Anywhere's Better Than Here (21 page)

‘‘It's very comfortable, isn't it?'' she said, starting to feel drowsy.

‘‘Where did she drive to?'' persisted Jamie.

‘‘I don't know,'' frowned Gerry.

‘‘Didn't you know her?'' asked Jamie.

‘‘Yes, of course. But, I mean, I don't know what she did with herself, do I?''

Laurie looked back at Jamie. He was staring out of the window.

‘‘Anyway,'' said Laurie, sounding like a cheery mother. ‘‘Let's hit the road.''

Gerry started the engine and they pulled out into the street. Laurie fell asleep almost immediately.

***

She woke up with her stomach lurching as the car spun round a corner. The sky was getting light and the fields they passed were empty of livestock and spotted with scraps of snow. The radio was on quietly. Laurie had no idea about classical music; she only knew the stuff featured in adverts and slow-mo sport montages. She wouldn't be able to name any of these tunes, but she appreciated them nonetheless. Gerry would know what the pieces of music would be called. She suspected he had one of those memories that held on to the names of everything. He was the sort of person you could go to to identify things. Any thing: music, books, animals.

She wondered if he was like one of those survival experts on TV who could make a meal anywhere. Presumably he'd had training in that. They'd have to train them – what if they got cut off from the rest of their troop, or whatever it was called, and they wouldn't get rescued for a while? She couldn't imagine there'd been much to forage in Afghanistan. She'd seen a few news reports over the years that made the place look like it was made of rocks. There couldn't be much sustenance there – other than goats or maybe camels, and you couldn't eat them without drawing unwanted attention to yourself. Now: the jungle, the rainforest, they were fertile places with all sorts of grubs and plants.

Give her heat over cold any day. She craned her neck to see over the upturned collar of her coat. The heating was on full blast in the car, but the hills in the near distance made her feel cold. She closed her eyes again, drowsy. Was this how hypothermia started? The music was very relaxing – she wondered how Gerry could stay awake.

‘‘So is she your girlfriend, or what?''

Laurie kept her eyes closed.

Gerry seemed to be considering this for a moment.

‘‘It's complicated.''

The boy tutted.

She heard Gerry tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

‘‘So …'' He was struggling for something to say. ‘‘Have you got a girlfriend Jamie?''

‘‘What? And get into all that hassle? No chance.''

‘‘You're young. Give it time.''

‘‘Don't patronise me.'' The boy's voice was low and calm. ‘‘I've seen how getting into it with someone can fuck things up.''

‘‘Okay, okay.'' She'd put money on Gerry holding his hands up placatingly. ‘‘I didn't mean anything by that. You're obviously very mature for your age.''

‘‘I've had to be.''

‘‘Do you want to talk about it?''

‘‘Are you interested?''

‘‘I wouldn't be doing this otherwise would I?''

There was a pause then the boy spoke again.

‘‘Why are you doing this?''

There was another pause and then Gerry said quietly,

‘‘I just felt like it was the right thing to do.''

The boy laughed quietly. ‘‘The right thing to do?'' He laughed again, more loudly and nastily. She decided to take this opportunity to wake up.

She stretched elaborately. She saw the boy in the rear view mirror. He was watching her. Christ, he was nobody's fool. He was like a cat: eyes narrowed, shoulders hunched a little. In this light his eyes were so dark they seemed all pupil.

Gerry reached across and squeezed her shoulder, relieved.

‘‘Morning.''

She smiled at him. It was nice to wake up next to Gerry. She almost told him so but thought better of it.

‘‘Where are we?''

‘‘Not far now.'' He seemed much calmer. ‘‘Does anyone want to stop for a break? There's a place coming up in a couple of miles.''

Laurie's stomach cramped with hunger. She turned back to look at Jamie.

‘‘What about you Jamie? Are you hungry?''

The boy's face was red. He shook his head, looking down at his lap.

‘‘You must be hungry. I'm starving.'' Suddenly she had a thought. ‘‘God. You aren't injured are you?'' She looked to Gerry quickly. ‘‘I didn't think, at the hospital, were you hurt? Are you hurt?'' She felt panic rise up in her. What if he had concussion, or internal injuries? Shit! What had they done? A look of panic crossed Gerry's face too. ‘‘Gerry!'' She turned round to look at Jamie again.

