourteen of the dead. And Eddie had been right. There wasn’t one of them over twenty, and most of them were younger than that. A lot younger. And then there was the girl…

Unsentimental, he told himself. You’ve got to be unsentimental.

He struck the match and let it fall, standing back as the flames roared up.

They would have killed us. They would have left our bodies to be pecked clean by the birds.

But it didn’t matter what he told himself. They were just kids. Just fucking kids.

Peter sat with the Hubbards, at the head of their old kitchen table, in the ‘man’s chair’ as they always called Tom’s seat. He liked being there; liked the way they always made him welcome, as if he was their brother, not just a cousin.

He always ate well at the Hubbards’. Much better than at home. Not that he complained. His dad did his best. But he wasn’t half the cook Mary Hub-bard was.

The girls were messing about right now, giggling and whispering to each other. They were up to mischief, but for once Peter couldn’t be bothered to find out what was going on.

Mary had cooked a casserole. She brought it in, wearing thick oven gloves to carry the steaming pot. It smelled delicious. Prime beef with all the trimmings. But Mary herself seemed distracted for once. She went through the motions of being there, but her mind clearly wasn’t. Peter could tell she was thinking about something. When she looked at you, she would smile, as always, but the smile would fade after a moment, as if it hadn’t the power to sustain itself.

He ate, trying to enjoy the meal, slipping the odd piece of meat beneath the table for Boy. Only he was too distracted now. The more he observed Meg’s mother, the more certain he was that something was wrong. It wasn’t just the air of distraction that surrounded her, it was something deeper. She seemed sad. Only that made no sense. He’d been with the Hubbards dozens of times when Tom and Jake had gone to market, and she’d always treated the occasions as a kind of holiday, to be celebrated. They’d always had a lot of fun. Today, however, she seemed positively miserable, and there seemed no reason why.

There was no way, of course, that he could ask, but it preyed on his mind. When they went out into the garden after lunch, he didn’t join in the girls’ game, but stood there by the end wall, looking north, Boy settled by his feet.

They’d be a fair way along by now, he reckoned. At East Stoke, maybe, halfway to Wool. That was, if they hadn’t made it to Wool already.

‘Peter?’

He turned as Meg ran up. ‘Yeah?’

‘We’re going in to Corfe. You wanna come?’

‘Nah… later, maybe.’

Meg looked disappointed, but she didn’t argue. As she ran off, Peter looked down at Boy, then knelt to pet him and rough up his coat.

‘You’re a good dog… You liked Aunt Mary’s stew, didn’t you? You could’ve eaten a whole bowl on your own…’

He stopped, straightening up. He thought he’d heard something.

‘Boy,’ he whispered. ‘Stay. I’ll be back in a minute.’

While Boy did as he was told, Peter crossed the garden. He moved slowly, quietly. At the back door, which was partly open, he paused.

Mary was at the sink, her back to him. She was hunched forward, her head lowered. At first he thought he’d been mistaken, but then he saw how she was shaking and heard the noise again.

She was crying. She was standing there with her hands in the soapy water, sobbing her heart out.

Peter turned away. Something had to be wrong.

As he walked back, Boy came over, sensing his mood, nuzzling him, as if to somehow comfort him.

‘There’s my beauty,’ he said softly, bending down to pet him again. ‘There’s…’

The first few shots could have been anything. It could have been a hunter, out in the meadows. What followed, however, was anything but normal. It sounded more like a fireworks display. Not only that, but he could hear the distinctive sound of a semi-automatic, and he knew Dick Gifford had a semiautomatic. A .338 Browning.

Oh Christ…

They’d been ambushed. He was certain of it.

He ran across. ‘Aunt Mary! Quick! Something’s happening!’

She came out, wiping her eyes with her apron, then stood there looking north, listening intently. But it had died down now. Then, another brief flurry, before it all went silent again.

‘It’s them,’ he said. ‘It’s got to be.’

‘It hasn’t got to be…’

But he could see she thought otherwise.

‘Aunt Mary…?’

‘What?’

‘Just now… in the kitchen…’

The way she looked at him, he could see that she wasn’t going to answer.

‘Peter. You’d better run in to Corfe. Let them know that the men might have got into trouble on the road. Maybe they can get someone out there. Find out what’s been happening… And Peter… don’t say anything to the girls.’

He nodded, then ran off, Boy in hot pursuit.

Be okay, he thought, picturing his father clearly in his head. Just be okay.

