Beth read through the pamphlet of volunteer jobs carefully. Her first impression had been correct. There wasn’t anything she thought she could convince her father or Sophie to apply for. Beth sighed. She had claimed to Alistair that she was looking for a volunteer position for herself and that would just have to become the truth. She began applying for any even half-way reasonable option.
She was unsuccessful. Half of them gently told her that her physical strength was not going to be up to the challenge of the work. Beth started an exercise programme, but there was nothing she could do about being a slight young female. The other half were already filled – or at least someone claimed they were filled – before she got there. Beth didn’t want to be conspiratorial, but she suspected some prejudice against outsiders. Her paperwork might proclaim her to be a resident, but every time she opened her mouth, people could hear that she wasn’t.
Beth widened her net to jobs that didn’t pay in Contribution Points. They might still pay in tokens in the future. She applied to all the unskilled positions restaurants and shops and offices. They similarly became unavailable as soon as they heard her speak. She was starting to understand why her father would face difficulty in the future when his own job disappeared. He wasn’t unskilled, of course, so it was a slightly different set of challenges. But unemployment was sky-high, and everyone was prejudiced in favour of hiring their own.
While she searched, she made her other preparations.
The Book implied that electricity would be surprisingly resilient. True, Pines was already in the process of losing the power they imported, and that was most of it. But that meant rolling blackouts and high prices, not a complete loss. Since the island had its own grid, it would at least not be taken down by an infected losing control of their car half-way across the country, or an inaccessible substation catching fire. Each neighbourhood in turn would have their few hours a day to run their heating, charge their batteries, and cook the day’s meals.
The internet, on the other hand, was about to be ripped apart like spider webs shot through by cannon balls. The vast stores of human knowledge rendered silent. It was vital for her to store local copies of anything she wanted to know. Fortunately, she had a computer she could use. Peter had taken his ‘university’ laptop with him but had kindly left his old tower behind. She compiled lists of information and automated the setup to start downloading.
She had a brief hurdle when she needed to install something that required administrator access. Peter wasn’t even responding to her existing requests. Trying to get tech support out of him was going to be painful. Beth considered what she knew about him. After a quick search, she found out the creation date of the admin user. She plugged that month and year into the pattern that Peter had been using for his passwords since he was a child. Success. On the very first try. Beth shook her head. Oh well, was she really going to complain that she had succeeded? Besides, it was just a machine that never left the house. Many people didn’t have any password at all.
Beth was very pleased at how her accumulation of knowledge was going. The internet didn’t have the reliability it had three months prior, it was true, but it was still significantly more resilient than Beth had expected. Much better than she had anticipated, given all the problems Peter had had in facetiming. Someone must have done something to improve it, which was unexpectedly conscientious, given the circumstances.
Beth made more visits to the various markets, this time for storage devices. She eyed the spare laptops, the power banks, and the solar panels. She did need them, but they were insanely expensive. Beth had money. Probably more money than she could actually spend, given what she knew about the future. She had built up quite significant savings while preparing for university, after all. But even knowing that it would shortly become valueless, she couldn’t bring herself to waste it. Never mind, she told herself. They could wait. The Book said that Pines would sanction outright plundering of the mainland once it was officially abandoned. There’d be a lot of spares just lying around.
Food was a different story. Beth would already have forced herself to buy if she could, no matter how costly it was. But it simply wasn’t available without ration tickets. She had severely underestimated just how far Peter had gone for them when he’d stocked the apartment. He must have had access to other sources, she suspected. The de la Haye’s were not offering a repeat.
Beth had tried to stock up from conventional sources. She went from shop to shop along her map and found herself recognising the same people, doing the same thing. She’d started too late. She wasn’t going to find that one forgotten gift shop that still had tons of supplies, because the locals had had plenty of time to remember them all. Everything had long since been stripped of food.
Or at least obvious food. The flower market, usually an export crop from the island, was fully stocked. Half-remembering some historical show about people eating tulip bulbs during the second world war, Beth looked up edible bulbs. She scrolled irritably past onions, garlics, leeks, Jerusalem artichokes. Obviously those were edible. Really. Ah, there it was. Tulips, as she had remembered, although apparently, they tasted awful. Some lilies and some hyacinths… and then other lilies and hyacinths were poisonous. Beth was not about to chance her flower identification skills. Dahlias. That seemed a safe choice. Even if only a few varieties were tasty, they were at least all edible. And they stored well. Beth bought dahlia and tulip bulbs and stored them in a dark box.
Seeds for normal crops had also almost disappeared, but seeds and seedlings for edible flowers were still available. Even the more commonly known edible flowers, like sunflowers and roses. Beth purchased a share of them along with the less obvious hibiscus, honeysuckle, nasturtium and pansy. The urgent element before the spring equinox might be simple calories, but after that, flavourings would become more vital. Rosewater had been the default flavouring for hundreds of years before vanilla had taken its place. It wouldn’t take long for it to regain its crown. Beth set up flowerpots all along the stairway with the new seedlings, as well as along her windowsill.
