Surviving When The Lights Went Out

The old Lady looked at it and swung it over in her hands and checked the plastic stock, without warning she struck her son on the back of the head with it,

"It's not one of ours," she said as if nothing had happened, "This must have been one of Ron's... Sorry Toby did I hit you with it dear?"

"It's nothing mother," he gasped getting up from the floor and rubbing the side of his head and the blood dripping from behind his ear. With a second spin the stock hit his cheek and he dropped again.

"Justice done Jacinda?" said the Lady.

"It'll do," replied Jack.

"Then take this with you with my compliments -- the previous owner has no need of it - I'll give you a note for the police licensing officer."

Ron was the other man that had offered to trade food and a caravan roof for sex. Jack would get no apology from the head gamekeeper that she had tied up and then emptied his larder once he was drunk though. He was dead and buried in a temporary plot with a view to reinternment once someone could be found to take charge of matters. Unlikely in that village considering the nature of his death.

He'd been captured, tortured and murdered by some of the locals. His over-zealous, some might say gleeful protection of his employers vast estate and the two fully operational farms it included had won him no friends, nor did his offers of food for sex to many of the wives and daughters of the area. His naked, battered and emasculated body was found lashed cruciform to the home farm fence post with the razor wire he'd deployed so liberally and with so much pleasure, the cardboard sign made of cut-out newspaper letters nailed into his chest read, "should have shared".

Jack went to the caravan she had shared with two other girls who had gone home before her and she hoped were safe and sound with their families. It had been rifled through but her stuff was still mostly in still place.

Finding her suitcase she packed all of her clothes from the drawers and wardrobe and loaded it all into the boot of my car, then it was books and CD's, DVD's and the few memento's she'd dotted around to make the dark and damp interior look like home.

We drove out to the now taped-off gamekeeper's house and Jack let herself in with another key hidden under a stone in a garden. We definitely weren't the first in there that was for sure and the place had been well and truly turned over, but she knew what she wanted and where to look and soon she had another shotgun, a very smart looking double-barrelled beast she told me was a classic. Under the same raised floorboard she removed a hunting rifle, and ammunition for it and the shotguns.

We drove home again, still with the shotgun Jack had showed her expertise and comfort with, and two more.

"We'll need to get a cabinet for these," she said patting the now slip-covered guns under our jackets on the back seat, "I've got Ron's shotgun licence and a note from Lord Toby's Mum, the fact their last owner was murdered will add to that story of course..."

She stopped and looked up into my face.

"Whassup?" I said at her strange look.

"That's if I'm still allowed to stay, now that the lights are back on and things are getting back to normal."

I slowed the car and pulled into a layby,

"What the fuck are you talking about Jack?"

"Well..." she said, "I didn't want to assume Ji... James," she said looking down demurely but quite open about what could happen next.

"Jacinda Jane Campbell," I slid an arm around her shoulder and leaned towards her, "I won't be safe in that big cottage on my lonesome. Of course you can stay, forever."

"Forever?" She cooed, and actually looked surprised at that one.

"I'm in love you Jack, have been for weeks now - whether it's in your foraging gear, your baggy jeans, my T-shirt, naked! I'm crazy about you." Her gorgeous face beamed even more, "stay with me so we can look after each other."

She grinned,

"I love you Jimmy," she said with a girly-girl giggle, "I had such a huge crush on you since that first night, when you caught me when I fainted and as I came round you were holding my hand! Then you cooked for me and let me have a bath and gave me your clothes. If that wasn't enough then when you held me and we watched the film together?" we kissed again, "but if you loved me in my scruffys and your baggy jeans, just you wait for your fashion show tonight James Hart!"

We went home and made love again. We got up and I was ushered out of our bedroom, and after she'd had a shower she came out wearing skinny jeans that clung to her, a fitted cropped top that showed the effects of her balcony bra giving her such as splendid cleavage, her hair tied back showing her gorgeous face now made-up and looking even more gorgeous than she had before.

"Wow!" I said.

"Sir approves?" she posed with her weight on one hip.

"Sir fucking loves it, but like I said I loved you in your baggies."

