Chapter 8

THINGS BEHIND THE SUN

Tom had aged. The journey back, the jolting of the cart, had aged him. Anxious to return, they had not gone to Wareham as they’d planned, but taken the quickest route back, following the old road and then the railway line directly into Corfe. They arrived just after five, in the last few shreds of daylight.

A small crowd was awaiting them there, torches lit against the encroaching dark. Peter, Mary and the girls were among them, but it was Charlie Waite, who owned the New Inn, who pushed in front.

‘Jake! We need to talk!’

Jake looked about him, wondering what had been going on, and saw at once that something was up. Peter wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Mary – Mary looked troubled.

Jake jumped down, confronting Waite.

‘What is it, Charlie?’

Waite took him aside, out of hearing of the others.

‘Your boy… he showed me up.’

‘Showed you up? How?’

‘We’ve taken three prisoners.’

‘Prisoners?’

‘Midlanders.’

‘So? What’s this got to do with Peter?’

‘They’re scum. Vagrants. I was going to deal with them.’

‘Execute them, you mean.’

But Waite wasn’t in the mood for word games. He was a pugnacious little man at the best of times, and right now he was incandescent.

‘Call it what you fuckin’ like, Jake, but it’s ’ow we deal with it. It’s why we’ve survived. You’ve killed enough yourself…’

‘When it was necessary. But why did my boy intercede?’

‘I don’t know. Felt sorry for the miserable bastard, I guess. But you need to ’ave a word, Jake. Put the boy in his place. Let him know he should respect his elders.’

Jake’s own anger flared a little at that, but he knew he’d have to resolve this. Waite was an old friend – a good man when it came down to it, reliable in a fight, even if his views on life were sometimes questionable. Besides, it was right what he’d said. They hadn’t survived from being soft.

Jake changed tack.

‘Have you questioned them?’

‘They’re in my outhouse, under guard. One of ’em’s in a bad way. Don’t reckon we’ll have to bother with him, but the others… Well… we stripped them down and searched them.’

‘And?’

Waite almost smiled. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

‘I will. But first I need to get Tom home and settled. He’s had a long day. He needs some proper rest.’

‘Okay. But come when you’ve finished there. We need to settle this. And Jake… I mean it… have a word with your boy. He means well, I’m sure, but he can’t go interfering in our business like he did.’

It was inviting Jake to argue, but Jake wasn’t going to rise to it. He’d listen to what his son had to say before making any judgement. But as he walked back to the wagons, he found himself wondering what could have made Peter stand between Waite and a man he didn’t know – someone who, he imagined, would as soon stab him in the back as grant him the same consideration.

Back at the wagons, Jake called Peter across.

‘Peter… come and give me and your Aunt Mary a hand. We’re going to take Uncle Tom back in the cart and get him settled, then you can bring the cart back here.’

Peter met his eyes briefly. He nodded then came across, Boy yapping at his ankles.

‘We’ll have a word later, eh?’

Mary and the girls walked alongside as they pulled the cart along, Mary holding her husband’s hand tightly.

Glancing back, Jake saw just how concerned she was. Such concern that it made him think again about what Tom had told him. Whatever else was in that look, it wasn’t the look of a betrayed woman. There was too much love in it, too little sign of damage. No. The sight of Tom in pain was too much for her.

So what then? Had Tom been lying about the girl? Maybe. Only it made no sense. Why would he tell such a story against himself?

It was almost dark. There, just past the castle mound, the great stone ruin high above them to their left, the lane narrowed and went between the trees. As they hauled the cart along, so the darkness intensified, until it seemed they were moving inside a long tunnel, the quiet broken only by the rattle of the cart, the rumble of its wheels, the sound of Boy padding along, panting quietly at Peter’s side.

Jake looked back, over his shoulder. It was so dark now he couldn’t even see the others, close as they were.

‘Mary…?’

Her voice came back to him out of the darkness. ‘What?’

‘Did Tom tell you about the craft?’

‘Yes… yes, he did.’

‘And the markings on it?’

‘Yes…’ She hesitated, then, ‘Look, Jake… do we have to talk about this now?’

‘No, I just…’ He let it drop. Only he had to speak. There was too much going on in his head to keep silent. ‘So what happened? With Charlie Waite? You were all there, I take it?’

He had meant to leave this until later. Only he needed to know. Needed to deal with this as soon as possible.

It was Peter who answered.

‘He was going to kill him.’

‘And that was wrong?’

‘It felt wrong.’

They were both conscious of Mary and the girls listening.

‘So what did you say?’

Peter’s silence was a shrug. Jake didn’t have to see him to know.

‘Oh, come on… you must have said something. Charlie was very upset.’

‘The man’s an animal,’ Mary said, surprising Jake, because she rarely made comment on their neighbours.

Jake took a long breath, then asked again. ‘So what did you say?’

‘It wasn’t just what he said,’ Mary answered. ‘It was what he did.’

‘Which was?’

‘I knocked the gun out of his hand.’

‘You…’

Jake almost laughed, he was so shocked by the notion, only it wasn’t a laughing matter. Waite’s pride must have been severely dented.

Peter spoke again, trying to explain.

‘The man… the prisoner, I mean… he had a bit of a stutter. I guess that’s what did it. He was afraid, you see, and… well… I could understand that. He didn’t want to be here. He…’

Peter fell silent.

They were rounding the bend now, the darkness suddenly less intense. Up ahead the trees thinned out and they could glimpse the church, ahead and to their right, the moonlight shining on the tower and on its steeply sloping roof.

‘Mary? What do you think?’

‘D’you know what?’ she said. ‘I think Peter showed real courage, defyin’ Waite. It was Peter who found them, see. They were ’is prisoners and ’e was right to insist that we wait till you got back. I mean, they weren’t armed, nor dangerous, come to that. They were just frightened.’

Jake looked to his son. ‘Then you did the right thing.’

Only it made things difficult. Very difficult indeed, because hard times were coming, and it didn’t do to be at odds with one’s neighbours at such times.

He glanced back again. ‘You okay, Tom? We’ve not shaken you about too much?’

‘I’m fine,’ Tom answered weakly.

‘Good. Because it’s not far now. Not far at all…’

Pulling the cart back through the darkness, Boy at his heels, Peter had time to reflect on what had been said.

He had known, even before Jake had uttered a single word, just what his father would say. He also knew that he would have to apologize to Waite at some point, to keep the peace, if nothing else. But he had not been wrong. Not in the least. Because to go along with what Waite had wanted to do would have been evil; would have been tantamount to negating his own existence.

Jake had told him the story countless times, but its impact on him had never been so strong as last night.

When Jake had first come here, he too had been a stranger, he too might simply have been shot and disposed of, had the likes of Waite had their way. Only they hadn’t. That choice had been left to Tom Hubbard, and Tom had given his father a chance. A chance to prove himself, to become his friend.

Without which I would not be here…

The thought made him smile. But the smile was tinged with sadness, for Tom, who’d saved his father, was looking bad. The wound itself looked good, looked clean and uninfected, but Tom himself looked wasted.

‘Peter?’

He slowed, then stopped. It was Meg. She came out of the darkness like a shadow; a warm, all too real shadow that was suddenly in his arms and kissing him.

Boy barked excitedly.

Peter moved back a little. He couldn’t see her, but then he didn’t need to. He could picture her perfectly.

‘What was that for?’

‘For being you. And for doin’ the right thing. I didn’t say last night but… I’m just so proud of you. I’d ’ave never ’ad the balls...’

He shrugged. ‘Waite’s okay. He’s not really a cruel man. Just pragmatic. He sees the world in simple terms, that’s all.’

‘But so do you.’

‘You think?’

‘Yeah… but that’s okay.’ She squeezed him again, gave him another small, soft kiss.

He chuckled. ‘Stop it… I’ve got to get this cart back…’

‘Then get going. I’ll ’elp you.’

He turned and began to push the cart again, feeling at once her presence there to his right, helping him.

‘Meg?’

‘Yes, my love?’

‘D’you think your dad’s all right?’

She was silent a moment. ‘I don’t know. I was lookin’ at Mum, earlier on, before Dad got back. It’s just… I dunno… somethin’ in her face. She’s seemed so sad these last few weeks.’

Peter took a long breath. ‘If I tell you something… will you promise not to say anything?’

They had slowed almost to a standstill.

‘Maybe. Depends what it is.’

‘No, seriously. You’ve got to promise me.’

‘Okay. I promise.’

‘The other day, when you three went into Corfe and I stayed behind… I was in the garden and I heard something, and when I went over, I could see your mum standing at the sink…’

‘Yeah?’

‘And she was crying.’

They had stopped, there in the darkness.

‘Cryin’?’

‘Sobbing her heart out.’

He heard her sigh, sensed rather than saw her turn away.

‘Meg? What is it?’

‘I think somethin’s wrong. A few weeks back – remember? – when Dad was away for a couple of days...’

‘Seeing his cousin, over in Lulworth…’

‘Yeah…’ Only she didn’t mean yeah.

‘You mean, he wasn’t?’

‘I don’t know.’ Meg took his hands. She was trembling now. ‘It’s just… ’e’s not been well. Not for a long while. He keeps up a front, but… well, I’ve seen it. Seen ’ow tired he gets.’

‘So you think he might have gone to see someone?’

‘I don’t know. Only looking at him just now…’

‘He’s just tired, that’s all. The journey… the stress of it… it can’t have been easy.’

‘No… no, I guess not.’

