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all right?'

For a fraction of a second I thought that Clare was about to become even more annoyed and defensive than she already had been. But instead she managed a smile and relaxed. She reached across and squeezed my hand.

'I'm fine,' she sighed. 'I'm sorry I'm such a miserable bitch, it's just that...'

'You don't have to explain,' I interrupted. 'As long as you're okay, that's all that matters.'

'I'm okay.'

Penny thumped into the room, leaving a trail of mud and dirt on the carpet behind her. Clare's face fell and, sensing that she was about to explode, I decided to make a move.

'I'm off,' I said, walking towards the front door. 'I'll see you both soon.'

'Okay,' Clare said as she followed me out. 'Thanks for what you've done today. I really appreciate it.'

'It's fine. And if you need anything else...'

'I'll call you.'

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

Chapter 8

The Media

Up until today I had always assumed that what the media didn't know, they made up. If that really was the case, then today every television, radio and newspaper company must have had access to every last known fact about the alien arrival. There wasn't a single paper that hadn't printed dozens of pictures of the aliens and their ship by Sunday afternoon. Every television station continued to devote much of their programming to covering the unexpected arrival. Today all our questions were answered. For once no-one seemed to be hiding anything. The eyes of the world were focussed on Thatcham.

I'd expected to hear stories about three-eyed monsters, about the aliens eating cats or people or each other, or that the pilot of their ship had turned out to be Elvis. But there was nothing. In the hundreds of articles to be read, web-sites to be hit, sound-bites to be heard and television reports to be watched there didn't seem to be anything that didn't sound like the complete, direct, unbiased and unequivocal truth. From the broadsheets to the tabloids, the cheap talk-shows to Prime Minister's question time, everyone dealt with the subject of the alien's arrival in a cool, calm and collected manner. Sensationalism was put to one side and replaced, to my complete and utter amazement, with honesty, acceptance and understanding.

It became harder not to learn facts about the aliens than to learn. There didn't seem to be any barriers to our knowledge - no hurdles to overcome before the truth was obtained. For once all reporting was undertaken without bias or unnecessary emotion. Silently, and without anyone noticing, the fantasy of science-fiction had become the reality of science-fact.

The streets of Thatcham were heaving with reporters, journalists, anchormen and women and correspondents. Every day the village was crammed with thousands upon thousands of unfamiliar but good-natured people, each of them clamouring to get closer to the centre of it all - to get closer to the aliens.

A month ago all of this would have seemed laughably implausible and unbelievable. Today, though, it's accepted. There's no debate and no question. The aliens are here and things are never going to be the same again.

Everyone tells me that's a good thing.

Chapter 9

By the following Wednesday morning much of the initial novelty, trepidation, excitement and uncertainty surrounding the arrival of the aliens had disappeared. With a startling rapidity that I would never have predicted, daily life for the vast majority of the people living on the surface of our planet returned to its familiar humdrum pace. The relentless monotony and tedium about which most people complained (but which most people also secretly clung to) was back.

At some ridiculously early hour (I think it was somewhere between half-seven and half-eight that morning) I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of James' beaten-up and rattling old car, being driven at speed along the rough dirt track which connected Porter Farm to the main Portland Road and, therefore, to the rest of the world. Porter Farm was a little secluded family business nestled deep within the hills just a few miles outside Thatcham. Once or twice a week I would spend some time there helping out Joe Porter who had been a close friend of Dad's for many years. I was relying on a lift because today, for some inexplicable reason, I had allowed Robert to borrow my car. Christ alone knows why I let him get away with it. I could never understand why he hadn't bought his own car and why he stayed at my house when we'd both inherited exactly the same from Mum and Dad's