A Million More Tomorrows

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Screaming. The first thing either of them heard that day was a pained screaming flooding the room from somewhere unknown; not the first they had heard and not the last. Shortly afterwards a car crashed, the noise barreling outwards from a direction they couldn't place. Fires burned beyond all corners of the room, both near to and far from Muswell Hill. And the house occasionally creaked, or some dead appliance or other made an unsolicited clang like the snapping of a briefcase clasp, though largely it was lifeless. It was strange that the inside world could be so quiet and the outside one so full of fearful sounds.

Paul had fallen asleep on the sofa and woken up in bed not knowing how he had got there, though he did not care enough to find out. He took the chance to spend the length of the morning and all of the evening in bed with his wife, something he didn't do often, even if he now couldn't understand doing much of anything else. He filled the crevices of his arms and waist and of his hip with her, as though she had been designed for them. She poured into the folds like water. A steady flow of breath escaped her nose and dispersed against the ridge of his collar, as wakes of warm ocean melting on rocks. He couldn't see, but he could sense that her eyes were open.

"Don't listen," he said, squeezing her tighter. "...El?"

"Mm?"

"Don't listen to it."

She said: "I am sorry." And he responded that she mustn't be daft. That she had done absolutely nothing wrong.

She clung to his skin, digging in deeper. Neither person moved or spoke much more for the rest of the day. There was a sorrowful thing that they still hadn't discussed which sat on them weightily, pressing them down into the bed. But it could wait; they needn't broach the topic just yet. They couldn't face it. It was the end of the world, it was terrifying and sad, and it was enough simply to be silent for a while.