‘And if there was something wrong, well… he’d have told us, wouldn’t he? Dad would certainly have known. You know what those two are like. They’re like brothers. They don’t keep anything from each other.’

Jake was waiting for them near the church, his torch held high, as Peter and Megan emerged from the blackness of the lane.

‘Are you ready?’

Peter looked to Meg, then looked back at his father and nodded.

‘Good. Then let’s go and sort this out.’

The New Inn was just across the way. They went down the little alleyway at the side and out onto the patio. There, on the far side of the long, descending lawn, partway down the slope, was the outhouse. Normally Waite kept various bits and pieces there, fold-up chairs and empty barrels, crates of glasses and the like. For the moment, however, it was being used as a cell.

‘Jake…’ Waite said, coming across, his two sons shadowing him. ‘Peter…’

All three, like Jake, were armed.

Peter bowed his head. Jake was about to say something, but Peter got in first.

‘I’m sorry, Mister Waite. Last night… I didn’t mean to be disrespectful…’

Waite blinked, then slowly began to smile. ‘S’okay, boy. But we gotta sort this. Can’t afford to let it drag.’

‘No, sir.’

Jake looked to his son, proud of him at that moment. ‘Well?’ he said, turning his attention to Waite. ‘What’ve you found?’

They went across, following the stout little man, who produced a key to the padlock and handed it to his son, then stood back a bit, gun raised, as he unlocked it.

As the door swung open they were struck by the stench of urine and faeces.

Jake grimaced. ‘Christ!’

In the light of the torch he could see two of them huddled in the far corner, off to his left. They had been stripped to their underwear, their ankles and wrists bound with electrician’s tape. They looked bruised and beaten, and fearful. But they were much better off than their fellow. He lay unmoving on the straw to Jake’s right. From the look of him he was dead.

‘I thought—’

Jake stopped, choking off his words, not wanting to get off on the wrong foot. He didn’t want to be arguing with Waite right from the start. For once he ignored the fact that Waite had done nothing to help the man – that he’d just left him there to die. Maybe he’d have died anyway. Only it spoke volumes of Waite’s attitude. He just wanted to kill the men and have done with it.

He turned and looked at Waite, noting, as he did, the way Waite looked past him at the prisoners; the set look of hatred on his face.

‘Will!’ At Waite’s shout, his younger son stepped forward and handed Jake what looked like a lady’s make-up bag.

‘What’s this?’

Waite gestured with his head towards one of the cowering figures. ‘It was on that one… S-s-stammerin’ S-s-stan. ’Is little goody bag. Things he stole…’

Handing the torch to Waite’s boy, Jake unzipped the small velvet bag and looked inside. There were jewels and coins and…

Jake looked up sharply, looked to the one Waite had indicated, then back at Waite. His whole countenance had changed.

‘Give me half an hour.’

‘Jake?’

He thrust the bag into Waite’s hands, then turned to Peter.

‘Peter… get your gun… and spare ammunition. Then meet me by the well.’

As Peter and Boy ran off, Jake checked his gun, then looked to Waite again.

‘What is it?’ Waite asked. ‘He taken some’at of yours there, Jake?’

‘Not mine,’ Jake answered, but he said no more, just set off, down the slope and through the gate in the fence, heading for the well.

Jake ran across the empty space before the cottage, keeping low. At the back door he paused, then, lifting his head, took a quick glance inside.

He looked back, to where Peter waited in the shadows with Boy, and gave him the signal. At once both boy and dog raced across, scuttling round the side of the building.

Jake heard the faint click as Peter took off the safety.

East Orchard was silent. Not a light shone anywhere. The cottage itself was enveloped in darkness, the moonlight on its ancient tiled roof revealing the only part of it to jut out above the surrounding vegetation.

Jake took a long breath, steeling himself, then pulled the door open and went through, into the darkness of the kitchen. There he stopped, alert to the least noise, letting his pulse slow.

He remembered sitting here, only a few days before, as Old Ma Brogan made him tea and chatted with him. Then this had seemed a fine place to spend an hour or two, but now the darkness seemed ominous.

He walked across. It was dark and he had to feel his way; even so, there was no sign that anything was wrong. Nothing was broken, nothing spilled. Everything was as it had been.

In the hallway, nothing. Only silence and the stale, musty smell of things.

The living room was empty. So too the back room.

Upstairs he paused, sniffing the air.

If there’d been strangers here, they were here no more. The very silence of the house confirmed it. But they had been here. He was certain of it.

He found her in her bedroom, laying beneath the sheets. At first he thought she was asleep. He couldn’t hear her sleeping, but then he’d heard that old people slept very lightly.

Scrabbling in the bedside table he found a box of matches and lit the candle. In its burgeoning light he turned and saw at once.

‘Oh… Margaret…’

They had slit her throat from ear to ear. Blood caked the pillow under her head.

He leaned across and closed her sightless eyes, then bent close to gently kiss her brow.

Outside Boy barked.

Jake went to the window and called down. ‘Peter! I’ll be right down.’

He would come back in the morning and see to her. Until then…

Jake stood, weary suddenly, all of the belief he’d had in the goodness of men drained from him. They didn’t have to do this. They could have taken what they wanted and let her be. Only no.

He stood. He would leave the candle. Let it burn down.

Let it all burn down.

Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe she’d be spared what was to come. Who knew? Only he did know. He knew that this was evil. This nothing of an act.

Outside Peter was waiting. ‘Well?’

Jake shook his head.

Boy barked again, as if he sensed something was wrong. Peter quietened him, but he too seemed agitated now.

‘What are you going to do?’

But Jake was done with words. He set off, half running now, seeing in his mind what had to be done. Peter ran after him, for once struggling to catch up.

As Jake came out onto the lawn of the New Inn once again, Waite took a step towards him. He was smiling, but, seeing the look on Jake’s face, the smile became a frown.

‘What’s up?’

Jake pushed past him, pushed his son aside. For a moment he stood there in the doorway, looking in, then, throwing his gun down, he drew his hunting knife from his boot and, crossing the room in an instant, bent down and dragged the younger man – the stammerer – to his feet.

‘Who did it?’ he demanded. ‘Which of you two sick fuckers did it?’

‘I d-d… I d-d…’

Jake’s voice was unforgiving. ‘You d-d what?’

‘Dad?’

Peter was standing in the doorway now, tears streaming down his face.

Jake turned, his face like stone. ‘Don’t dad me. You didn’t see what this bastard did!’

‘I d-d…’

Jake turned and, bringing up his arm, drew the knife quickly, crisply, across the man’s throat, then let him fall. Seeing that, the other began to jabber fearfully. But Jake seemed inured to it. Kneeling close, he took the bloodied knife and wiped it on the man’s shirt.

‘Thieving we might have let you get away with, but murder…’

Jake stood. For a moment he studied his handiwork. Saw how the one he’d cut struggled for each breath now, his bound hands scrabbling at his throat, trying vainly to stem the ebbing tide of blood. A strangled, gurgling noise coming from him.

‘Charlie…’

Waite was standing in the doorway next to Peter. ‘Yeah?’

‘He’s all yours.’

Jake was standing there, out on the lawn, holding Peter to him, when the shot rang out. A moment later Waite emerged. He came across.

‘What was it?’ he asked.

Jake turned to him. ‘That bag… it was hers. I didn’t realize that at first. I must have seen it, sitting on the side, a hundred times. But what I did recognize was her earrings. Lovely silver earrings shaped like leaves. She always wore them.’

Waite looked to Peter. ‘Well? Was I right or was I right? Scum they were! Nasty little cut-throats!’

Peter looked suitably chastened. ‘You were right, Mister Waite.’

‘Good…’ He reached out and ruffled Peter’s hair. ‘We’ll make a proper citizen of you yet, my lad!’

But Jake wasn’t so sure. Even so, he looked to Waite and nodded. ‘I’ll tell Tom it’s dealt with. You’ll see to the burials, yeah?’

Waite nodded. His whole tone was softer now that things were settled. ‘Yeah… leave it with me.’

‘Good. Then we’ll see you later.’

‘Later?’

‘Yeah. There’s stuff we need to talk about.’

But Waite clearly had heard nothing about what had happened back in Dorchester. He’d been too busy dealing with the prisoners.

‘Stuff?’

‘We need to call a council of war,’ Jake said. ‘Decide what we’re going to do.’

‘Things are that bad, huh?’

‘That bad.’ And, with a final nod, he took Peter’s arm and walked away, the thought of what he’d just done burning in his head, like the after-image of some awful, searing light.

‘Peter? Are you okay?’

Peter looked up. It was Beth, Meg’s elder sister. She had left the others and come across to where he sat alone at one of the big trestle tables at the back of the New Inn.

He liked Beth. Or rather, admired her. She was the rebel in the family, the one who never did what you thought she would. At seventeen she ought to have been married by now, maybe even had kids, but she wasn’t having any of that. She wanted a different life. She didn’t want to be an unpaid drudge, tied to some dishwater-dull farmer. Only what were the options?

‘I’m fine.’

She sat, facing him, leaning in towards him and making a face. ‘Well, you could have fooled me, cuz. You’ve been sittin’ there with a face like a wet weekend.’

‘Have I?’ He almost laughed. Only he kept seeing it in his memory, and every time he did it cast the same dark shadow over things.

That his own dad should have been capable of such an act.

At the other table the other kids were chatting and laughing, sipping at glasses of the home-made lemonade that was Ma Waite’s specialty. Meg was among them, and from time to time she would glance at him, but she wouldn’t come across. Not after what he’d said.

