Surviving When The Lights Went Out

Once I closed the curtains I had a single angle-poise lamp that I used for reading, finally getting down to all of those books in my quite considerable library at the Croft plus the rest that I brought with me from home; in a 'Desert Island Discs' moment I even had the Bible and the Complete Works of Shakespeare.

I had a rechargeable DVD player, I wasn't going to get THAT stone age about the thing, and my quite large collection of DVD's that I'd brought from home with my books. If it had been a bright sunny day I would have a movie night.

I was starting to feel the solitude I'd previously enjoyed though. I'd lived there on my own for at least six weeks since Dad's funeral and Christmas with Mum, then after the national 'problems' another five. Almost three months of just little old me, and Radio Two or Radio Four for company.

It was just creeping into a cold and wet March when I had my first visitor.

It wasn't a movie night, so I was sat with a paperback and my low wattage lamp and my wind-up radio with a single earpiece in, when I heard the rattle of the string and empty tin cans trap I'd hidden on the footpaths on the tracks leading to the front of the croft.

I killed the light and jumped to my feet, heading for the locked front door and looking through the net curtain at the top and seeing a figure in dark clothing outlined against the pale spring greenness behind and it was obvious they were armed, the long black shotgun unmistakeable.

I stepped back regretting not having something of that ilk myself, and running to the spare bedroom for Dad's crossbow, the air rifle wouldn't do shit against a grown up in a thick coat.

I hadn't used it in weeks and the strings were wound down and the thing unloaded, so I snatched it up and started to tension it, tucking a bolt into the top groove with another between my teeth just in case I might get a chance for a second shot against this person and their two or three.

As I stepped out into the hallway, my assailant had somehow opened the locked front door and was there gun raised and pointing directly at me, my lower half illuminated by the light from the three quarter moon above. That fucking door was locked I was sure.

"Deana?" it whispered.

"Deana is my sister," I said, still somewhat confused as to how this person had opened my front door.

"A likely story," said the person, the voice letting me know this was probably a woman, "If you're Deana's brother, what's your name?"

"James," I said, "Although when she wants to piss me off she calls me Jim-Jam." I took a deep breath, "And you are?"

"That doesn't matter," she said, "where's Deana?!"

"I don't know," I said in all honesty, "I haven't had any contact with the outside world since the lights went off."

I was dazzled as the gun-toting girl shone a torch in my face.

"You do look a bit like her," she said.

"Oh cheers," I said, "that does make me feel better."

"What does your Dad do for a living?" she snapped.

"Look, whoever you are, push the door closed, it's bloody freezing out there. Slide across the curtain and I'll turn on the light and we can both see what's going on."

She backed into the door and I heard it clunk,

"Do everything slowly," she said, "if you make a wrong move I'll shoot you."

"OK," I said, "ready?" I turned to my left and the kitchen and the bank of light switches flipping the second one and we both squinted against the sudden brightness.

"Put down the crossbow," she said, and I looked her up and down, seeing a grubby but actually quite pretty girl only marginally shorter than me, shapeless in a dark green Gortex jacket and similar material black waterproof trousers, muddy walking boots and a big purple and green panelled rucksack inches taller than her.

"OK," I said gently resting it down on the floor still unloaded and raised my hands.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which question, remind me."

"What does Deana's Father do for a living."

"He doesn't do anything for a living anymore, we cremated him two weeks before Christmas."

"Not the answer I'm looking for Jim-Jam," she said with a hint of confrontation in her voice, "What DID your father do for a living."

"He was an army officer," I said, "up until two years ago when he became a private security contractor, he was in all the papers."

"What regiment was he in?"

"Look... whatever your name is, he was in the Special Air Service Regiment, he left when his illness was confirmed, it's a long story..." I pointed at the bookcase and the small cardboard box on top, "Here," I said lifting out a hardback copy of his biography, "this is his life story that I wrote with him, if you check the blurb on the loose cover you'll see my photograph under his."

I held the book out and open and she did indeed look.

"What are you doing here?" She said looking along the barrel of the shotgun again.

"This is my house, what are you doing here?"

"This house belongs to Deana's granny," she said.

"Nope, after Dad died OUR Grandma gave it to me, Deana is having the one her Granny owns in the West Country."

