Chapter 12

West Drayton, London. September, the same year.

“Have you seen the Saunders recently?” John Avison asked his wife, Gayle.

Gayle looked up from her magazine. “No. Should I?”

John shook his head, slowly, a puzzled look upon his face. “I’m not sure. They were having that big party last week, and I don’t remember seeing any of them since.”

Gayle shrugged, losing interest. “We don’t exactly live in each other’s pockets you know.”

John shook his head. “No, but we normally see or hear something of them. The two younger ones are always making a bit of a racket.”

Gayle, who hated the music that the two Saunder boys played, just shrugged. “Good,” she muttered. She didn’t particularly like Nadeen Saunder. She was sure Nadeen looked down upon her just because she, Gayle, didn’t work in an office, but just part time in a large factory packing biscuits. So Nadeen had a law degree? That didn’t make her special, she wasn’t actually a lawyer or solicitor, she was ‘only’ a legal secretary. Gayle thought Nadeen stuck up, and believed that the younger woman looked down on her.

“I’m worried,” John continued, not noticing Gayle’s reaction.

“Why?” Gayle muttered, irritated. She was trying to read an important magazine article: one of the actresses from Coronation Street was having an affair, apparently, and Gayle needed to know about it.

“What if there’s been an accident or something? Both their cars are outside so they can’t be at work.”

“Huh,” muttered Gayle. That was another thing. So both Nadeen and Mike had full time jobs? Well she didn’t, she didn’t want a full time job. Gayle liked that, by working less than ten hours a week, she could still get money off the state, but because she was working that one day a week, the job centre didn’t push her to find more work. It was a win-win situation as far as Gayle was concerned. She would have to work over thirty hours a week to get the same amount of money, and Gayle really didn’t see why she should do that.

It also irritated Gayle that John refused to do the same thing. The last time she’d tried to persuade him to come and work in the factory for a peanut wage, they’d had a blazing row. “I’m a programmer,” he had told her angrily. “I want to be a programmer. I like being a programmer. I love my job.”

“Well it doesn’t pay. Being a programmer for that blasted charity doesn’t pay you what you’d get on the dole.” Because the Job Centre, and the DWP, saw it as full time work - more than sixteen hours a week, even if voluntary, unpaid work, he did not get a penny from the state.

“I hate being on the dole. If I can avoid it I won’t go on the dole.”

“Well you’re a fuckin’ dick. They’re takin’ advantage of you. The government will give us money to not work, so you go and work and get nothing?”

That had been a month ago, and Gayle still hadn’t totally forgiven him. Okay, they got quite a lot from the charity, in a way more than when he was on the dole, but it wasn’t money, and without his dole money Gayle had had to give up her weekly bingo sessions. It had hurt her social standing with her friends, and Gayle could not forgive that.

“Look,” John said, “I’m gonna go over there. Just to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Just leave them alone,” she said acidly. “If they need help, I’m quite sure they’ll ask.” ‘Someone else’, she added in her thoughts.

“Mike normally asks me to water his greenhouse when they go away, but he hasn’t this time, and I noticed all his lettuces are dying. At the very least I need to go sort that out.”

Gayle just buried herself in her magazine, her mouth tightening itself in her anger.

John, noticing his wife’s reaction, just shook his head crossly and left the room.

Crossing into their neighbour’s garden, John started by watering the vegetables in the greenhouse. The tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and chillies were all ready for picking. When he looked around the rest of the garden, he saw that a lot of the rest were ready for pulling also. Grabbing a garden fork he began by starting to lift the onions, sitting them on top of the soil to dry.

Twenty minutes later, a large bag of slightly overripe broad beans and peas in one hand, he approached Mike Saunder’s back door. It was locked.

John looked at the vegetables in his hand. In a way they had been an excuse to go in and check, but the door was locked. He wasn’t totally surprised, but now he was uncertain what to do next.

