The Choice

by Claire Wade

Genres: Women's Fiction; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology

Synopsis

Olivia Pritchard spends her time in almost constant fear. Since Mother Mason came into power sugar has been outlawed, with healthy eating and exercise enforced. Anyone caught breaking the rules is sent to the shame box — a glass box, placed in a public place for everyone to judge.

Olivia hates having her and her family's health and happiness being dictated by the government, but she will do anything to keep them safe and away from the shame box. But when her husband's factory burns down, Olivia is pulled into a shady underworld and before she knows it she is the one on trial...

Release date: December 26, 2019

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 400

Sample

Chapter One

It was impossible to ignore the Shame Box. The large transparent cube squatted on the tarmac to one side of the supermarket entrance. This morning it was occupied.

Olivia Pritchard unlocked her trolley and fought to push it in a straight line towards the store. Beside her, Alice kept up a stream of small talk, her best friend’s usual distraction technique. It normally worked, Olivia desperately wanted it to work, but today she couldn’t focus. Her full attention was drawn inexorably to the poor woman who sat hunched in the Box. Please don’t let it be someone she knew, she thought.

Other shoppers gathered around the Box. Watching. Judging. Two little boys banged on the glass, leaving small, smeared handprints behind. Olivia winced. This was no place for children. Where were their parents?

The woman inside the Shame Box didn’t look up. She just sat there, clutching the string of pearls around her neck, her fingers moving over the beads like a rosary; there was no prayer Olivia knew of that could make the situation any better.

She tried to see without looking, to know for sure if the woman was a friend, but the prisoner’s dark hair fell forward, obscuring her face. Was there a hint of familiarity in the tilt of her head? The slim curve of her shoulders?

Seeing a stranger who had broken the law was bad enough, but a friend? Relationships changed for ever when you saw someone in the Box, and Olivia had already lost too much; she couldn’t lose any more.

Her footsteps faltered. Alice reached out to rest her candy-pink manicured hand over the top of Olivia’s washing-up chapped skin.

‘I don’t recognise her,’ Alice whispered, propelling Olivia forward. ‘Keep walking.’ She nodded towards the two men in dark suits standing by the sliding doors. Customer Service Agents. They stood ramrod straight, dominating and oppressive, and motionless except for their eyes. They scanned the shoppers, their gaze never settling for long. If you were lucky.

Steps heavy with a familiar lethargy, Olivia felt the prickling sensation of being watched, but Alice wouldn’t let her slow. They passed through the intrusive body scanners and entered the fluorescent glare of the supermarket. First trial over.

Alice stopped to get a basket, so Olivia pulled her trolley to an abrupt halt. There was relief in the stillness, a moment to catch her breath before facing the next onslaught. Under the scrutiny of the patrolling Customer Service Agents, the surveillance cameras and – worse – the other shoppers, she took out her shopping list, going through the motions of innocence, anything to extend her brief respite.

Unfold the paper, read it, reread it. Make sure everything was there. She needed all the usuals: fruit, vegetables, a box of bran flakes, some brown rice, a tin of No Sugar, No Salt Baked Beans. Nothing exciting, not any more. Shopping for food wasn’t what it used to be; nothing was.

‘Ready?’ Alice asked, with a hint of concern in her voice, and Olivia arranged her face into a smooth, practised smile. Anyone would think that the weekly shop was a pleasure and not something to be endured.

‘I’m good, thank you.’ For a second her smile became real, her gratitude for Alice’s moral support flooded through her. Doing this together made the whole thing easier; well, slightly. ‘Let’s get this over with.’ She nodded her readiness to Alice and together, they slipped into the carefully designed flow of the store and followed the other shoppers towards the fresh fruit and vegetables.

The produce was arranged in a rainbow of neat rows, the grown-up alternative to a sweet shop. Serene, smiling shoppers reached through the mist of dry ice to retrieve bunches of spinach, heads of broccoli and shiny, bright peppers. They held each non-rationed item aloft, just for a second, to ensure the overhead cameras captured a clear image. From the first item Olivia picked up, to the last, her compliance was tested. She had to sell her performance, but it was hard to get excited about buying a bag of potatoes; she settled for pleasantly neutral instead.

