Infinity

  We’re ushered inside the church. As we go through the big studded door, a ripple of applause breaks out in the crowd outside. It builds and builds. No cheering, no shouting or whooping, just hundreds of people clapping.

  ‘What’s that for?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s for us,’ Adam says. He’s not uncomfortable with it, he’s smiling. He turns back briefly and waves to the crowd. Then we go inside. We’re not the only ones here. It’s almost like a hospital – the place is full of the very young, the very old and the ill. Half the windows are missing and not all the walls are intact, but it’s a beautiful space. It’s busy here, but there’s an overriding sense of calm.

  We’re taken to a smaller place within the church, a chapel I suppose. People bustle around fetching bedding and blankets, and soon we’ve got a sort of nest, away from everyone else. Someone brings us hot tea and then, even more wonderfully, they leave us alone. No fuss, no bother. The four of us cuddle up under a duvet, Mia still clinging to Adam, the baby in my arms.

  ‘Adam,’ I say. ‘I need to tell you something.’

  ‘And I’ve got so much to tell you,’ he says, ‘I’m almost bursting. I gotta do something first though. I don’t want to, but I’ve got to.’

  He’s nervous now, pressing his lips together, eyes blinking fast.

  ‘What is it?’

  He doesn’t answer, but leans over and tickles the baby’s face, gently teasing her round, peachy cheek. Her face twitches in response and she moves her head against his finger. She’s awake.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, but inside me I know.

  ‘Trying to wake her up. I need to see … I need to see her number. I don’t wanna but I know I got to.’

  He glances up at me, wanting me to encourage him and his face changes as he sees mine. He’s frowning now. I have to tell him.

  ‘She is awake, Adam,’ I say. ‘She just can’t open her eyes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She hasn’t got any eyes. That’s why Saul didn’t take her number. He couldn’t.’

  The frown deepens. He screws up his eyes and I can’t tell what’s going on with him. Anger? Disgust?

  He stares at our baby’s face.

  ‘Adam, don’t hate her. She’s still our daughter. It’s not a bad thing – it saved her life.’

  He won’t look at me now, he’s still staring at her.

  ‘Don’t hate her.’

  Then he runs his thumb gently across the place where her eyes should be. The frown eases away. His face relaxes.

  ‘I’ll never know,’ he murmurs. ‘I won’t know her number.’

  ‘Just like the rest of us,’ I say. ‘Not knowing.’

  ‘Like the rest of you,’ he echoes. ‘I can look at her and I’m the same. I don’t know the end. All I know is we’ve got today.’

  ‘Is that okay? Are you okay with her?’

  ‘Course. Course I am,’ he says. ‘I don’t hate her, Sarah. I could never, never hate her. She’ll have it tough, though, won’t she? It’s a tough old world. But at least she doesn’t have to bear the gifts Saul thought she’d have.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps that’s a blessing. And she’ll grow up loved, Adam. That’s all she needs.’

  ‘I wanna hold her,’ he says. ‘Mia, shall we hold the baby?’

  Mia still hasn’t said a word. She’s stayed in Adam’s arms, curled up, silent. I look at her, wondering what will bring her back to us, and I realise that the black spots in her golden glow are bigger. They’ve stretched out, spreading like stains.

  ‘Mia, I want you. Come here.’

  She pouts and looks at me from the corner of her eye. She unwinds a little and lets Adam sit her down next to me. I put my arm round her little shoulders.

  ‘It’s all right, now, Mia,’ I say. ‘We’re safe.’

  Adam takes the baby from me and holds her close. She snuggles in and they look so content together. I can’t help thinking Adam’s right. England’s a harsh place now. Are we really safe? What on earth does the future hold for us? I shut those thoughts away, kiss Mia’s curly hair and bask in this moment, this peace, this intimacy. Here. Now.

  ‘Adam,’ I say later, ‘we could call her Gemma. Not the same as your mum, but similar, a little tribute. Only if you think it’s okay. We could call her something else if you …’

  ‘Gemma,’ he repeats. ‘Gemma. That’s beautiful.’

