Aftermath

complain.”
    “I’m going to see what I can find outside, okay?”
    “Whatever.”
    Caron picked up an empty washing-up bowl with which she could carry back any dirty crockery she found lying around the site. She knocked on the door between the kitchen and the café to get the attention of Mark Ainsworth, who was standing guard outside. He was leaning up against a wall, his head drooping, half asleep. Caron’s knocking woke him up.
    “Got to go and collect up some dishes, okay?” she shouted at him through a window. He didn’t say anything, he just yawned, nodded, and let her out.
    The door slammed shut and Lorna continued to work, trying to concentrate on the food and block out everything else. It was all an effort. Her arm ached, her back ached, her head ached … She cursed herself, wishing she’d been as selfish as Harte. If she’d been more with it then she’d have been out of here by now, and maybe some of the others would have got away with her too. As it was, she was stuck. And Jackson was dead. Had Jas meant to kill him? The same Jas she’d spent the last few months with …
    This was like something out of a bad dream, and yet it was frighteningly real. Caron’s words rattled around her head: make the most of what you’ve got today, because you might lose it tomorrow. Christ, how right she was. The fact that Jas had committed an act so foul and out of character just served to confirm something she’d suspected for a long time now: the farther they got from their old lives, the less they resembled the people they used to be. What would be the end result? Would they manage to stop the rot and salvage some semblance of normality, or this time next year would they all be running around like savages? She continued to stir the soup as she thought about the world beyond the castle walls, emptier than ever, with all the previously enforced restrictions about where you could and couldn’t go and what you could or couldn’t do now removed. Theoretically she was free to roam wherever she wanted, provided she could get out of this fucking place and—
    Lorna froze rigid when a hand touched her shoulder. She spun around, heart pounding, ready to attack with the ladle she’d been using to stir the soup.
    It was Mark Ainsworth. She relaxed slightly. Only slightly.
    “Sorry, love,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    “Then why did you creep up on me like that, you idiot?” she yelled back at him. “And I’m not your ‘love,’ okay? I’m not anybody’s love.”
    He backed away, hands held up in submission.
    “Sorry,” he said again.
    “What do you want, anyway?”
    “Cup of tea would nice, if you’re offering.”
    “I’m not. You know where everything is, make it yourself.”
    “No need to be like that…”
    “Piss off.”
    “You want one?”
    “No.”
    Ainsworth fetched himself a mug and made his drink with hot water from the steamer Caron had been using, all the time watching Lorna. She sensed him staring at her but refused to make eye contact. Just ignore him and he’ll go away .
    But Ainsworth wasn’t going anywhere.
    “Look,” he said, “I think we both got off on the wrong foot. I don’t want any trouble. I just want us to get along.”
    “We’ll get along fine if you fuck off and stay out of my face, understand?”
    “That’s not going to be so easy now we’re all stuck here.”
    “You’ve got your mate Jas to thank for that.”
    “I thought he was your mate?”
    “He’s no friend of mine. Not after today.”
    “Don’t let him hear you talking like that, eh?”
    “Why, what’s he going to do? Kill me?”
    “I won’t let him hurt you, Lorna. I’ll look out for you.”
    “You come anywhere near me and I’ll have your balls.”
    “You can have my balls anytime, lover,” he said, slipping into sleaze mode with uncomfortable ease and immediately regretting it.
    “Come anywhere near me and I swear I’ll cut them off and shove them down your bloody throat.”
    He was about to make some stupid, insensitive quip about Lorna’s kinks and vices when he stopped himself. She looked angry enough to carry out her threats. He paused, knowing he should probably leave, but still wanting to say more.
    “Look, Lorna, I’ sorry,” he said. “It’s just my humor. I don’t mean anything by it, it’s just the way I deal with all of this.” He watched her for a moment longer. When she didn’t react, he decided to risk talking again. “You’re