Alice stopped at the exotic fruit and reached up with ease to take a mango from the top shelf. Olivia stretched up on tiptoe, hopping to keep her balance. Why did they have to put them so high? Always at the back of the shelf. As her fingertips brushed against a smooth curving fruit, a draught on her back made her jump. She stopped to pull her top down, hiding the expanse of stretch-marked skin. Hopefully, nobody had noticed. Her stretch marks were old – two primary-school-aged children old – but she couldn’t risk someone thinking her weight was fluctuating, not on Mother Mason’s strict diet. There were absolutely no excuses.

‘Here, let me.’ Five nine and gorgeous, Alice easily reached the top shelf, another benefit of their joint shopping trips. Alice’s willowy height balanced out nature’s lack of generosity in Olivia’s stature.

In the centre of the fresh produce section, a shop assistant was mid-demonstration, her face lit up with enthusiasm as she chattered to the shoppers congregated around her, all complying with the unspoken policy of unwavering adherence and devoted interest.

‘This simple Little Gem lettuce can be transformed in just a few short steps.’ The assistant held up a dark-green head of lettuce. ‘It’s delicious fast food, guaranteed to make you feel fantastic.’ She sliced it, knife flashing under the bright overhead lights and the oppressive gaze of the small, black, domed camera mounted on the ceiling directly above them. The audience watched in silence, intense concentration stretched mask-like across their faces. One woman had her phone out, making notes on everything the assistant said. Olivia reached for her own handbag; it wouldn’t hurt to be seen doing the same.

‘It’s so versatile, you can combine it with any of the fresh vegetables available in store.’ The assistant was far more excited than any normal person should ever be about vegetables, but then the shoppers weren’t the only ones under scrutiny. ‘How beautiful are these tomatoes?’ She held up two large, round tomatoes and received a collective ‘Ooo’ from the crowd.

Alice snorted and Olivia turned her head just a fraction to glare at her. Some things came easily to Alice, but biting her tongue was not one of them. They only needed to make it through a couple of minutes at the demonstration table, surely Alice could keep quiet that long.

Thankfully, nobody else seemed to have noticed her lapse in protocol; their expressions remained pleasantly blank, their polite English reserve had become their strongest survival skill.

‘This is Mother Mason’s favourite salad and we have the ingredients on special offer today. All you need to do is slice …’

Please, it was a salad, they hardly needed instruction on how to prepare it; Alice could manage a decent one when she was forced to venture into the kitchen. Even so, Olivia started typing out the ‘recipe’.

‘What are you doing?’ Alice asked, her voice low but not low enough. ‘You could turn those ingredients into a seven-course meal in under an hour; you do not need to take notes.’

‘Shh,’ Olivia hissed out of the corner of her mouth, glancing round at the nearby shoppers. The man closest to them didn’t show any signs that he was listening but that didn’t mean anything, he could be an undercover agent, or worse, a local busybody proving his loyalty to Mother Mason. There were far too many of those around and you could never quite tell who they were, or what you might do to get reported.

She glanced back up at the camera above them, the little red light watching and recording everything. She’d avoided the Shame Box and the Re-education Programme so far; there was no way Alice was going to ruin her perfect record today.

‘Sorry,’ Alice whispered.

‘It’s okay, I’ll fix it.’ She squeezed Alice’s arm quickly and walked up to the demonstration, making eye contact with the shop assistant, who beamed as Olivia took two recipe cards from the display.

‘It’s truly delicious,’ the woman said brightly, but there was a taught brittleness beneath her smile. ‘Try sprinkling on some toasted sunflower seeds. You’ll never taste better!’

‘Will do. Thank you!’ Olivia echoed the woman’s high, energised tone.

She returned to Alice and handed her a card. They studied them for a moment, waiting the appropriate length of time for the cameras to capture their image and attendance, then walked on, their tension easing with each step. The jolly voice of the demonstrator followed them as they moved deeper into the store, away from the fresh produce and towards the unrationed store cupboard goods. Apparently, it didn’t matter how much rice, pasta or tins of beans they bought, they could browse those sections in relative peace. Everything here was healthy; okay, technically if you ate them in vast quantities, you could tip over the daily calorie allowance, but nobody was stupid enough to do that now.

The restricted items section was a different story and Olivia’s temptation to skip the dried fruit, nuts and seeds was almost unbearable. These aisles drew the most Customer Service Agents and double the number of cameras, but she couldn’t get through the week without her packet of apricots. They were the closest thing she had to dessert now, and on days when the kids drove her mad, the rush of sweetness was her only escape.

