‘But I’m not “anyone else”, am I?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘you’re bloody well not anyone else. No, you’re not.’
‘Say it again without swearing if you can.’
Stevie was tempted to unleash a volley of expletives, and normally she might not have been able to control her own response, but there was always something threatening about Roddy. He could sit there against the wall, coiled like a snake, half-asleep, and suddenly strike. Words were a weapon, all those comments about her looks, but – and she wished she’d had the courage to tell Kim this – he had been at her throat once, in a row over a burnt toastie. The movement of his hand on her neck had been excruciating with the scarring, so now, to be safe, she just said: ‘You’re not “anyone else”, Roddy.’
‘Say it without the sarcasm now.’
The stand-off was broken by a sound from the laptop. ‘Hello everyone.’
Stevie muted her channel. ‘Not a word, Roddy, please, darling.’
Roddy stretched the tracksuit collar even higher up his nose. She saw her face reflected in his lenses, saw her scarring, was grateful again that he had chosen her.
The policeman’s face appeared. ‘Acting Chief Constable, Devon Police, Jordan Callintree’, it said.
Since the day she’d met him, she had wished a thousand times that she had not done it. The instruction to isolate made her wedding impossible. Roddy was only in her bedroom now because, as he put it, he ‘did not believe in radiation, or wouldn’t we all be dead from radiators?’ He was anti-vaccine, very worried about chemtrails and 5G, and refused to believe in viruses ‘because how can something exist if you can’t see it?’ She wished for his certainty.
She looked at the laptop screen as it populated with dozens of faces. She scanned them. Mainly men, some who had worked in the pizza parlour, some who were dads. Four or five women – she recognized Andrea Lopez, without make-up, face drawn, alone – and two couples, each trying to squish themselves into the same shot and failing.
‘Excuse me one second,’ said Jordan. ‘I’m isolating too, so I have to do this on my own.’
He evidently had not meant all the callers to be visible to each other, because a moment after he reached for his computer screen, every face except his disappeared. The screen was now four lines of small grey squares, each with a name in the corner.
‘Sorry, all,’ he said. ‘I’ve cut the video of you all for privacy reasons. Your microphones are open, but’ – at that point there was a loud crashing sound from one of the callers – ‘please mute yourselves now and then we can have questions at the end.’
‘Fucking get on with it,’ said Roddy.
Stevie was already on mute. She put her finger across her lips and shook her head at her fiancé.
Jordan Callintree had a window to the side of him so his features were in sharp relief. He wore a white police shirt open at the neck.
‘You are all on this call because you were in the pizza parlour last Friday when the bike crashed. Thanks to the local radio station and to appeals on local TV, we’ve tracked you down and have asked you to isolate because we now know there was a leak of radiation as a result of the crash, and the terror squad are here from London on the basis that the biker had Russian connections. Or may have.’
‘May,’ hissed Roddy, pulling his sunglasses down for a second so he could visibly roll his eyes. ‘March April May. He’s just reciting months of the year now.’ Stevie checked the mute icon nervously.
‘Remember,’ Callintree continued, ‘I’m isolating too, so I very much feel your pain. I’m on the sixth floor of the Police HQ in Exeter and I have a camp bed here. The reason for us all isolating is that’ – he seemed to be consulting notes – ‘radiation can have a deleterious effect on a person’s health, and that includes even small amounts of radiation from another person who has been exposed.’ He looked up at the camera. ‘I’m sure we’ve all been googling this like crazy. I have.’ It was the wrong thing to say. He was supposed to be the expert, not another victim, and there was a growing hubbub of annoyance from those who were not muted. It swiftly turned to anger. Stevie saw the square with the name ANDREA LOPEZ disappear. There were more shouted questions from the other grey squares, the faceless names.
‘What’s the dose?’ someone rasped.
‘Why can’t we get any medical advice?’
‘Is there not some kind of state assistance we can draw on? I can’t work!’
‘Nor can I!’
Stevie tried to ask: ‘Will there be more news later today?’ but she forgot she was muted. There was a cacophony of angry questions. Someone seemed to be crying. Eventually the noise stopped – Jordan had muted everyone else.
‘We can’t all just shout. I’ve turned you all off for a second. Listen, I can’t give you any information at this minute on the substance or the dose or the danger. What I want to say is that if anyone is at risk because of their isolation, for example because they can’t get food, please message me on the dedicated number you’ve been given. If you and your family are all isolating, my information is that you are no danger to each other. But if you have young children, say, and they weren’t at the pizza parlour but you were, you must stay away from them. We are talking separate rooms at the very least. Please, everyone. I know it’s hard. If there are child welfare issues arising from that, please, again, tell me on the number provided.
‘I know you all want more information. This next bit is vital. At six p.m. today, the Met will hold a press conference at St Giles and St Nic’s and they will have a lot to say. Please don’t ask me for details, as I am out of the loop. I’m going to unmute you now, if you have any questions.’
‘If you’re out of the loop, with respect, what is the point of you?’ a voice barked as soon as the mic icons went on.
For a moment the police officer breathed in as if winded. ‘Does anyone have any other questions?’
Stevie expected a racket, but gradually the grey squares started to disappear. There had been five rows of four, and a couple extra – soon there was only Jordan, herself, and two others.