I could see that the still anonymous girl was undergoing some real emotional concern now.

"Where's Deana!" she whined, her eyes watering, the slightest stamp from her right leg.

"I told you, I don't know!"

The girl shook the gun, now in some real distress.

"Where's DEANA!" She was visibly trembling now.

"I... DON'T... KNOW!" I held both hands out to my sides.

"She said she always came here for holidays!" the girl shouted with real desperation, "She said... She said I could always find her here at the holidays!!" I could see the tears pouring down her face, "Deana said..." the girl seemed to slump forward and slide down her shotgun as I grabbed it then her, lifting her slight form across to the living room and the large armchair by the fire and I lowered her into it putting the evil looking gun on the floor next to her, and took off the flat cap she was wearing, unclipping the waist and chest strap on her rucksack and dragging it off.

She came round a bit, surprised to be in an armchair.

I was knelt by her side and holding her hand as she came back to herself.

"What's your name?" I said giving her hand a gentle squeeze and brushing her dark hair back from her face.

She paused and looked around, considering this intrusion.

"Jack..." she said, "my friends call me Jack... it's actually short for Jacinda, Mum's choice."

"Hi Jack," I said and looked across to the kitchen, "how about we carry on this discussion over a cup of tea? You really look like you could use one." She looked like she hadn't had anything healthy and wholesome in some time, "Your shotgun and rucksack is just there look," I nodded down to them.

I stood and stepped across to the kitchen, taking the kettle and filling it for two cups, no point in using power to boil water that wasn't going to be drunk after all.

She stayed sat where she was watching what I was doing. I took down a second mug and reached in next to it for the box of tea bags. She was obviously watching.

"Is that... Waitrose Red bush I can see there?" I'd left the box there almost a year before just in case it had been another Deana thing, and she'd wanted them.

"Yes," I said looking back over my shoulder, and it came to me. A bed that 'two' had slept in with both pillows had smelled vaguely of two perfumes, then the general dishevelment of the bottom sheet suggesting more than just sleep, and they'd both removed their underwear.

Perhaps it hadn't been the Wales and Midlands Manager Deana had shared the croft and her bed with. "Jack," I said reaching up for the box and taking out a single bag, "I don't suppose I have a pair of your tiny green string panties in my spare room dresser drawer do I?" I looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "I have washed them, don't worry."

Jack pursed her lips, a smile eventually forcing itself onto her grubby but very pretty face,

"I think you might have!"

"Deana left a pair here as well," I said.

She grinned and I could detect a bit of blush.

"Hello Kitty?"

I smiled and nodded.

"I'm guessing you left at speed," I knew my sister and her propensity to drama just like our Dad so I threw in, "I'm guessing Deana was the one that stormed off?"

Jack leaned back into the seat,

"Yeah, we'd been here quite a few times. We were on the same course and were quite close..."

"Very close I'm guessing," I had no proof other than an unmade bed, perfumed pillows and two pairs of panties, but I thought I would run with the suggestion as the kettle clicked and I poured the hot water on the tea bags.

"Come the end yeah," she said, losing her blush as it became obvious that I apparently knew that my sister slept with women. I hadn't had a clue to be honest, not until then.

"Milk?" I said, "It's thawed-out frozen but doesn't taste any different, seeing as I never managed to get myself a cow to see out the apocalypse."

"Black please," she said with a grin, as I poured a tiny splash of milk into my mug and swirling it with the tea bag. I did put both teabags onto a saucer for a second use of course, no way could I be that profligate. I stepped through to the living room with both mugs and reached around the corner and turned off the main light, switching on the standard lamp that when accompanied by my reading light was more than adequate, and I took the other armchair.

"So I'm guessing my sister threw some hissy fit over something quite small that you did or said?"

"Yeah," said Jack, taking her mug and placing it on the small side table but trying to keep an eye on the gun at all times, "She felt I wasn't quite so in love with her as she was with me."

"That's Deana, she's an 'all or nothing' girl that's for sure."

I threw another log on the fire and the general ambiance of the room improved but for the pretty girl sat across from me eyeing a large nasty looking firearm by her side.

