Hurst by Robin Crumby (the reading list book TXT) 📖

the nurse. His throat was parched, his lips cracked and blistered. There was a glass of water on the bedside table which he drained in one gulp.

The nurse bustled back into the room. She fumbled in her top pocket and inserted a digital thermometer into his right ear, waiting for the electronic beep. “It’s 99.4 degrees,” said the nurse, showing the read-out to Riley. “His fever has come right down. We’ll keep you in one more night. You’ll be back on your feet in the morning, dear.”

Riley thanked the nurse who seemed distracted, staring blankly over her shoulder before turning brusquely to leave. Riley poured another glass of water and handed it to Zed, waiting for him to drain it again.

“You gave us quite a scare collapsing like that. Looks like you’re not quite as indestructible as we thought. Human after all then?” joked Riley.

“I don’t remember much after we got here. How long was I out?” asked Zed.

She checked her watch, a black plastic-looking Casio she never took off. “You’ve been asleep for about eighteen hours straight.”

He raised a single eyebrow quizzically. The dividing lines between dream and reality had become blurred. With the drugs, he was no longer sure what was real and what was imagined. It was all rather disconcerting. “The fever gave me the worst dreams. I’m sincerely hoping that the three witches who have been tormenting me in my sleep are not real.”

“Oh, the sisters are all too real, I’m afraid. You don’t know the half of it. Everyone’s terrified of them. They’re trying to force Stella to stay. They say she’s part of some weird cult breeding programme, that she’s pregnant. Oh, and then they’ve got Joe locked up because he can’t be trusted around all these sex-starved women.”

“He’ll be loving all the attention. He’s never had much luck with the ladies.” He tried to sit up straight but the strain on his face was palpable.

“Hey, hey, easy, fella. You need to rest up. Avoid tiring yourself out. I brought some reading material for you.”

She dumped the small pile of well-thumbed magazines on the bedside table. Zed picked up the top one. Its cover was ringed with stains from half a dozen coffee cups. He flicked through grainy images of half-remembered celebrities in swimwear photos, shot through telephoto lenses by the paparazzi. Page after page of smug fake-tan couples posing in front of replica Greek columns outside their country houses, dripping in gold jewellery. Precocious young children dressed in Ralph Lauren. The upper classes playing polo on horseback watched by minor royalty. He turned on his side, shaking his head in disgust.

“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” said Riley. “The only other thing I could find were copies of the Bible and I didn’t think you’d want that.” She went through the stack and found what she was looking for, a vintage Top Gear magazine. “This is probably more your thing. Nuns on bikes, special on the Stig and an interview with Richard Hammond himself.”

Zed’s face was pale, his skin drawn and paper-thin. He looked much older with grey circles under his clear blue eyes and two days’ worth of stubble, giving him a lived-in look that Riley said she found pleasing.

He flicked through the pages of Ferraris and Lamborghinis, reasonably priced cars and beautiful landscapes, burned rubber, winding roads, tarmac stretching into the distance. The colour seemed to flood back into his cheeks as memories came rushing back like soothing waves of sound. The corner of his mouth turned upwards. “I used to love that show. Seems like a long time ago, doesn't it?” He leaned back and sighed. “To think people back then were so obsessed with material possessions like cars, houses, clothes and gadgets. Remember the shopping channels on TV? Full of chintz. How could normal sane people spend hours gossiping about celebrities, who’s dating who, who’s wearing what? It was all so trivial, just tittle tattle for the masses.”

He rolled on his back and turned towards Riley, suddenly aware of how heavy his head felt, leaning back against the pillow. He gazed deep into her grey-green eyes, a serious world-weary look on his face. It was like the accumulated strain of the last few months had caught up with him and he had given in to his exhaustion.

“It was everything I detested, Riley. It was all so superficial. Don’t you look back now and wonder what it was all about? None of it mattered. It was just stuff. It felt like some people’s lives were a shallow veneer, a topcoat that masked something rotten just below the surface. Scratch your fingernail across the paint and the truth revealed itself. You realised that your whole existence was skin-deep. Beyond the routine of work and life, there was just a hollow emptiness.”

Riley had never heard him talk like this. They had spent a lot of time together on the road or back at camp. Zed was not normally one for soul-searching or philosophising.

“Everyone needs someone or something,” agreed Riley. “If you don’t have that, then sure, life can feel quite empty at times.”

She encouraged him to go on. After a short pause, lost in his thoughts, he continued staring up at a stain on the ceiling where water had discoloured the paintwork.

“Back then I had a wife and family, you know. Living in Croydon. It was my own fault.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I made some poor choices, took them for granted, put my work first. I came home one day and they were gone. No note, no forwarding address. I had no idea she was even unhappy. Should have realised. Then all this happened with the virus. Times like this, I find myself thinking about them, where they ended up, wondering what I would do differently. Whether they’d still be alive if we’d all stayed together. But it’s too painful. Knowing I wasn’t there when it mattered…” His voice faded away.