‘Can you pass me some cranberries?’ Alice loaded her basket up with bags of dried apricots, raisins, pineapple and almonds, unconcerned about raising any red flags through buying in bulk.

‘Are you sure?’ Olivia asked.

When she didn’t move, Alice leaned past her and retrieved her own. ‘You worry too much.’

And you don’t worry enough, Olivia thought, but that old argument could remain unspoken today. Just because she preferred to avoid the attention didn’t mean Alice had to. It would be easier though.

The comforting smell of warm bread enveloped them as they entered the bakery section. Olivia’s stomach rumbled and she pressed a hand to it, muffling the sound. Nobody should feel hungry on Mother Mason’s carefully developed diet.

‘Do you need one?’ Alice stopped to get a loaf.

‘No, I’m okay, I made some this morning.’

It was the only baking she was still allowed to do and it was relatively safe, so long as she followed Mother Mason’s recipe. The colourfully packaged loaves stretched the entire length of the bakery aisle and Alice picked up one, seemingly at random. Not like the middle-aged woman who stood blocking the aisle, squinting at the label on a sliced granary. Reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, she scrutinised the list of ingredients. She was trying too hard, clearly wanting to prove to the cameras that she was committed to Mother Mason’s Eat Healthy Directive. Everybody knew there was nothing sold in the shops that the prime minister didn’t personally approve of. The woman was just trying to get extra brownie points.

Brownie points. Brownies. Rich, dark, chocolatey. It had been so long since Olivia had been allowed to bake some, to taste some. She swallowed the sudden rush of saliva. Right now, she’d even settle for one of the thick, stodgy ones they used to sell in plastic wrappers. What she wouldn’t do for a brownie, a slice of cake, even a small square of chocolate.

She wouldn’t break the law. Obviously. But still.

‘Liv?’ Alice nudged her.

‘Sorry, what?’

Alice rolled her eyes. ‘I said of course you made some this morning.’

‘Made what? I didn’t make anything, I wouldn’t do that.’ Panic made her voice shrill.

The other woman watched them, not even pretending to look at the bread label any more.

‘What are you talking about? You just said you made some.’ Alice was staring at her oddly too.

‘I did?’ If her voice grew much higher it would be beyond human hearing. Please say she hadn’t spoken aloud, hadn’t voiced her desires. Not here of all places.

‘Yes, you said you didn’t need any bread,’ Alice spoke slowly, enunciating every word, ‘because you made a loaf this morning.’

‘Oh yes! Of course. Yes, I made some bread this morning. Good old, plain brown bread.’ She raised her voice for the woman’s benefit, smiling at her until the nosy stranger looked away.

‘Are you feeling all right?’ Alice asked.

‘Me? Yes, fine, why wouldn’t I be?’ she bluffed, shoving her trolley into motion before Alice could interrogate her further. She strode past the woman, reached the end of the aisle and swung her trolley around the corner. A jarring shock tore through her body and a loud clash of metal screeched through the store.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to the man she had collided with, barely looking at him as she desperately tried to pull her trolley away.

‘It’s all my fault.’ He checked over his shoulder and she followed his gaze, searching for any signs of Customer Services. They tried again to drag their trolleys apart, wrenching the screaming metal.

‘I wasn’t paying attention.’ She tugged at the handle, but it was impossible to act sensibly when her focus was on the imminent arrival of Customer Services. How could she have been so careless? So stupid? All attention was bad attention and now everyone in the store was watching her.

‘Here, let me.’ Alice joined Olivia and together they fought to separate the two trolleys. Nobody else came to help. The nearby shoppers backed away from the commotion, taking alternative routes, unwilling to get involved in somebody else’s drama.

The man gave a sharp kick to the interlocked wheels and with a final pull, the trolleys lurched apart. Without another word, they scuttled off in different directions.

‘I didn’t realise we were at the dodgems.’ Alice caught up with her halfway down the cereal aisle. ‘If I’d know, I’d have got a trolley too.’

‘That’s not funny.’ She couldn’t stop scanning the store, straining to hear the sound of approaching footsteps above the supposedly pleasant piped music.

