Outside

Chapter Thirty Three

Connor’s face and smell was still so familiar to me. I had previously borrowed a checked shirt of his and, when I took to my bed, I inhaled his scent as I wept. I pictured his perfect face, terrified in case I forgot what he looked like. My own face was pasty and blotched, my eyes dull and swollen from continuous crying. I couldn’t stir myself to even wash and I felt hideous and grotty. I just kept thinking, what’s the point?

Over the next few days, my family was tender and consoling. Mum brought me up comfort food, like warm chicken noodle soup or creamy mashed potato, throwing my windows open, ‘for fresh air’ amidst my half-hearted protests. My brothers tried to tempt me with chocolates and glossy magazines, and Dad just held me while I cried oceans. All I wanted was to hibernate under my duvet.

My family tried to discover exactly what had happened to Connor, but although they contacted the army and the police, nobody knew anything. Or if they did, they kept it quiet. The Press weren’t interested. Well, they were interested, but only in the angle that we had been harbouring a suspected terrorist. And they soon lost interest when there was nothing more to learn.

The media kept giving us more bad news. Thousands of people had either fled the country to return to their native homes, or had returned to Britain, to get home before the border closures came into effect, which they now had. Plenty of people were still stranded though, unable to get a flight or passage on a ship. And no one knew when the borders would re-open.

Like most countries, Britain was officially closed off to the outside world. For now, public transport had stopped running and petrol was severely rationed. A state of emergency had been declared. The summer was ending and the leaves were changing along with everything else.