beneath her, was being filled with the goodies they’d found on the shore run.
Walter nodded silently. She could see he was still shaken by what had happened. She decided to direct his mind elsewhere. ‘So, more importantly, how did your shopping run go?’
‘Oh . . . yes, we got most of what was on the list,’ he smiled, ‘and a few little extras for the party.’
Jenny smiled wearily. Good.
Life was usually made a little easier after a shore run. Most people got something they’d requested and were less likely to bitch and grumble for the next few days at least. And the celebration party . . . well, that couldn’t come soon enough.
They were soon to mark the very first anniversary of getting the generator up and running; Leona’s suggestion - a good one, too. The two or three hours of light every evening, afforded by the noisy chugging thing, made all the difference to their lives. More than a small luxury, it was a significant step up from merely managing to survive. It was a comfort; a reminder of better times; a statement of progress; steady light across the decks and walkways after dark.
Absolutely worth celebrating that.
Apart from anything else, the party would be a boost for their morale - hopefully shut the whingers and malcontents up for a while.
‘Come on, Walter, what extras did you manage to rustle up?’
Walter tapped his ruddy nose and managed a thin smile. ‘Just a few nice things.’
The net was full enough for the first load and Nathan flashed a thumbs-up to the people manning the davit. They worked the manual winch and the laden net swung up off the deck with the creaking of polyvinyl cables and the clinking of chains. As it slowly rose away from the rising and falling boat, Jacob, Nathan and the others worked in practised unison, bringing boxes of supplies from below deck and stacking them in the cockpit ready to fill the empty net again. Mostly medicines. But also items of clothing, woollen jumpers, waterproofs, thick socks and thermal underwear. She spotted a basket full of paperback novels and glossy magazines, cellophane-wrapped packs of cook-in-sauce tins, catering-size bags of salt and sugar and flour . . . amazing how, even now, if one knew where to look, what things could be foraged from the dark corners of warehouses.
Hannah clattered on noisy clogs through the crowd and found them, dragging Leona by the hand after her.
‘Uncle Walter, did you find me anything?’
He hunkered down to her level and winked at her. ‘Oh, let’s just see.’ He reached into the old leather bag slung over his shoulder, made a show of rummaging around inside. ‘I’m sure I must have something in here for you.’ Finally, with a little theatrical flourish, he pulled out a transparent plastic case containing what looked like a row of water-colour tabs and a paintbrush.
‘Little Miss Britney make-up set,’ he said handing it to her.
Her little caterpillar eyebrows shot up to form a double arch of surprise. ‘Wow!’ She threw an arm around his shoulders and planted a wet kiss on his rough cheek. Walter’s face flushed crimson.
‘Bit young for grooming, isn’t she?’ said a woman stepping past - Alice Harton, a miserable-faced bitch who seemed to make a life’s work out of mean-spirited put-downs and caustic remarks.
Walter looked up and shrugged awkwardly. ‘Well . . . I saw it . . . just thought she’d like it.’
‘It’s lovely!’ cooed Hannah brightly.
‘There, see?’ said Leona, handing the woman a dry now-why-don’tyou-piss-off smile. Alice Harton brushed on past them, shaking her head disapprovingly as she spoke in hushed tones and backward glances to the women with her.
Jenny squeezed his round shoulder affectionately as he slowly stood up. ‘Don’t listen to that silly cow, Walter. I don’t know what I’d do . . . what any of us would do without you.’
He smiled at her and down at Hannah. ‘I’m here for you, Jenny,’ he uttered.
‘And I got this for you, Hannah,’ said Jacob.
He produced a Playmobil Princess and Pony set from his sack. It was still in its cardboard and plastic packaging; pristine and not sun-faded. He’d found it at the back of a children’s shop on the high street. Her eyes instantly lit up, as much at the sight of the beautiful pink cardboard presentation box and the unscuffed plastic window than at the two small plastic play figures she could see imprisoned inside.
‘Thank you, Jake,’ she gushed, twining her short arms around his