  Then he looks at me with tears in his eyes. ‘Thank you Sarah. For everything. For Gemma. For Mia.’

  ‘You don’t need to thank me.’

  ‘Yeah, I do. I haven’t said things in the past and I regret it. Some things need saying. I love you, Sarah.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  Mia’s restless beside me. I look down at her profile. Her lips are moving, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. I lean nearer.

  ‘Don’ leave me,’ she murmurs.

  ‘What’s that, sweetheart?’

  ‘Don’ leave me.’

  I kiss her face and hold her close.

  ‘We won’t leave you. We’ll never leave you again. You’re safe now. Everything’s okay.’

  I rock her gently, singing under my breath. After a few minutes, her breathing has gone heavier, more even. I think she’s falling asleep, but when I peer down at her face, her eyes are wide open. She looks like she’ll never close them again.

  Chapter 50: Adam

  Sarah whispers to me.

  ‘I’m worried about Mia.’

  They’re cuddled up together, but Mia’s not asleep. She staring at nothing, her skin pale, her pupils wide. She looks like a little ghost.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ I say, but they’re empty words. She’s seen things a two-year-old shouldn’t see. She’s done things no one should do. I feel that thing again – a shiver of fear. She’s a little girl now, but she won’t always be little. What’s her life going to be like? How the hell is she going to cope with this? How are we going to cope with her?

  ‘Do you think she knows what she did?’ I ask.

  ‘How can she?’ Sarah says. ‘She’s only two. It must have been instinct. She could see I was in a bad way and did what she could to help me.’

  ‘And Saul?’

  ‘Maybe she thought she was helping Saul too. He was shouting for help, I could hear him.’

  I’d like to think this makes sense – and maybe it does. Mia’s such a generous girl. Her instinct is to help.

  I’d like to think it, because it’s way more comfortable than the alternative. That at some level she knew Saul’s number was bad and she gave it back to him to save her own skin. Is that what really happened? Did she beat him at his own game? The thought of it chills my bones.

  ‘How the hell do we deal with this? A girl who can change her fate? Change other people’s?’

  ‘Maybe there are two of us,’ Sarah says quietly. ‘I’ve changed twice now.’

  ‘Shit. Would you … could you …?’

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like something I did. It was like something that was done to me. I don’t know if I could.’

  ‘What did it feel like?’

  She breathes out, like she’s forcing all the air out of her lungs – a long breath, almost a sigh.

  ‘I only realised what was going on just before it happened. I feel so stupid, as if I’ve been going round with my eyes closed. The baby was no good to him. He dumped her and came after me. He was desperate then. He needed a new number and so he took mine. He got close to me, really close. I tried to look away but he forced my eye open and it felt like he put a hot wire into my soul. It was painful, physically painful. He was taking something from me, ripping it out of me. He was taking my life away.’

  ‘Sarah—’

  ‘I just felt what I was losing. All my energy, my will to live – he took it. And in that last second I saw his number, felt it. 1622029.’ She closes her eyes, screws them tight shut and when she opens them again her pupils are wide and there’s shock and fear in them. ‘I saw
his death date, Adam, the number he was giving to me. I saw Mia’s too, when she gave it to me. I understand now, what you see every day.’

  She twists around and puts her hand up to my cheek and there’s something so tender about it. It’s not pity – she knows how I feel now. She’s felt it too.

  ‘He took my life away, but Mia gave it back. She gave me her life, her number. She saved me, Adam.’

  Mia’s still awake, her blond curls framing her face, her eyes blue and wide. She looks like an angel. And that’s what she is. She was Sarah’s guardian angel and she was Saul’s angel of death.

  ‘We have to be so careful with her,’ I say. ‘Bring her up right, whatever right is. If only Mum was alive, or Nan. If only we had some help.’

  Sarah puts her finger to my lips.

