landing and positioned between the opened doors of their two bedrooms. He was awake a good deal during the night and a couple of times looked in on them. The second time Tommy was lying still; he touched his face and found it cold.
Susie slept through most of the day, and went peacefully towards evening. Neil had spent part of the afternoon digging a trench close to the grave of his grandparents. It was an easier task than the other, being so much shorter.
It was easy, too, with dusk coming on, to carry out the two small bodies, wrapped in sheets, and lay them side by side in the grave. He felt very tired as he pushed earth over them with the spade. He thought it was probably happening to him as well, and was numbly contented. He went in, washed, atesparingly, and lay down on his bed. The house was empty, but so was the town, the world. It might be he was the last person alive on earth. He was glad, as sleep took him, that it would not be for long.
â¢Â â¢Â â¢
For a week after that he lived like an automaton: eating, drinking, sleeping, trying not to think and for the most part succeeding. He did not bother to look at himself, and since he had put away the mirrors did not happen on his reflection accidentally. He had a dim feeling that it was taking too long, but all his thoughts were slack and dull and he did not pursue it.
The weather had finally broken and the days were dark and stormy, with wind and rain howling and hammering along the street outside. The wind was violent at times, and once he heard a pane of glass break somewhere at the back of the house, but did not bother to go and look. It did not matter. Nothing mattered.
One morning, though, the sun came out again, and he saw his shadowy image on the white side of the refrigerator. He put a hand to his face and felthis cheeks, full and unlined. It was a fortnight since he had had the fever.
It took several more days for him to be sure he had somehow escaped the fate that had overtaken everyone else. That was when he left the house for the first time since the children died. He thought, with a new sense of misery, of his grandfatherâs remarks about his will, and the inheritance that was to come to him. A good education, a decent Âprofession. . . . He had a bigger inheritance than that: a vacated planet.
His steps took him, without particular intent, to the church. He stood inside it and looked round at the old stone walls, the effigies of knights in their niches. What was the name for the celebration of thanksgivingâthe Te Deum? The walls must have echoed to scores, hundreds of those, over the centuries.
He thought of the tearaways on their motorbikes, trying to break the windows with their bottles. All dead now. He found a silver candlestick, hefted it, swung his arm and threw. The first two shots were ineffective, the candlestick crashing against stone and falling. But the third went home and heheard the crash of glass. The candlestick did not fall that time, but remained wedged in the leads. It stuck close by an apostleâs hand; as though he were carrying it to bed, but upside down.
He stayed there a long time before going out from the quiet of the church to the worldâs quiet.
5
T HE RATS DROVE NEIL OUT of Winchelsea.
He had no idea how long he stayed on after the children died: time meant nothing, and day followed day on a treadmill of sunrise and sunset, light and darkness, rain and shine.
He stayed in his grandparentsâ house, but developed a habit of going into other houses in the town. He preferred those that had family pictures on show, because they helped to people the emptiness. One day he found himself talking to a photograph of a motherly-Âlooking woman, as though it were a real person. He broke off on the realization, and did not go back there.
The animals became wilder. He saw the glossy tabby that had followed him from the shop; it was leaner now, watched him suspiciously from the top
Susie slept through most of the day, and went peacefully towards evening. Neil had spent part of the afternoon digging a trench close to the grave of his grandparents. It was an easier task than the other, being so much shorter.
It was easy, too, with dusk coming on, to carry out the two small bodies, wrapped in sheets, and lay them side by side in the grave. He felt very tired as he pushed earth over them with the spade. He thought it was probably happening to him as well, and was numbly contented. He went in, washed, atesparingly, and lay down on his bed. The house was empty, but so was the town, the world. It might be he was the last person alive on earth. He was glad, as sleep took him, that it would not be for long.
â¢Â â¢Â â¢
For a week after that he lived like an automaton: eating, drinking, sleeping, trying not to think and for the most part succeeding. He did not bother to look at himself, and since he had put away the mirrors did not happen on his reflection accidentally. He had a dim feeling that it was taking too long, but all his thoughts were slack and dull and he did not pursue it.
The weather had finally broken and the days were dark and stormy, with wind and rain howling and hammering along the street outside. The wind was violent at times, and once he heard a pane of glass break somewhere at the back of the house, but did not bother to go and look. It did not matter. Nothing mattered.
One morning, though, the sun came out again, and he saw his shadowy image on the white side of the refrigerator. He put a hand to his face and felthis cheeks, full and unlined. It was a fortnight since he had had the fever.
It took several more days for him to be sure he had somehow escaped the fate that had overtaken everyone else. That was when he left the house for the first time since the children died. He thought, with a new sense of misery, of his grandfatherâs remarks about his will, and the inheritance that was to come to him. A good education, a decent Âprofession. . . . He had a bigger inheritance than that: a vacated planet.
His steps took him, without particular intent, to the church. He stood inside it and looked round at the old stone walls, the effigies of knights in their niches. What was the name for the celebration of thanksgivingâthe Te Deum? The walls must have echoed to scores, hundreds of those, over the centuries.
He thought of the tearaways on their motorbikes, trying to break the windows with their bottles. All dead now. He found a silver candlestick, hefted it, swung his arm and threw. The first two shots were ineffective, the candlestick crashing against stone and falling. But the third went home and heheard the crash of glass. The candlestick did not fall that time, but remained wedged in the leads. It stuck close by an apostleâs hand; as though he were carrying it to bed, but upside down.
He stayed there a long time before going out from the quiet of the church to the worldâs quiet.
5
T HE RATS DROVE NEIL OUT of Winchelsea.
He had no idea how long he stayed on after the children died: time meant nothing, and day followed day on a treadmill of sunrise and sunset, light and darkness, rain and shine.
He stayed in his grandparentsâ house, but developed a habit of going into other houses in the town. He preferred those that had family pictures on show, because they helped to people the emptiness. One day he found himself talking to a photograph of a motherly-Âlooking woman, as though it were a real person. He broke off on the realization, and did not go back there.
The animals became wilder. He saw the glossy tabby that had followed him from the shop; it was leaner now, watched him suspiciously from the top
Similar Books