Alice caught hold of her, anchoring her and the trolley, stopping her frantic rush. ‘Liv, we’ve still got to get our rations, you need to pull it together,’ she spoke in a whisper, then raised her voice. ‘You know there are so many types of porridge, I just can’t choose.’ She reached past her, as if searching for something on the shelf. For a moment her body acted as a shield from the cameras. It was just long enough for Olivia to release her tight grip on the trolley.

Nobody from Customer Services had come for her. She’d done nothing wrong. She was safe.

‘They all taste so delicious,’ Alice continued.

It was okay, everything was okay. She could do this.

‘Mother Mason gave this brand five stars.’ Alice held the bag up towards the camera. ‘It’s got her seal of approval on it, so it must be good. Do you want one?’

Olivia arranged her face into her practised smile and stepped away. ‘I’d love one, thanks, Alice.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Alice linked arms with her. ‘Come on, time to face “Ration Row”.’

The Nutrition Distribution Centre, or ‘Ration Row’, lined the far wall of the supermarket. Silver machines hummed and whirred as they distributed the weekly rations of butter, milk and salt. Four unsmiling Customer Service Agents stood on guard, overseeing the process.

‘Have you got your ID card?’ Olivia asked Alice.

‘I hope so.’

She hoped so too. They started the joint shopping trips after the rationing began, a way to take some of the fear out of what had once been a mundane activity. At first it helped, then it became routine, but now Alice was slipping, getting more blasé, at the very time when Mother Mason was cracking down on any dissent.

They locked their shopping in the security booths, hurried past the black refrigerated doors marked ‘Authorised Personnel Only’ and joined the long queue of silent shoppers. The only sounds were the low rumbling of the ten ration dispensers and the high-pitched squeak of shoes on the shiny linoleum floor.

The chill of the refrigeration units hit Olivia’s exposed skin. She shivered, then gritted her teeth against it. Shivering looked far too much like shaking and she couldn’t risk looking like she had something to hide.

A green light came on above Dispenser Six. A stooped old man left his place at the head of the line and shuffled forward with the aid of a walking stick. It was hard to watch his slow progress. He needed help but legally only one person at a time could approach the machines. It was a stupid rule, one of many, but not one she could do anything about. She forced herself to focus on retrieving her own identity card. It was always in the front pocket of her purse, she never failed to check before she left home, but it didn’t stop the niggling doubt, the moment of panic, the increase in her heart rate as she opened her purse.

The sight of her horrific ID photo couldn’t temper her elation and relief when she saw it, exactly where it was supposed to be. Unlike Alice’s. As per usual, her old friend dug through the contents of her designer handbag, muttering under her breath. ‘I’m sure it’s here. It must be.’

Ignore her, Olivia thought. They went through this every time; she’d find it in the end.

The old man collected his rations and a woman with bright pink braids took his place. Without flinching, she stepped onto the weighing plate in front of the machine.

Damn it. Olivia had meant to weigh herself this morning but there hadn’t been time. It was always chaos trying to get everyone ready to leave, helping Danny find his car keys, encouraging Mia to eat her breakfast and Matthew to brush his teeth; if he got a cavity they would all be in trouble.

She’d barely had time to grab a bowl of bran flakes before rushing out the door. They now sat inside her stomach, an unwanted extra weight. What else had she eaten over the past few days? Everything she cooked was from one of Mother Mason’s approved recipes, with regulated portion sizes and using the official measuring cups. Okay, she made a few additions to adapt the recipes to her family’s tastes, but she never used anything forbidden.

There was absolutely no reason to think she was over the permitted weight limit, but she wished she could be sure. Her HealthHub on her wrist informed her that the trip round the supermarket had added four hundred more steps to her morning total, but was it enough?

There was a shift in the atmosphere of the queue. People around her tensed, becoming more statue-like, and Alice ceased her frantic searching. Something was wrong at Dispenser Three. A young man had drawn the scrutiny of the nearest Customer Service Agent. His movements were jerky as he tried to insert his ID into the card slot. The agent looked up to the overhead camera. He lifted his electronic notepad, slid a finger across the screen and looked back at the camera.

The customer’s frantic motions stopped as the card disappeared into the machine and his posture relaxed. The shoppers exhaled a collectively held breath. There was a beep and a whir and his details flashed up on the dispenser’s central display screen.