“Hey, we’ve all lost people, yeah? It’s best not to think about it. Anyway, you’ve got a new family now at Hurst. A new start.”

He nodded weakly, still lost in his memories. “You think everything’s fine, until it’s not.” He took another sip of water, swallowing painfully. “Do you remember the London riots back in 2011 just before the Olympics?” he asked, pausing before continuing. “People I knew thought that was the start of the revolution, that the working classes were ready to rise up and tear it all down. Take back the streets for the people. Fight back against the ruling classes. Reject a life of poverty, mediocrity, subservience. Did I ever tell you I was there, Riley? A riot in Croydon, for God’s sake. I saw it on my doorstep, and, suddenly, it was all just so tangible. The social fabric stretched to breaking point, there within touching distance.”

Riley nodded.

It had been some time since he had thought about that time in his life. The world had been different back then. Life had meaning. Between family and his work as a contractor for the Ministry of Defence, he had real purpose.

“I was living in America then,” said Riley, “but I remember seeing the summer riots on the news and thinking ‘How did that happen?’ No one saw that coming.”

“It was terrifying and exciting all at the same time. Bit like 9/11 and the attack on the Twin Towers. A slow-motion car crash. You couldn’t look away. Like witnessing a fold in history, live and televised. The earth’s rotation knocked off its axis, albeit for a second. It was the same with the riots, a moment in time. When it’s gone, it’s hard to explain. But in the end that passion and fervour melted away. The crowds went home and the status quo resumed, more or less. It was all just forgotten. Everything changed and yet everything stayed the same. No, I’m wrong, something did change. CCTV saw to it that all those hooded figures who helped themselves to the latest sportswear, all those ringleaders throwing stones at the police, all those looters smashing down shop windows and helping themselves to flat-screen TVs, were rounded up and prosecuted. It was an unprecedented triumph for Big Brother and the state.”

“Is that what you did before all this then? Worked for the government?” She waited for him to respond, but he ignored the question. “You’re deluded if you think revolution was ever going to happen in this country. Dream on, comrade.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong, Riley. This country may have the longest history of democracy of any nation, but one thing that made it robust was a pressure valve of strike action, rioting and civic protest. In my book, those are the hallmarks of a high functioning democracy. But that discontent and civil disobedience always fell short of revolution because boring old British reserve got in the way. Things never reached their necessary conclusion: a change in the status quo. The closest this country ever came to revolution was tearing down the railings outside parliament in the nineteenth century.” He shook his head with an ironic smile. “Funny to think that the virus did more to change the world than a lifetime of campaigning by socialists. It tore down the social fabric and replaced it with mob rule. Who knows what comes next? The virus pressed reset on the world order.”

Riley bent forward and straightened his pillow as he obligingly leaned forward. “Hey, big man, less of the doom and gloom. All you need to do is focus on the here and now. That other stuff will drive you mad. Concentrate on getting better. Let someone else worry about that other stuff.”

“I’m done working for those people. They chewed me up and spat me out. I was just meat for the grinder. After all this time, I’ve come to realise that it’s man’s prerogative to crave power and to exploit the weak.”

“You think?”

“For sure. Have you never wondered where the virus came from? Someone, somewhere must know.”

“You mean the government?”

”There’s a whole military and civilian infrastructure that tracks outbreaks like these. Ever heard of Porton Down? Up near Salisbury. It’s not far from here. Hundreds of scientists. Bit like the CDC in Atlanta or the World Health Organization. What they don’t know isn’t worth knowing.”

“Anyway, who’s to say that the future will be the same as the past? The slate’s been wiped clean,” suggested Riley, trying to lighten the mood.

“True, but you can bet that the same operating system reboots and the status quo is restored. Everything changes, but everything stays the same. What hope is there for people like us?”

“You, my friend, need to get some rest. We’ve all been through rough patches. I remember this one time when I was a teenager, I got followed home after school. This guy came up behind me and tried to throttle me, drag me off somewhere, but I fought back. I stamped on his foot, kneed him in the groin and then ran and ran until I got home. For weeks I didn’t leave the house. But in the end I figured that it was up to me. I never wanted to feel afraid again, so I did self-defence classes. I kept fit and strong. Made sure I could look after myself. No one else is going to do that for you. I’ve never looked back. That day changed me. It was an awakening. Maybe this is yours. Trust me, the world will look a whole lot better after a good night’s sleep.”

He forced a smile and yawned, leaning his head back on the freshly plumped pillow. “Maybe you’re right. This is my wake-up call. Makes you realise what’s important and what’s not. Thanks, Riley. For everything. I owe you.” He patted her hand and turned on his side, closing his eyes again.

“Get some sleep and shake off this neg-head bullshit. We need you. I need you,” she whispered, but he was already fast asleep.