Page 40 of 59 Minutes
CARRIE
‘Are you okay?’ Carrie asks Grace uselessly, as their feet slap hard and fast along Kennington Road.
‘Are you for real?’ Grace says but then her voice softens. ‘Yeah, I’m okay. I’ll be okay, thank you for …’
‘Of course. Do you want to talk about …?’
‘No,’ Grace says, quietly, as they finally turn into Elm Walk.
Grace speeds up as they pass a squat block of flats, three lock-up garages in a row and a small cluster of houses.
As they approach Grace’s block of flats she breaks into a run, Carrie trying to keep up.
Most of the windows are covered with curtains or blinds, one or two with big bedsheets.
The communal entrance door is closed, above it a row of thin windows flicker with movement.
Just as Carrie and Grace reach the front door, it flies open and a woman runs out.
‘Mummy!’ Grace shouts, bursting into tears.
The woman is maybe forty, a little taller than Grace, slim, dark skinned, crying and wrapped in a chunky green cardigan.
The woman does not look at Carrie once, just grabs Grace and pulls her in so suddenly that Grace nearly falls over.
Her mum peppers Grace with kisses, forehead, cheeks, the crown of her head, breathing her in.
‘Where’s Josh?’ Grace says, muffled by her mother’s hug.
‘Upstairs, he’s safe,’ her mother says and only then does she pull back and look at Carrie, standing motionless next to them.
‘My god, thank you so much,’ Grace’s mother says. ‘Are you injured? Do you need to shelter with us?’
Just like that. As if that’s not an enormous offer, as if that’s not offering the whole world to a stranger.
Carrie shakes her head. ‘Thank you but I need to get back to my own family.’ Grace hugs Carrie, wordlessly.
Grace, so reserved and cool, is now so clearly a child.
Carrie can feel her small fingers gripping her coat.
The forceful hug slackens and she moves away so Grace’s mother can take her place, pulling Carrie into a tight embrace.
‘I won’t ever forget this,’ she says into Carrie’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your …’
‘I’m Carrie, Carrie Spencer.’
‘Beverley, Beverley Morrow.’
‘Your daughter is …’
‘I know, I know she is.’
Some of the streetlights flicker as she runs back down Elm Walk but some are still dead. She’d not considered that things might stop working ahead of six o’clock, but maybe it will be a disintegration first and then …
She thinks of what else Grace said. About these last minutes. Is it true what she was hinting at? Will they all just be wiped out as soon as the missile strikes … the whole city. The whole country? And would that be better than surviving anyway?
Grace is only a kid, can she really know?
She pictures Clementine and Emma waiting at the window the way Beverley had been, unable to leave her much younger son to hunt for Grace.
On the days Carrie picks Clementine up and takes her home, they often look out of the window for ‘Mama’ when she’s due back.
Watching for Emma’s bright red hair, her graceful neck and her giant tote bag filled with snacks and life rubble.
Emma and Clementine are rarely in the window looking out for ‘Mummy’ on the days that Emma does pick up.
They’re usually knee deep in a puzzle when Carrie gets home.
Or they’re curled up on the sofa with a bowl of cheese cubes, watching Bluey , which Emma likes even more than Clementine.
Clementine is just happy to cuddle up and laugh along.
So they’ll be okay, she thinks suddenly. If Carrie doesn’t make it back but her family survives somehow … they will be okay. Without her. Because it’s Carrie who will miss out. And that’s the most unbearable thought.