hospital?’
‘Nine degrees celsius, three hours ago. Not hot. But not cold.’
‘So what’s the alternative?’
Christianne indicated the open door at the end of the kitchen. McFaul got up and left the table. The big freezer was a third full, mainly food, but there was plenty of room for what was left of James Jordan. McFaul reached inside, testing a pack of frozen prawns with the back of his hand. The crust of ice was already beginning to melt and there was water pooling beneath it. McFaul pulled the freezer away from the wall, prising off the metal grille and peering at the machinery inside. The power cable snaked away towards the window.
‘So what’s wrong with it?’ he said. ‘Why isn’t it working?’
Christianne told him to follow her. She went back through the kitchen and into the garden. The cable from the freezer plugged into a junction box. From the junction box, a thicker cable led through the undergrowth to a portable generator of a kind McFaul had never seen before. He knelt beside it. A small green lizard watched him from the foot of the nearby wall. At length, McFaul stood up.
‘It’s buggered,’ he said. ‘Someone’s nicked the HT lead.’
‘
Comment?
’
‘The HT lead.’ McFaul frowned, making a semi-circular movement with one hand. ‘The thing that goes from the top of the spark plug to the ignition coil. The lead that carriesthe charge. Look.’ He showed her the bright scars on the metalwork where someone had gouged away with a screwdriver before removing the lead. Christianne was kneeling beside him. She smelled of antiseptic.
‘It stopped working yesterday,’ she said. ‘Before I got back from the hospital.’ She looked at him. ‘Can you mend it?’
McFaul shook his head.
‘No chance. It’s a non-standard connector. Nothing I’ve got would fit.’
‘So what happens?’
He looked at her for a moment.
‘We eat the food,’ he said at last. ‘Bloody quick. Before it goes off You got any butter? Garlic? I’ll bring Bennie round. Hostilities permitting …’
McFaul got to his feet and limped back towards the house. She caught up with him by the kitchen door, leading him through to the hall. The bedroom she shared was at the front of the house. The metal shutters were closed over the window and the room was remarkably cool. McFaul stood in the open doorway, peering into the gloom. The framed photograph on the upturned cardboard box beside her bed was unmistakable: the blond crew-cut, the wide-set eyes, the way the boy’s smile always suggested he was taking the piss. Christianne was rummaging in a tea chest. Eventually she produced two bottles. She showed them to McFaul.
‘We have many,’ she said.
McFaul looked at the bottles. The labels said ‘Sancerre’. He knew nothing about white wine except the obvious. A crate or two of this stuff would make the prawns taste even sweeter. He frowned a moment, weighing the bottles in his hand.
‘Rice?’
‘Of course.’
‘Beer?’
‘Bien sûr
. Sagres.’
‘OK,’ he nodded, ‘leave it to me.’
He backed out of the room and headed for the front door, knowing that he’d been right about the girl. Nothing had to be spelled out. She understood the way things worked, the barter system, favours offered, favours owed. As well as pretty, she was grown-up. God knows what she’d ever seen in James Jordan.
Back outside in the sunshine, McFaul extended a hand.
‘I’ll need a trolley,’ he said, ‘or a barrow of some kind.’
She nodded.
‘No problem.’ She hesitated, looking at her watch. ‘Come to the hospital. Come up the stairs to the second floor. I’ll be there in an hour.’
‘And the party? My lads? Only the UN bloke’s trying to organise a flight out. And the stuff won’t keep.’
McFaul smiled for the first time, his hand outstretched. She touched it briefly, returning the smile.
‘Tonight,’ she said. ‘Before dark.’
It was quarter to one before Molly Jordan got to the Blue Boar
‘Nine degrees celsius, three hours ago. Not hot. But not cold.’
‘So what’s the alternative?’
Christianne indicated the open door at the end of the kitchen. McFaul got up and left the table. The big freezer was a third full, mainly food, but there was plenty of room for what was left of James Jordan. McFaul reached inside, testing a pack of frozen prawns with the back of his hand. The crust of ice was already beginning to melt and there was water pooling beneath it. McFaul pulled the freezer away from the wall, prising off the metal grille and peering at the machinery inside. The power cable snaked away towards the window.
‘So what’s wrong with it?’ he said. ‘Why isn’t it working?’
Christianne told him to follow her. She went back through the kitchen and into the garden. The cable from the freezer plugged into a junction box. From the junction box, a thicker cable led through the undergrowth to a portable generator of a kind McFaul had never seen before. He knelt beside it. A small green lizard watched him from the foot of the nearby wall. At length, McFaul stood up.
‘It’s buggered,’ he said. ‘Someone’s nicked the HT lead.’
‘
Comment?
’
‘The HT lead.’ McFaul frowned, making a semi-circular movement with one hand. ‘The thing that goes from the top of the spark plug to the ignition coil. The lead that carriesthe charge. Look.’ He showed her the bright scars on the metalwork where someone had gouged away with a screwdriver before removing the lead. Christianne was kneeling beside him. She smelled of antiseptic.
‘It stopped working yesterday,’ she said. ‘Before I got back from the hospital.’ She looked at him. ‘Can you mend it?’
McFaul shook his head.
‘No chance. It’s a non-standard connector. Nothing I’ve got would fit.’
‘So what happens?’
He looked at her for a moment.
‘We eat the food,’ he said at last. ‘Bloody quick. Before it goes off You got any butter? Garlic? I’ll bring Bennie round. Hostilities permitting …’
McFaul got to his feet and limped back towards the house. She caught up with him by the kitchen door, leading him through to the hall. The bedroom she shared was at the front of the house. The metal shutters were closed over the window and the room was remarkably cool. McFaul stood in the open doorway, peering into the gloom. The framed photograph on the upturned cardboard box beside her bed was unmistakable: the blond crew-cut, the wide-set eyes, the way the boy’s smile always suggested he was taking the piss. Christianne was rummaging in a tea chest. Eventually she produced two bottles. She showed them to McFaul.
‘We have many,’ she said.
McFaul looked at the bottles. The labels said ‘Sancerre’. He knew nothing about white wine except the obvious. A crate or two of this stuff would make the prawns taste even sweeter. He frowned a moment, weighing the bottles in his hand.
‘Rice?’
‘Of course.’
‘Beer?’
‘Bien sûr
. Sagres.’
‘OK,’ he nodded, ‘leave it to me.’
He backed out of the room and headed for the front door, knowing that he’d been right about the girl. Nothing had to be spelled out. She understood the way things worked, the barter system, favours offered, favours owed. As well as pretty, she was grown-up. God knows what she’d ever seen in James Jordan.
Back outside in the sunshine, McFaul extended a hand.
‘I’ll need a trolley,’ he said, ‘or a barrow of some kind.’
She nodded.
‘No problem.’ She hesitated, looking at her watch. ‘Come to the hospital. Come up the stairs to the second floor. I’ll be there in an hour.’
‘And the party? My lads? Only the UN bloke’s trying to organise a flight out. And the stuff won’t keep.’
McFaul smiled for the first time, his hand outstretched. She touched it briefly, returning the smile.
‘Tonight,’ she said. ‘Before dark.’
It was quarter to one before Molly Jordan got to the Blue Boar
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