was seeing. He quickly managed to snap himself out of his disbelieving trance and actually do something to help. He grabbed hold of Stuart and yanked him away from Jenny, leaving her to slide down the wall and collapse in a sobbing heap on the dirty brown floor.
‘Bastard,’ she spat, looking up at him. ‘You fucking bastard.’
Michael manhandled Stuart across the room and pushed him down into a chair.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he demanded.
Stuart didn’t respond. He sat staring at the floor. His face was flushed red. His fists were clenched tight and his body shook with anger.
‘What’s the problem?’ Michael asked again.
Stuart still didn’t move.
‘Not good enough for her, are we?’ he eventually muttered.
‘What?’
‘That little bitch,’ he seethed. ‘Thinks she’s something special, doesn’t she? Thinks she’s a cut above the rest of us.’ He looked up and stared and pointed at Jenny. ‘Thinks she’s the only one who’s lost everything.’
‘You’re not making any sense,’ Michael said, sitting down on a bench close to Stuart. ‘What are you talking about?’
Stuart couldn’t – or wouldn’t – answer. Tears of frustration welled in his tired eyes. Rather than let Michael see the extent of his fraught emotion he got up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
‘What was all that about?’ Emma asked as she walked past Michael and made her way over to where Jenny lay on the ground. She crouched down and put her arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on,’ she whispered, gently kissing the top of her head. ‘It’s all right.’
‘All right?’ she sobbed. ‘How can you say it’s all right? After everything that’s happened, how can you say it’s all right?’
Kate James sat down next to them. Cradling Jenny in her arms, Emma turned to face Kate.
‘Did you see what happened?’ she quietly asked.
‘Not really,’ Kate replied. ‘They were just talking. I only realised that something was wrong when Stuart started shouting. He was fine one minute – you know, calm and talking normally – and then he just exploded at her.’
‘Why?’
Kate shrugged her shoulders.
‘Apparently she told him that she didn’t like the soup.’
‘What?’ asked Emma incredulously.
‘She didn’t like the soup he’d made,’ Kate repeated. ‘I’m sure that’s all it was.’
‘Bloody hell,’ she sighed, shaking her head in resignation.
Carl walked into the room with Jack Baynham. He’d taken no more than two or three steps when he stopped, quickly sensing that something was wrong.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked cautiously, almost too afraid to listen to the answer. The atmosphere in the room was so heavy that he was convinced something terrible had happened.
Michael shook his head.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s sorted now.’
Carl looked down at Emma on the floor and Jenny curled up in her arms. Something obviously had happened but, as whatever it was seemed to have been confined to inside the hall and resolved, he decided not to ask any more questions. He just didn’t want to get involved. Selfish and insensitive of him it may have been, but he didn’t want to know. He had enough problems of his own without getting himself wrapped up in other people’s.
Michael felt much the same, but he found it impossible to be as private and insular as Carl. When he heard more crying coming from another dark corner of the room he instinctively went to investigate. He found that the tears were coming from Annie Nelson and Jessica Short, two of the eldest survivors. The two ladies were wrapped under a single blanket, holding each other tightly and doing their best to stop sobbing and stop drawing attention to themselves. Michael sat down next to them.
‘You two okay? he asked. A pointless question, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Annie smiled for the briefest of moments and nodded, trying hard to put on a brave face. She nonchalantly wiped away a single tear which trickled quickly down her wrinkled cheek.
‘We’re all right, thank you,’ she replied, her voice light and fragile.
‘Can I get you anything?’
Annie shook her head.
‘No, we’re fine,’ she said. ‘I think we’ll try and get some sleep now.’
Michael smiled and rested his hand on hers. He tried not to let his worry show, but her hand felt disconcertingly cold and fragile. He really did feel so sorry for these two. He had noticed that they had been inseparable since arriving at the hall. Jessica, he had learned from Emma, was a well-to-do widow who had lived in a large house in one of the most exclusive suburbs of Northwich. Annie, on the other hand, had told him yesterday that she’d lived in the same two bedroom Victorian terraced house all her life. She’d been born there and, as she’d wasted no time in telling him, she intended to see out the rest of her days there too. When things settled down again, she’d explained naively, she was going to go straight back home. She had even invited Jessica over for tea one afternoon.
Michael patted the old lady’s hand again and stood up and walked away. He glanced back over his shoulder and