  ‘If only’s no good. It’s no good, Adam. Your mum and your nan are here anyway. You and me, Mia and Gemma, we carry them around with us. They’re part of us. They’re in our hearts and minds and they always will be.’

  ‘It’s not the same …’

  ‘No, it’s not the same, but it’s what we’ve got. When we’re stuck, when this all gets too much, we need to look inside. The answers will be there.’

  She’s speaking from the heart. She believes this. We can cope. We can do what we need to do. And listening to her, I’m starting to believe it too.

  I leave Sarah tucked up in her nest with the kids. I feel like my eyes are open, really open. The last time I felt like this was just before the Chaos. I knew back then I had to try and help people, get them out of London. But since then I been sticking my head in the sand, denying who I am, hoping the world would leave me alone. I can’t do that no more. I’m not sure what I can do, but I know where to start. I gotta find Daniel.

  I walk through the abbey and out into the yard. People notice me. Some of them try to shake my hand as I pass. I don’t blank them or pretend I haven’t noticed. I don’t look at the floor. When they call out to me, I stop, take the hand that’s offered, look them in the eye. I spend a moment with them, whatever their number’s telling me.

  ‘Where are you going?’ someone asks me.

  ‘I’m heading back to the bunker,’ I say. ‘I need to find my mate, the one who rescued me.’

  People gather round. I recognise some of them from the graveyard. They want to come too. And instead of shrugging them off, I accept their help. So we walk together through the streets, past the heaps of rubble and tents and looted shops, and up towards the hill. Overhead, a drone tracks our progress.

  ‘Did you know about the bunker?’ I ask.

  ‘We knew. It was a badly-kept secret. That’s where half our supplies come from. Black market. And when people disappeared, the rumour is that’s where they were taken.’

  ‘Did people often disappear?’

  ‘If they started organising things, making a fuss, making trouble. If they were different. They were picked out. One minute they were there, the next they weren’t.’

  The shouts in the night, the blood streaked on the walls. How many, I wonder?

  ‘Look!’

  We’re at the bottom of the grassy slope now and there are people coming down the hill towards us. A straggly line of the walking wounded. One of the group with me gives a shout of recognition and starts running up the hill. When he reaches his man, they fling their arms round each other, holding tight without a word before they break into back-slapping and excited conversation.

  ‘The disappeared are coming back,’ I say.

  I scan the faces coming towards me. Many are bruised or cut. Some people are limping, walking in twos or threes, supporting each other. Some are slow, confused. Others are wildly happy, birds set free from their cage. All of them are met with kind words and helping hands and shown the way to the abbey.

  The steady stream of refugees keeps on coming and I realise there’s no way I’ll be able to get into the bunker. Not until everyone who wants to has got out. All I can do is wait, so I walk up to the exit in the brambles and I join the welcoming committee, shaking hands, directing people down the hill. The last one out is Daniel.

  His face lights up when he sees me.

  ‘Adam, you’ve got to move away. We’re in at the main entrance – we’re going for the communications centre. It’ll go up any minute now. You’ve got to move away. Move away!’ he shouts to anyone within earshot.

  People near us start running and we set off too. We’ve only gone twenty metres or so when there’s a massive explosion. Everyone on the hill drops to the ground as dust and bits of rock shoot out of the tunnel over our heads. Daniel and I hit the deck. I curl up and tuck my head in as debris starts raining down. There’s a crash a couple of metres away from us. I wince, try to make myself smaller, and wait for the noise to subside.

  When I look up there’s a drone lying on the ground next to us.

  ‘They got it,’ Daniel says, uncurling too. ‘They blew up command control. No more drones, no scanners, nothing to keep track of us.’

  We sit up. Below us, the line of people is picking itself up. As people look back up the hill and start to realise what’s happened, they high-five each other, start whooping and hollering. I help Daniel onto his feet.

  ‘Where’s Sarah?’ he says. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s fine. She had the baby, a little girl.’

  He breaks into a broad grin.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he says. ‘And Saul, what happened to him?’