"I can go and put them back on?" She grinned, I pulled her into a hug and we kissed, me taking full advantage to cop a feel of her arse now so splendidly covered in stretchy denim. From that moment on I was forever grabbing her and hugging and kissing my beautiful girl.

I don't know what it was -- she must surely have had the wiggle on her before when she was walking around the house in her baggy jeans and my trackie trousers, but now she was wearing her own leggings or sprayed-on jeans a simple walk from the kitchen to the living room would become a sexual act and I would follow her, almost panting with lust which would then have my giggling lover looking over her shoulder at me and hooking her finger to lead me with a 'come hither' towards our bedroom.

We were soon running out of condoms, but the now open shop always seemed to have plenty. In a village where we were the youngest people by a good fifteen years the place never ran out, nor did the machine in the pub.

-

A few days after our trip to Jack's previous employer there was a shout out from my now re-opened lane and I walked across the yard and saw an older couple coming along from where I'd moved but not fully disposed of my gateway camouflage.

"You must be James," said the man, "I'm David Harris, this is my wife Julia, we used to look after this place for your Grandmother, might we come in?"

He took of his cap and stood in the kitchen, his wife looking really upset.

"Can I get you a cup of tea Mr and Mrs Harris?" asked Jack seeing their distress.

"No, but thank you," said the man, "I'm afraid I have some rather sad news for you Mr Hart, your grandma..." his wife burst into tears and Jack helped her to a chair and took her hand, "I'm afraid you grandma is... has died," he caught his breath and gulped, "I'm so very sorry James, I've never had to do this before. Dorset Police found her body in her car and they could only find our phone number in her purse, we're so very sorry mate." It was his turn to cry now, even Jack let a few tears slip at their very real distress and she hugged the lady she was knelt next to.

Grandma had been found in her fuel-less car on the eastbound A30 and had died of 'undisclosed causes'; just another little old lady without adequate food, water or heating driving from one of her houses to another, quite possibly even murdered for whatever she might have had in her car, or just in her purse but that that was never disclosed.

She had been buried in a mass grave, one of the many mass graves now being dug across the country and just outside Dorchester. Just a name on a list and a number on a body bag, in with another 49 numbered body bags.

This information was yet to come though, and Mr Harris gave me a phone number and police incident number to contact them. Mr Harris was the only phone number in her vast pocket book that was answered, and his knowledge about her family and knowing where her grandson lived at least was enough, and the old boy had sworn to come over and tell me.

I thanked them both for their care of my Grandma over the years and turned to see Jack switching on the kettle and taking out a bottle of port and four small glasses. She poured a good shot into each and handed them around. She raised her own,

"To Grandma Hart," she said, and the rest of us followed.

By the time the embarrassed silence was getting uncomfortable, she'd placed her cake tin in front of Mrs Harris with a small knife, adding a whispered "cut four big bits of that Mrs H, while I get the tea."

"Call me Julia," said Mrs Harris. The sadness was broken.

Sat around the table in good company we spoke about Grandma briefly and then the conversation got around to those nine weeks we'd all come through.

The village they lived in three miles down the hill had pulled together and everyone kept an eye and an ear out for their neighbours and food and resources were shared with some people even moving in together to make the best of heating and lighting.

The Parish council met and formed a 'defence committee' when an older lady out walking her dogs saw what she swore was an armed man in combat uniform 'stomping through the woods'.

I made a point of not looking at Jack and she too found an interesting knot in the table to concentrate on.

The locals dug out their shotguns, parked cars across entrances to the village and would patrol according to the roster. They had of course put their cars and guns away since the lights came back on and the police arrived.

"I'm still sure I heard a machine gun," said Mrs Harris coming out of herself after the restorative efforts of port, tea and Jack's amazing fruitcake, tapping the table with some indignation.

"No one else heard it," said Mr Harris, "It might have been..."

"I know what I heard David," she snapped back, "it was about ten days or a fortnight ago!"

If Mrs Harris memory wasn't playing tricks that was the day it all went sour; while the noise from the burst I fired over his dead body two days later on that far away wood might have carried that far I doubted it.

