Drowning

         
         
          Fiona knew Brian would be empty-handed before he was even close enough to see his face. She stood at her son's bedroom window, arms wrapped around her against the chill, and watched the lone figure trudge up the hill towards the house. His hands were plunged deep into the pockets of his heavy raincoat. Anyone who didn't know him would think he was merely huddled against the lashing rain, but Fiona knew better. She knew by the way his feet thumped through the stream of water that ran down the path, each abject footfall a watery explosion. And she knew by the way he held his shoulders, tensed like he wanted to beat the very air he breathed into submission.
          Behind her, Matthew moaned in his sleep. She fled the window to place a hand on her son's forehead. It was cool, which was a blessing, but she hated the way his breath whistled through his narrowed airways. Every now and again, he would come half awake and gasp with his mouth wide open, until he managed to catch a deeper breath. Then he would settle back instantly into his fitful rest. She picked up the inhaler off the bedside table and stared at the tiny square indicating the number of puffs left. Eight. Four days worth of treatment. She turned the inhaler on its side and the number 8 became an infinity symbol.
          If only, she thought bitterly.
          She reached the front door before Brian, opening it as he came down the driveway. If you could still call it that, considering they hadn't owned a car for nearly a decade. When he saw her there waiting, he paused and met her eyes, and she knew her suspicions had been correct.
          'Come inside and get dry,' she said. 'I'll see to some dinner.'
         

#

          She let him eat first, yesterday's bean stew and a rough wholemeal bread roll. He'd been walking for at least six hours in pouring rain. He ate a few mouthfuls then paused to speak two words.
          'Next week,' he said, then spooned in more food.
          Fiona closed her eyes and pressed a knuckle into the middle of her forehead, pushing till it hurt. 'They've been saying that for three weeks now. Did you tell them he's nearly out? Four days, Brian. He can't live without it.'
          Brian nodded. He ripped the roll in half, dipped it in his stew, then tore off a bite and chewed mechanically and without pleasure, his only purpose to refuel. 'I'm going to ask Tim if I can borrow his bike, make a run to the city.'
          'The city? They repaired the bridge?'
          'No, but old Kevin says there's a route over the hills if you've got something that can handle the terrain. Him and his mates used to do it back in the day.'
          'Kevin? What does that stinky old tramp know about anything?'
          'He wasn't always old. Or stinky. He's lived here his whole life.'
          'Still, the city?'
          'What choice do we have? There's nothing for thirty miles around. Every pharmacy is completely out of asthma meds; they just can't cope with demand. Not to mention all the flooding--I hear more than half the roads are inaccessible now, and the deliveries aren't getting through.'
          'Yes,' Fiona said acidly, 'I know. Everyone fucking knows.'
          She stood suddenly, pushing the chair away so that it tipped and almost fell. She crossed her arms and stared out of the window onto the vegetable garden. Dark rivulets of rain ran down the glass.
          'I'm sorry,' she said.
          Brian's chair scraped behind her and then she felt his hands on her shoulders. 'How is he?' he asked.
          'Sleeping. Tired out after school. He sounds like a bloody accordion, wheezing in and out with every breath.' She turned and slipped into his arms. 'I'm scared, Brian. I'm terrified every second he's going to collapse in front of me and there'll be nothing I can do for him, and he'll just--'
          'Easy.' Brian gave her a squeeze. 'No more of that.'
          He held her for a few more seconds, then pulled away and sat back down. He started eating with purpose. 'They'll have something in the city,' he said between mouthfuls. He tried to inject confidence into his voice, but Fiona wasn't fooled. He never could lie well, not to her. Still, she loved him for pretending.
          She didn't try to talk him out of it when he pulled on his still dripping raincoat and boots. Exhausted though she knew he must be, they had no choice.
          'Good luck,' she called down the path, as he walked off into the coming darkness.
         