"Only the second girl I'd been in a relationship with," she said looking at the fire.

"Not sure about Deana," I said, "She could fall in and out of love during the advert break on the TV according to our Mum."

"Yep, that's pretty much what happened." She picked up her tea and blew across the lip of her mug, "she howled and screamed at me, stormed out of here and I heard her car starting up. I waited for her to come back that night and she didn't, so next morning I washed up and locked the place and put the key back under the hedgehog where she'd got it from." She patted her pocket, "this brass key was one she had cut for me the first long weekend I stayed here with her, told me to come and go as I pleased. I tried to contact her two or three times since, and..." she paused and took a deep breath, "She swore to me that she came here for all of her holidays; with what's going on I desperately hoped she'd be here."

"Where were you staying before?" I asked.

"On the country estate I was working on, a seventy odd miles to the south of here. The owner told me his wife had made it quite clear that as an assistant gamekeeper, I wasn't as much part of the family as the real gamekeeper and I should... how did he put it... stay with my OWN people. Trouble is my own 'people' live in Spain and it's a fucking long walk, then a swim, then a walk."

"Bastard..." I said with feeling.

"Yeah," she said, "the bastard then came to my caravan that night and told me I could stay on the understanding I never saw his wife and that I would be his for the taking whenever he felt the need, and that the quality and amount of food I got would depend on how supportive and imaginative I was when he came to visit."

"Seriously?"

"Yep, but he had food and accommodation and I didn't. I had packed my rucksack with a view to running here to find Deana when the head gamekeeper came in with half a bottle of Scotch he'd nicked and said that we should enjoy ourselves while we still could.

I told him I 'batted for the other team' and he slapped me." She looked into the fire again, a hand unconsciously touching the cheek he'd slapped. She sipped her tea, "He said he wasn't precious and he'd fuck a Lesbo's cunt just as quickly as he'd fuck a straight one. He also said that he knew the Lord of the manor had sent me on my way but he'd feed me... blah blah blah, the rest of the story you know." I thought I detected a shiver of discomfort, "He stood and locked the door and opened the whiskey. After a while I let him think that I was drinking it and I said that being a dyke I needed us to finish the bottle before we could do anything, he pretty much drank the whole thing and I let him.

When he fell asleep dead drunk on my sofa I tied him up with his belt and his tie and snuck out with my already packed rucksack, then I went to his cottage and either ate or packed all of the food he had in his place, slung this across my shoulder," she reached down and patted the shotgun, "jumped on my motorbike and headed for here. I ran out of gas yesterday morning at some ungodly time, walked the rest of the way."

"You hungry?"

"Starving," she said and took a gulp of her tea.

"Guessing you're not a veggie like Deana."

"I'm a gamekeeper," she said, "what do you think?"

"Finish your tea," I said and stood taking two steps into the kitchen and digging out the sausages that would have lasted me four days. I fried half of them and plated them up with some instant mash, chatting to her the whole time.

As I turned to bring the plate to her on a tray I could see that she was sound asleep, her head resting on the high winged arm of the very comfy chair. I gave her a gentle shake placing the tray on her lap and taking her now empty cup, using the first tea bag to make her a second.

I sat down with mine across the fireplace from her.

She was devouring the meal and I could see how hungry she must have been.

"When did you last eat?" I said.

"Night before last," she said, "Had the last of the bread and the cheese I'd brought. I stole all of my boss's tinned food but in my haste I forgot to steal his tin-opener."

"You stole his shotgun of course?" I pointed down to it laying on the floor by her chair. She flinched, "Don't worry Jack, you won't need it I swear."

She looked at me, her head to one side.

"Suppose if you were going to shoot me with it you would have done."

"Forty five minutes ago mate," I said, "Besides my big sister Deana will beat the shit out of me if I was anything short of chivalrous to one of her mates."

"OK then," she said and reached down, and with a deftness I'd only ever seen with Dad and his military comrades she unloaded three shells from the thing and lay it back down, slipping the red plastic cartridges into her jacket pocket.

"Why don't you take all that off?" I said, "you must be baking."

"Finish my dinner first," she said and did so her cheeks pinking up so sweetly with how hot she must have been under all of the layers. I guessed she didn't want to unpack too much until she knew where she stood.

