The Kill Call

whether we’d leave our wives and children when it came to it. Once you were down there, you might have to stay for a fortnight. Imagine waiting for the message to come – those three fatal words: Attack Warning Red. Then measuring the fireball over your own county, taking the elevation and bearing, waiting for the radioactive dust cloud to arrive. Attack Warning Black.
    And that meant the maroons. Three of them, of course. According to regulations, we were supposed to fire them, one after the other, to warn against nuclear fallout. Two bangs meant nothing; it was the third one that counted.
    So what about Jimmy and Les? Did they mean nothing? Was Shirley’s death the one that really mattered, the final thump and scream that changed the whole world? There are some situations where we have no regulations to follow, some questions that can only be answered from the heart.
    And here we are, forty years later … Did there have to be so many deaths to restore the balance? I thought there was just one, but I was wrong. There had to be another, and another.
    It’s funny, really funny, how everything happens in threes.

37
     
     
    Sunday
    It had rained heavily again during the night. Below ground, the limestone caves of the White Peak would be flooding dangerously, water roaring through fissures and cracks like thunder, scouring another half a centimetre from the rock.
    Yet when the sun came out after heavy rain, the amount of colour in the landscape was stunning. On the main street of Eyam that Sunday morning, Cooper could detect a real feeling of spring in the air. He could smell it, and taste it, and even sense its warmth on his skin.
    Each year, it was becoming more difficult to judge when to expect this feeling. It seemed to come anywhere between the middle of January and April. That was climate change, he supposed. Hawthorns were in blossom in February instead of May, blackthorns had been flowering since the end of January. Once again, there had been no real winter.
    Cooper had passed an ancient lock-up garage with a collapsing roof. And here on the village green were the stocks, still intact – a reminder of the days when justice was not only harsh, but had to be publicly seen to be done.
    In this part of Eyam, there were no pavements or footpaths, doors opened directly on to the road. He could never resist peeking into the front windows that were so temptingly available to the passers-by. Didn’t other people do that?
    He looked up at the sound of a car, but it passed him by, and he walked back down the road. He found himself standing in front of Plague Cottage again, where the Black Death had first arrived in Eyam. A massive stone lintel sat over the door of the cottage, pressing down on the frame, as if representing the great weight of history.
    ‘So this is Eyam. Sorry – Eem.’
    Fry was standing on the pavement a few feet away, not looking at him but at the houses. She was regarding them as if they were exhibits in a museum – which, in a way, they were.
    ‘I didn’t think you would come,’ he said.
    ‘It was touch and go. The washing and ironing nearly won.’
    Cooper smiled. He had been amazed when Fry agreed to come. He’d been expecting the usual rejection, the sharp response of someone who had far better things to do with her time than socialize with her colleagues, thank you very much. He didn’t know what had changed in her, to make her accept. But now she was here, he realized he had no proper plan. He’d only suggested Eyam because it seemed to have some relevance, a link to the one aspect of life they had in common.
    ‘And this is the Plague Cottage.’
    Fry looked at the green plaque with its gold lettering.
    Edward Cooper, aged four, died on the 22nd September 1665 Jonathan Cooper, aged twelve, died on the 2nd October 1665 Mary alone survived, but lost thirteen relativ es . 
    ‘Two brothers, who died within days of each other,’ said Fry.
    ‘They told us in school that the arrival of the Black Death was blamed on a miasma,’ said Cooper. ‘“Evil humours” drifting in the air. Women carried scented posies around to ward off the poisonous fumes, and men smoked pipes, hoping to protect themselves with tobacco smoke.’
    He felt no need of maps or tourist guides to find his way around Eyam now. It had a familiar feel to it already. As they walked, they passed interesting little alleyways, passages into back yards and stone-flagged ginnels. At one point an enormous stone water