‘You two havin’ a tiff?’ Beth asked, seeing where his eyes had gone.

He looked back at her. ‘Yeah.’

‘I didn’t think you two ever argued.’

‘We don’t. Only today’s different.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘All that stuff that’s been happening, you mean?’

He nodded. He had heard it from his dad only an hour back. Had seen how worried it made him, like this was it.

‘Is that what they’re talkin’ about now in there?’

Peter nodded. ‘Yeah, but it won’t be any use, though.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘I mean… if it is the Chinese…’

She laughed. ‘You really think…?’ But she could see he was serious.

‘Dad saw them. He saw the dragons on the craft. And then there’s the photograph…’

‘What photograph?’

There was this friend of Dad’s, at market… he showed Dad a photograph. A polaroid. Only there haven’t been polaroids about since before the Collapse… they’re self-developing, see, and the chemicals that allow it to develop… Well, Dad thought about it and he couldn’t see how it could have survived, how it would have worked after all these years. So he had another look at it, and there, in the top corner on the back of the print, were four tiny Chinese characters… chops, you call them.’

‘And?’

‘Don’t you see? The guy who had the camera must have got it off them… off the Chinese, that is. Bought it, maybe, or stole it…’

‘And what were the Chinese doin’ with it?’

Peter shrugged. ‘That’s not the point. The point is that if he did, then they must be here.’

‘The Chinese?’

‘Yeah.’

Beth considered that a moment, then looked at him again. ‘What if it was made by the Chinese, but someone else brought it into this country? Some trader… that’s possible, isn’t it?’

‘Only…’

‘…you like your dad’s version better… yeah?’

Peter smiled. In some ways Beth was much better suited to him than Meg. Meg would just have accepted what he’d said.

‘I’m not saying categorically that they are here, just that if they are…’

‘Then we’re all fucked…’

‘Beth!’ But he was grinning now. ‘What would your mother say?’

‘She’d say I was a big girl now…’

Peter looked up, past Beth’s shoulder. Meg was coming across.

‘What’re you two talking about?’

Beth turned to face her little sister, exaggerating her country accent as she did. ‘We wuz tarkin’ Aparcollips. ’Bout ’em Chinese fellas comin’ ’ere ta Purbeck…’

Peter giggled. The way she said it did make it seem rather funny. But Meg didn’t find it funny. She hated being teased.

‘You gonna come join us?’

He looked down. Truth was, he didn’t want to. Not right then. He’d been enjoying Beth’s company. But he could see how much it had cost Meg to come across; how she’d had to swallow her pride.

‘Thanks,’ he said, looking to Beth as he stood.

‘You’re welcum, vine zur…’ Beth answered him, getting up and curtseying, like she was a milkmaid.

He went round, took Meg’s arm. ‘I’m sorry…’ She looked up into his face. ‘Are you?’

‘Yeah… let’s have a nice evening, eh? Let’s worry about tomorrow when it comes.’

Geoff Horsfield sat back, pointing the stem of his pipe at Harry Miller, who sat just across from him.

‘That’s all very well, ’Arry, only there’s far too few of us and we’ve no bloody time in which to do it!’

The bar of the New Inn was packed, every table filled to overflowing. Everyone had turned up, it seemed, brought there by the news of the strange craft the men had seen at market.

‘Besides,’ Geoff went on, taking a match from his pocket and beginning to dig at the bowl, ‘if we want to set up proper defences then why don’t we use what we’ve got? I mean… we’ve a perfectly good castle out there…’

‘It’s a bloody ruin,’ John Lovegrove chipped in.

‘Bits of it. We could fill the gaps…’

But Jake had heard enough. They had been talking around the subject for the best part of an hour now, and he was beginning to lose patience. He stood, raising his arms, calling the meeting to order.

‘Ladies… gentlemen… please… let’s address the real problem. What if they are here? Shouldn’t we be asking ourselves a few questions? Like… what do they want? And how is it going to affect us, here in Purbeck?’

‘Why don’t you go and ask ’em?’ Ted Gifford said, making everyone laugh.

Jake shook his head. ‘I think you’re all missing the point. That craft, if it is Chinese, speaks of a highly advanced civilization. Christ… we didn’t have anything like that before the Collapse!’

‘Not that we knew of…’ Will Cooper said. ‘But you know ’ow governments are…’

‘What if those dragons were Irish dragons,’ Jenny Randall threw in.

‘For Pete’s sake,’ Geoff Horsfield answered. ‘Is that really likely?’

‘Well, they are a creative race…’

‘Chinese,’ Jake said emphatically, feeling like he’d blow a fuse if he couldn’t get them to focus on this. ‘It was a Chinese dragon. I saw it, remember? But I ask again… what do they want from us?’

‘Why should they bloody well want anything?’ Old Josh said, from where he sat on a stool by the bar. ‘Maybe they’ll leave us alone. Let Branagh rule us.’

‘Maybe,’ Jake said, conceding the point, some part of him wishing it were so. ‘Only I don’t believe that.’

‘You know why I don’t think it’s them?’ John Lovegrove said, sitting forward. ‘Because if it was them, then it could mean only one thing.’

‘An’ what’s that, John?’ someone asked from one of the tables at the back.

‘That they want to rule it all…’

‘Bollocks!’ Charlie Waite said from where he stood behind the counter, drying glasses. ‘Why would the Chinese want Purbeck? What fuckin’ use are we to them?’

It was a good question. The Chinese had traditionally stayed within their borders. Why should they change that now?

‘Not so much Purbeck,’ John said, ‘but… well… England… you know, the old United Kingdom… I mean, if they were the first to recover… the first to get back on their feet, so to speak well… maybe…’

‘Maybe what?’ Jake asked. ‘A world state…? Is that what you mean? With the Chinese pulling all the strings?’

Jake looked around, seeing the effect his words had had on them all. The idea of it had got through to them, had touched their imaginations for once.

A world run by the Chinese…

‘Nah…’ Eddie Buckland said, puncturing the mood, signalling to Charlie to get some more drinks in. ‘I can’t see it, meself. Can’t see why they’d bother…’

‘But it’s a fact,’ Jake said, exasperated by their complacency. ‘They’re here. We saw one of their craft. We didn’t dream that. We saw it. It’s already here.’

‘Well it zertainly wuz massive,’ Ted Gifford said, nodding as if to emphasize what Jake had said. ‘Biggest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen, truth be told. Like in the ol’ films… you know, when the aliens invade…’

‘Thanks, Ted,’ Geoff said, shaking his head. ‘Be sure to tell the kids that one afore they go to bed tonight.’

‘Yeah, but Ted’s right in a way,’ Jake said. ‘What if it is an invasion? It’d explain all those people on the move…’

‘There are always people on the move.’

‘Sure, John, but recently… Well, we’ve all seen it…’

‘That’s true,’ John answered, sitting forward. ‘Only why’s there been no word of it before now? You know how it is, normally… we hear about such things long before they reach us. What’s gone wrong this time? Why has the rumour mill dried up?’

Jake didn’t know. Maybe it hasn’t, he thought. Maybe they’re just much more efficient at keeping word from spreading.

Only how would they do that? People got away. Word got out. Word always got out.

It all ended inconclusively, two hours later. Nothing had been decided. Ted Gifford had suggested that they send a party east, to see if they could find out more, only no one was keen on going and the idea of an expedition fizzled out.

One thing had come out of the meeting, however, and that was a general disbelief that anyone – aside from the odd band of thieves and murderers – was actually interested in Purbeck.

Will Cooper perhaps expressed it best.

‘It ain’t exactly fuckin’ Tibet now, is it?’

The general consensus was that it would all blow over; that they’d need to be extra vigilant these next few weeks, but after that…

Jake stood outside, on the patio at the back, looking out across the fields towards the south. It had been an eventful day. He had killed a man and found a good friend dead. Tomorrow he would go and bury Margaret, then deliver Jack Hamilton his bride.

Which reminded him. He had to go and tell Becky that they’d be delayed setting off for Wareham in the morning. If he was to see to Ma Brogan, it would be best if he did it at first light. Yes, and alone. Peter had seen enough.

Peter was with the other village kids, standing idly around, down by the outhouse where it had all happened. Jake went over to him.

‘You okay?’

Peter nodded.

Jake looked around. ‘Where’s Boy?’

‘Meg’s taken him home. He was hungry…’

‘Look… I’ve just got to nip in to Corfe. I’ve got to let Becky know we’re setting out a bit later tomorrow. I told her eight, but if I’m to… you know…’

‘I know. Shall I light a fire?’

Jake grinned. ‘A fire would be nice.’

‘Then I’ll see you later on.’

He left Peter and went back inside. Josh was just about to leave. He was heading back on the wagon with Geoff Horsfield and John Lovegrove, but on hearing that Jake was heading his way, he latched on, holding on to Jake’s arm for support, then sitting beside Jake in the back of the wagon as they made their way back.

‘Ted was sayin’ that Rory ’as a daughter,’ Josh said as they entered the darkness of the tree-lined lane.

‘He has, and a lovely girl she is. Roxanne…’

Josh sang two lines of the old song, then laughed. ‘Bet she gets that a lot.’

‘Not from the young ’uns…’

Josh fell silent for a moment, then: ‘Did you get me anything, Jake? You know… at market?’

Jake hadn’t yet given Josh his surprise. He had meant to tomorrow, after he’d sorted everything else.

‘I got you something.’

Josh chuckled; a chuckle that became a cough.