The shell casings of the six bullets that killed our visitor we had carried deep into the woods and dropped. I could have buried them or taken them to his camp but we both figured that someone might have heard the shots locally and at least their discovery some distance away would lend support to the hungry soldier being around our neck of the woods and perhaps trying to shoot the game so available around him.

David smiled one of those 'Yes dear' smiles and I smiled back. She had pointed randomly off to the northwest of my kitchen table and I tried hard not to react. A mile away in that direction where six clean and shiny brass 5.56mm cartridge cases dropped as if thrown from the ejection port of... say an SA80 A3.

Mrs Harris had obviously tired of not being believed and the discussion was back to Jack's wonderful cake.

"It's just one I chucked together with the ingredients Jimmy had here," she said with a proud grin, wrinkling her nose at me and blowing a kiss.

"You two seem very comfortable here," Mrs Harris said with a maternal smile, "where did you meet?"

"Through my sister, Jack and Deana were best mates at university, and we met here believe it or not."

"That's your motorbike out front Jack?"

"Yes," she said with a smile, "I used to come and visit for weekends."

"Told you Dave didn't I!" she said with some belief at last, "So you two have been together over a year!" said Mrs Harris, "it shows!"

We both grinned at each other, neither of us could be bothered to point out that I wasn't part of that particular relationship then but I was getting a very old fashioned look from Mrs Harris that I probably should have made an honest woman of Jacinda by now.

The Mobile phones went live that day, so I rang Mum's house but there was no answer, not even through to the answer phone I knew was built in. Similarly nothing on her or Deana's mobiles, not even going to answerphone.

We rang Jack's parent's number in Spain but it didn't connect, and I guessed that if we tried in a few days it probably would. Weeks then months passed and despite calls to the Foreign Office requests to get a message to the Sunset Hotel 'somewhere in Spain' were answered with assurances that it would be 'added to the list'.

Next I rang the police and confirmed I was the late Mrs Hart's grandson. They promised to send the effects they'd found in her car to Shrewsbury Police station where I could collect them.

-

We had been invited to tea with the Harrises and we rode down on the motorbike, a spare crash helmet taken from the caravan, and after a splendid meal of sandwiches and cake it was suggested that we adjourn to the local pub which had just received its first supply of beer since before the lights went out.

We went and had a great time, meeting many of the locals who now knew about 'that lovely couple at the Croft' and hadn't known we were there, no one mentioning that the entrance to the drive had disappeared for two months.

"They've been going out for over a year!" said a tipsy Mrs Harris with raised eyebrows and nodding at me.

"No rings yet Sweetie?" said another of the village ladies called Jane taking Jack's left hand and staring at it, then glowering at me like her friend, but quite nicely I have to admit.

OK, Jack and I had lived together for almost three months, not the 'over a year' her visits to my sister had suggested but I just suddenly had a real feeling at my thigh and Grandma's rings in my jeans pocket, still there from when I collected them two days before; it was like they seemed to warm up momentarily.

"OK Grandma," I said looking up, "message received!"

A few of the locals looked at me strangely and I turned my back momentarily while I ripped open the tiny clear plastic bag and withdrew the ring with the big diamond on and the emeralds surrounding it that matched Jack's green eyes so perfectly.

No-Ring-Jane still holding Jack's hand had watched and put two and two together quite quickly and with a hand to her chest, gently pushed Jack's hand to mine as I took to one knee before her.

"My Darling Jacinda," I said, "everything we've been through together has proved one thing to me, I love you and I can't live without you. I can't think of a better way of showing you than this..." the hubbub of the bar had stilled to silence, with only the soft tones of Tom Jones singing 'Mumma told me not to come' evident in the background. I smiled up at her, "live with me forever Jack," I smiled up at my beautiful girl, "Marry me?"

Despite Tom Jones singing I could almost hear twenty five women thinking 'SAY YES! SAY YES! SAY YES!', and for a second I thought she might not.

"Oh Jimmy!" she sighed, "Yes!" she turned to the rest of the bar and shouted "Yes!" pulling at my hand and dragging me to my feet so I could kiss her and slip Grandma's ring onto her finger, a perfect fit.

