Surviving The Evacuation (Book 1): London Read Online Free Page B
evacuation would start the next day and that the vaccine was ready but would only be distributed to evacuees at the muster points. She'd visited me that morning with my last care package.
I suppose I was so caught up in the excitement of new food and the sight of all those people going by outside that I didn't notice my tenants were gone until the next morning. Traffic, trains, aeroplanes, kettles boiling, cups rattling, cupboard doors closing. All those little audible queues that you've woken to an ordinary world, they were all gone.
It was about mid morning before I decided to go downstairs and see whether I was alone. I think I knew. Yes, I knew, but I didn't want to believe it. It took me an age to get down to the first floor. I can't remember the last time I had to actually use my arms to lift anything close to my own weight. Probably not since school and maybe not even then. I tried lowering my good leg first and taking the weight on the crutches, but the stairs are too steep and narrow for that, instead it was crutches first then I had to contort my body into an L-shape at each step. It was agony. I almost gave up after the third step.
The two first floor flats were empty, the keys left in the locks. There wasn’t even a note. I haven't checked the ground floor flats. I called out, but it took almost all of my energy just to get down one flight of stairs, besides, what would be the point? I've got food here and Jen will come back, or send another car. Probably, in all the confusion of the evacuation, she's not realised that the car hasn't returned, but soon she'll ask someone and they'll check and then they'll send someone. I've just got to stay quiet and listen and wait.
14:40, 13 th March.
When Jen visited that last time she didn’t stay long and her security people were clearly nervous, pushing her to hurry it up. It wasn’t that they actually said “Hand over the food, and lets get out of here” but you could tell they wanted to be elsewhere. One of them stuck to her side all the time, not that we needed privacy, our relationship was never in that particular place, but this guy walked in right behind her and stood staring at her the whole time she was here.
This was after the PM's disappearance. According to Jen he'd had a breakdown and been temporarily replaced by the Foreign Secretary. According to Sholto, the PM had been forcibly removed during what in other times would be described as a coup.
She didn't say where she was going, she didn't say much at all, but as she was leaving she asked me to wish her luck. The only time she'd said that to me before was the night before the by-election. I was still furious with her for ditching me and our plans for the security of a government pay check, but I wished her luck then anyway. It's what you do. So as she left I said good luck, and tried to smile.
It's the other one who's down in the street, the one who first stood outside the door then went to stand by the car. I never spoke to him, never knew his name, never even got a good look at his face and he's the one who died coming to rescue me.
16:00, 13 th March.
There's no power. There's still water, but without electricity there'll be no more hot showers. Fortunately that's not a great hardship since it was a pain trying to wash in there anyway. I had to sit down on a stool, and it's such a small cubicle it meant leaving the door open, which, in turn, meant the carpet out here was getting ruined.
I know, who cares about the carpet at a time like this, but it's my carpet, my house and as much as I hate it my home. So I make do with a sponge bath which at least has the merit of giving me something to do.
No power for the kettle though and that's a real blow. I'd begun to ritualise making tea. Waiting for the kettle to boil then waiting for the tea to brew meant a few minutes I could just ignore the problems of the world. I didn't have any milk, not real milk anyway. Jen left some powdered
I suppose I was so caught up in the excitement of new food and the sight of all those people going by outside that I didn't notice my tenants were gone until the next morning. Traffic, trains, aeroplanes, kettles boiling, cups rattling, cupboard doors closing. All those little audible queues that you've woken to an ordinary world, they were all gone.
It was about mid morning before I decided to go downstairs and see whether I was alone. I think I knew. Yes, I knew, but I didn't want to believe it. It took me an age to get down to the first floor. I can't remember the last time I had to actually use my arms to lift anything close to my own weight. Probably not since school and maybe not even then. I tried lowering my good leg first and taking the weight on the crutches, but the stairs are too steep and narrow for that, instead it was crutches first then I had to contort my body into an L-shape at each step. It was agony. I almost gave up after the third step.
The two first floor flats were empty, the keys left in the locks. There wasn’t even a note. I haven't checked the ground floor flats. I called out, but it took almost all of my energy just to get down one flight of stairs, besides, what would be the point? I've got food here and Jen will come back, or send another car. Probably, in all the confusion of the evacuation, she's not realised that the car hasn't returned, but soon she'll ask someone and they'll check and then they'll send someone. I've just got to stay quiet and listen and wait.
14:40, 13 th March.
When Jen visited that last time she didn’t stay long and her security people were clearly nervous, pushing her to hurry it up. It wasn’t that they actually said “Hand over the food, and lets get out of here” but you could tell they wanted to be elsewhere. One of them stuck to her side all the time, not that we needed privacy, our relationship was never in that particular place, but this guy walked in right behind her and stood staring at her the whole time she was here.
This was after the PM's disappearance. According to Jen he'd had a breakdown and been temporarily replaced by the Foreign Secretary. According to Sholto, the PM had been forcibly removed during what in other times would be described as a coup.
She didn't say where she was going, she didn't say much at all, but as she was leaving she asked me to wish her luck. The only time she'd said that to me before was the night before the by-election. I was still furious with her for ditching me and our plans for the security of a government pay check, but I wished her luck then anyway. It's what you do. So as she left I said good luck, and tried to smile.
It's the other one who's down in the street, the one who first stood outside the door then went to stand by the car. I never spoke to him, never knew his name, never even got a good look at his face and he's the one who died coming to rescue me.
16:00, 13 th March.
There's no power. There's still water, but without electricity there'll be no more hot showers. Fortunately that's not a great hardship since it was a pain trying to wash in there anyway. I had to sit down on a stool, and it's such a small cubicle it meant leaving the door open, which, in turn, meant the carpet out here was getting ruined.
I know, who cares about the carpet at a time like this, but it's my carpet, my house and as much as I hate it my home. So I make do with a sponge bath which at least has the merit of giving me something to do.
No power for the kettle though and that's a real blow. I'd begun to ritualise making tea. Waiting for the kettle to boil then waiting for the tea to brew meant a few minutes I could just ignore the problems of the world. I didn't have any milk, not real milk anyway. Jen left some powdered
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