‘You all right, Josh?’ Geoff said, speaking from the darkness just ahead of them. ‘Chest not playin’ you up?’

‘Chest’s fine… it’s my bloody legs.’

‘Didn’t sound like your legs,’ John Lovegrove said, laughing.

‘Been a strange ol’ day, ain’t it?’ Josh said, ignoring him. ‘Can’t say I’m not glad it’s over.’

‘Strange you should say that…’ Jake said.

‘Why’s that, boy?’

‘You’ll see.’

Josh touched his arm sympathetically. ‘Been a hard day for you, I know… Poor ol’ Maggie…’

‘Maggie? Oh… you mean…’

‘Ma Brogan… as was…’

‘No one blames you, Jake,’ Geoff said. ‘I’d have done the same.’

‘Me, too,’ John quickly added. ‘I’d ’ave cut ’is fuckin’ balls off, if it were me!’

‘And fed ’em to him! Bastard!’

Jake looked down. It was strange hearing such vehemence, such anger, from his old friends. They were such kind men. Kind but unforgiving.

‘Killing him… that was nothing… he was worth no more… only…’

There were grunts of agreement. They all knew what Jake was talking about. They knew him too well not to.

‘The boy’ll understand, Jake,’ Geoff said more quietly. ‘He knows you. Knows that you wouldn’t’a done it without good reason.’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘Geoff’s right,’ John said emphatically. ‘The boy’ll be fine. ’E just needs to understand how things are. Needs to know what’s wrong and what’s right. An eye for an eye.’

Maybe. Only Jake had never liked ‘an eye for an eye’. It was distinctly Old Testament, and in his mind he associated it with a kind of right-wing severity that he’d always mistrusted. Not only that, but it seemed to place him there alongside men like Charlie Waite and Frank Goodman, and he wasn’t sure that that was where he wanted to be.

Necessity, he thought. That’s what it comes down to, necessity.

Only he knew that what he’d done had damaged him in his son’s eyes.

He changed the subject.

‘You were quiet tonight, Geoff…’

‘Was I?’

‘Yeah… I’d have thought you’d have had a lot to say on the subject, being a historian and all.’

‘Well, maybe I have. And maybe sometimes it’s best not to say a word.’

‘Yeah?’

Geoff was silent a moment, then, ‘You free tomorrow afternoon, Jake?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Then come and see me.’

‘Sounds ominous,’ John Lovegrove said.

‘Well, maybe it is,’ Geoff answered him. ‘And maybe I’m wrong. It’s the thought that I could be wrong that made me hold my tongue earlier. After all, I don’t want to go scaring souls for no reason.’

‘You think what you’ve got to say would scare people, then?’ Jake asked.

Geoff chuckled darkly. ‘I dunno. But it fuckin’ scares me, I can tell you!’

Back in Corfe, Jake helped Josh back indoors.

‘D’you know where Becky’s putting up for the night?’

‘Right here, boy,’ Josh said. ‘She’ll be in the bar, I warrant. Likes her drink, that girl…’

Jake said goodnight, then went through to the bar. Only Becky wasn’t there.

‘She went up a while back,’ Dougie, who was cleaning up behind the bar, told him. ‘She’s on the first floor at the front. Room Three.’

He went upstairs and knocked.

‘Who’s that?’ she called from inside.

‘It’s me… Jake… I wanted to give you a message.’

‘Hang on…’

Becky came to the door. In the candlelight, he could see she had been getting ready for bed. She had washed her hair and thrown on a nightgown.

She smiled. ‘Jake… ’ow lovely to see you… come in a minute…’

‘No… look, I can’t stop…’

But she was having none of it. ‘Come in,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve been waiting all day to have a word.’

As she closed the door then turned to him, she laughed.

‘What?’

‘Just that you almost caught me.’

‘Caught you?’

‘With my patch on… I wear it sometimes… when I’m on my own. I hate seein’ it, see… in the mirror.’

‘Ah…’

He looked about him. The room was small and rather shabby, with a threadbare carpet and cheap-looking teak furniture from the nineteen fifties. There was a wet towel on the bed, and on the bedside table, beside the candle, was a bottle of whisky and a tumbler.

She saw where he was looking. ‘You fancy a nightcap, Jake? It’s a single malt. A Laphroaig. From before the Collapse.’

He’d meant just to tell her and leave, but the sight of the whisky swayed him.

‘Okay… just a little one…’

She grinned, then went across. ‘So what’s the message?’

‘Just that I’ll be a bit later than I said. There’s something I’ve got to do first thing. I thought… well, that you might like a bit of a lay in.’

‘Before the big day, eh?’

She poured out a large measure, then turned, offering it to him.

Jake went across. ‘Cheers!’ he said, taking the glass and raising it to her. ‘You all right about tomorrow? I mean… you’re not having second thoughts about marrying Jack Hamilton?’

She looked down. ‘It’s just… well, it’s going to be strange… tied to one man…’

‘Yeah?’

She met his eyes. ‘Yeah… and a much older man, too… I just wonder…’

‘What?’

She hesitated. ‘Can I tell you a secret, Jake?’

‘Go on.’

‘I like sex. I like it a lot. And the eye… well, I was born with it, and things ’appenin’ as they did, I never got a chance to correct it. But that’s not all bad, see… because it’s given me an excuse… you know… not to get too involved.’

‘Yeah?’ Jake said uncomfortably. It was a bit too close to the nub. He took a sip of the malt. ‘Christ, that’s good!’

‘Ain’t it?’ Becky took it from him a moment and had a sip herself. ‘Hmm… only one thing better I can think of.’

‘Sex, you mean?’

She handed the glass back.

‘And is that it? Is that what’s worrying you? That you’ll have to be faithful to Jack?’

‘Partly…’ She laughed and looked down. ‘That’s if I can… I’ve got some bad ’abits, Jake. Some very bad ’abits… An’ I’m not sure as marriage’ll cure ’em.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

Again she met his eyes. It was disconcerting, certainly, but a man could get used to it. ‘Right now I’m going to bed.’

‘Oh… right…’ Jake took a large swig of the malt. It was a truly magnificent whisky. He loved the way it burned in your throat afterwards, the delicious after-flavour of it. He looked to her. ‘I’d better go, then...’

She took the glass from him, sipped from it, then handed it back.

‘That’s just it… I was ’oping you wouldn’t. I was ’oping… well… that you’d stay a bit and let me show you just how grateful I was.’

‘Becky…’

‘No, Jake. Hear me out. You see, travelling back in the wagon I kept thinking to myself, what can I do for Jake? Seein’ as ’e’s been so good to me. And I thought to myself, I could fuck his brains out… that’d be a good way of saying thank you, wouldn’t it now?’

Jake swallowed awkwardly. ‘And?’

Unfastening the belt, she let the gown fall from her.

‘I’m a very grateful girl, you see, Jake Reed. I know who my friends are and I treat ’em well…’

Jake stood there, mouth open, taking her in. There was no doubting it, looking at her. She had a lovely figure, and it was years since he had seen a naked woman. Only this was wrong. He would never be able to look at Jack Hamilton again.

No, nor himself.

She stepped closer. Taking his hands she placed them on her breasts.

So warm they were, so perfectly formed.

‘Becky… I can’t…’

‘Why not? You ain’t doin’ Jack no ’arm. ’E don’t even know I’m on my way to ’im. An’ seein’ ’ow it’s the last time before I become an honest woman…’

Jake closed his eyes, feeling her hands at his neck, her lips on his cheek. What harm would it do? What harm?

‘Becky… I’m flattered… really I am… you’re a beautiful woman…’

That much was true. In the candle’s light she looked the very picture of desire, like a Botticelli Venus. Even so, he knew he couldn’t stay. To even think of starting something with her was madness. And besides, there were ghosts. Only it was hard to tear himself away. The warmth of her flesh against his palms, the soft delight of her mouth against his neck.

‘Becky, please…’

‘You can have me, Jake. Tonight… you can stay all night if you want…’

‘I can’t… my son…’

‘An hour, then… Please, Jake… I’ll do whatever you want…’

He groaned as her hand moved down to gently cup his sex.

‘Becky, I can’t… I can’t…’

But the stiffness there betrayed him.

‘Hush, my darlin’ boy… course you can… that’s what Becky’s ’ere for… to make you feel alive again…’

‘Becky…’

But he was lost. Lost and no way back. Her hands, her lips, the fullness of her breasts… He had forgotten the magic of it all.

She smiled at him lovingly as her fingers nimbly, expertly unfastened him. ‘You’ve been dead too long, Jake, my love… Come, my darlin’ boy… Come to bed and forget about tomorrow…’

It was gone two when he returned. Peter had waited up, worried that he’d not come back. The fire in the grate had burned down to ashes.

‘I’m sorry… I had some business.’

‘Dad…’ He could see the boy wanted to scold him, to tell him off. And not only for being late. For everything. For the whole damned mess.

‘I’m sorry, lad. I shouldn’t have stayed out. I…’

Coming back from Corfe he had hurried through the darkness, his thoughts in turmoil, not knowing what to feel or think.

He had not slept with a woman since Annie’s death. Had not killed a man like that, up close, for what? Eight years and more. But today…

‘Uncle Tom’s not well,’ Peter said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Cath came across an hour back…’

‘An hour? Oh shit… Has Mary sent for the doctor?’

‘I said you’d come, as soon as you got back. Only you didn’t…’

‘I’m sorry… Look, I’ll go there now… D’you want to come?’

Peter grabbed his coat and nodded, a surly look on his face. Boy at once jumped up out of his basket.

