If London was hit, that wouldn’t be close enough to cause the flash of light that we had seen here. Therefore it stands to reason that Brighton had to have also been hit. And if that was the case then it would follow suit that similar cities would have also been a target. Why would they single out just Brighton? It’s not even that big as large cities go.
Cities larger than Brighton… Bristol, Cambridge, Birmingham, Leeds, Manchester, Newcastle. Shit, thinking of it like this then it’s reasonable to think that most cities in the UK big enough to have their own hospital and university would have been a target. This may be the first time I feel grateful for living in such a quiet place.
If this was the rule, then that meant other small towns and villages far enough from the city would have also been spared. Granted there wasn’t as many people in the suburbs, but in this country, there were some pretty remote places which might have been spared and could be safe from the effects of fallout. Maybe? The Peak District, large parts of Yorkshire and the Lakes! Taking a breath and letting this sink in brought an unexpected wave of relief as I thought of my sister, Kate.
“Please let Auntie Kate be ok,” I whispered into Rosa’s little shoulder as she slept slumped over my chest, her dainty blonde head of curls lolled over towards my chin.
Kate lived in a beautiful old farmhouse up in the Lake district in the middle of nowhere. She had moved there in the mid-noughties after our parents had died. We’d both been living at home when it had happened. Neither of us had left even for university. We didn’t need to. She had been my best friend from the first day that I could remember. Collecting me from school everyday and making dinner for us when Mum worked a late shift. As a child, she was full of imagination and fun. In the evenings Kate would keep her bedroom door open, reading allowed her favourite books by C.S. Lewis. I would listen across the hall to her voicing different magical characters as I fell asleep.
We were happy, all four of us in that small Victorian terraced house. It was a lovely cosy memory and brought some momentary solace to my current dark hole of hell.
My older sister had never enjoyed the rat race of the city. She was far more spiritual and non-conforming than I ever was. Kate had, quite wisely as it transpires, used her half of the sale of our parents’ house to buy the old farm in which she still lived. It was a short ramble from Lake Buttermere in Cumbria where she ran a successful yoga retreat. I missed her but the place made her happy, and I was happy for that.
My moment of relief faded as quickly as it had arrived when I thought about our old street. It had probably been reduced to dust, along with the rest of Earlsfield. Very Probably. That area of South West London was most likely too close to the centre of the city to be safe. I would never be able to show Rosa where her Aunt and I had grown up. The iconic sights of London would all be gone. Nothing left to show her of our history, of our culture. Gone in the blink of an eye. Or the blinding of mine.
Stroking her hair I wondered how Rosa’s life would look now? I had no idea. First of all, we would need to make it through the next few weeks and stay alive. My brain was working on overtime, the throbbing in my ankle caused me to shift into a better position. Every bone in my body ached from the madness of the last few hours. I willed Rosa to be still as I laid her down so that we could get some rest. Her body was rigid and full of tension, but to my relief she remained fast asleep.
Exhausted, it played on my mind. Her bleak and impossible future stuck with me as I sunk into the mattress beneath us. Tears silently rolled down my face, my eyes stinging. I took my daughter’s small hand in mine and held on to her until I retreated into some semblance of sleep.
3
A SMALL COLD hand grabbed my face waking me with a start. I reached up and caught hold of Rosa’s hand pushing it down to her side and turned on her dream sheep to lull her back to sleep. Her hand stopped waving around, and the previous sounds of angry grunting turned into a gentle snore. It worked. With a sigh of thanks, I turned over onto my front.
I somehow needed to get my phone working and check if there was any news on the radio. I fanned out my fingers and being mindful of the tiny sleeping ball of rage beside me I combed the area with my fingers searching for the torch. Hopefully, it would be more useful now. I was only just getting my sight back after the explosion. Little good a torch would have done me last night.
I had no idea what time it was but felt rested as if it was morning. For that reason I assumed that we had slept for at least six hours. I really needed to pee. Having not thought about that side of things yesterday, the only thing for me to do was venture back into the main house and use the ground floor bathroom. I flicked on the torch, simultaneously draping a t-shirt over the beam so as not to wake Rosa. The t-shirt cast a red glow over the small space, and I felt a fleeting flutter of joy at being able to see again. I was grateful to the t-shirt’s thick cotton as it helped to protect my newly sensitive eyes from the glare of the torch.
The light flickered the cramped space to life, I looked down at the elephant’s foot that had replaced my usually slender ankle. Bollocks, it looked terrible. I pulled up the hem of my Levi’s until the leg of my jeans was gathered above my knee and pointed the torch down at my swollen foot to get a better look. I squinted, in this light I could see the colour of it was pretty impressive. Parts of it almost seemed green. I winced at the sight of it. It would be useful to know how seriously injured it was. I tested the movement in my ankle, I began to point and flex my foot. As soon as I had started, it was something I wished that I hadn’t. I had to slap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from shouting out and waking Rosa.
Well, it’s going to have to fix itself. Otherwise, we’re not going to be getting anywhere. Folding my good leg underneath me and hanging onto the shelf on my left I pulled myself up to standing with all of my weight supported by my good foot. Slowly I began to transfer my weight on to the injured leg. Very slowly.
“Nope.” I gritted my teeth. “That’s not going to work.” I hissed to myself.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an old wooden handled mop leaning against the wall and stretched across to claim it. With the cotton mop head crammed under my armpit and the handle acting as a crutch I hopped as best I could up the steps to the door. Placing my hand on the door handle, I took a moment to steel myself for what might be waiting for me on the other side. I wasn’t sure if the windows had managed to bear the force of the blast, they could have been blown out. If that was the case, we would need to move to find better shelter. Images flashed through my mind of what the world would look like now.
Like ripping off a plaster I slung open the door and thrust out my head to stare into the kitchen before me. It looked almost normal. In fact, if it wasn’t for the blankets hanging, draped over half of the window it would have looked just as it should. That in itself didn’t seem right for some reason. Shouldn’t there have been some visible damage with a blast that loud?
A high pitched shriek came from the front of the house. I immediately froze.
I could hear a voice outside, right outside the kitchen window coming from the street. No. Not a voice. Voices. The pessimist in me said that our emergency services couldn’t possibly be this fast or this organised. The next day? The warnings had said to prepare without aid for at least a week. Curiosity got the better of me and caused me to completely forget how much I needed to use the bathroom. I crept towards the window to see who was out there. Lifting the bottom of one of the blankets covering the kitchen window I peered out noticing there was a crack in the outer pane of glass. Well, the glass had stayed secure on the inside at least.