Olivia averted her eyes, following the unspoken etiquette, it was the only privacy they were able to grant each other. In trying to be discreet, she looked straight into the emotionless gaze of the agent. With well-worn practice she glanced away, registering only dark hair and small, deep-set eyes.

On the wall above him were brightly coloured posters of the Vitasan family, all smiling down on her. ‘Healthy and Happy!’ declared Mary Vitasan. The picture captured the stunningly beautiful woman playing in the park with her partner and children; the perfect family all grinned at the camera. None of Olivia’s family photos ever looked that good; it was a miracle if they all looked in the same direction and she didn’t have her eyes closed. Danny had to take a million pictures to get just one decent shot.

In the next poster Mary served dinner; with her glossy hair and perfect teeth, she was beautiful and serene as she dished out a bowl of peas. ‘A good home and health are your best wealth.’ There was none of the carnage Olivia expected at meal times. No arguments of wanting more of this, or none of that, or refusing to eat all together. What was the Vitasans’ secret? It wasn’t like they were a perfect TV family, just actors playing roles, following scripts. They were real people, chosen by Mother Mason to represent the ideal family, encouraging the nation to aspire to a better way of living. They always looked so happy, especially Mary; it had been a long time since Olivia had felt like that.

Alice had gone back to rustling through her bag and the clutter that accompanied her everywhere.

‘Hurry up,’ Olivia whispered, not daring to look to see if the agent was watching. She concentrated on the poster of five-year-old Isabelle Vitasan, looking wide-eyed and innocent. ‘Be smart. Eat smart!’ proclaimed Isabelle, her mouth open, ready to take a bite of a shiny red apple. Mia would want it peeled, cored and sliced before she’d even consider eating it.

Olivia tapped her ID card against her palm as she stared at the next poster, the largest. A friendly looking middle-aged lady, in a twin set and pearls, smiled down on the shoppers. Mother Mason had a warm, knowing look, her eyes motherly and benign behind her wire-rimmed spectacles.

‘Eat the best, leave the rest! Remember: Mother knows best.’

Below her was a little red sign. ‘Have you got your identity card? Shoppers without their cards will be refused rations and may face £1000 fine or disciplinary action. Please speak to Customer Services for assistance.’

‘It’s here, I know it is.’ Alice gave her bag a good shake.

‘Let me.’ Olivia took it from her and sorted through the contents, collecting together the scraps of paper, the old receipts and empty food wrappers.

The woman in the queue behind them bent down and picked something up.

‘Here,’ she passed it to Alice who slipped it into her pocket without looking at it.

‘Thank you.’

Someone further back in the ration line cleared their throat. A space had opened up ahead and Alice nudged Olivia forward.

Olivia thrust the handful of rubbish at her friend and moved one space up, closer to the agent on the right. She slowed her motions but didn’t stop. ‘Is he watching?’ she asked, feeling the cold metal of keys, a chewed biro and a soft leather purse.

‘I don’t think so, but hurry.’

She searched faster, her fingers raking the inside of the bag, scraping against a zip, catching crumbs beneath her nails, until she touched something wet and slimy and snatched her hand out.

‘What is it?’ Alice tugged on her favourite necklace, unravelling a little more of the pink tassel that hung from the gold flower.

Gritting her teeth, Olivia put her hand in again, extracted the remains of an apple core and held it out between finger and thumb.

‘Oops.’ Alice took the core and stuffed it into her pocket.

The woman behind them kept a few steps back, her head turned away, but there was a small pulsing vein in her neck that showed above the dark blue of her suit.

‘Alice, it isn’t here. You’ll have to come back later.’ Olivia passed the bag back, but a hard corner scratched her wrist. ‘Wait a minute.’ She grasped the smooth, plastic card sticking out of an inner pocket and withdrew it.

‘Thank you.’ Alice pressed the ID card to her heart. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’

Except it would, it always did. It had become as much a part of their shopping routine as the rations and constant scrutiny.

They had made it to the front of the queue; a balding man collected his packet of salt and walked away, relief clear on his face. The green light came on over his newly vacated dispenser; it was her turn.

‘Think light thoughts,’ Alice whispered.

Olivia drew herself up and stepped forward. Shoulders back, look straight ahead, don’t slow, don’t hesitate. She tried to ignore the Customer Service Agent but could feel his attention on her, a creeping, tingling sensation that spread across her skin. She bit her lip then forced her jaw to relax, forming her mouth into an almost smile.