There was a freezer in one of the outside sheds, so John found room in it to squeeze the vegetables he’d picked. There was a notepad hanging beside it. Tearing off a sheet of paper he quickly scribbled a note, explaining to Mike what he’d done.

As he approached the front door to put the scribbled note through the letter box, he was accosted by someone coming up the drive.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

“I’m John. I live next door,” John waved in the general direction of his house. “Who are you please?”

“I’m Nadeen’s brother. Why are you here?”

John quickly explained his mission, finishing off by showing the young man his note. “Where are Mike and Nadeen? What’s happened?”

The young man paused and looked at Mike for a moment.

“Look. You’d better come in for a few moments. My name’s Selwyn by the way.”

Selwyn took Mike through into the house, where it was obvious that the party ten days earlier still hadn’t been cleared away.

“Oh hell,” gasped Mike. “What’s happened?”

“They were part of a pre-pack. They’ve been collected.”

“A what? Collected what?”

Selwyn sighed.

“Nadeen and Mike had CAP scores of 6.9 and 7.2. They arranged with the Confederacy to take them, their kids, and a large number of other people. It was all pre-arranged, but there was a cock-up and I couldn’t get here in time, so I got left behind. Now I’m trying to arrange my own pre-pack, and in the meantime tidy this place up so that the authorities don’t find out too soon what’s happened.”

John just looked at Selwyn, his mouth open. “That’s what the party was for?”

“Uh huh. I got stuck in traffic.”

“Oh no,” John muttered automatically. “They never mentioned it. Not once.”

Selwyn shook his head. “Far too dangerous. The government has banned the Confederacy from operating here, so they have to do it secretly. Anyone caught promoting the Confederacy is arrested by the Safety Patrol. If they’re lucky they get a good beating up. If they’re unlucky...” he left the sentence unfinished, but John knew what he was saying.

“I’d have liked to go too,” John muttered softly, more to himself. He looked at Selwyn. “If you really are arranging a pre-pack, would you be prepared to consider me?”

Selwyn looked at him. “Mike wanted to ask you as a fellow gardener, but both he and Nadeen are worried about your wife. What would she say?”

“I heard that being collected by the Confederacy is a quickie divorce. Is that true?”

Selwyn nodded slowly. “Uh huh.”

“In that case sign me up.” The bitterness in John’s voice came across loud and clear to Selwyn.

“Do you have a CAP score?”

John nodded. “6.5”

“So you’re eligible, just, to go in your own right.”

“Yes. Gayle got a 4 dead. I won’t take her, and I think she knows it.”

“Do you have kids?”

“Gayle never truly wanted them. She was too busy partying to be bothered. She only wanted them when she found out that the state would pay her child allowance. And as the mother it would go direct to her. She would just use it to play bingo.”

Selwyn frowned. “Is she an Earth First supporter?”

“Yeah. If she can’t go, then no-one else should. She lost her looks more than ten year ago and... , “ John trailed off, not willing to air his dirty laundry in public.

Selwyn nodded sympathetically. “You are eligible for two concubines. Do you have anyone in mind?”

John shook his head. “Ever since Lester banned collections in the UK, I stopped thinking about it.”

“Uh huh. Well Lester was only Thorn’s lackey. Everyone knows that now, not that it does us much good.”

“Don’t you like Thorn?” asked John, surprised.

“No. I think Conway was ill advised. I think he did the wrong things for the right reason. He wasn’t a bad man, just poorly advised. Lester was a foolish idiot. A weak idiot at that. I can’t decide whether he was bad and nasty, or whether he was just an idiot. Thorn is nasty. I would be inclined to say evil, but I have no certain evidence of that.”

John frowned. He’d voted for Neil Conway, because Conway was doing exactly what he, John, felt should be being done. “I didn’t like Peter Lester, but fortunately he wasn’t PM long enough to worry about. I don’t dislike Graham Thorn. So far he seems to be generally doing the right thing.”

“Not in the slightest. Not even close,” Selwyn said tightly.