With her knife and fork on her scrapped-clean plate on the side table, she picked up her fresh tea and sipped it.

"So James, you aren't the Hart child I'd expected, but on the understanding I don't have to shag you for my supper, could I possibly stay here for a while?"

I thought about it, I had been starting to get a bit lonely after all.

"Of course," I said, "we might have to go hunting rather sooner than I'd thought for but there's plenty of room. That sofa is extremely comfortable, or there's a couple of singles in the second bedroom. This will be warmer tonight as I really haven't aired the other room in quite a few weeks."

"The sofa will be fine," she said, "I'm pretty good in the kitchen and a dab hand with this," she patted her stolen shotgun, "and should keep you in wood pigeon and whatever else you have roosting around here, at least until the 150 cartridges I nicked to go with it run out."

"Welcome home Jack," I said leaning forward and offering her my hand.

She stood, first stripping out of the Gortex coat, a waxed cotton Barbour under that, then the fleece leaving her branded sweatshirt on under that, then it was the turn of the boots and the waterproof trousers.

Her having been so cold for at least two days, I allowed her the bounty of a bath and a not so significant amount of fuel oil in the scheme of things, it would all be electric showers after that of course. There was still a small collection of feminine hygiene products in the bathroom anyway from her and my sister.

She emerged an hour or so later, wrapped in her one of my towels looking extremely red-faced but relaxed, her long shapely legs looking extremely fine.

"Wow James, thank you so much -- I needed that." With the layer of road and hiking dust removed she looked even prettier, a green-eyed elfin beauty with wet, dark almost black hair with the most gorgeous dimpled smile of pouty lips that showed perfect teeth, a cupid's bow on her top lip.

"You're most welcome Jack, don't get too used to them mind you. Not for the immediate future at least."

"I won't and thanks James." She stepped forward and kissed my cheek, her hand holding the not quite large enough towel around herself, but being the perfect gentleman I averted my eyes from the amazing cleavage I hadn't noticed before and her extremely nice arse born of lots of walking, and some horse-riding, she looked great.

I made her up a bed on the sofa as promised and she had a spare duvet and one of my T-shirts for nightwear. Before I'd even turned the lights off and wished her good night, she was asleep.

She woke the next morning with my breakfast making which, because this was a special occasion was toast, bacon and eggs, all of which I had a reasonable supply of. My hens were in a large coop that was kept heated and well-lit from its own solar panels and their egg production didn't seem to fall overly much in those cold winter-spring moments. Tomorrow I would be back to my overnight oats (cold porridge for the uninitiated) with fruit and honey. I had a few hundred gallons of frozen milk in various sized containers laying in one of my big freezers and quite a bit in powdered form, handy for use in the breadmaker I'd bought.

I handed her a mug of tea, normal stuff this time of which I had a quite reasonable supply but would now be limited to four cups and day rather than the eight I'd been planning before I started on the more natural and locally harvested herbs that Dad had taught me about when I was a kid and that glorious summer the year before when we wrote the first cookbook.

I'd also bought some of those home-brew beer and wine making kits and along with some bought frozen pork, beef and lamb, my own caught venison and boar meat curing in one of my many sheds, there was my blackberry, elderflower, wild rose hip and wild gooseberry wines I'd brewed and laid down the previous summer and autumn and were coming along quite nicely. The homebrew beer was OK, and I still had a couple of those 'just add water and yeast and leave in a warm room' packs to run through, and they could wait a few more weeks yet.

Jack and I settled into quite a nice routine; as the weather allowed we headed out to forage, finding mushrooms, early wild garlic and some puff balls. With me acting as beater Jack was good to her word and was one for one on each of the cartridges she'd used bringing down some wood pigeon, and very tasty they were too. With our walking and hunting she was soon running out of clean dry clothes so she borrowed some of mine, worn with a short leather belt that had previously belonged to my Dad.

We found we had a very similar sense of humour slightly darker than average, we were into the same kind of music and she found my CD collection much to her liking and we had a very similar but quite quiet outlook on life. Sat cosily in front of the fire we chatted about everything and anything except when we pulled on our Wellington Boots and Barbour coats and went stalking and then it was just looks and hand signals.