Going Astray by Christine Moore

Author:Christine Moore [Moore, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sunpenny Publishing Group

Chapter 21

Telephone lines were down. So were the power lines. Trees lay across roads in places. We had oil-fired heating that could be ignited without electricity, but with no pump the radiators were cold.

By late Monday afternoon gale force winds were tearing across the countryside, creating havoc. The roof slates on the Shakedown Shack had not withstood the battering well, and now they littered the area in front of the large glass-fronted entrance porch. Fortunately there had been nothing for them to damage as they landed—no cars, no other buildings or structures. The tiles on the main building had fared considerably better; only two or three were missing from the entire roof area.

Now on Tuesday morning, with as yet no reconnection of the electricity supply, hot food and drink were being seriously missed. The prospect of a possible second night with no light, except from a few candles, was depressing.

I curled up in an armchair next to an ancient portable heater attached to a gas cylinder. Malcolm had found it beside the road, presumably waiting for rescue by just some penny-pinching scavenger as himself. That’s what I’d thought then, and again when he said he would bring it to Jayfield’s Corner, but he’d insisted, saying it might come in useful. Now I huddled beside it gratefully. It seemed my only comfort.

I wondered at how dependent I was on small physical indulgences—the tea, coffee, hot snacks, television, radio, audio tapes—all the breaks for minor treats that punctuated my day. Time hung heavily. I probably didn't have enough to do here, and I had been expecting Hilary and Donald to come later. It would have been something to look forward to, but with the state of the roads I knew that it was extremely unlikely that they would attempt the journey—and of course they couldn't telephone to let me know. Only a few years later, at least some of us would have had mobile phones.

My shoulders sagged with lassitude. Then I remembered that at any rate I could wallow in a warm bath; at least the oil-fired boiler heated the hot water tanks. That pleasure need not be denied me.

I left the door into the room open, as the noisy extractor fan that normally operated automatically when the light was switched on was out of commission until power was restored, as of course was the light itself.

I lay back in the hot water and closed my eyes. I was spoilt here, in many ways. Clive was having his lessons, Mel was either resting or playing over at the Shack at this time of day, and Malcolm was working. I was part of the rota of lighter household duties, as a mother of children under ten years old who also had special caring responsibilities for her family. I did the washing and ironing, I kept the room clean and tidy, but most of the mess and work generated by my children was dealt with by others, and there was no general household maintenance, gardening or food shopping for me to do.

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