“Well at least he’s banned replicators, and we’re not in a war, so reducing the military strength to save money seems to me to be a good idea.”

“There’s reducing, and there’s gutting. Plus, we need to be increasing, not decreasing.”

“Why? To fight whom? The Israelis took care of most of the Arabs; the Russkies and the Chinks are both too far away to worry about, and don’t seem to be bothering us anyway. The Yanks and the Europeans aren’t going to attack us. That is one area I disagree with him on; they’re not dangerous. Not sure we should have withdrawn from the EU, but I’m also not sure we’re actually any worse off for doing so.”

Selwyn shook his head disparagingly. “None of them are important. We shouldn’t have pulled out of the EU, but as you say, so far we’re not really any worse off, but no way are we as well off as they claimed we would be. No. We need the army and the air force because of these aliens. The Swarm they’re called. Or Sa’arm actually, I think.”

John frowned. He wanted to believe in the Confederacy, but had never truly been certain in his own mind what to believe. “Do you believe in them? Even Conway didn’t believe in them.”

“Actually Conway did. It’s Thorn who doesn’t. But he’s a racist, xenophobic, bigot and used all the immediate anti-Confederacy feeling after the palace extraction to blame Blacks, Jews, Yanks, Poles, Arabs and anyone else he could think of for all the woes of the world. He genuinely believes that the Swarm is all a plot by Jews and blacks to do god knows what. Conway sort of approved of the palace extraction in theory; he just felt it was done in the wrong way. He too jumped on the bandwagon. Actually he led the bandwagon, but stupidly he led it the wrong way.”

“So how do you know that the Confederacy and these aliens are real anyway?”

“Things like the replicators for a start. And the teleporters. And the protection screens that the Confederacy use to protect themselves when they do a collection.”

“But 3D printers have been around for ages now.”

Selwyn smiled. “And they’re pretty good. But even they cannot create food that can be eaten, or create highly complex multi-material products.” He shook his head. “And I’ve seen what their medical pods can do. Plus, if you have a real good telescope and know where to look, you can even see some of their ships in low earth orbit. You can even see some of them with the naked eye, but you just see a blob of light.”

John nodded. “I always wanted to believe in them,” he said softly. “I’m glad they’re real. But you know, loads of people believe the Truth and Freedom party.”

“I know,” Selwyn said sadly. “Look. If you’re sure, you need to try and find a couple of people to take as your concubines.”

“I don’t know I could. Not easily. Not with the way Gayle is.”

“Dunno whether I can help. But look. You mustn’t tell your wife. If anything, you must make her believe you disapprove. Actually,” Selwyn paused as a thought came to him. “Look. Take a load of the garden veg, whatever you fancy. Just leave me a load. If you have to tell her anything, tell her you’ve found out they’ve gone, so you’ve taken this as they won’t need it, and if they try and come back and collect it, well, just make it sound like revenge. Okay?”

“But they won’t come back,” John said, puzzled.

“No. But if your wife is the way you say she is, she probably won’t know that. Make her think you’re taking your petty revenge on my sister and her husband. You get the food, and she doesn’t need to think on it any more.”

“Okaaaay. I think I see what you mean. How do I get in touch with you?”

“Do you have a mobile? Especially one your wife won’t answer?”

“Gayle won’t touch my phone. If anything she’d be more likely to throw it away or smash it up. Stop me getting into work.”

“All right, give me your number, and I’ll contact you as soon as I hear anything.”

John wrote down his number and passed it over.

Selwyn looked at it, nodded, and folded it into his wallet. “Grab whatever you fancy from the garden. Not too much though.” He smiled slightly. “I want some as well.”

John smiled his thanks, and the two went back out into the garden. “Best if I take just what I need now, and come back in a few days time to take some more,” he said slowly.

“If that’s what you want,” Selwyn nodded calmly.

“If there’s any left by then.”

Selwyn gave a thin smile. Anything John hadn’t taken within three days, he would take himself. He couldn’t get back before then.