‘Dad?’

‘What?’

Peter looked down, embarrassed. ‘Perhaps you ought to wash…’

‘Wash?’ Then he realized what Peter was saying.

‘Oh…’

He went through to the old butler sink at the back of the house and washed.

Peter was right. It wouldn’t have done to have turned up at the Hubbards’ stinking of another woman. And not simply for the reasons Peter thought.

For that too had crossed his mind, even as he lay in Becky’s arms – that in sleeping with her he was somehow betraying Mary.

Absurd, he knew, but true.

He went back through, joining Peter and Boy out front.

‘Did Cath say what the problem was?’

‘He’s running a fever…’

‘A fever?’

Jake stopped, then reached out and took his son’s arm. There was so much anger in the boy right now.

‘I’m sorry, right… It’s been a hard day.’

And it isn’t going to get any easier. But he didn’t say that.

‘Come on… let’s see what we can do.’

Tom was in a bad way. You could see it as soon as you walked into the room.

‘What is it? Jake asked quietly, not sure whether Tom, who had his eyes closed, was sleeping or not.

Mary turned, looking up at him. She had been crying.

‘It’s his shoulder. It’s begun to swell up again.’

‘And the doctor?’

‘Cath went half an hour back. He said he’d come.’

Jake went across and, careful not to disturb Tom, had a look.

He winced. It looked bad. Looked like it was infected.

‘But it was fine,’ he said, looking to Mary again. ‘The wound was clean.’

She took a shivering breath. ‘I know…’

‘Tell him, Mary,’ Tom said wearily. ‘Just tell him.’

‘Tell me what?’

Mary’s head went down. She was hunched forward, as if fending off some physical blow.

‘What?’

He was conscious suddenly of Peter and the girls in the doorway behind him.

Tom opened his eyes. He turned his head slowly, looking up at Jake.

‘I’m dying, Jake.’

Jake shook his head. ‘You can’t say that. The doctor’ll be here any minute. He’ll give you something…’

Mary turned, looking up at him. Her eyes were raw, her face pale. ‘It’s not the wound.’

‘I don’t get it…’

‘I’ve got cancer,’ Tom said. ‘Liver cancer. At least, that’s where it started. It’s spread. And my immune system…’ He smiled wearily, as if it were a cause for amusement. ‘It’s shot…’

Jake shook his head. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. Only a few days ago, Tom had been striding along at his side, all ruddy-faced and healthy.

‘You can’t know that.’

‘He went to see them. In Dorchester. They did all the tests.’

Jake looked to Mary, then back at Tom. ‘That young doctor we saw…?’

‘Had seen me before… three… no, four times…’

Tom had closed his eyes again, but he seemed much more relaxed now.

There was a sudden, sharp movement behind him. Jake turned, in time to see Meg turn away and rush off, bursting into tears as she went. Peter chased after her.

Cathy too was crying. Only she and Beth seemed calm. ‘Is it true, Daddy?’

‘It’s true,’ Mary said quietly.

‘And the bullet?’

Tom smiled; a proper smile this time. ‘One of life’s little ironies, eh?’

But Jake couldn’t smile. All he could see now was the damage in Tom’s face. He hadn’t seen it before now. Maybe he hadn’t been looking properly. But now he could.

‘How long has it been?’

‘Best part of a year,’ Mary answered, taking Tom’s hand again and squeezing it. ‘He thought it was simple tiredness to begin with. A sign ’e was growing old. But then the pains began.’

‘Christ, Tom, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You’d only have fussed…’

‘Yeah, well, you should have let me fuss!’

Jake stood. His own anger surprised him. He felt like breaking something.

‘Fuck it!’

‘Jake…’

He looked at Tom, blinking through his tears. ‘You saved me! You gave me my fucking life that time! I owe you. You can’t just die on me!’

Tom’s mouth trembled. ‘Seems I can.’

There was a sudden knocking down below, then hurried footsteps on the stairs. The local doctor, Hart, appeared in the doorway.

‘Jake… Mary…’

He went straight across, setting his bag down by the bed even as Jake stepped back.

‘I’ve told them,’ Tom said, looking up at him.

‘Thank god for that. Now what’s the trouble?’

While the doctor did his examination, Mary took Jake downstairs.

They spoke quietly but intensely.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Mary shrugged. She was close to tears again. ‘He asked me not to. He wanted things to be normal…’

‘Normal? How could they be fucking normal?’

‘Jake…’

‘I’m sorry. It’s just… No, I’m sorry… I really am. I love Tom.’

‘I know.’ But it sounded desolate.

Jake shook his head. Now that he’d been told, all manner of things came clear to him. Even Mary’s behaviour the night of the gathering.

Mary turned away, busying herself, filling a kettle simply for something to do.

‘We... talked about it… Tom and I… when we first knew… I… I wanted to tell you.’

‘Did you?’

She glanced at him. ‘Yes… only Tom didn’t want that. Didn’t want you looking at him in that way… you know…’

He did, and he understood. If he was dying the very last thing he’d want was for his friends to look at him that way – in that mawkish, over-sentimental fashion.

‘So you just…’

Mary sighed. ‘You know… it’s been the ’ardest thing, watchin’ him each day… seeing him diminish. You must have noticed something.’

‘No. No, I… Small things, I guess, but you put them down to ageing. We’re none of us getting any younger…’

‘No…’

He frowned. ‘You told the girls?’

Mary shook her head. ‘No. Not till tonight… Not till…’

She turned to him, her face distraught. ‘Oh, Jake… it was awful…’

‘Oh, Mary…’

He took her in his arms and held her, letting her sob into his shoulder, the tears coursing down his own cheeks.

‘We’ll do our best for him, Mary, I promise you. Whatever you need… You only have to ask, you know that. Whatever you need.’

Jake barely slept. Long before dawn he was up and dressed, ready to go and do what needed to be done.

For once he was afraid. Afraid of seeing in the daylight what he’d glimpsed the night before. He had packed a bag with several old sheets and thick gloves and a shovel and was about to go – to get there at first light – when Peter came down and joined him.

‘Peter… you didn’t have to…’

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Peter said, coming across, taking his coat down from the peg.

‘You don’t have to come.’

The boy turned, looking back at Jake, clear-eyed. ‘I know. But I want to. We share things from now on. Okay?’

Jake stared at his son, surprised. This was a new tone from him.

‘Okay… How’s Meg?’

‘Not good. She never guessed. Cathy and Beth… well, they knew something was going on. But Meg… it’s hit her hard.’

Jake nodded. Like it hit you, he thought, when your mother died.

‘I meant to ask,’ Peter said, ‘did you…?’

‘The ring? Yeah. I’ll bring it back from Corfe later on. It’s in my pack.’ He smiled. ‘It’s really nice. Solid gold.’

Peter grinned back at him. ‘Thanks…’

‘Okay… then let’s go.’

East Orchard was barely any distance across the fields. As they walked down the long slope in the early light, Boy gambolling along between them, both were silent, lost in their own thoughts. It was only when they came to the cottage that Jake turned to his son again.

‘Look… if you find this disturbing…’

‘Dad. I’m all right. Really I am. It’s awful, yeah, I know that, but I have to deal with it.’

Jake wanted to argue, only maybe the boy was right. Maybe you did have to see the worst of it – the very worst – to understand the whole. Good and evil. They were delicately balanced in the world. And you needed to understand that, for without that you were fucked. Well and truly fucked.

He reached out and touched Peter’s shoulder. ‘Come on, then. But be warned. It’s not a pleasant sight. Poor Margaret…’

Peter lowered his head, then nodded.

‘We’ll wrap her up in the sheets and bring her down. Bury her in her garden. That’s where she’d want to be…’

‘Dad?’

‘What, boy?’

I know it might sound a bit ghoulish, but d’you think Meg and I could have the cottage?’

The question astonished Jake. ‘I… I’ll talk to Tom about it…’

‘Only…’

‘Go on…’

‘Just that if it is all ending… if the Chinese are here… then I want to have some time alone with Meg. Just me and her…’

Jake wanted to say that he was only fourteen and that they had all the time in the world. Only fourteen was a different kind of fourteen these days – not like when he grew up and you were still a child. No, and they didn’t have all the time in the world. No one knew how long they had. So why not?

‘I’ll talk to him, Peter, I promise… when I’m back from Wareham. Now let’s do what we have to do.’

Becky was waiting for him when he got to the Bankes Arms Hotel, her wagon secured with thick straps, her packed bags on the pavement next to it.

Seeing him, she smiled and came across. She was dressed in her very best clothes and, most surprising of all, she was wearing her eye patch.

‘Jake, my love… As you see, I’m ready.’

He put out his hand to her, but she ignored it, giving him a hug instead, and whispering in his ear.

‘I wish you could ’ave stayed a little longer… I couldn’t sleep…’

He moved back a little, feeling awkward. ‘Tom wasn’t well… We were up half the night… and then there was the burial…’

Her face changed, grew concerned. ‘I’m really sorry…’

‘That’s all right,’ he said gently, remembering how kind she’d been – how loving-generous – the previous evening. ‘Let’s get you to your husband, eh?’

There was something faintly wistful in her expression, and then she grinned. ‘Come on, then… come up and sit next to me on the seat, Jake, and tell me what’s been ’appenin’…’

It was an hour and more to Wareham in the wagon, and after the events of the past few days, Jake was wary. Letting Becky do most of the talking, he sat there, his eyes searching the horizon on all sides, looking out for any sign of bandits.

