One

'It's OK,' he said. He wondered if he'd lost much blood. But the wound had only scored his chest. No major blood vessels there. Perhaps just a fine fighting scar on his ribs to impress any bonehunters of the future.

There was a shrivelled figure in the driver's seat, ageless, sexless, dwarfed by heat. There was a pair of softened crutches, bowing over a singed passenger seat. Something plastic on the dashboard wrinkled to a coin-sized disc. Disabled badge?

He checked the odometer. Less than 15,000, although the car was over three years old.

Where were you going?

Jane went round to the back of the car and tried the boot. Locked. He lifted the back seat but there was no jack to be found. He replaced the seat and rubbed his face.

Where had you been?

Between the seats was an armrest, folded into a well. He put his finger through the loop and pulled it into position. In the well was a plastic tab. He opened it; a little door to the boot, handy access to bits and bobs to save you from stopping mid-journey.

Just a little runaround. Something to get me down to the shops.

Cardboard boxes. Maybe half a dozen of them. He called to Aidan. 'Come and help. I need a super-strong boy with little hands.'

Two of the boxes were filled with perishables. Vacuumpacks of ham, beef, chicken. Yogurt. Butter. Milk. Bread. Ice cream. The stink of it made Jane's eyes water. 'Ripe Christ,' he said. 'That stuff is ready to make an evolutionary leap.'

Aidan said, 'Ice cream,' as if he had never heard the words before. 'I like ice cream.' He began to cry.

The other bags contained tins. Lots of them: beans, spaghetti hoops, red salmon, Toast Toppers, pineapples, tomato soup, Coca-Cola, 7-Up, Stella Artois. There was a box of Rice Krispies. A pack of sugar. Energy bars. Jane stopped Aidan's tears with a can of strawberry-flavoured long-life milk.

'Nearly as good as ice cream, yes?' Jane asked him.

'Actually, yes,' Aidan said. 'Actually. Very refreshing.'

They ate until they felt stronger. The sponge of their muscles receded. The vignetting in their sight disappeared. They could breathe more deeply, more freely. Even breathing could become too much effort. A bad sign, if they needed one, Jane thought, replenishing their packs.

They walked on into early evening. It began to rain. They pitched camp. Jane slept so deeply that he could remember no dreams when he wakened, although his eyes were crusted and there were tracks through the glaze of blood on his cheek: he had been crying in the night. Almost as soon as they had packed up and were moving on they found a road sign that had been uprooted and was face down on the hard shoulder. Aidan helped him to lift it.

'My God,' Jane said. 'My God.'

LONDON 38

14. DESCENT

Aidan skipped across chevrons at a slip road. Becky walked a little way ahead of him, to his right. Jane brought up the rear, pushing the wheelbarrow. He was itching to get rid of it. There was no need any more. Their packs were full, the road was coming to an end. Within three days they would be in London.

He was hunched over the barrow, his breath coming in short, shallow scoops. Becky kept admonishing him, telling him to stand up straight and breathe normally, but the pain in his chest wouldn't allow it. One foot in front of the other. Twelve miles a day. Three days. He imagined Stanley standing at the balcony, watching out for him. He will be here, Mummy. He will.

Whenever he felt his mind bending towards dark things he rescued himself with thoughts of Stanley. In this way he believed he was confirming Stanley's survival and reminding himself what it meant to know order, to be human. He thought of taking his son to the fair in Hyde Park. Stanley must have been around three. Jane had been disgusted by the prices, but to see his son laughing to the point of losing control was worth ten times what he had paid. He had decided to let Stanley be in charge after that. They would otherwise have gone home and watched TV, but he didn't want to be locked inside with Cherry tutting and shaking her head all afternoon. They had walked – slowly, very slowly – for miles. They stopped often, to look at the scrollwork on the iron frame of a bench, to watch the kites being flown, to trace the pattern of bark on a tree, to honk at the geese on the Serpentine and dodge the squirrels who barred their path aggressively, expecting nuts. They played peek-a-boo at the statue of Peter Pan and Stanley demanded to be picked up so he could pat the head of the bear at the end of the path near the Italian Gardens. They played on the pirate ship and Stanley made Jane laugh so hard when he said 'Shiver me timbers' that Jane's nose began to bleed.