‘‘No, No,'' the boy said, looking out of the window quite calmly. ‘‘It isn't that.'' He tapped his hand against the window and said almost inaudibly, ‘‘I wasn't the one who got hurt.''

‘‘Oh, thank goodness,'' said Laurie, slumping down a little in her seat and choosing to ignore the last thing he'd said. She really was acting like a mother now. ‘‘You had me worried there.''

The boy looked at her again. ‘‘I didn't have you worried. You worried yourself.''

‘‘Alright!'' she said sharply. ‘‘Whatever's happened to you, we're just trying to help. We've really gone out on a limb here.'' She glared at him. ‘‘Now. Do you want some- thing to eat or not?''

He shook his head.

‘‘Well, you're going to
have
something to eat, whether you like it or not.''

Out of the corner of her eye she could see a hint of a smile on Gerry's face.

The boy was still stony faced.

She stared at him until he looked back at her. Now his face wasn't quite so set.

‘‘I don't have any money,'' he said very quietly.

She felt herself soften. This must be what it was like having a child: lurching from one emotion to another and all the time susceptible to injury.

‘‘Don't worry,'' She tried to reach back to touch the boy, but he shrank away from her. She withdrew her hand hastily. ‘‘We'll sort it out.''

He wouldn't look at her.

‘‘It'll be okay Jamie. We'll sort it out.''

He shook his head at his reflection in the window.

Gerry squeezed her shoulder . His face was serious but as calm as she'd ever seen it.

‘‘Here we are,'' he said, nodding at a single storey building coming up on their left. It was like a big scout hut with a curved, glassed bit that came out of the side. There was what looked like a fibre glass life-sized model of a black and white cow on the roof. It looked down balefully on the car park. Gerry pulled into a space that faced the cow.

They all looked at the cow. Laurie started to laugh. ‘‘What's that all about?''

‘‘It's a milk bar,'' said Gerry looking slightly hurt. ‘‘It's been here for years.''

‘‘We used to stop here for a milkshake when I was little.''

They both turned to look at the boy.

He coloured. ‘‘Ages ago.''

‘‘I've never been up here before,'' said Laurie. ‘‘Wherever here might actually be.''

‘‘Haven't you?'' asked Gerry. ‘‘We never used to go on holiday really. My dad was too busy.'' Inexplicably, she felt her throat thicken. She had a picture of her mum standing looking out of the kitchen window on to the back garden.

‘‘Must have been awful,'' muttered Jamie.

She looked down at her hands. She felt like telling them about her mum, but there was no point in competing for who had the most miserable parental situation. Besides, clearly he would win – otherwise they wouldn't be here, would they?

At least she was an adult; she had some control over the shape of her life.

‘‘Come on,'' said Gerry. ‘‘Let's get some breakfast, eh?''

Laurie clambered out of the car and stretched. She must have slept in a weird position, because her neck felt as if it had a kink in it. The boy walked over to the side of the car park and spat over the fence into the field next door. Gerry watched him with his hands in his pockets. He pushed his shoulders back and stretched his back.

‘‘Gerry?''

He turned to her and smiled. He looked happy. He walked round the car, still smiling, and hugged her, kissing the top of her head. She let herself relax into his woolly jumper and breathed in his smell.

‘‘Do you think we're going to get into trouble?''

‘‘Don't think about that just now.'' He squeezed her closer. ‘‘Let's just take it a day at a time, eh?''

It was easy to follow Gerry's lead.

‘‘What we all need is some hot food.''

‘‘I agree. What's that saying about armies and empty stomachs?''

‘‘Never a truer word.'' He let go of her and took a step towards the boy who was still looking out over the fields.

‘‘Come on Jamie, let's get out of the cold.''

Gerry ushered them up the steps into the timber built café. Laurie went in first.