It was difficult knowing what to do with Tom. If they’d been coming back from market it would have been okay. They could have laid him down in the back of one of the wagons and let him get some rest. As it was, he had to sit up on the bench seat, between Eddie Buckland and Jake, who had an arm about his old friend, making sure he didn’t topple off.

They had decided to stop at Wool. It wasn’t far, only a couple of miles on from where they’d been attacked, and it marked the halfway point of their journey. Usually they’d press on, all the way to Dorchester in the one day. It meant they’d have to set off early the next morning if they were to get to the market when it opened.

As they trundled along, Jake kept Tom talking. The morphine, aside from numbing the pain, was making him sleepy, but Jake didn’t want him to fall asleep before they arrived in Wool and got him in a proper bed. And so they talked about old times.

‘Back then they’d have seen to you properly,’ Jake said cheerily. ‘Given you an implant and grown new tissue within a week. And not even a scar. Like new.’

‘You think they’ve still got all that stuff, Jake? I mean, in America or somewhere like that?’

‘It’s possible, I suppose. And I guess once you’ve discovered all that stuff you can’t un-discover it. But I reckon it’ll be years before any of it comes back. When things fell apart, they really fell apart. I saw it, remember? When things come crashing down like that, it isn’t easy to reconstruct. It isn’t easy at all. I read somewhere… oh, a long time ago… that the United Kingdom could only feed ten million people from its own resources. All the rest had to be imported. Well… when things stopped… when we stopped shipping in food and other stuff… people died. Died in their millions. In their tens of millions.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I think it’s a wonder any of us survived.’

Tom smiled; a sickly, pained smile. ‘You know what, Jake?’

‘What?’

‘I find myself wondering sometimes just what’s going on elsewhere. You know… in America and Africa and Europe. Someone must be trying to put it all back together again, don’t you think? I mean… they can’t just let it stay as it is.’

Jake shrugged. ‘I guess not. But they’re taking their damned time about it, don’t you think? You’d think someone would have set up a radio station, you know, to get the news out to everyone. It’s been over twenty years, after all!’

‘Yeah, but what’s the point?’ Eddie chipped in. ‘Thar’s no ’lectric to run the sets.’

‘That’s true. But there’s those sets you can wind up. We’ve seen ’em at market from time to time.’

Tom gave a little moan. Jake looked to him at once.

‘You all right, Tom?’

Tom swallowed painfully. ‘It aches. And I think it’s weepin’.’

Jake had a cursory look. Tom was right. The bandage was wet with blood. He looked about him at the countryside. Wool was no more than a mile away.

‘Think you can hang on, Tom? It’ll be fifteen minutes at most.’

Tom closed his eyes and nodded. He looked drawn suddenly, his face grey.

‘Dick!’ Jake called, hailing the wagon in front of him. ‘Think you can up the pace a little?’

‘Right-oh!’ Dick called back, putting out an arm in acknowledgement. At once his ponies quickened their pace.

Jake looked to his friend. ‘We’ll get you there, don’t worry. Get you laid out in a nice comfy bed.’

Tom smiled weakly. ‘Thanks…’

Jake was silent a moment. ‘You know what I think, Tom? I think it’s going to take a hell of a lot to get it all back together again. As it is, well… it’s just too easy to stay as we are… lots of little kingdoms warring with each other. It’ll take a big man to get it all up and runnin’ again.’

‘Another Genghis Khan?’

‘Or a Hitler.’

‘You think?’ Tom shifted a little, trying to get comfortable.

‘I think. I mean, whoever’s going to do it, they aren’t going to be nice, are they? Where’s nice going to get them? No. People are harder now, more suspicious. They’re not going to sign on for anything they aren’t forced to sign on for. And there’ll be a lot of tin-pot kings and so-called “emperors” who’ll not be willing to hand over the reins of their little kingdoms, so I imagine there’ll be a lot of blood shed setting up our brave new world.’

‘And our kids’ll bear the brunt of it, is that what you’re thinking?’

Jake nodded. He hated to think of it, but it was true. Bad times were coming, and their darlings, their loved ones, would have to face them. All he and Tom could do was prepare them for it. ‘Take our own so-called King of Wessex, Josiah Branagh. You can’t imagine him giving up all his perks without a fight. Unless, of course, he’s allowed to keep it all, nominally. But that’d be no better. No… if someone wants to create something new, then they’re going to have to clear away all of the clutter and build it up from scratch, and who knows how long that will take!’

