The local supermarket, like all of the other shops on the high street, was no more than an empty building now. The memory of consumerism haunted the barren isles, the voices of forgotten customers carried on the winds that swam through the corporate shell. The huge windows that had once afforded a view to the world of the happy shoppers inside had been smashed, rubbish bins and rocks lying amongst a sparkling mosaic of broken glass. The tills hung open like the mouths of corpses, their tongues lolling to reveal trays full of cash that had less value now than plain paper.
The huge stack of newspapers sat in their usual position by the tills, dumped on the floor with very little care. Chris took one and opened it, the crunching of its pages calling out into the silence, signaling his exact location to anyone who was interested in the whereabouts of another human being. He stood in the middle of the empty shop, reading the paper, anxious for news of an idea that would turn things around. As he stood there, the cold wind being funneled through the smashed windows found the gaps in his clothing and bit into his bare skin. Whilst shivering, he quickly surveyed his environment in case he was being watched. Although he didn’t see anything, it didn’t remove the feeling that he wasn’t alone.
The ‘Situations Vacant’ section mostly featured articles about home farming, or speculation on when society would start to rebuild and how. It had an optimistic feel, which contradicted the fast-decaying environment. Chris knew the idea that there would be a job in there, after months of it being empty and with money having no meaning, was absurd, but he looked all the same.
When he glanced up from his paper, he jumped like he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod and let out a shriek upon seeing an old lady standing before him. She was wearing brown corduroy trousers and a white floral shirt. Stood in the freezing space in his thick jacket, a cold chill of empathy ran through him to see this inappropriately dressed woman. However, she didn’t seem at all bothered by the freezing environment. Her hair was unkempt, standing out in every possible direction and seemingly with a mind of its own, her eyebrows were drawn on wonky, and she had a wispy beard. It felt like he was staring at a ghost. Holding the paper out to her, he said, “Umm, do you want this, love?”
She had the gentle wobble of Parkinson’s running through her as she watched him, stunned like a fearful sheep. Her grey eyes searched for the meaning of his words as if they were something she was trying to locate in thick fog. She then grabbed his arm, which made him jump. She didn’t let go, and her grip was surprisingly strong, causing him pain even through his padded sleeve. Staring for a moment longer without speaking, Chris started to wonder what he’d have to do to remove her and considered a rabbit punch to her large, wrinkly nose.
Her eyes refocused, and she finally answered his question, “Oh no, dear, I’m waiting for the shop to re-open.” She smiled and let go of his arm, but the memory of her bony fingers remained.
His eyes narrowed, searching for the irony in her statement. There was none. “But it’s empty. There hasn’t been food in here for weeks.”
“I know, dear, but I’m sure things will change.”
She seemed pleasant enough, but she was thin, like a prisoner of war, and he had to wonder if a lack of food and water had driven her mind away. “You do realize that the supermarket won’t re-open, don’t you?”
Snorting air from her nose, her shock-white hair wobbled as she shook her head and laughed. “Of course it will. Waitrose never let their customers down.”
Looking at the empty shelves one last time, Chris shrugged and said, “I hope they come back soon, love.”
She smiled and stared into the middle distance. “Oh, they will.”
Once home, Chris removed his jacket and could see a red mark where the woman had grabbed him. Rubbing it, more to banish the memory than the blemish, he sat at the kitchen table and opened the newspaper. The latest article in ‘Situations Vacant’ was about farming on common land and the legal rights that every citizen had. It was a well-written and informative piece that clearly laid out all of the laws and how it was possible for anyone to use the land. The only downside was the footnote. As Chris read the overly detailed article that explained what looters did to the young family who were growing their own food, he felt his blood drain as if the plug had been pulled on his body. Regardless of the law, the paper advised against anyone wasting their time cultivating something that would be stolen from them. These kind of violent stories were cropping up with ever-increasing regularity, and it added to the mild anxiety that sat in Chris’ stomach like butterflies. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Things are getting worse.”
Diane then walked into the room, the clip of her tall heels bouncing off the flagstone floor in the hallway. Seeing that he was reading the paper, she asked, “Any jobs?”
Chris sighed, finding the interruption irritating. He then said, “No. Is there ever?”
Her skinny lips wrinkled. “There’s no need to take that tone with me.”
Grinding his jaw, suppressing the urge to hit her, Chris said, “Well, it was a bit of a fucking stupid question, Diane. There’s an old woman outside Waitrose waiting for it to re-open. Maybe you should go and join her as you wait for the tide to turn.”
Sliding both her engagement ring and wedding band from her finger, Diane placed them on the large wooden table.
Picking them up, surprised that they were still warm, or even warm in the first place on her reptilian hands, Chris said, “What’s this?”
“My engagement ring and wedding band.” She lifted one eyebrow and added, “Obviously.”
His face fell, and his eyes glazed. “I can see that, but why are you giving them to me?”
“It’s jewelry, and that’s the new currency. You may be able to get a loaf of bread for them. It’s more than they’re worth anyway.”
“What do you mean? I paid thousands for these rings.”
“Their previous value is irrelevant—you know that. Their sentimental value isn’t important either.” She stared at him for a moment, and he returned her glare. She then added, “We may as well make some use of them.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she spun on her heel and left the room. The perfume she’d taken to bathing in due to the absence of running water, choked him like chlorine. The clip of her heels on the white floor smashed into his temples like a pickaxe.
When Diane screamed, he didn’t rush. Instead, he walked into the hallway at a leisurely pace. He expected to see a spider or beetle on the floor, but when he saw his little girl, he felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Her eyes were swollen to the point of closure like she’d been attacked by a colony of wasps. Her long blonde hair was matted with blood and mud. Her school uniform was ripped and hanging off her in shreds. She was a grotesque caricature of herself and looked like a rape victim. She was crying in heavy sobs.
“What happened, sweetie?” Diane asked as she held her shoulders.
Taking several stuttered breaths that flicked snot and tears away from her face, Matilda said, “They… th… t… they beat m… me up at school. They said I was posh a… and that it was Dad’s fault that we’re i… in this state.”
Placing her hands on her hips, Diane said, “Well, what did the teachers do?”
“T… they agreed with them. They said that b… b… bankers have made everything this way.” Throwing Chris a scornful look, she added, “Is that true, Daddy?”
The words stabbed into his chest, and the butterflies in his stomach became agitated. Avoiding the question, Chris knelt down and held his daughter’s small hand. She was shaking. He gritted his teeth as he said, “I’m going to go into the school tomorrow and speak to the head. This is unacceptable.”