If Becky had had her way, of course, they would have stopped along the road, but Jake was strict about that.

‘It was wonderful… really it was… you’re a lovely woman, Becks… but this is your wedding day, and I’m not – you know – on your wedding day.’

Becky feigned disappointment. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe she really was disappointed. But that didn’t matter to Jake. Sweet as it might have been, he was not succumbing to her again. And besides, his mind was full of other things. He only had to think…

It had been a lot worse than he’d thought. The look of Margaret’s corpse in the dawn’s light had caught him unprepared. It wasn’t only that rigor mortis had set in, giving her a stiff, almost haunted look, but there was a marked discoloration of the skin. Already insects had found her and begun their hideous feast. But it was her hair – that lovely mane of silver hair of hers – that disturbed him most, for it was thickly matted now with clotted blood, like a black tar, fusing her to the pillow, such that when he came to try to lift her, the pillow came up with her, inseparable.

Awful it was, that moment when he’d lifted her. Simply awful. But Peter had helped him, had quickly brought the sheet and wrapped it about her. Between them they had carried her downstairs – light as a child, she’d seemed – and out into the garden. Peter and he had already dug the grave, there between her roses and chrysanthemums.

It was such an end as she never would have dreamed. Such a lovely woman, she had been in life. Such a power for goodness on the earth.

He had stood there, before they covered her, saying a few words, while Peter bowed his head. Boy edged forward curiously, tiny whimpers escaping him at the smell of the open grave.

Yes, but at least someone cared at the end.

He looked up. Becky had been saying something.

‘What’s that, Becks?’

‘I was just sayin’… ’bout that craft we all saw.’

‘Go on…’

‘I was thinkin’… maybe they’ve come to ’elp us. You know… to set things up again. ’Elp rebuild… Everyone’s thinkin’ some’at else, of course… expectin’ the worst… only… well, maybe we’ve all become too untrustin’.’

‘It’s only to be expected,’ he said, made thoughtful by her comments. ‘It’s been twenty years and more since anything but trouble came down the east road.’

They were coming close now, the town and the river visible up ahead.

‘Jake… before we get there… before I… you know… before I meet this man who’s gonna be my ’usband… will you promise me some’at?’

He smiled, but he could see this once she was deadly serious.

‘Depends what it is.’

‘It’s just that… Well… if it goes wrong… if for some reason things go bad between me and this Jack… then you’ll come for me. That you’ll bring me away from there.’

It was some request, and he was silent a moment, chewing it over.

‘Well, Becks,’ he said finally, shaking his head. ‘I guess I could say yes… only that’s not quite what you mean, is it? You mean you and your goods… your wagon and your pony and your bags and clothes and everything… have I got that right?’

She smiled, relieved that he’d understood. ‘It’s just that… a single woman is very alone in this ’ere world. Unless she’s the most wicked o’ bitches then she’s vulnerable, and it ’elps to ’ave a good friend you can call on. ’Specially one that you’ve shared things with, if you know what I mean…’

‘Becky… get it clear… it was a one-off…’

‘Oh, I know,’ she said, smiling broadly and laying a hand on his knee. ‘But what a sweet one-off, eh? One of the best hours of my life, I’d say…’

‘Becky…’

‘Oh, I know. And I’m gonna try my ’ardest to make things right… to make things work between Jack Hamilton and me. Only sometimes one’s best endeavours ain’t quite good enough. Sometimes there’s just no chemistry…’

He almost laughed at that, but again, she was in deadly earnest.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I promise. But in return you’ve got to promise me something.’

She turned slightly, facing him squarely on the long bench seat, her good eye looking back at him kindly, her mouth set in a broad smile which showed her perfect teeth.

‘Just ask me.’

‘Okay… You’ve got to promise me that you won’t fuck any of Jack Hamilton’s sons…’

‘Jake!’

She seemed almost offended by that, but he wasn’t fooled.

‘No… I won’t have it… I know you, remember? You’ve told me what you’re like, and I know it now for a fact. You’re a girl with bad habits… very bad habits… but Jack’s sons… they’re off limits, you got me?’

‘But why…?’

He spoke over her. ‘Because they’re your age, and strong and healthy and… do I have to spell it out?’

Becky pulled at the reins, bringing the wagon to a halt, then turned to him again.

‘That’s unfair… that makes me feel almost like I ought to turn straight round and go home.’

‘What, that room you’ve got in that boarding house in Chikerell? You’re going to give up the chance to be mistress of the best inn in Wareham for that?’

She looked down. For a time she was silent, then, in the tiniest voice, ‘Okay… I promise.’

‘Good… but if I hear any word… the slightest breath of tittle-tattle about a certain young woman’s taste in young men… then the deal is off… and I’ll come and tell Jack Hamilton myself, understand?’

‘Oh, Jake… you wouldn’t be so mean…’

‘Try me.’

For a moment she stared at him almost angrily, and then, almost from nowhere, she began to laugh.

‘What?’ Jake asked, confused now.

‘Just that I was thinkin’… what a good job it was I got a stock o’ them old blue pills ’fore I set out…’

Jack stood, giving Jake a beam of a smile. ‘Jake… good to see you… ’ave you?’

‘I have.’

‘An’ is she?’

‘She is. Only a word first, before you meet her.’

‘She cost more than I gave you, is that it?’

‘No, Jack. I didn’t buy you a wife.’

‘Oh?’ Jack looked confused. ‘You didn’t?’

‘No. But I did find you one. An independent woman of means.’

From the look on Jack’s face, he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. ‘Go on…’

‘All right… Well, first off, she’s a good-looking woman. Strong and young. She’ll bear you strong sons…’

Again Jack looked confused. ‘Sons? I don’t need sons… got plenny o’ them from my first wife, may she rest in peace… What I need is a good woman in my bed every night and at my side throughout the day. Someone as’ll take some of the burden from me. Someone who doesn’t mind workin’ her arse off.’

‘Then I think I’ve found you the very woman, Jack Hamilton… There’s just one little drawback…’

‘Yeah? An’ what’s that?’

‘Her eye.’

‘Her eye?’

‘Yeah… She’s got a funny eye. It doesn’t focus properly. It wanders… But if you can overlook that eye…’

‘She could wear a patch…’

Jake smiled. ‘Funny you should say that… Oh, and one other small thing… she gets to keep her stuff.’

‘Her stuff?’

‘She used to sell jewellery, in Dorchester market… She’s got a wagon load of the stuff and some bags and clothes and other things. You’ve got to let her keep all of that. Draft an agreement before you wed, so that it’s legal and binding.’

Jack was clearly still thinking about the eye, for he nodded almost absently.

‘Good… You want to meet her, then?’

Jack nodded, then, realizing he was still wearing his apron, hastily took it off, then combed his fingers through the last few threads of his hair.

‘Wheel ’er in, boy! Wheel ’er in!’

Becky stepped into the room.

Jake’s heart was in his mouth. What if they didn’t hit it off? What if they hated each other at first sight?

Only he could see at once that both were relieved, even perhaps happy that the other wasn’t quite so awful as they had imagined. It wasn’t perfect, but then what was?

‘Jack…’ Becky said, smiling as she crossed the room confidently and took his hand. ‘I’m Becky… Rebecca Croft, that is, only daughter o’ Leopold Croft, late of Weymouth, and I’m pleased to meet you.’

Becky’s smile was one of intense satisfaction, like she’d seen the worst and it wasn’t so bad at all. But it was no match for the smile on Jack’s face. Jack was smiling like he’d just come into a fortune. Smiling because the woman standing before him was younger than his youngest daughter, and, more to the point, clearly was a fine figure of a woman.

‘Becky… I’m delighted to meet you.’ And, showing a daring that was quite uncharacteristic, he drew her close and gave her a kiss, full on the lips.

Becky laughed. ‘Now, that’s what I like, Jack Hamilton… a man of spirit!’

‘Good!’ the innkeeper answered, beaming now from ear to ear, looking over to Jake to include him in his delight. ‘Then let’s get things done and dusted…’

Jack sent two of his sons to accompany Jake as far as Three Barrows, to make sure he was safe. There had been reports of yet more strangers on the roads and a sighting of a war party of twenty or more heading west, but they saw nothing. The countryside was still and silent under the cloudless autumn sky.

As he walked the last section of the road, Jake found his mood darkening once again. For a brief time he had almost forgotten, but now, heading back, he found himself facing the fact. Tom was dying, and with him the world they had come to know over the last twenty years and more.

Slowly the castle came into view, a rough-edged sprawl of grey against the green of the mound in which it was embedded, its ruined towers set proudly against the blue of the sky. As he looked up, Jake glimpsed a brief flash of light from the topmost tower, and knew at once who it was.

As he came out beneath the East Hill, Peter ran out to greet him, Boy barking at his heels. He looked concerned, and puzzled.

‘You all right, lad?’

Peter had Jake’s field glasses about his neck. ‘Dad… you’ve got to see…’

Maybe. But first he wanted to know how things were.

‘Is Uncle Tom all right?’

‘He was sleeping… the doctor gave him something…’

‘And Aunt Mary…?’

‘Dad… this is important… please… come and see… Aunt Mary’s fine. The girls are looking after her…’

Jake let himself be led up through the gate and on, climbing the steep grassy slope to the Keep, then up again, until he stood at the top of the highest tower – the King’s Tower. There Peter handed him the field glasses.

