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“Phew, they weren’t after me then,” Peggy said.

“Mmm,” Andrew murmured.

“You know, I’ve never had to talk to the police before. I feel like I’m missing out, somehow, you know? I just want to report a minor misdemeanor, or be called on to make a statement—that’s the dream. Have you ever had to do anything like that?”

Andrew had zoned out.

“Sorry, what?”

“Ever had any encounters with the old bill? The rozzers. The . . . peelers, is that one right?”

Andrew was transported back to the record shop in Soho. The sudden awareness that the song playing over the speakers was “Blue Moon.” The blood draining from his face. Rushing to the exit and wrenching the door open. The strangled cry of the shop owner. “Fuck! Stop him, he’s nicked something!” Running straight into the man outside and bouncing off him onto the floor, lying winded. The man looming over him. “I’m an off-duty police officer.” The furious face of the shop owner coming into view. Being hauled to his feet. Arms held. “What have you taken?” The owner’s breath smelling of nicotine gum.

“Nothing, nothing,” he’d said. “Honestly, you can search me.”

“Why the hell’d you run then?”

What could he have said? That hearing that song crippled him with pain? That even as he lay winded on the pavement, the fading bars lodged in his head made him want to curl into the fetal position?

“Bloody hell,” Peggy laughed, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Sorry,” Andrew said, but his voice cracked and only half the word came out.

“Don’t tell me—you got done for pinching chocolate from Woolworths?”

Andrew’s eyelid was twitching uncontrollably. He was desperately trying to stop the tune from coming into his head.

“Or some naughty parking ticket action?”

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone.

“Oh, dear—it was littering, wasn’t it?”

She nudged him on the arm and Andrew felt the voice coming up from somewhere deep inside him, sharp and unstoppable. “Leave it, okay?” he snapped.

Peggy’s face fell as she realized he wasn’t joking.

Andrew felt a miserable wave of shame hit him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to snap like that. It’s just been a strange couple of weeks.”

They stood in silence for a long time, both of them clearly too embarrassed to speak first. Andrew could practically hear Peggy attempting to regroup, the cogs whirring as she decided to change the subject. This time he was going to be ready and attentive.

“My daughter’s invented this game, right?”

“A game?”

“Yeah. And I’m not sure if I should be worried about her or not, but it’s called the Apocalypse Game.”

“Right,” Andrew said.

“So, the scenario is this: a massive bomb has gone off and everyone’s been wiped off the face of the earth. It appears that you are the only person in the country to have survived. What do you do?”

“Not sure I understand,” Andrew said.

“Well, where do you go? What do you do? Do you find a car and go blasting up the M1 trying to look for people? Or do you just head straight to your local and drink the bar dry? How long before you try and make your way across the channel, or go to America, even? If nobody’s there could you break into the White House?”

“And that’s the game . . . ?” Andrew said.

“Pretty much,” Peggy said. Then, after a pause: “I tell you what I’d do to kick us off. I’d go to Silverstone and do a lap of the track in the Fiesta. Then, I’d either hit golf balls off the top of the Houses of Parliament or cook myself a fry-up in the Savoy. At some point I’d probably go across to Europe and see what’s what—though I slightly worry I’d end up having to be part of some sort of ‘resistance,’ smuggling people across the border and that sort of thing. And I’m not sure I’m a good enough person to get involved in that if there’s nobody left at home to see my Facebook status about it.”

“Understandable,” Andrew said. He tried to concentrate but his mind was blank.

“I don’t quite know what I’d do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah well. It’s not for everyone,” Peggy said. “By the way, if you fancy heading off early I’m sure I can crack on by myself.”

“No, I’m all right,” Andrew said. “Quicker with two of us anyway.”

“Right you are. Oh, I nearly forgot to say, I brought a flask of coffee today. Let me know if you want a mug. And I attempted brownies too.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Andrew said.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind,” Peggy said, heading back into the house. Andrew followed her, a waft of fetid air hitting him before he’d even crossed the threshold. Luckily, before long, Peggy found something.

“It’s one of those Christmas ‘round robin’ things,” she said, her voice strained because of having to breathe through her mouth. She passed what she’d found to Andrew. The paper felt brittle, as if it had been crumpled up and straightened out countless times. In among the pages detailing uneventful holidays and unremarkable school sports days there was a photo of the family, their faces looking pixelated from where the paper had been scrunched up.

“I wonder how many times he nearly threw this out but couldn’t quite bring himself to,” Peggy said. “Hang on, look, there’s a phone number there on the back.”

“Well spotted. Right, I’ll give them a call,” Andrew said, reaching for his phone and turning it on.

“Are you sure you’re all right to?” Peggy asked, her tone deliberately casual.

“I’m fine, but thank you,” he said. He dialed the number and waited for it to connect. “I’m sorry again, about snapping,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” Peggy said. “I’m just going to head outside for a second.”

“Sure,” Andrew said. “See you in a minute.”

Someone picked up on the first ring.

“Sorry, Brian, lost you there,” the person on the line said. “So like I said, this is just something we’ll chalk up to experience.”

“Sorry,” Andrew said, “this is actually—”

“No, no, Brian, time for apologies is over. Let’s clean-slate this one, okay?”

“I’m not—”

“‘I’m not,’ ‘I’m not’—Brian, you’re better than this, yeah? I’m putting the phone down now. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. I don’t want to hear any more about it, okay? Right, good. See you later.”

The line went dead. Andrew sighed. This was going to be a tricky one. He hit redial and walked over to the living room window. At first he thought Peggy was doing some sort of exercise—she was squatting down and rocking on her heels slightly, as if she were about to bounce up into a star jump. But then he saw her face. She’d gone very pale. There were tears pooling in her eyes and she was taking in deep lungfuls of air. It was then that Andrew realized that of course she hadn’t acclimatized at all to being inside a house in this state. And then there were the coffee and the brownies and the games and the talking—all designed to cheer him up, without even a hint of patronizing him or doing the sad head tilt. All that time she’d been feeling awful but pretending not to, and he hadn’t even realized. Peggy’s kindness, her selflessness, was so overwhelming that Andrew felt a lump forming in his throat.

The man who’d answered the phone was letting it ring out this time—presumably letting poor Brian stew in his own juice. Andrew watched Peggy stand up and take one final breath before going toward the front door. He hung up the phone and cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump.

“Not good?” Peggy said, eyeing the phone in his hand.

“He thought I was someone who he worked with calling him back and he wouldn’t let me speak.”

“Oh.”

“And he used the term ‘clean slate’ as a verb.”