John didn’t notice. He pulled a small cauliflower, half a dozen carrots and a number of chillies. Meanwhile Selwyn had pulled a number of broad bean pods, and passed those over too.

“The onions are out for drying. I’ll keep an eye on them, and the weather over the next couple of days unless you want them now?” Selwyn just shook his head. “And I put a bag of stuff in the top of the outdoor freezer not long ago. Won’t be frozen yet. You should take those.”

“You take it,” Selwyn said with a small smile.

“Thank you,” John said. “And good luck.” Although he hoped Selwyn would contact him soon, he didn’t hold out much hope.

Those five words though, softened Selwyn’s mind. He’d had no real intention of contacting John, but his simple thanks and good wishes, without in any way trying to press him, made him consider John after all. If he was short of sponsors, though Selwyn didn’t think he would be, maybe he would get in touch.

“Well?” demanded Gayle, some five minutes later. “You’ve been gone long enough.”

“They’ve gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“They’ve been taken.”

“What? By the Patrol?”

John saw a small, almost vindictive, smile appear on Gayle’s face.

“No. The Confederacy.”

“The what?” Gayle half stood. “Why those nasty, despicable little...” her vocabulary failed her. “I hope they end up...”

“They won’t,” interrupted her husband. “They both had high enough scores.”

“In other words they’re gonna enslave other people,” she snarled. “What lovely people we lived next door to.”

“They’re probably gonna have to fight these aliens.”

Gayle paused for only a moment in her tirade. “Rubbish,” she said scornfully. “Everyone knows that was a lie.”

Remembering what Selwyn had told him, John decided not to argue that point. “Well, it means their house is empty, and Mike has left a lot of produce just waiting to be collected.”

“Huh. Well you collect that dirty shit if you want to. I’m gonna have a look in their house.”

“You can’t. It’s all locked up.”

“So how do you know what’s happened to them?”

“A friend of theirs turned up and told me. He was cross because they hadn’t waited for him.” John decided it would be prudent to not tell her too much about Selwyn.

“Well you’d better get back over there and get everything you can. I’m coming with you this time.”

“Don’t you want the reward?”

“What reward?”

“For turning them in to the Patrol?”

Gayle paused. “Later,” she said after a few moments. “Let’s go.”

“Uh,” started John, but Gayle turned on him with a snarl.

“If we turn them in now, the Patrol take everything. Don’t you watch the news?”

John nodded, remembering news items he had seen in the past weeks and months.

“When did they go?” Gayle asked.

“Last week. That was what the party was all about. Apparently.”

Gayle headed around the front of the house, but John stopped her. “No,” he told her. “This way.”

Gayle just looked at him.

“If you go in through the front,” John told her calmly, “people will see us and investigate. At the very least we’ll then have to share, at the worst we could even be charged with breaking and entering or theft.”

Gayle paused. She was wearing a tight skirt and high heels. “Oh very well then,” she huffed. “But you’ll have to help me over the fence.”

“Put some jeans and trainers on,” John suggested, knowing what her response was likely to be. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Don’t be stupid. I do not dress down like some common chav.”

‘No, you dress up like some common tart,’ John thought, but didn’t say. It was true. At forty-seven Gayle wore clothes that were far more suitable for someone twenty-five years younger and six sizes smaller. Almost invariably the clothes she did wear were a size too small: she insisted that they were small, not she large.

It was a struggle getting Gayle over the fence, but John managed it. “Start with the outside freezer,” he suggested. “We haven’t been shopping yet this week.”

Gayle scowled at him, but she recognised the sense of his suggestion.

“It’s all fuckin’ uncooked stuff,” she complained twenty minutes later. “Don’t they know how to do things properly?”

“Properly?” asked John, momentarily confused.

“You know, pre-cooked stuff that I can just ding.”

John just rolled his eyes, fortunately Gayle didn’t see him. To Gayle, cooking meant something that would go into the microwave without too much preparation. ‘Ding’ had been John’s joke when they first got married, but Gayle had taken it to herself. The microwave dinged when it had finished, so to ding something was to microwave it.

