face around the table, unable to speak. Then he laughed.
“Oh, Christ. Look, I’ve shut the business. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It was either that or go bankrupt. I thought it was better just to stop trading. Ha, what a joke. There’s no trade out there anymore.”
He ran his hands through his hair, a manic gesture he rarely displayed. His voice dropped to just above a whisper.
“We’ve all had good lives up here. But things are going to change. We won’t starve and we won’t end up like the people you see on the news every day, but from now on pretty much everything we do will be geared towards surviving what I suspect will be some very unpleasant times. If we work together, we’ll do fine. I want you all to promise now that you’ll commit yourselves to keeping this family afloat. Not just with getting food and water but with keeping each other’s spirits up. If we pull hard, make a team effort, we’ll be OK. I know we will.”
The silence around the table was dour. Much of what Louis said that afternoon didn’t really sink in for any of them until the changes he was talking about hit home. But Gordon hated the silence because it meant people were thinking about their answers rather than doing what they should have done.
“I promise I will keep this family floating,” he said.
Louis smiled in a kind way but Angela laughed and would have followed up with words if her father hadn’t silenced her with a vicious sideways glance.
“Me too,” said Jude.
“Me too,” said Angela without any sincerity at all.
Louis looked at his wife. Everyone did.
“Sophie?”
She didn’t speak. She merely went on looking into her tea mug as though she had other things on her mind.
“Sophie, you have to say it. We all do.”
She looked up, unable to hide that she would rather be anywhere else but here, in any other time.
“I promise to keep this family afloat.”
Louis nodded, but Gordon guessed he would have more to say to Mum when no one was around.
“I promise, too,” said Louis. “And not only that, I promise to protect you all.”
13
In her bed that night, Megan touches her scar, tracing its edges with a fingertip. She is exhausted by her day with Mr Keeper and has come to bed straight after her meal, barely saying a word to her parents about what has happened. She knows they are worried but she’s too tired and too full of new things to talk about it. What she needs is the comfort and warmth of her bed and the time alone it will give her.
Mr Keeper kept her busy all day. Together they wandered across the borders of the community searching in the hedgerows for various plants and herbs. Some of them she recognised and others she’d never seen before. It had been like searching for secrets and she loved it. He had talked only a little about what lay ahead. Perhaps he felt her branding had been enough for one day. And yet, she had the feeling that somehow the routes they took and flora they collected had a purpose, even though it was one she could not define. Often Mr Keeper would stop and look up. She would follow his gaze to a tree or fence post or a patch of meadow and there she would see magpies, flicking their tails and chattering out their raucous calls. And each time this happened, Mr Keeper would smile and then return to whatever his business had been.
Before she left the clearing that evening, he said:
“The magpies know about you. Did you see them?”
She’d nodded.
“You’ll walk in the night country tonight, Megan. Mark it well. I’ll want to know all in the morning.”
He’d called her Megan ever since she’d woken from the faint caused by her scarring. He’d handed her a small sheaf of blank onion-skin pages, bound with twine.
“When you wake, light a candle and capture it all in here before you forget. Bring it tomorrow.” He’d touched her on the shoulder. “Safe home, Megan. Safe home.”
Then he’d turned, letting her go.
She touches the
“Oh, Christ. Look, I’ve shut the business. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It was either that or go bankrupt. I thought it was better just to stop trading. Ha, what a joke. There’s no trade out there anymore.”
He ran his hands through his hair, a manic gesture he rarely displayed. His voice dropped to just above a whisper.
“We’ve all had good lives up here. But things are going to change. We won’t starve and we won’t end up like the people you see on the news every day, but from now on pretty much everything we do will be geared towards surviving what I suspect will be some very unpleasant times. If we work together, we’ll do fine. I want you all to promise now that you’ll commit yourselves to keeping this family afloat. Not just with getting food and water but with keeping each other’s spirits up. If we pull hard, make a team effort, we’ll be OK. I know we will.”
The silence around the table was dour. Much of what Louis said that afternoon didn’t really sink in for any of them until the changes he was talking about hit home. But Gordon hated the silence because it meant people were thinking about their answers rather than doing what they should have done.
“I promise I will keep this family floating,” he said.
Louis smiled in a kind way but Angela laughed and would have followed up with words if her father hadn’t silenced her with a vicious sideways glance.
“Me too,” said Jude.
“Me too,” said Angela without any sincerity at all.
Louis looked at his wife. Everyone did.
“Sophie?”
She didn’t speak. She merely went on looking into her tea mug as though she had other things on her mind.
“Sophie, you have to say it. We all do.”
She looked up, unable to hide that she would rather be anywhere else but here, in any other time.
“I promise to keep this family afloat.”
Louis nodded, but Gordon guessed he would have more to say to Mum when no one was around.
“I promise, too,” said Louis. “And not only that, I promise to protect you all.”
13
In her bed that night, Megan touches her scar, tracing its edges with a fingertip. She is exhausted by her day with Mr Keeper and has come to bed straight after her meal, barely saying a word to her parents about what has happened. She knows they are worried but she’s too tired and too full of new things to talk about it. What she needs is the comfort and warmth of her bed and the time alone it will give her.
Mr Keeper kept her busy all day. Together they wandered across the borders of the community searching in the hedgerows for various plants and herbs. Some of them she recognised and others she’d never seen before. It had been like searching for secrets and she loved it. He had talked only a little about what lay ahead. Perhaps he felt her branding had been enough for one day. And yet, she had the feeling that somehow the routes they took and flora they collected had a purpose, even though it was one she could not define. Often Mr Keeper would stop and look up. She would follow his gaze to a tree or fence post or a patch of meadow and there she would see magpies, flicking their tails and chattering out their raucous calls. And each time this happened, Mr Keeper would smile and then return to whatever his business had been.
Before she left the clearing that evening, he said:
“The magpies know about you. Did you see them?”
She’d nodded.
“You’ll walk in the night country tonight, Megan. Mark it well. I’ll want to know all in the morning.”
He’d called her Megan ever since she’d woken from the faint caused by her scarring. He’d handed her a small sheaf of blank onion-skin pages, bound with twine.
“When you wake, light a candle and capture it all in here before you forget. Bring it tomorrow.” He’d touched her on the shoulder. “Safe home, Megan. Safe home.”
Then he’d turned, letting her go.
She touches the
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