The place was straight out of the Sixties. The walls were panelled with wood laminate and there was a curved serving area with glass cases heated with lamps where various food items were laid out for the taking. The formica-topped tables had plastic squirty tomato sauce bottles and glass vinegar bottles on them. There were no other customers. A big clock in the shape of a tractor showed the time as nine am. She took Gerry's wrist and turned it to see the time. It was half past seven.

She pointed out the clock and Gerry glanced at his watch and smiled. ‘‘I'd imagine time's fairly irrelevant here. You two go and get a seat, I'll order.''

Neither Laurie nor Jamie moved.

‘‘Go on,'' he nudged the boy's shoulder. ‘‘I'll be over in a minute.''

‘‘Where would you like to sit Jamie?'' Laurie asked.

He pointed, so she led the way.

‘‘Here?'' she asked standing over the centremost table.

He nodded and pointed to the ceiling. ‘‘We're right under the cow. My mum didn't like sitting here. She said it made her feel ‘udderly uncomfortable'.'' He smiled at her. He had a lovely smile, he was really a very attractive looking boy, when he wasn't scowling.

‘‘Parental jokes, eh?'' She laughed, although her parents weren't ones for jokes generally. She wondered where it had gone wrong for Jamie. Maybe drugs or drink were involved. She wondered if there was a dad on the scene. Probably not, there rarely was these days. She felt some sympathy for the mum. Clearly it would be hard being a single parent. Lonely, too.

Laurie sat down facing the window and Jamie surprised her by taking the seat next to her. He glanced at her then pointed out of the window. The road was empty.

‘‘It's like we're the only ones alive.''

‘‘I know. I always think that. I'm always planning what I'd do in that situation, you know, if there had been a disaster or something, if everyone else was dead and I was the sole survivor.'' She had spoken hurriedly, excitedly and now she looked at Jamie, embarrassed. But he was nodding.

‘‘I make escape plans,'' he said to her.

‘‘Escape plans?''

‘‘I know, it's daft, but sometimes when I'm lying in bed I think about what I'd do if there was a tsunami and the water was rising.'' He was staring at her. ‘‘You know, which window I'd go out of, what I had in my room that would be useful. You know, that sort of thing …'' He trailed off and looked down at the table top.

She reached out and touched his arm. ‘‘No, no, I totally do know. I think about that sort of thing too. Except I think mostly about …'' She paused; she hadn't ever told anyone about this. ‘‘I think mostly about everybody else dying of something like a virus and me being the only one left.''

He was nodding again. ‘‘Yeah, I sort of like that one too. I think about going into supermarkets and getting provisions and building camps and things.''

Gerry approached the table. He was carrying a tray loaded down with mugs and what looked like bacon rolls.

‘‘What are you two talking about?'' He put the tray down on the table. ‘‘I was watching you from the till – looked very interesting.''

‘‘Nothing,'' they said in unison and then laughed.

Gerry raised an eyebrow at Laurie then started to dole out the breakfast. ‘‘This should be enough to keep you going.'' He handed Laurie her tea and roll. ‘‘It'll have to be – it cost a bloody bomb.''

‘‘Oh, sorry, do you want some money?'' She reached into her pocket, knowing there wasn't anything in there. Not again! When this was all sorted out she was going to give Gerry back what she owed.

‘‘No, no.'' He held his hands up. ‘‘Not at all, it's my treat.''

They sat for a few minutes in silence. Laurie felt that the longer they sat, the less she could think of to say. It seemed as if the other two were thinking the same.

Slowly the place started to fill up with other travellers.

She looked at Jamie. ‘‘Looks like we're not the only ones left after all.''

He smiled at her.

‘‘What's that?'' said Gerry. ‘‘The only ones left?''

‘‘On nothing,'' said Laurie, elbowing Jamie in the ribs. It was good to build bonds, wasn't it? She could always explain to Gerry later. But Gerry looked slightly hurt so she put her hand on his forearm. He didn't look up but smiled slightly.

‘‘So,'' she asked, scanning the other customers. No one seemed to be looking at them. ‘‘What's the plan here?''

‘‘Plan?'' asked Gerry.

‘‘Yeah, you know, with Jamie.''