#

          Matthew came downstairs shortly after Brian had gone. She could hear him wheezing between steps. In the weak illumination of the stairwell's low energy nightlight, he looked like a wraith in his baggy T-shirt and boxers. His face appeared unusually pale beneath his dark thatch of hair. It seemed to float in the gloom.
          But he was smiling as he came into the kitchen, the only room they tended to keep lit at night. Despite everything, he always seemed able to conjure a smile.
          'Mum, can I use the computer?'
          'Maybe. I'll check the batteries. Sit and eat first.'
          She cooked him toast and scrambled eggs with mushrooms while they listened to classic 2020's tunes on the radio. When it cut out mid-song, Matthew cranked the handle for a minute or so to recharge the battery. Fiona tried not to think too much about how such a minor exertion had him breathing like a seventy-year-old.
          She watched his face as he took his first mouthful of eggs. His eyes lit with pleasure. 'Mmm, real eggs!'
          'Yep. They finally got some decent feed over at the farm and their hens are laying again. Managed to procure us a cool dozen and another dozen on reserve for next month.'
          'You rock, mum.'
          'You know it.'
          She didn't tell him she'd had to trade her last piece of jewellery for the eggs. She didn't want to taint his simple joy at eating scrambled eggs that weren't made from powder. And she tried really hard not to listen to the voice whispering in the back of her mind that any meal could be his last.
          The battery situation was not good. When full, their three 5kWh batteries could last them most of the week if they were careful, even without a top-up from the solar panels. But after four days of solid rain, two of the batteries were drained and the third was only two-thirds full. Enough to run their small fridge, her sewing machine and the kitchen lights for two or three days. No spare for niceties like TV or the internet.
          'Why do you need to use the computer, Matt? Is it important?'
          Matthew was pushing away his empty plate as she came back into the kitchen from the utility room. 'Mmmm, kind of. I wanted to check the school forums to see if they were doing anything for Zoe Clarke.'
          'Why, what's happened to Zoe Clarke?'
          Matthew gaped at her like she was an idiot. 'Have you seriously not heard?' He shook his head in disbelief at her blank look. 'She died at the weekend.'
          Fiona dropped into an empty chair. 'Died? Died how?'
          The question was no sooner asked than she wanted to take it back. Because she didn't want to know, and certainly didn't want to hear the answer come from her own child's mouth.
          'She, um, had an asthma attack. In her sleep. Her dad found her in the morning.'
          Fiona stared at her son in horror. But they're so rich. So connected. 'Surely she had an inhaler?'
          He shrugged. 'I guess it didn't work.'
          Slowly, like watching an avalanche in slow motion, Matthew's face slid through a host of emotions. The vague hint of a smile that had still been there despite his awful news disappeared, replaced with lips pursed in confusion. Then his mouth opened with a soft 'aaah' of understanding, and finally his face simply crumpled in panic. 'Mmmm,' he said, tears spilling from his eyes. 'Mmm-uuu-um, do you think that will happen to me? Am I going to die of asthma, Mum? Mummy?'
          She didn't remember moving, but in the next breath she was kneeling beside him, pulling his head into her shoulder and telling him everything would be all right, she would never let that happen. Not to him. Not to him.
          He wiped his nose on the back of his hand as they separated and breathed great gasps of air. 'Where's Dad, anyway?' he asked.
          'Out. He won't be long.' She smiled and swiped tears from his cheek with her thumb. 'Why don't you get the laptop, eh? See if any of your mates are online.'
          As she washed the dishes in tepid, purified rain water, she watched Matthew's reflection in the window with a kind of sly envy. The fear that had overwhelmed him a few short minutes ago was forgotten, on the surface at least, as he joked with his best mate online. She had no such respite. This was the terror that gripped her a hundred times a day. Only now it felt unbearably huge, uncontainable. She wanted to scream.
          She didn't hear Brian until he slammed the front door behind him and made her nearly drop the plate she was drying. He tousled Matthew's hair on his way to join her by the sink.
          He gave a slow shake of his head, spattering droplets of rain. 'Tim's bike's knackered. He came off it last week and it's going to be months before he can afford to fix it.'
          Fiona stared out of the window, Matthew's voice echoing in her head: She had an asthma attack. Her dad found her in the morning. An asthma attack. Her dad found her. An asthma attack.
          Her focus shifted to her reflection. She stared hard into her own eyes and asked herself what she would do to save her son, to what depths she would sink.
          She handed Brian the tea towel. 'Get out of that wet coat and get yourself some hot tea. I'll be back in an hour or two.'
         