“That’s okay, I can do the cooking.”

“You cook?” she asked scornfully. “You’re a man, men can’t cook to save their lives.” For some reason, despite occasional evidence to the contrary, Gayle had it in her head that John was useless in the kitchen.

John didn’t immediately reply. It was true, he didn’t often cook, but that was more because he just let her get on with it, rather than because he couldn’t. Had his mother been alive, she would have told Gayle very different. “I’m sure I can manage,” he said eventually.

“Well just don’t give me food poisoning.”

John hopped back over the fence, and while Gayle passed him various bags and boxes of frozen fruit, vegetables and meats, he hurried back into the house and put it into their freezer. It was more than half full of part used boxes and tubs of ice cream, most of it premium brands. John shuddered. Lifting all the ice cream out first, he put in the new stuff, then replaced the ice cream on top. He would have to sort that later.

“I’ve found that large tub of Ben And Jerry’s you thought you’d finished,” John told Gayle casually. “We won’t need any more after all.”

“Didn’t like that one,” Gayle muttered. Actually she had, she just got bored quickly and wanted a variety. Preferably something they didn’t already have.

“That’s okay. I do, I’ll finish it this evening.”

Gayle silently ground her teeth. “When are we going inside?”

“If you can find a key,” John said. “I’m gonna go and have another look in the greenhouse. Mike’s tomatoes looked wonderful. His broad beans and peas down the back are also ready for harvesting.”

“Don’t waste time with that rubbish,” Gayle snapped.

John knew how to change her mind though.

“If we take this,” he told her, “we’ll have to do a lot less shopping, saving money for your bingo.”

“Oh. Oh, very well. But you do it. I’m not going down there. But hurry up, I want to go inside.”

Remembering what Selwyn had told him, John took about a quarter of everything. If Gayle complained, he’d just tell her the rest was not quite ready. She would never know.

Gayle hadn’t been able to find a way into the Saunder’s house, and was just contemplating breaking a window, when John returned.

“Come on,” he told her. “It’s after four. The road outside is getting busier. We’ll be seen.”

“But I haven’t been inside yet.”

“Do it tomorrow.”

“But I want to report them tonight. I want the reward.”

“You’ll have to leave that until tomorrow night, or the next day then.”

“But I want the money now.”

“If you report them now, you won’t get the money for at least a month.”

“What?” screeched Gayle. “That’s crap. They should give rewards straight away.”

“They can’t just put their hands into their pockets you know. They don’t carry rewards around with them. At the very least it will be a cheque which will take days to get here, and then a few more to clear.”

Gayle thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Very well,” she said crossly. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

Despite his protests, they had gone back the following morning, Gayle determined to try and get into the house. John had spotted an alarm, and to Gayle’s fury had refused to risk breaking in, just in case the alarm was working, set, and connected to the police station. “At the very least, it’ll alert the authorities, and if they catch us here, we won’t get any reward,” he had told her. Reluctantly, she had acquiesced.

It took some fast talking to stop Gayle from claiming the reward immediately. He tried to cajole her first. Reminding her that he needed time to clear away any evidence that they had been over there. “If they work out we’ve been there, they might think we had something to do with their disappearance. You really don’t want that,” he told her. When that looked like it wasn’t going to work for long, he added bribery, giving her money to go to bingo. Even so he knew he couldn’t hold her off for long.

In the meantime though, John could cook, and the first thing he did cook with the food they had stolen was a beef casserole. John recognised the food as stolen, even if Gayle didn’t. By adding a drop of red wine and calling it Boeuf Bourguignon, he ‘conned’ Gayle into thinking it was something more special and up market, exactly where Gayle thought she should be, where she thought she deserved to be. Over the next couple of days he discovered he enjoyed being in the kitchen more than he thought, and soon the house was full of wonderful aromas that even Gayle couldn’t deny smelled far more appetising than most of the microwave food she normally ate.