Page 23 of The Two of Us at the End of the World

It was his dog, Freya says, like that’s all the explanation she needs to give for hitting it.

This time I keep quiet, though again it’s somehow a surprise to hear her voice. Though maybe it wasn’t so much surprise that they could speak as it was the shock of hearing new voices that weren’t Cat or mine.

No reason to hit it, says Storm. That’s what he used to do—

It’s useless—says Freya, and then winces as she moves.

I think she broke her ankle, Storm says.

Freya has suddenly retreated again, the spark of fire quenched, gone lifeless as she looks down with no discernible interest at what is definitely – now I focus on it – a very ugly swelling on her ankle.

Yes, Storm says, scowling at her sister. Just before she tried to throw us into that quarry.

And that’s also how life became much, much more complicated.

Chapter 9

Two to four

Mouse – Year 201 AG

Cat was always clever, but I now think perhaps never more so than in the way she dealt with the bewildering explosion of new things that the girls’ arrival blew into our lives. And it really was like an explosion rather than just an arrival, because it left us both shock-blasted and suddenly unmoored from the predictable normality anchoring us in our previously undisturbed world.

In the first moments and hours my mind began to stutter in a woozily disorienting way, alternately freezing in shock at the abruptness and violence of it all, and then lurching forwards, racing with fear so badly that I could feel myself losing the ability to do anything.

This went on for days. Cat must have been equally stunned, but her mind was always stronger than mine I think, and she knew the best way for me and probably for both of us not to continue spinning out of control with the shock and fear of it all was to keep doing the simple things that just needed doing. I’m pretty sure she intuitively knew that all this was too big to cope with there on the spot, in the immediate aftermath of everything, but that it’d be best to do something, however small, if only to be busy – to think with our hands as she always called it.

I can remember her attitude even more clearly than the details of what we did, some of which are sharp, some of which are so far beyond blurred that they are lost completely. It’s all still too much of a tangled snarl in my head for me to ever cleanly straighten out, but I do remember exactly how she naturally took command like always, as she stood over the body in the nettles. I remember it like I’m still there, stuck in that moment.

We’ve got to do something about this, she says.

What are we going to do with it? I say.

She grimaces briskly and then looks around, as if something her eye falls on will give her the idea she’s reaching for, the lifebelt to keep us afloat amid these newly choppy and uncharted waters in which we now seem in real danger of drowning. I’m watching her because she’s familiar and I’m still finding it hard to look at the body or the pale girls.

We have to do something, I say. We can’t just leave it.

Of course we can’t, she says. I know that, Mouse.

The dog pushes past my leg and goes over to the man. A couple of sniffs at his boots and it loses interest, turning away to sniff at a small hole in a more interesting pile of earth and moss stacked up against the broken kerb, which it starts pulling apart with its front paws, back hunched in excitement.

What’s it doing? I say.

Digging, Cat says. Probably smelled the mouse.

If it was a mouse hole, there’s no mouse home, and the dog gives up after a few deep inhalations to confirm. It doesn’t seem to mind and trots away to see what’s on the other side of the nettles, leaving us to contemplate the dead man undisturbed.

What did they used to do with bodies? I say. Should we burn it?

I didn’t want to burn it. As soon as I said it I could smell the roasting flesh and imagine how bad it would sound, fat popping and sizzling like meat in a pan.

Or bury it? I say quickly. Despite myself, I look down and catch a glimpse of the side of his face, still frozen in his own moment of surprise.

Him, I mean, I say. Bury him. We should bury him.

I didn’t want to bury him either, to tell the truth. We had one spade with a really wobbly handle, and were presently on the lookout for a replacement whenever we went scavenging. It was annoying to dig with, and though we repeatedly mended it, it was definitely on the point of breaking again. And digging is just always hard work. I already felt all the energy had drained out of me. I had the strangest longing to just curl up and go to sleep, which clearly wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

Yes, she said. We’ll bury him. But not close.