turned her hard eyes on Valérie. ‘You’re still here on probation, Mr Latoc. Do you understand?’
For a moment she considered whether to revoke his probation right here, right now. But then realised Latoc would probably simply refuse. And then he’d have to be forcibly evicted. She wondered how many people would rally round him. Thirty? Forty? And other than Walter armed with a gun, who would rally on her side? A confrontation might be exactly what he’s after; an opportunity to portray her as some sort of out-of-touch tyrant. An opportunity to discuss whether the time had come for someone else to lead them.
A stern warning for now, then. I need to get up and about and see how far he’s got his little hooks into the people.
‘I am seriously considering asking you to leave, Mr Latoc. If this continues, then I’m going to be forced to do that. It’s one of the few rules we have, and you’re breaking it. Do you understand?’
‘Time is running out,’ he replied. ‘Do you know right now God is judging this place?’
‘Please leave now!’ she barked, pointing to the door.
They turned and stepped away obediently, Martha glanced back over her shoulder at her as she left. It wasn’t defiance or anger on her face, just sadness and, perhaps, pity.
As Jenny listened to the soft sound of their feet retreating down the passageway towards the stairwell, she realised that she’d achieved nothing more than to harden the man’s resolve. She needed to get herself back on her feet, and do that quickly. To talk with Tami and Walter and the one or two others she trusted. In fact, she’d have counted Martha amongst them if she hadn’t turned up alongside Valérie Latoc.
This isn’t good.
Chapter 37
10 years AC
M25 Motorway, London
The motorway took them clockwise around London in a south-easterly direction. They cruised along the wide, empty motorway, all eyes cast to their right examining the distant grey urban skyline for any signs of life.
On the approach to each slip road they’d become accustomed to the familiar pattern of a build-up of abandoned vehicles, trailing back down the exit run and out onto the motorway clogging all three lanes. Each time their progress was entirely blocked they were forced to unload the trailer and lift it over the central barrier between them and proceed along the oncoming lanes until they too, became impassable, then it was back over to the other side again. It seemed like every vehicle in London had ended up becoming ensnared on this motorway, caught bumper to bumper at every exit point.
Finally they came off at a junction that would take them into the city and, eventually, down to the Thames. There had been a frustrating half an hour trying to ease the trailer through a logjam of vehicles and around a barricade; once more having to unload the trailer, lift it over and repack it. But since then the ride had been almost effortless; the gentle coasting whirr of their bicycle wheels along the empty road, the occasional clatter of chains shifting gear and catching, the crackle of glass granules beneath their tyres and the rustle of dried leaves wind-borne and stirring.
And every now and then, when she decided it was her turn with the iPod, she would get utterly lost in the soundtrack of her younger, happier days.
She grinned as she cycled; felt almost good - the music made the past feel tangible. For some reason it made some sort of a future feel almost possible. She began to ask herself what she was going to do if they really did see lights; whether she’d still want to part with the boys and head home.
Sunlight shone into her eyes, finding gaps through the thin veil of clouds; not too hot as they pedalled, but still T-shirt-warm when they occasionally stopped to catch their breath.
By early afternoon they took the next exit which, like all the others, was plugged with abandoned vehicles, on to another A-road heading west, roughly parallel to the Thames ten miles further south of them, into central London.
They soon discovered, though, that progress from this point on wasn’t going to be quite so easy. Although the road wasn’t so blocked that they needed to dismount and negotiate their trailer over or around any obstacles, there were enough cars and trucks left on the hard shoulder or skewed across one lane or another that it was a relentless weaving slalom for them.
By four in the afternoon, they were