‘Look to the north-east,’ he said. ‘Towards Bournemouth…’

Jake adjusted the settings, then looked in the direction Peter was indicating, resting the edge of the glasses on the brickwork to keep the image still. At first he didn’t understand. Beyond the great urban sprawl of Poole and Bournemouth that lay just across the water from Purbeck, was a patch of whiteness that hadn’t been there a week ago. A pearled nothingness, like the world just ended there in a perfect geometric line.

‘What is that? It’s… like a wall of mist, or the edge of a glacier… only that’s not possible… it’s much too warm for anything like that…’ He looked to his son. ‘Who else has seen this?’

‘No one…’

‘Then keep it to yourself. Until we know for sure just what it is. No use scaring people, is it?’

But Jake could see that Peter was as disturbed by it as he.

‘Look… I’m going to go and see Geoff anyway. I’ll bring him up here… see what he thinks.’

‘Dad…?’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t know. I…’

Jake could see that Peter wanted to be reassured; to be given some kind of explanation for what he’d seen. Only it made as little sense to him as it did to his son. It wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t possible. It had to be some kind of natural phenomenon.

‘Look… I’ve a couple of things to do. Go back home… make sure Mary and the girls are okay… See if you can help in any way. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

When Peter was gone, he went back to that high vantage point and looked again, fiddling with the magnification, searching the horizon and coming back to the fact, finally, that whatever it was, that block of whiteness, it really was there, in the far distance to the north-east.

He came back down, troubled by what he’d seen. The truth was, it had been as big a shock as seeing the craft the other evening. It had the same power to disturb the eye, and he had known at once that it was all part of the same picture. Whatever had produced that craft had produced this, whatever it was.

The Chinese… the Han…

Geoff would know. That is, if anyone knew. But first he’d go and see Josh and give him his presents.

Jake retrieved his pack from the old post office, then walked over to the hotel.

On the stairs, outside what had been Becky’s room, he paused, recollecting what had happened there. It was only last night, but already it seemed a thousand years ago. Before he’d learned that Tom was dying. Before he’d seen that block of whiteness, there on the edge of things.

Josh was at the very top of the old building. You could hear the music coming from his room, a faint, muted sound that seemed to come from the depths of the building.

As he came to the top of the stairs and pushed the door wide, the sound grew suddenly louder, clearer.

Josh was bending over the old machine, looking at the jacket from some old piece of vinyl. Hearing the door, he turned and, seeing Jake, broke into a toothless grin.

‘Ah, Jake… I wondered when you’d come…’

‘I’ve brought you something,’ Jake said, looking about him at the groaning shelves of records and CDs that lined every wall of that room and the next, which could be glimpsed through the opening on the far side.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, not recognizing the song that was playing. Josh handed him the sleeve, which read Propaganda in what was a vaguely Chinese style of writing.

Jake studied it a moment, then looked to Josh again. He was grinning now.

‘I love it… You know who that’s meant to be…?’

‘Chairman Mao, playing lead guitar, and those are his Red Guards…’

‘I’m not sure about the music, though.’

Josh took the sleeve back. ‘It’s early Police… a live version of one of their B-sides… they used to put out records like this… samplers, they called them.’

Josh lifted the arm. The sound vanished.

In the corner, just behind him, was what looked like a truncated bicycle, from which a belt ran to the back of the makeshift hi-fi system. It was, as the old man said, ‘very Heath Robinson’, but it worked. It allowed him to play his music without burning up gallons of generator fuel.

‘So?’ Josh asked, excited now. ‘What ’ave you got me, boy?’

Jack set his pack down then rummaged.

‘There you go,’ he said, producing the single. This was his ‘teaser’, his joke item. Only Josh was staring at it very strangely as he held it. A tear slowly formed in his eye and rolled down his cheek.

‘Who told you?’

Jake was confused now. It was not the reaction he’d expected. ‘Told me what?’

‘This.’

Carefully, almost tenderly, Josh slipped the tiny seven-inch single from its red and black sleeve and placed it on the turntable. As he lifted the arm again, he looked to Jake.

‘This song… no… I guess you couldn’t have known, could you…? Only… the memories it brings back. One in particular. My wife, Gwen… she was havin’ our first. Fifty years ago it was, maybe more… A boy, as it turned out, name of Andrew… I lost contact with him when things fell apart, but anyway… Gwen was havin’ a hard time of it… a long labour it was… best part of a day… and partway through I left her to it… had to get out of there for a while… so I went and ’ad a pint at a pub nearby and this was playin’… on one of those old juke-boxes they used to ’ave.’

‘I didn’t know…’

‘No. I can see you didn’t. But listen. It’s a gem. Especially the bass line.’

Jake closed his eyes and listened as the sound from the speakers filled the room. But Josh was right. It was a gem.

As it ended Josh sighed. ‘Beautiful, eh?’

‘I’ve got something else,’ Jake said, returning to the pack. ‘Something special.’

Josh chuckled. ‘Need to be something really special to top that.’

Jake handed him the album, watching as Josh’s face lit up with a great beam of delight.

‘Jesus! Where did you get this! It’s priceless!’

Jake smiled. ‘Rory had it… says it’s a present… for being such a good customer all these years…’

‘Good boy!’ Josh laughed then hugged it to him, careful not to bend it. ‘You got time to listen to a track or two, Jake, or you in a hurry?’

Jake really wanted to hear it. He loved what he’d already heard of Spirit, and the build-up Josh had given this album had been tremendous, but Geoff was waiting for him and, more to the point, Tom.

‘Why don’t I pop over tomorrow sometime? I could bring a few bits and pieces and we could listen to the whole album…’

Josh grinned. ‘That sounds bloody wonderful! You don’t mind if I listen to a track or two afore then, though?’

‘Mind? Why should I mind? No, Josh… you enjoy it… only don’t scratch the bugger…’

‘Oh, don’t you worry, boy… I’ll treat it gently…’

‘Then I’ll see you on the morrow. You’ll be here, I take it?’

But Josh was already removing the record carefully from its sleeve. ‘Oh, I’ll be here, Jake. Where else would I be?’

Peter watched from his elevated perch on the keep wall as his father stepped out from the front of the old coaching inn and looked about him.

Jake looked tired. His body language spoke of a man who had been pushed close to his limits. Lack of sleep was part of it, but it was much more than that. Peter had thought about it now and thought he understood. Killing the stranger had pained his father greatly. Had drained and damaged him. There’d been a moment when Jake had looked at him and he had seen it in his eyes. The shame of the act. Yet what was there to be ashamed of?

He had not understood at first. How could he? He hadn’t seen her then. Hadn’t seen what that scab of a man had done to that kind and gentle woman. No wonder his father had gone mad. But he knew his father prided himself on doing the right thing, and for once he felt he had transgressed. Down below, Jake hesitated, then adjusting his pack and his gun, set off down West Street. He was heading for Geoff Horsfield’s house, at the end of that gently curving lane of grey, slate-roofed cottages, overlooking Corfe Common.

The ‘school house’, as they called it, though they only ever used the one room for lessons.

Jake was troubled. Peter could see it even from that distance, even without seeing the expression on his face. His slightest movement conveyed it; the way his head was tilted slightly forward, the hunching of his back and shoulders as he walked.

If anyone had answers, then it was Geoff. He’d been a historian, after all, back in the old days. But even if he didn’t, it would do his father good to talk to someone. Someone who had a proper grasp of things.

Peter sighed, then reached into his pocket and removed the ring. He had taken it out and looked at it a dozen times now, trying to imagine how Meg would react, rehearsing in his mind the words he’d say in offering it to her; mouthing them silently, afraid in case someone was nearby, listening.

If this was the end, if change was coming, then he had best do this soon. Today, possibly. Only there was the small problem of Tom and his illness.

Maybe it wasn’t appropriate right now. Maybe…

Oh, he could maybe the day away. He would ask Aunt Mary. He would do it now and get it over with. And then…

Then he would go and clean out the cottage. Burn all the old sheets and blankets and get it all nice and cosy. Make it a little nest for the two of them.

Or was that moving much too fast?

The whole business troubled him. It should have been so easy, so natural, but now it felt a little like everything was having to be rushed.

He looked through the field glasses one last time.

Down below, Jake had reached the last house. As Peter watched, he unlatched the gate and walked up to the door, straightening up as he did. Peter watched him knock, then, a moment later, duck inside into the darkness.

He turned away, setting down the glasses. He would go right away and speak to Mary.

And afterwards?

Afterwards he’d find Meg and give her the ring.

Boy barked. The wind had blown up and he was keen to get back.

‘Okay, Boy,’ Peter said, reaching down to ruffle his coat. ‘Let’s go find Aunt Mary. Let’s go right now and get things settled, eh?’

Boy barked again, then leapt up and bounded off across the grass towards the gate. Peter watched him a moment, smiling, then followed slowly on behind, the glasses about his neck, his hand pushed deep into his coat pocket, cradling the ring.

Geoff came back through from the kitchen, carrying two cups of steaming hot coffee.

‘There you are… white with two sugars, just as you like it.’

‘Thanks…’ Jake took the cup and set it down.

The room they were sitting in was Geoff’s study. In one corner a huge desk was piled high with books, while the walls on every side were groaning, floor to ceiling, with shelf after shelf of yet more books. Books on every subject you could imagine.

They were text books mainly. A historian he might have been, but at heart Geoff Horsfield was an old-fashioned polymath, interested in and knowledgeable on everything under the sun.

‘So…’ Geoff said, settling behind his desk. ‘You want to know why I was so quiet the other evening?’

‘Well, it’s not like you. You have an opinion on most things.’