The light glinted off the weighing plate as she approached. She should have skipped breakfast, gone to a drop-in Be Fit class en route to the supermarket. It was too late now. The scales were getting closer. Five steps, four, three. She drew in a deep breath, let it out in a rush of air and stepped in front of the dispenser.

It was part weighing machine, part vending machine, part parking ticket validator and it didn’t matter how many times she collected her rations, it was always terrifying. She closed her eyes for a second and breathed a silent prayer: Let it be okay, let my weight be fine, don’t let me get in trouble today.

The screen lit up and the words Insert Card appeared. A flashing green arrow pointed to a white illuminated card slot. Fingers shaking, she inserted her identity card into the machine. It sucked it out of her hand, disappearing without a trace. There was a beep and her name, photograph and ID code flashed up on the screen, with details of everything from her birth date to her body mass, followed a moment later by photos and files on Danny, Matthew and Mia. The machine processed their information, checking it against the Department of Nutrition and Health’s national database, correlating their HealthHub data with their latest weigh-ins and health checks. It wasn’t until she heard the first internal whirring noise of the dispenser in action that she allowed herself to relax slightly.

Four small, individually wrapped cubes of butter dropped into the bottom window and a light flashed to show the ration was ready. She reached into the opening, pushed past the clear flap, and retrieved them. There was a gushing sound of pouring liquid and a plastic milk bottle hurtled down the chute, to land with a thud in the metal rack. Two down, one to go.

As she closed her hand around the small packet of salt, a high-pitched siren shrieked. A red light flashed, a bright pulse that filled the store. She stopped, staring straight ahead; her throat tight as she waited for the dark shadows of Customer Services, to feel the strong hands that would drag her through the doors marked ‘Authorised Personnel Only’. Her vision blurred with tears. This was the moment she had been dreading for the past seven years. What had she done?

The siren stopped but the silence that followed seemed louder and more painful.

‘Name?’ a male voice demanded.

‘Oli—’

‘Becky Hubbard.’ A shrill voice to her right interrupted her.

Olivia kept her head down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Customer Service Agents standing either side of someone two dispensers down. They shifted position, blocking the person’s escape, and revealing the woman who had been behind Alice in the queue. The red light pulsed unrelentingly and Olivia looked up to check her own machine. It was a steady, reassuring green. Not her then; not this time.

‘I don’t understand. What’s the problem, sir?’ Becky cowered away from the men.

‘Ms Hubbard, we need you to come with us.’ The dark-haired agent took hold of her wrist.

‘There must be a mistake.’ Becky tried to pull away, struggling as they began to half-lead, half-drag her towards the black doors. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. Please, let me go.’

The agents ignored her, their pace never slowing as she fought against them.

‘Please. Help me,’ Becky begged.

But the other shoppers had their heads bowed, focusing on the machines in front of them. No one stirred.

Becky struggled against the men and in trying to wrench her arms free her bracelet broke. Little silver charms fell to the floor, bouncing and scattering across the ground. A small sparkling heart rolled to a stop by Olivia. She bent down automatically to pick it up and her gaze locked on Becky’s. The other woman’s eyes were wide and desperate, far too large for her pale face.

‘Please.’ She reached out towards Olivia.

Olivia wanted to help, to do something, but her children were waiting for her to come home, they needed her to stay safe. She looked down, the charm falling from her hand. The scratched weighing plate blurred and faded as she stared at the ground, fighting not to cry. She had no right to tears, not when she was choosing to turn away, to protect herself. But what else could she do?

Becky’s cries rose higher at the opening hiss of the refrigerated doors but cut off abruptly as they closed behind her, leaving the shop in silence. There was relief in the silence, in the peace, then came the sickening guilt. Just like that, another person taken, another person Olivia hadn’t helped. Couldn’t help, she corrected herself. She was safe, that was what mattered, wasn’t it? She could go home to her family. But what about Becky’s family?

There was a long pause and then at some unspoken sign the other shoppers came to life again, reaching to retrieve packages, pots and bottles. They kept their movements small and careful, before hurrying away.

Olivia started to tremble, the icy refrigerated air penetrating deep into her core as she extracted the packet of salt. She stepped over the fallen beads, the frayed and broken cord, and moving on autopilot, walked back to her trolley. Her hands we