Tom nodded. His eyes were closed now, but he did seem to be listening.

‘You know what?’ Eddie said, giving the reins a tug. ‘I think it was a good thing it all came apart. I mean… look at the way things were headin’. Those were bad times, Jake, as you well know. An’ if we lost some’at, then we gained an awful lot too.’

Jake couldn’t disagree. Take his own life. He’d been doing well by the system. Very well indeed. The rewards for his job had been phenomenal. By any standard he had been obscenely rich. Only it was a world and a way of living that deserved to be destroyed. He looked back at it now and saw how greedy his kind had been, how wasteful and selfish. Even so, he couldn’t shake off the memory of how awful those first few years had been, immediately after the Collapse; the savagery and plain evil he had been witness to. He didn’t want to see that come again. Didn’t want his son – no, nor any of his friends’ children – to suffer all that again. Only maybe he didn’t have a choice. Maybe it was coming, whether he willed it or not.

They were climbing a slight gradient now. Wool was just up ahead.

‘Tom?’

But Tom was asleep finally, snoring, a look of peace on his face.

Eddie laughed. ‘He’s gonna be okay. He just needs some rest, is all. Just a little bit of rest.’

The landlord of the Wessex Arms was an old friend, Billy Haines. They’d helped him out many a time, and now he repaid the favour, preparing a room for Tom. As chance would have it, one of his customers had been a doctor back before the Collapse, a man named Padgett. He’d been retired a long while now, but he was sent for.

So it was that an hour after they’d arrived, Tom was being looked at with an expert eye, sat up in bed while the doctor slowly removed the bandage.

The shoulder looked swollen, badly bruised, but the wound itself looked clean. The bullet, it seemed, had gone straight through, missing the bone.

‘You were lucky,’ Padgett said, sitting back. ‘If the bone had been splintered it might have been different, but as it is I’d say you have a perfect chance of it healing by itself. I’ll clean it and re-bandage it, then you can get some rest. I’m sure Billy here will be happy to look after you while your friends are gone.’

‘No chance!’ Tom said. ‘I’m goin’ with them. I can get a bed when I’m there. They can dose me up if they like, but I’m not missin’ it. There’s things I need.’

‘I could get them,’ Jake said, but Tom gave him a warning look. Jake shrugged and turned away.

‘Well, my advice would be to stay here,’ Padgett said, clicking his medical bag shut. ‘After a shock like yours has had, the body needs to rest. And it would be good if I were here to check on it every few hours. Make sure there’s no infection.’

‘There’s doctors in Dorchester,’ Tom said, insistent now. ‘It’s kind of you, Doc, and you, Billy, but I need to go. If I’d wanted to stay at home, I’d have stayed. I won’t exert myself, I promise. But I have to go.’

‘Then I won’t stop you. But be careful. It looks fine to my eyes, but get it checked out again when you get to Dorchester. And get it looked at once more before you start back. You don’t want to get blood poisoning. You do, and there’s nothing we can do for you, understand? It’s not the old days. Even in Dorchester…’

Tom raised a hand wearily. ‘I know. And I’ll be careful. Only I’ve got to go. No argument.’

Afterwards, alone with Tom, Jake asked him what was going on.

‘What’s this about you having to go? Since when was it imperative? I could get you what you need. Just give me a list.’

Tom looked away, avoiding his eyes. ‘There’s people I’ve got to see. Urgent business. I can’t explain, Jake. Just trust me, eh?’

‘Trust you? Trust you about what? Since when did we two have secrets between us?’

‘I can’t say… I… I promised Mary.’

That made Jake frown. What the fuck was going on? But Tom wasn’t going to say. Jake could see that.

‘It’d better be good.’

‘What?’ It was said tetchily, but Jake could see how tired Tom was and relented.

‘Never mind… I’ll go along. I always do.’

Tom smiled. ‘Thanks. But now I need you to fuck off. I need to sleep.’

‘Here… let me help you.’

Tom let Jake lay him down again, wincing as Jake put the slightest pressure on his shoulder. Doc Padgett had given him some tablets – painkillers and sedatives – but their effect was limited. Tom was still hurting.

‘I’ll leave you now, okay? But I’ll check in again in about an hour. Make sure you’re fine.’

‘Thanks… Oh, and Jake?’

‘Yes?’

‘This… it’s okay. We got off light. We always have, eh?’