We were cheered and applauded, my hand shaken and back slapped by the men, then kisses and hugs from all of the ladies who had all hugged and kissed Jack already and were admiring her new ring, many with tears in their eyes.

I stepped across to Mr and Mrs Harris,

"Grandma's ring," I said simply, which had Mrs H grabbing us both again and hugging, turning and telling the rest of her neighbours that the ring was that nice old Mrs Hart's ring, that lovely lady that used to come and visit.

While Jack still couldn't get through to her parents and there was still no answer from either Mum's mobile or her house phone which prompted my three hour round trip (with permission from the local police of course) to our old house which had been boarded up with a monitored alarm by a local security firm. I pinned a note to the door.

During one of Jack's trips to the shop in the village, she was nicely nagged by three of the ladies that had been in the bar that night about 'setting the date'.

"It's not that easy," said Jack with a smile and a shaken head. Other than us yelling our heads off as we motored slowly back up the hill to the Croft rather pissed on her motorbike, then the excited 'did we just get engaged' chat the next morning, we'd done nothing more than stare at the ring, and the old gold wedding ring that matched it.

"What's there to arrange?" said No-Ring-Jane.

"Our families, the paperwork, I doubt I'll be able to find or afford a wedding dress in the next ten years!"

Inflation was coming down but the same government that had caused the crash was still fighting to limit public spending so the country could start buying and selling internationally again.

The three ladies looked at each other then Jack, heads to one side and looking her up and down with their imaginary tape measures.

"You and James come down for lunch tomorrow," said Mrs Harris.

We did.

In less than twenty four hours that little village had pulled it all together and with something short of an ultimatum Mrs Harris said that it was all arranged and if we'd like to get married in two Saturday's time it was virtually all in place, "God knows we all need something wonderful like that to raise our spirits and give us back our faith in good times to come."

Jack looked at her then at me.

I nodded of course.

"That would be wonderful Julia," she said.

That was that.

I was asked if I had a suit and the other ring; once I confirmed I had both I was sent on my way, stopping in the pub to chat with the locals about plans and stratagems being worked out in Mr and Mrs Harris's kitchen. Knowing I was quite cash-rich I discussed the catering arrangements with the pub landlady, saying that I had actual cash-money to pay for whatever she needed to buy.

She sat down with a notebook and pen and checked online with her cash-and-carry. I asked how much of a deposit she needed, returned home and opened the safe and took out slightly more than she'd actually asked for.

I did of course tell her that whatever I suggested needed to be ratified by Jack and Mrs Harris and her coven of village ladies including numbers attending, insisting that I was good for it.

Despite both being atheists, we married in the local church with Mr Harris escorting Jack down the aisle and giving her away and Mrs Harris watching proudly at the bride looking amazing in a rather sweet once white but now yellowed full-length lace wedding dress and of all things a tiara from another local lady's wardrobe to hold the veil.

When I spoke to Jack afterwards she told me while she had never even considered what she wanted in a wedding dress, she had cried when she tried it on and first looked in the mirror.

It had been Mrs Harris's and she'd never had anyone to pass it on to -- until now. As Jack gawped at her wonderful reflection and wiped her eyes, No-Ring-Jane pulled at it at various places telling the room how it would need tucking in at a few points to show off the bride-to-be's perfect figure and how if it was totally her and if she'd had such a perfect bosom as young Jack, she would add a scooped neckline to show off that amazing cleavage. Tiara lady nodded and indicated where and said she had a perfect necklace Jack could borrow that would finish it all off.

I wore a very smart suit but never came close to my gorgeous bride in her vintage finery. The vicar applauded our commitment and even mentioned my parents and my Grandma who he had met a few times.

Jack's bouquet had been made that morning, the result of her and Julia Harris going for a walk at sunrise and picking what flowers they could find and sitting at her kitchen table and binding it together, Mrs Harris having a story for each flower and adding that she'd had three sons and had never been able to get this involved in their weddings.

It was the most wonderful day and we were both almost buzzing with the emotion, plus the goodwill not to say love coming from the community sat around us in the half-full church.