  ‘He’s gone. He …’ I’m struggling to choose my words. ‘He had a nasty accident.’

  Daniel’s grin gets broader and then he tips his head back and lets out a ‘Yee-hawww!’ his voice joining the weird and wonderful chorus on the hill. I wait for him to draw breath.

  ‘I gotta ask you, are Marty and Luke really okay? I know what you said to Sarah, but …’

  He’s still grinning.

  ‘Yeah, mate, they’re fine. I’ll get Carrie to bring them here.’

  ‘Sooner the better.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Are you staying here?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s as good a place as any,’ he says. ‘We’ve got rid of the cancer, it’s time to help the body to heal. We can start here.’

  ‘I want to help,’ I say.

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

  ‘Not the way they wanted. I don’t want to choose who to help and who to leave. I’m sick of thinking about death. I want to help everyone. I want to help people to live.’

  He claps his good arm round my shoulders and we start walking towards the city.

  Chapter 51: Sarah

  Gemma’s crying. She doesn’t need changing. She doesn’t want to feed. She jerks her head from side to side, rejecting my attempts to soothe her. Her round face is scarlet.

  Adam’s been away for a while now.

  If he was here, perhaps he could calm her down – I don’t seem to be able to help her. I wriggle out of our nest and walk round the chapel. Mia stays put. She’s staring ahead blankly, lips moving. The stains on her aura are spreading. I don’t see them changing, only notice the difference when I look away and look back.

  I bounce Gemma in my arms. My frustration and panic are there in the way I’m moving. I try talking to her gently, and singing, but her cries drown out my voice. I should be able to do this. I coped with Mia on my own, didn’t I? I’m sweating and uncomfortable. The day’s taking its toll now.

  ‘She’s noisy, isn’t she?’ I say to Mia. She doesn’t react. Her aura is a mottled mess of gold and black.

  Simon pops his head around the archway.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘She’s just crying.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘You can try.’

  He takes Gemma from me. I stand and watch, scraping my damp hair off my forehead. She hasn’t even noticed the change. Her face is screwed up, red, angry.

  ‘What about her sister?’

  ‘No, don’t. She’s … she?
??s still in shock.’

  ‘Maybe this will help.’

  ‘No, really. Leave her. A crying little sister’s no fun to hold. Better to wait until she’s quiet.’

  ‘Of course …’ He hands Gemma back to me. ‘I’ll get Alona. She’s good with newborns.’

  I resume my pacing, watching Mia at the same time. She’s stuck somewhere. I’m sure she’s not really here. Her lips are moving again, but soundlessly, mumbling something only she can hear. Wherever she is, it’s a bad place. I desperately want, I need, to bring her back.

  ‘Mia,’ I say. ‘Will you hold her?’

  She doesn’t seem to have heard.

  I kneel down next to her.

  ‘Mia,’ I say again, ‘do you want to hold your sister?’

  Her eyes flick to mine. The aura around her head is inky black. A black halo. Her pupils are huge, like they contain a world of pain. And suddenly, I’m really scared. There’s something wrong with her. Very, very wrong.

  ‘Hold your hands out,’ I say, firmly.

  She obeys me, but like a robot.

  I gently place Gemma in Mia’s arms, putting my hands underneath, cradling them both.

  This time, Gemma notices the change. She’s still crying, but she turns her face towards her sister. Mia stares at her, but not with the vacant stare that’s been rattling me – she’s looking, examining her sister’s face.

  ‘Baby wake up,’ she says.

  ‘She is awake, Mia. She hasn’t got eyes like you and me. She’s got sleepy eyes. She can hear you, though. You can talk to her.’

  ‘Hello, baby,’ Mia says.

  Gemma stops crying. Mia pokes at her face.

  ‘No, not like that, Mia. Give her your finger to hold. Here …’

  I move Mia’s hand so that it makes contact with Gemma’s little fist. The moment the two touch, Gemma unwinds her fingers and grips onto Mia’s. Mia looks up at me and smiles.