the one that’s in best condition, empty it, and then drive it back.’
Emma nodded and continued to look out over the sea.
‘Think it’s safe to get out?’ she asked.
‘Don’t know,’ he replied. ‘There’s nothing about. As long as we stay close we should be okay.’
Needing no further encouragement, Emma opened the door and stepped outside. The blustery wind was strong and refreshing and it carried with it the unmistakable smell of the salty water below. She looked out towards the horizon and just dared to imagine for a few seconds that nothing had happened. She had tried to do it many times before but there had always been something in her line of vision to remind her of the limitations of the shattered shell of a world in which she existed. Looking out over the uninterrupted water, however, for a short time at least it was relatively easy to pretend everything was okay. She took a few steps further forward and looked down onto a stretch of sandy beach. Her heart sank as she watched a single staggering body tripping and stumbling through the frothing, splashing surf. Each advancing wave knocked the pathetic creature off-balance. She watched as it struggled to stand, only to be knocked over again when the next wave came. There was a second body in the water wearing only a pair of swimming trunks. Obviously the unfortunate remains of an early morning bather from a couple of weeks ago, the bloated, swollen and discoloured body was gradually being washed ashore.
Michael hadn’t seen the bodies. He was still daydreaming as he sat down on the grass next to their vehicle.
‘You know,’ he began, ‘sitting here you could almost convince yourself that nothing had happened.’
Emma said nothing. Having had the same thought just a few seconds earlier, the appearance of the bodies in the surf below had depressed her. She didn’t think it was fair to spoil her friend’s enjoyment of the moment.
Michael stretched out on the grass, lying back and resting on his elbows. He looked over at Emma and smiled.
‘Know what I want?’ he asked.
‘What?’ she wondered, feigning interest.
‘A sandwich,’ he replied. ‘I want a big, thick sandwich on freshly baked, crusty bread. I want salad, sliced ham, grated cheese and mayonnaise. Oh, and I’ll have a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice to wash it down with.’
‘We’ve got tinned ham and a little bit of mayo back at the farm,’ Emma said, sitting down next to him. ‘And we’ve got orange cordial.’
‘Not the same really, is it?’
She shook her head.
‘No. Think we’ll ever eat like that again?’
Michael thought for a few moments.
‘We might do. I bet we could make bread and cheese eventually, and we could have ham if we can catch and kill a pig. And I suppose we could grow fruit and vegetables if we set up a greenhouse…’
‘You should get yourself an allotment,’ she joked.
‘I could do,’ Michael said, semiseriously. He sighed sadly and looked up into the sky. ‘I don’t know, it’s fucking stupid, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
‘Everything we’ve just said. In a few seconds we’ve managed to come up with about six month’s work. Six months to get a fucking salad sandwich and a glass of orange juice…’
‘I know,’ she sympathised.
Michael yawned and stretched. He looked across at Emma who suddenly seemed to be deep in thought. He had learnt recently that this was not always a good sign. It was okay to think for a while, but concentrating too deeply on everything that had happened often caused real problems.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
She smiled and nodded and looked down at him.
‘I’m okay,’ she replied, giving little away.
‘But…?’ he pressed, sensing that she needed to talk. He stared at her and, once eye-contact had been made, she realised that she couldn’t avoid answering him.
‘Are we really doing the right thing here?’ she asked.
‘What, sitting in a car park looking at the sea?’ he replied flippantly. Unamused, Emma shook her head.
‘No, I’m talking about the house and being out in the countryside.’
Michael sat up attentively, sensing the seriousness in her voice.
‘Of course we are,’ he answered defensively. ‘Why, are you starting to have doubts?’
‘What is there to have doubts about?’
‘Whether we should ever have left the city? Whether Carl was the one who was right to go back there?’
‘I’m not having doubts…’
‘So what is it then? Don’t you think we can make anything of what’s left?’
‘I’m not sure. Do you?’
‘We might be able to. The bodies are rotting, aren’t they? They should disappear over time and if we