#

          The house was up on Austin Lane, a sprawling six bedroom place with space on the drive for half a dozen cars, though it only held one, a hydrogen powered Range Rover. An automatic security light came on as she approached the covered porch. She took a deep, steadying breath, then knocked firmly three times.
          Fiona recognised the woman who came to the door, but only barely. Eighteen months ago, Jasmine had commissioned her to make four new sets of curtains for their lounge. The material she'd supplied was gorgeous green velvet, and Fiona had wondered where she had sourced it and how much it must have cost. Back then Jasmine had been an image of perfect hair and makeup, a painful reminder of life two decades ago, one now only the incredibly wealthy could afford. The woman standing before her looked pale and dishevelled, eyes raw from weeping, face blank.
          'Jasmine.' Fiona had to clear her throat before she could continue. 'Sorry to disturb you, but I--Matthew, he told me...about Zoe.'
          Jasmine simply stared at her.
          'I just wanted to say how sorry I am. Zoe was such a lovely, polite girl, and I just can't imagine how awful this has all been for you and Malcolm.'
          Something stirred in Jasmine's eyes, a glimmer of emotion, and of recognition. 'You're...you made my curtains.'
          'That's right. I'm Fiona. Matthew and Zoe go to the same school.'
          'Went to the same school.' Jasmine's voice cut like a dull knife.
          'Yes,' Fiona replied softly. 'Went.'
          'What do you want, Fiona?'
          'To tell you how I sorry I am. And...'
          Malcolm appeared in the hallway behind his wife. He joined the two women at the door, placing a hand on Jasmine's shoulder.
          'What's going on?' he asked.
          'This is Fiona. She made our curtains.'
          'Oh,' Malcolm said. 'Right.'
          'I just wanted to say how sorry I am and to--'
          Malcolm started to pull his wife away from the door. 'Yes, that's very kind of you. Now, please, you'll understand we'd like to be left alone.'
          The door began to close. Fiona stopped it with a hand. 'Wait,' she blurted. 'Please. Matthew, my son, he has asthma too. We're nearly out of meds. Nowhere has any. We've tried everything. I was hoping maybe you had spare--'
          'How dare you.' Jasmine said. Her voice rising with each word until she was screeching. 'How fucking dare you! You vampire. You filthy leech. How dare you! Get off my fucking land, you spiteful, awful bitch.'
          'Please,' Fiona begged. 'He only has four days left. He could die! Please, please! Your daughter would want him to live--'
          Jasmine lunged at her. Her husband held her back, but Fiona tripped over her own feet and fell back off the porch to land on her backside in the rain. The last thing she saw as the door slammed closed was Malcolm's face twisted in silent grief.
          The rain fell around her and on her. It soaked her hair and oozed down the back of her neck. But she could not move. The weight of everything was just too much. She had failed. This was their last chance, and she had failed. May as well let the rain take her, like it had taken their old life, like it had taken everything. The bloody ice caps and the bloody ocean and the bloody rain. Her tears fell, and the rain took them, too.
          Eventually, she dragged herself to her feet and started to make her slow way home.
          'Wait.'
          The voice came out of the darkness at the side of the house. Malcolm stepped from the shadows, glancing furtively over one shoulder. He had an umbrella in one hand, a hessian tote bag in the other. He walked briskly to her, hesitated for a moment, then thrust the bag into her numb hands. 'God damn it,' he said, squinting up into the rain, and she felt like he wasn't really talking to her at all. 'We did this. We did this to them.' And he stepped back into the shadows and was gone.
         

#

          There were six inhalers in the bag.
          Fiona walked the empty streets for countless minutes with her precious cargo clutched in both hands. She stopped finally beneath a street light which, unlike most, was still working. It bathed her in feeble, ghostly light. Sobbing, she raised her face to the rain and screamed at the sky until her throat hurt.
          Then she adjusted her hood, tucked the bag safely inside her jacket, and started back along the path to her home, and her family.