realises we’re not in as bad a state as we thought we were. Until then though, I’d rather get home and off the street.’
Ruth look appalled. ‘This is England for God’s sake! Surely we can look after ourselves for a week without acting like a bunch of savages going mad?’
‘Who says this is going to all be over in a week?’ said Jenny.
The other two looked at her.
‘I’m just saying.’
Paul shook his head. ‘This’ll be over in a few days, once the rioting calms down in the Middle East, and then we’ll look back at our own riots in disgust. And guess what? There’ll be a whole load of voyeuristic CCTV reality programmes showing the thuggish idiots that took part. And hopefully the bastards will be arrested.’
‘And what happens if things don’t calm down in the Middle East? What happens if we continue into a second week, or a third week without oil and regular shipments of food from all over the world?’ said Jenny.
‘Oh, Paul’s right. It’ll sort itself out before then, I’m sure,’ said Ruth.
‘But what if it doesn’t? This is the third day. Already with my own eyes I’ve seen someone killed! What am I going to see on day five? Or day seven? Let alone in two or three weeks?’
‘Calm down,’ said Paul, ‘things have a way of being anti-climactic in this country. Remember the SARS scare, the bird flu scare? There were experts all over the TV telling us how millions would die and the economy would spiral out of control. This’ll pass.’
•
They walked along the motorway until mid-morning, spotting no one except one group of people on the opposite side of the motorway heading north. As they passed each other, there was no exchange of news, just a politely exchanged ‘good morning’.
Shortly after they saw a sign advertising Beauford Motorway Services five miles ahead, and as it turned midday they veered off the motorway on to the slip-road leading up to it.
They were all very thirsty. Paul had a notion that the facilities would most probably be closed up and the staff sent home until this unrest had played itself out. They could help themselves to a few bottles of water and a few sandwiches; even if they did end up being recorded on CCTV. He said he was thirsty and hungry enough to accept the risk of getting a rap on the knuckles and a fine several months from now.
They walked across the car-park, which was empty except for a small area reserved for staff, where a solitary car was parked snugly beside a delivery truck. The service station consisted of a Chevco petrol station, a glass-fronted pavilion with a billboard announcing that inside they’d find a Burger King, a KFC, an amusement arcade, a TQ Sports outlet, a Dillon’s Newsagent and toilets.
Jenny looked at the pavilion, and through the smoky-brown tinted glass she could see movement. There were people inside, looking warily out at them.
‘It’s not empty,’ she said.
‘I know, I see them too,’ Paul replied. ‘Well, I’ve got some money on me. I’ll buy us some water and sandwiches.’
They crossed the car-park, and as they approached the wide revolving glass door at the entrance, a lean man in his mid-fifties, with a receding hairline and small metal-rimmed glasses emerged from the gloom inside. He pushed against a glass panel of the motionless, revolving door, heaving it sluggishly round until he stood outside, in front of them.
He planted his legs firmly apart, straightened up, and produced a child’s cricket bat, which he swung casually from side to side. It looked like his best attempt to appear threatening. His slight, marathon runner’s frame, narrow shoulders, and nerdy shortsleeved office shirt topped with a lawn-green tie and matching green plastic name-tag weren’t helping him.
‘We’re closed,’ he announced curtly, slapping the cricket bat into the palm of one bony hand for effect. ‘We’ve had enough trouble already this morning.’
Jenny noticed some cracks for the first time, scrapes and scuff marks on the thick, reinforced glass at the front of the services pavilion, and scattered across the deserted parking lot; dislodged paving tiles, broken - presumably picked up and dropped - to produce handy fist-sized projectiles. Clearly there had been something going on.
‘Bloody pack of yobs were here last night, trying to break in and help themselves,’ the man continued.
‘Look,’ said Jenny, ‘we’ve been walking since yesterday lunchtime. We’re thirsty and hungry. We’ve got money. We just wanted to buy a bottle or two of water,