This guy has probably gone to war for us, and now look. He glanced over his shoulder towards the shop, but couldn’t see anything with the lights out. He sighed. Was it worth taking a stand when it might cost him his job? And he couldn’t very well let this bloke in without doing the same for all the others.
“Do you have cash?”
“What?”
“Cash. Do you have any? It’s cash only today.”
“And why is that? The bank’s been on at me for years to use a debit card. Now you’re telling me I can’t?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Terry sighed. “But the power’s out, as you know. The tills are down and so are the card machines.”
“Don’t you have a backup?”
“Even if we had, the phone lines aren’t working so I imagine that would affect the card machines.”
“Yes, well. Do you even know what’s going on here?”
Terry shook his head. He’d never felt so ashamed in his life. “I don’t. Look, I’m just following orders. If I had my way…”
The man shot him a look of contempt and turned away without another word.
The fact that the two women behind him had cash should have made Terry feel better, but it didn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about the people he had turned away. It didn’t seem right.
9. Clive
“I’m hungry,” the Right Honourable Charles Mackintosh announced.
Clive stifled a groan. It was only about half past one, but it felt like more than an hour and a half since Mark left. As he’d suspected, Nathan hadn’t turned up for duty. Probably sniffing around Ten Downing Street to try and make a name for himself, he thought without malice. That was often what it took to get noticed, after all, even if it wasn’t something Clive would have done personally.
There had been no word from anyone and the power was still out. So was the water and so was the radio. He was past wondering what was going on. Now he didn’t care—whatever it was, it was serious. And Livvy was home alone with no way of contacting anyone.
“Clive! Didn’t you hear me? I’m hungry.”
“So am I,” Clive muttered sourly, unable to stop himself. On a normal day, he might have popped out for a sandwich as soon as the night shift’s cover arrived. He sighed. “I’ll see what’s in the kitchen.”
Mackintosh eyed him suspiciously. “For me,” he muttered. “Not for you.”
Clive rose and moved to the door, shaking his head. He’d been assigned to protect the man for the guts of a year and he’d never taken so much as a slice of bread from that kitchen.
He opened the fridge, not prepared for the odour that engulfed him a moment later. It wasn’t surprising, given its contents. Clive scanned the contents of the shelves. He settled on an open pack of Parma ham and some funny-looking crackers. When he’d eaten enough to satisfy himself, he fetched a plate from the cabinet and arranged some cheeses and meats on there with a handful of crackers. The old man liked to have a selection of cold cuts and cheeses every evening before his cocktail. It would have to do now, since there was nothing else in there that didn’t require cooking.
Clive winced. What was he doing? Was he really going to wait hand and foot on the old git until the housekeeper showed up?
He thought of Olivia at home. Was there enough food to keep her going? He’d been to the supermarket only a few days before, but now he couldn’t remember what he’d bought. He couldn’t shake the thick blanket of dread that had settled over his mind since the afternoon before.
“What’s taking you so long?”
Swallowing his irritation and thinking of his pension, Clive shut the fridge door and picked up the plate. After yesterday, he couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong.
“What do you call this?”
Clive looked from the hateful man to the plate and back. “You’ve been having the same thing before your drink every evening for the past year. I think you know what it is.”
“That’s exactly the point, isn’t it? Every evening. I usually have a hot lunch. Presumably you’re aware of that fact if you know my evening habits.”
“The power’s out.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I’m cold. That’s not a good thing for a man of my age.”
“It’s this or raw meat, I’m afraid.”
“Can’t you cook something?”
Clive turned away and returned to the armchair in the corner. This was what he’d been reduced to: indulging this frightful old man, who’d once been so powerful and was now reduced to bullying his housekeeper—or whoever else was close by. He’d never had a problem with it before—it paid the bills, after all. And it meant he was able to go home to his own bed every night. To Olivia. Who needed him more than ever now.
He closed his eyes as he thought of her. Sudden noises in the night rattled her. What must she be thinking now? She’d still been asleep when he’d left, and he’d assumed the power would come back on before she woke.
“I’m speaking to you. You’re supposed to be working. Not sleeping.”
“I’m not sleeping,” Clive said calmly, opening his eyes.
“Well then make yourself useful. Go and fetch me lunch. A proper lunch. Not this… this…” he waved his hand dismissively at the plate on the table beside him.
Clive stared at the man, shrunken in his chair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ventured outside on Clive’s watch even though there was no reason he couldn’t. Certainly not like… He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that now or he’d scream. “I can’t leave you. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
“I’m not safe, am I? I’m hungry and cold.”
“Get a blanket. Eat the food that’s in front of you.”
Mackintosh’s bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. “How dare you!”
“I’m just doing my job, sir. And that job involves protecting you, not running around after you like a nursemaid. If you’d like to go out to eat, of course, that’s a different story. It’s my job to accompany you at all times.”
“Well where’s the other bloody one? I don’t want to go out.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to. It’s that or eat the food in front of you. The phones are down. There’s no way of ordering in.”
The old man’s fists tightened. “This is an outrage! It’s been hours and no-one has come to tell me what’s happening. In my day we looked up to our elders; we certainly didn’t ignore them.”
“I expect everyone’s busy working out what’s happened.” Those words rattled him as he said them. It was taking a very long time. And how on earth were they going to communicate if the radios and phones were still down?
He rose and moved into Mackintosh’s study. The only concession to modern technology was a clunky old laptop on a side table in the corner. He lifted the lid and tried to switch it on. Nothing happened.
It’s been so long since he used it that the thing has discharged.
But he knew that wasn’t the reason.
What was happening?
“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together as he reentered the sitting room. “I’ll go find you some food. What do you fancy?”
Mackintosh narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why the sudden change?”
That was the lawyer in him, Clive suspected. He’d been a barrister before he ran for parliament, way back when Clive was a child. He still had that way about him; that shrewdness.
But Clive didn’t care. He needed to get out and see what was going on. He couldn’t stay cooped up like this anymore. “I’m going to get food. If there’s anything in particular you’d like, tell me now. Otherwise, it’s fish and chips.”