Autumn

door. There was post in the porch, and like a fucking idiot I picked it up and started to look at it. A gas bill and a credit card bill. I even opened the bloody things to see how much I owed. And I dared to hate the bodies for following their instincts...
    I had carried my house keys with me every day since we’d left Northwich. I hadn’t ever thought about going back there before, but for some reason I just hadn’t been able to let them go. With my hands shaking I unlocked the door and went inside.
    I was just like it was when I left it. Everything was where I expected to find it. Gemma’s shoes were by the door, my mug was on the kitchen worktop, Sarah’s coat was hung over the post at the bottom of the bannister. I took off my crash helmet and just stood there and looked around. It was like the weirdest fucking dream I’ve ever had. If I half-closed my eyes and ignored the smell I could almost imagine that nothing had ever happened. There was a half-inch layer of dust on everything but other than that it still looked like home.
    I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up.
    This was the real reason I’d come back.
    I knew I couldn’t do anything for them and that going up to the bedroom wasn’t going to bring my girls back, but I had to go up. It took me about ten minutes to climb the stairs. I went up one at a time, forcing myself to climb higher and higher and, at the same time, having to keep control of my emotions and stop myself from running out of the house and getting back on the bike. Eventually I was at the top, standing on the landing, holding onto the bedroom door handle with my hands shaking.
    I listened carefully. There was no noise coming from inside the room. I coughed, and still there was no reaction.
    My mind was filled with memories of my family.
    I pushed the door open and waited.
    Nothing happened.
    I looked at the bed and saw that they were both still there, still covered up by the duvet I’d draped over them before I’d left. I could just see a few curls of Sarah’s hair peeking out from under the covers. Much as I wanted to see them, I didn’t want to look at either of them. I wanted to remember them as they were and it was enough just to know that they were still together. I leant across and kissed them both through the bedding before I said goodbye. I shut my eyes and told them that I loved them and that I would always be thinking about them.
    And that was all I did. I didn’t want to disturb them or move them. I just wanted to know that they were both still there. I just wanted to be sure that they were still together. It was more for Gemma than any other reason. I hadn’t been able to get the nightmare thought out of my mind that either one of them might have walked and that my beautiful little girl could have been on her own somewhere.
    As it was she was okay. She was lying safe in bed, curled up tightly next to her mum.

    And then came the question of what to do next.
    The survivors had gone - I hoped they’d moved on, but I knew in my heart that something fucking terrible had happened to them.
    My family were safe and were resting peacefully and I knew that I wasn’t going to go back home again.
    I hadn’t expected to be on my own. Getting into the council depot that I’d talked about before suddenly didn’t seem like much of an option. Okay, so I could get myself in there, but then what? I’d already discovered that I didn’t have the balls to kill myself. So was I going to just sit there and starve or wait to die from dehydration, loneliness, boredom or old age?
    The farmhouse I’d just come from was the safest place left.

40

    Michael came in from outside.
    ‘We’ve got a problem,’ he said, his face flustered. Immediately concerned, Emma stopped what she had been doing and rushed out to him in the hall.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘The van,’ he replied. ‘It’s completely fucked. There’s oil and all kinds of stuff leaking out. Looks like something’s cracked underneath.’
    ‘So can you fix it?’ she asked. A sensible question. Michael shook his head despondently.
    ‘I haven’t got a bloody clue,’ he admitted. ‘I can drive a car, fill it with petrol and change a tyre but that’s about all. I wouldn’t know where to start with something like this.’
    ‘So what do we do? Can we get by without it?’
    ‘We can, but we’d be taking a hell of a chance. What if the same thing happens to the Landrover?’
    ‘So what do we do?’ she asked