‘And I have on this… Only I wasn’t sure people wanted to hear it.’

‘I don’t understand…’

‘What you said… about the craft… about its markings…’

‘The dragons?’

‘Yes. I think you were right. I think… look, let me show you a couple of things. Articles… from old magazines, from before the Collapse. I think they clarify what’s been going on.’

‘It’s been a long time…’

‘I know. Twenty-two years. But they’re still relevant. You want to look?’

‘I’ll take them away with me, if you want. But can’t you summarize?’

Geoff smiled. ‘All right. It’s like this. Remember you told me once about those three days when it all happened. I mean… from the inside. In the… what did you call it?’

‘The datscape.’

‘Right. And do you remember what you said about how it seemed to you that it was the Chinese who kicked the props away, and not just from under us, but from under themselves, too.’

‘How could I forget?’

‘Okay… the first article I found, you see, was about the man who I think did that… Tsao Ch’un.’

‘Tsao Ch’un?’

The name rang a bell, but after all these years Jake wasn’t sure why.

‘He was in charge, when it all happened. In charge of China, that is. And from what I can make out – the evidence is very sketchy – it was he who gave the order for it all to be trashed.’

‘And destroy his own economy? Why would he do that? It’s insane!’

‘That’s precisely what I’ve been asking myself for close on twenty years. There had to be a reason. Only I didn’t understand it until very recently. Until I’d come across a few other bits and pieces. Essays in small, dissenting magazines. Pieces I had reprinted from the internet long ago. Podcasts and odd bits from here and there… from all over, actually. Jigsaw pieces, they were. Nothing startling on their own, but when you put them all together…’

Geoff was looking down broodingly.

‘China…’

‘Yes, China. It was they who initiated the great Collapse. And not only initiated it but, as you know, pushed and pushed until there was no way for the Market to go but down, on the biggest helter-skelter ride in history.’

Geoff sipped at his coffee, then set the cup down again.

‘In fact, from what you said to me, and from what I’ve subsequently read, I can say with some confidence that it was no accident. I’ve looked at the state of the Market in the weeks before it happened, carefully examined and analysed the economic trends of those last few days before it all went off, and I can state with absolute certainty that there was no economic trigger, no failure of the system. It was deliberate – entirely deliberate. War. Not a shooting war, but war all the same. And now they’re back. Now they’ve turned up, after all these years, to finish the job.’

Jake laughed. It seemed absurd. But at the same time he felt a deep foreboding. They were here. He had seen them with his own eyes.

‘I don’t want to sound like Ted Gifford, but why would they do that?’

‘You said it yourself, Jake. To build a world state.’

‘But…’

‘I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t they save themselves? Why did they subject themselves to all of that destruction, that chaos? And I can come up with only one answer. That Tsao Ch’un saw it as the only way of destroying the West without a nuclear war. A war he would most certainly have lost. By destroying the world’s economic system, he destroyed the US as effectively as if he’d dropped ten thousand nuclear warheads. Russia and Europe too. And because he’d prepared for it – because he had instigated it – he was also prepared for the next stage of things.’

‘Which was?’

‘To prevent the West from rebuilding. To keep us down – broken, if you like – while they slowly took things over. That’s why it’s taken them so long. That’s why it’s only now that they’ve turned up on our doorstep.’

‘That’s an astonishing theory.’

‘No, Jake. It’s not a theory. It’s what happened. That’s what I’m telling you. All of those little articles and essays. They all add up. The signs were there, before it all happened. You only had to know where to look.’

Jake looked down. Since he’d first seen it, he had been wondering what on earth it had been, out there on the horizon. Now he knew.

‘There’s something out there, Geoff. On the edge of things…’

Geoff shifted slightly in his chair. ‘Are we talking metaphorically now, or for real?’

‘For real. It’s something Peter noticed. I went up on the King’s Tower with him earlier and he pointed it out to me. It’s out past Poole and Bourne -mouth way. Right out on the very limits of what we could see with the glasses.’

‘And?’

‘It’s a great mass of whiteness, out there on the horizon.’

‘A block of whiteness?’ Geoff laughed.

‘Like a glacier. You want me to show you?’

Geoff seemed to blanch at that. He realized suddenly that Jake was serious.

‘You mean…?’

‘Like a huge glacier. Only you don’t get glaciers this far south. And it’s October. And I think I know now who’s behind it…’

‘China…’

‘Yeah…’

‘A glacier?’ Geoff said. ‘Or a wall, maybe?’

Jake nodded.

‘But why would they build a wall?’

‘Why do people ever build walls?’

‘To keep their enemies out…’

‘Or their people in.’

‘Yes, but why build it there?’

‘Unless it’s not a wall…’

He took Geoff up onto the tower. There, using Geoff’s glasses, which were considerably less powerful than his own, he had tried to point it out, only it was hard to get a clear view.

‘I don’t know,’ Geoff said finally, lowering the glasses. ‘It looks like something there, but what it is…’

‘I’ll bring my glasses… tomorrow… we’ll look at it then… you’ll get a clearer view.’

Geoff turned to him. ‘It’s like you said the other evening, Jake… The big question is what do they want with us? Do they want to rule us or exclude us? Help us or kill us?’

‘You think those are the only choices?’

‘Well… they sure as hell aren’t going to leave us be. That’s never the way of it. If history teaches anything, it’s that an invading force makes certain it’s secure, and by whatever means it can.’

‘Then we’re to fight? Resist them?’

Geoff shrugged. ‘You saw their craft. Do you think we can?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then. Resistance isn’t an option.’

Walking home, Jake thought about that. Was that it, then? Had Fate decided? When China came, was that their role in this – to acquiesce?

If so, it seemed ignoble. Not only that, but the dark historical parallels of it disturbed him. When the world changed, people died. That was the rule of it.

Yes, but maybe they could choose how they died… He was walking along the final stretch of the lane coming up to the church when he heard a noise, a strange animal whining, coming from just ahead of him, over to his left.

That’s Boy, he thought. That has to be Boy!

Jake broke into a run. As he came out onto the main stretch of road, he paused, trying to get a fix on the noise.

There, he thought. The Hubbards’ house…

His heart was pounding now. What if it was bandits… part of that huge army that Branagh’s men had driven off? Jake hauled his gun from his shoulder and ran with it out before him, the safety off. Anxiety burned in him now.

Where’s the whistle? Why haven’t you blown the fucking whistle?

As he came to the gate, he leapt the low wall and ran on, down the passage -way between the house and the garage and out into the garden space beyond.

There, crouched low, like he’d been told to sit, Boy was howling now, his head tilted skyward.

Jake turned, trying to make out what was happening.

Peter was standing in the doorway, looking in.

Thank god…

Only he didn’t look right.

‘Peter…?’

Peter turned his head, looking towards him. ‘Dad…?’

He looked back inside, then quickly came across. ‘Thank god you’ve come. I was going to come and get you…’

‘Hey, hold on…’

He lifted Peter’s face, saw it was wet with tears.

‘He’s dead, Dad. Tom’s dead…’

‘Dead…?’

The shock of it ran through him like a jolt of electricity.

He could hear it now, from upstairs. The sound of sobbing.

‘Christ… when?’

Peter’s face convulsed. ‘He was sitting up talking to us. He…’

He shook his head, unable to continue. Jake gripped his shoulder briefly, then pushed past, hurrying across.

The sound was louder inside. For a moment he paused, looking about him at the kitchen. So many happy moments he’d shared with them, here about their table. So much joy. But now the room seemed desolate, untenanted.

He climbed the stairs, fighting gravity it seemed, his reluctance like some foul force draining his strength.

Dead. He couldn’t be dead.

At the doorway he stopped, looking in, seeing how the four of them crowded the bed. Clinging to him, like they’d become one in their grief. Tom’s girls.

The thought of it unmanned him. Tears rolled down his face.

Tom’s girls…

Sensing him there, Mary turned and, on seeing him, wiped her eyes on her apron and came across.

‘What happened?’ he asked, looking past her at Tom’s face, where it lay, pale against the pure white pillow.

Tom looked like he was sleeping.

‘I don’t know,’ Mary said quietly. ‘His ’eart…’

She stopped, her face creased with pain.

Jake stepped close, holding her to him, letting her sob against his shoulder.

‘I’m so sorry, Mary… So sorry…’

Her hands gripped his shoulders briefly. She took a long, shuddering breath, then moved back slightly. She was trying to smile, to reassure him somehow, only it came out like a grimace.

‘It’s good in a way, Jake. At least he won’t suffer…’

But he could see she didn’t believe that. She looked distraught. Besides, he knew how it had been between them. There was no faking that. Every second she had had with Tom had been precious. But now he was gone, and that vast gulf between the living and the dead had opened up between them; a vastness that made nothing of the distance between stars.

He had been dying, sure, but that was weeks off, months they’d hoped. To lose him now seemed cruel.

‘I’ll go back down,’ he said. ‘Make us all some tea…’

Mary was staring at him now. ‘Thanks…’ But as he made to turn away, she reached out, taking his arm.

‘Jake… don’t go home tonight. Stay here… please… Just tonight…’

‘Sure…’

He went down, busying himself, trying not to think.

As if he had a choice…

It was the end of familiar life, he realized. Of normalcy. It was not just Tom’s death. Not just the whiteness at the edge of things. Everything had changed.

And so it comes again…

Once before he had faced this. Once before it had all dissolved about him. Only this time he was scared, truly scared. This time it was sink or swim. This time it was for real.