Page 69 of The Two of Us at the End of the World

She hadn’t really believed anyone would track her phone, not until the severe nurse had spoken to her, but now she hoped that, if they did, they’d think she was heading out into the deep Atlantic. The phone-in-a-jar idea was one they’d come up with as they planned the imaginary escape as if they were writing the script to a spy thriller. She hadn’t realised how seriously he had taken her fears until she discovered the jar he’d left in the galley sink, with the silicon tape placed inside it, ready for action. She’d been touched to find it, enough to make tears spike in her eyes for a moment. It had made her feel not alone, even though she was by herself in the dark, heading out into uncharted waters. It had made him a hidden but present accomplice, in just the same way that pulling on his old oiled-wool sweater and putting her thumbs through the reinforced thumb-holes on the cuffs did. It was like he was here too, holding her hands and keeping her warm.

“Sentimental bullshit,” she told the empty sea flying past her. “Just sentimental bullshit.”

She adjusted the sails to catch more wind, hunkered down against the chill, and headed north.

Chapter 23

First parting

Mouse – Year 201 AG

The moon had gone from large to small to large and then small again before we really had to face how unravelled Freya had become. I know that because the thing that happened as a consequence of that took place when the moon was new. If there had been moonlight, we couldn’t have got so close and so wouldn’t have heard what we heard. And then I wouldn’t have ended up here.

But that was later. The beginning of the end of things being as they were arrived with Storm, just after Cat had twisted her ankle while we were picking apples on the little hill by the canal. She’d been running after an apple that had dropped out of the bucket she was carrying them in, and as it rolled away down the slope she’d tried to catch it before it plopped into the water at the bottom. It wouldn’t have made any difference if it had, but she chased it anyway, and then her foot hit something slippy in the grass and she rolled her ankle and went down hard.

It could have been worse. It could have been a break. But even after I’d strapped it up she found it hard to walk properly and hobbled about for days in a foul mood, wincing at every step and furious with herself for being so stupid. I told her it needed rest to get better, but Cat was never comfortable being still, so it probably took twice as long to heal as it should have done. Though she of course claimed keeping it moving was helping it get better quicker.

Anyway, it must have been a good few days after she twisted the ankle, because she’d got over the bad temper and she and I were milking the goat and laughing at something, though I can’t remember what, when Storm appeared with a baby on each hip and a dark look that killed our happy mood right there.

Freya’s asleep, she said.

That’s good, said Cat.

Storm handed me one of the babies and I bounced it gently as we talked. It was a habit we all had. Freya catching up with her sleep was a signal for anyone who was around to bounce a baby and keep them happy and quiet for as long as we could.

It’s not good, said Storm, looking over her shoulder at the Bunker as if Freya could hear her from so far away. Again, it was a reflex. Freya was someone we talked about more than we talked to at that stage.

I thought these two might help, she said. After what you said, I mean at the beginning, when we made the Deal, when you talked to her, I thought what you said might be true. But it isn’t.

I didn’t lie about anything, said Cat.

I know, said Storm. You meant well, I know. But meaning well isn’t enough. It doesn’t make things true. And she’s worse. You can see that. The strange dog and the mating shook her up, and I thought she’d get over it, then Mouse saw the stranger, the other Russian—

We don’t know it was a Russian, I said, and immediately regretted it from the sharp look she jabbed at me over the bouncing baby’s head.

Not the point, Mouse, she said. Come on. What matters is she thinks it was. And maybe I do too. But then we thought she was calming down, and things were finally getting better, and suddenly she finds herself standing in the corpse of the man who did all the bad stuff to her and gave her all the pain in the first place. And the fear, and then the other pain of having these two, all the blood and the cutting and everything. And now?

Now she’s worse, I said.

Yeah, she said. She’s worse. What you said Cat, about the babies working a magic, about them helping her to heal?

She tried to smile at us, but it just curdled on her face, and she shook her head.

They’re not magic and they aren’t helping anything, she said. Not their fault and they’re lovely, but not for her. They just aren’t doing what you said, what you hoped, what we all hoped they would.

They might, I said again. They really might.

It’s summer and she still hasn’t given them proper names, she said.

I know, I said.

She just looked at me. I got a little cold trickle of alarm at the back of my neck.

What do you mean? I said.

It’s summer, she said again. She said she’d feed them until the summer. That was the deal. The Deal.

But she can’t just stop, I said. We gave our word, she gave her word…