‘And all things nice’
They didn’t need honesty, loyalty or men to become successful – but then the world ended.
‘What a journey!’
Claire, Laura and Sheila survived the post-oil collapse. Most didn’t. Before that, they climbed the corporate ladder to success and all its spoils. Sheila mentored Laura, who mentored Claire.
To be honest, Claire rather disappointed them. They tried to teach her ruthlessness and cunning, but she remained frustratingly naïve and idealistic.
All three are barely surviving, scavenging from dwindling food and water supplies. Claire is dreaming of rescue by the Army, the Government, anyone who’ll put things back together again and return them to their comfortable lives.
Then Claire discovers there’s a place they can escape to, where they can not only survive but build a real future. But that would require a dangerous journey across many miles of unfamiliar open country. Territory that’s become wild and most certainly not comfortable or safe anymore.
They would have to pull together as a team, have to depend on each other when one is weak or hurt. Claire knows they’ll succeed. After all, aren’t they loyal, true friends?
They set off. Each day, darker and more dangerous trials reveal Claire’s companions’ true colours. She realises Laura and Sheila aren’t capable of leading them anywhere but disaster. And turning back became impossible days ago. If sweet and naïve Claire doesn’t dig down deep to find if there’s any steel inside her, they are finished.
And all things nice by Martin Deakin. Chapter One teaser.
“Quick, he’s coming in. For goodness’ sake move quietly.” Claire hissed.
Thirty seconds later they were in position. There was noise from the kitchen downstairs for a minute, cupboards banging shut and the drawers already lying discarded and empty on the floor picked up and shaken again. Boots thumped up the stairs. Claire watched from underneath the bed as the man opened the bedroom door, immediately gagged and put his hand over his mouth. He was thin, as they all were nowadays, wearing a Barbour jacket and many days growth of beard. Hiding her face behind the duvet carefully arranged to hang almost to the floor, she watched the man take a deep breath and walk to the bed. Now she could only see his scratched and dirty hiking boots but she knew he’d be looking down at Sheila and Laura playing dead in the bed, their faces hidden by their hair. So long as the smell drove him away quickly, he wouldn’t investigate further, wouldn’t notice their breathing.
Seconds passed until he spun on his heel and retreated to the door with a curse. Claire carefully released her held breath and when she heard boots descending, carefully rolled out and went to the window, looking through the chink in the net curtain they’d made weeks before with two pins stuck in the carpet. The door slammed. The man walked out onto the street into the utter silence and stillness, past the cars abandoned in the road, and the scores of decomposing bodies.
Claire stood up and turned to the bed.
“It’s alright, he’s gone.” Gasps of relief escaped from the two other women who threw off the bedclothes and climbed out. Revealed by the uncovered bed were packets and tins of food, a camping stove and pots and pans.
“Bag that blasted cat back up again, for heaven’s sake,” Sheila told Claire.
Claire moved to the bed and realised she was still holding a carving knife. She knelt down and placed it under the bed, retrieving a thick plastic bag containing a long dead, rotting body of a cat. She sealed the bag with a twist tie, then placed it in a small black dustbin and clipped the locking handles shut.
“That’s the third time this week,” Sheila said, walking to the window and carefully opening it wide. “Our luck is going to run out. Maybe not this week or next, but sooner or later. One of them is going to catch us.”
“Yeah, and when he does, Claire will take care of him with her knife,” Laura said. “Right Claire?”
Claire looked at the floor doubtfully and said nothing.
“Well, won’t you?”
“Surely the Government will get the army organised soon and rescue us,” Claire said, tremulous. “Get the electricity and water going again,”
“You’re fooling yourself girl, nobody’s coming,” Laura sneered. “The Army, the Police, the Government. Whoever isn’t already dead is looking after themselves. Not looking around to see who they can help. Nobody’s going to share what they’ve got with strangers. We’re on our own.”
“Sheila?” Claire said desperately. “You don’t think that do you?”
“I’m not pinning my hopes on the Government ever coming back,” Sheila answered. “And even if they were to, they wouldn’t care about us any more than they did before. Remember? Lying about the oil and letting the executives buy their silence so they could live in luxury.”
“But in their last statement,” Claire said, her voice high and trembling. “They said ‘We are near a solution. Do not panic. Stay in your homes. Help is on the way.”
“Pah,” spat both the women.
“Propaganda, you dope.” Laura snapped. “Normal service will soon be resumed. We are committed to the highest standard of public accountability. There is no truth in the allegations. We are confident our client’s reputation will soon be exonerated. Didn’t you ever release PR bullshit like that? It was your job after all.”
Claire looked wounded.
“Of course not,” she said, affronted. “I released the facts. The directors would tell me what our clients were actually doing. Then I’d give explanations for the false media allegations.”
Laura did a double take.
“Yes, you had to do all that, but obviously you knew it was lies and spin.”
Claire looked at her open mouthed.
“But that would mean the directors were lying to me.” Her eyes drifted up to the right, then she shook her head firmly. “No, they would never have done that.” She continued, almost to herself. “At my interview, they said I had the highest professional standards they’d ever seen. And qualifications too, I think they said.” Claire set her chin stiffly. “I know they wouldn’t have lied to me because Mr. Edwards said, when he offered me the job, the directors could see they could never deceive me. That meant they would have to always be scrupulously honest with me. And consequently, that I could always be confident of my press statements.”
Laura and Sheila exchanged glances.
“I worked hard for those papers you know. While the other students were going out partying, chasing men, I was studying hard. I earned the directors’ confidence. I earned it fair and square. I studied all the essential texts and then some. And that’s how I know the Corporate communications role through and through.”
“You can’t be serious Claire,” Laura began.
“She is, Laura, deadly serious.” Sheila corrected.
“There’s no such thing as fair and square, Claire,” Laura said, allowing herself a little smile at the rhyme. “It’s all a con. Your job and Sheila’s, and definitely mine, you have to trick people, tell them sweet little lies, and they do it back to us.”
She looked closely at Claire, checking her reaction.
“And that goes double for the Government. You had to be a black belt in lying to get one of their PR jobs.”
“But why would the Government lie to us?” Claire’s voice had sped up. “What could they possibly get out of it?”
“Who knows why? What difference does it make?” Sheila said irascibly. “Perhaps they wanted clear roads to get to their bunkers. Perhaps the PR woman made it up herself. Perhaps lying was already a habit, second nature to them. Doesn’t matter.”
“Believe what you want,” Claire said with resolution. “You’ll see I was right when the troops drive down in a lorry filled with food and water.”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Until then, we’ll have to get it ourselves. Get those water jugs. Which house are we up to now?”
“I can’t remember,” Laura said. “The one with the black Mercedes?”
“No, that’s emptied,” Claire remembered with a touch of pride. “We’re up to number 20.”