Then there were the non-perishable supplies. Unfortunately for her ambitions, Beth couldn’t go wild even with the things that were readily available. She had space limitations to consider. While there might be a superpower available at the auction that allowed for an extra-dimensional space, that didn’t help her now. Now, she just had half a small bedroom to stash everything. She restrained herself to a modest number of notebooks, pens and paper novels. Unexpectedly, when picking up those, she came across a find. Clear A4 plastic covers. Plastic covers intended for garden use had already disappeared, but it seemed no-one had considered alternative sources. Beth grabbed a box. She was sure she could do something with it.
While she was there, she also picked up an assortment of supplies for Calley. Feeling guilty, she conscientiously picked up some additional packs of hair-dye for Sophie, and some sporting equipment for Oakley. If she was going to buy some non-essentials for herself, it only seemed fair to buy for the others. She did want to buy something for her father and Peter as well, but that was more complex. Anything she knew they would like was outside of her budget, even under the circumstances. Getting them ties or socks would be a little ridiculous. Besides, Sophie was aggressively buying underwear and leisurewear for them all. Beth thought perhaps Sophie had been as embarrassed by Catherine’s clothing donation as Beth herself. Beth shook off the guilt over that interaction. It was done and over. There was nothing she could do about it anymore.
Beth still didn’t see Peter. Uncle Alex’s memorial was finally scheduled, and they could miraculously even dial in. Beth expected Peter to come over so they could watch together. He didn’t. He logged in for the ceremony itself, but he didn’t message Beth or stay on the line afterwards. It was still better than her father, who was mysteriously busy with urgent work. Beth tried to be understanding. Her father always did battle with emotion, and grief could express itself in different ways. It wasn’t as if it was anyone’s responsibility to make sure Beth had someone to rely on. How desperately selfish it was to make someone else’s memorial about her. But Beth couldn’t help it. She did feel abandoned and ignored.
The first she even heard of Peter was a proud announcement from her father that Peter had an important new job.
“Did he come and visit?” asked Beth.
Beth could hardly stay indoors all the time just in case he came by, but she was still a little heartbroken to have missed him.
“No, I managed to give him a call,” he said. “Silly that these things are getting so hard, now. They take our money all these years, but don’t bother to put in fail-safes for even the least bit of disruption? Shameful.”
Peter had taken a call from her father, but he hadn’t taken any calls from Beth? He couldn’t still be worried about him keeping his girlfriend Catherine secret from her, surely?
“What’s he doing?” asked Sophie. “How is he going to balance that with his degree?”
“They’ve put his entire degree on hold,” said her father. “They’ve kicked even the post-graduates out of the universities. It makes no sense, really. They’re letting the high school kids go back, but kicking out the university students? It’s obvious why they’re really doing it. It’s got nothing to do with safety. They just want an excuse to confiscate the university buildings. I bet they’ve had their eyes on it for a while. But anyway, that’s how Peter got the job. The university recommended him to stay on and handle co-ordination and management. It was very clever of Peter, very clever.”
“Are they using the buildings for additional refugee centres?” asked Beth.
It made sense to try and get the refugees into more permanent accommodation, but that didn’t sound like something that Peter would be interested in managing.
“Oh, that as well, I have no doubt,” said her father. “Moving all the scroungers into nice university dormitories, and all for free, just typical. But Peter was saying that they’re moving the local government itself. With the whole mess with transport and the internet being unreliable, they need more people physically here on the island to handle administrative matters for a while.”
That made more sense. Good for Peter. The Book had already made it clear that she didn’t need to worry about how he would cope, but Beth had assumed that was interference from his girlfriend’s family. It was much more reassuring that it was because Peter had found a job for himself. Beth did feel a pang. Peter had done so much better than Beth, and without any of the clues Beth had.
She supposed that was a reason for why he had been too busy to come and visit. And it had a different upside as well – now that Peter had established that volunteering was the right and proper thing to do, her father wouldn’t be so resistant to it himself or complain about Beth taking one on herself. She would find something sooner or later, she was sure.
Beth went out again with her map, but she knew she was just wondering around aimlessly. She had run out of stores to visit. At least, legitimate stores. There was an alternative Beth hadn’t tried yet. It was time to stop being scared. It was just a glorified flea market. An informal market where things were sold by individuals outside the rationing system. It wasn’t illegal to sell one’s personal belongings for straight cash. Yet. And if some of the items being sold weren’t, strictly speaking, ‘personal’, then that was a problem for the seller, not the buyer. There weren’t going to be bands of riot police descending onto it and locking everyone up. At least, The Book didn’t mention those until later. Much later, after the laws had changed.
The grey market was in an accidental square just outside the official boundary of the university. It formed by the juncture of a gate in the university wall, the alleyway running behind the adjacent houses, and the back courtyard of some long-abandoned building. It was almost invisible as one approached, except for the noise. The space suddenly opened up into a sprawling network of improvised stalls. A few large picnic umbrellas served as the backbone for a net of ropes and cables. From the net hung lights and signs and curtain ‘walls’ of clashing fabrics in a way that would make any safety officer call off sick for the rest of the project. The buyers wandered through like it was a Christmas Market that had hung around too long. The sellers weren’t quite as relaxed, with many keeping their goods half-packed for a quicker getaway. Once Beth looked for them, she could spot the lookouts.
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After her first visit, Beth felt better and worse. She wasn’t as concerned about being arrested. She was more concerned about having anything to buy with. Some people were still trading with purely currency, but many more expected some sort of barter. Food, in particular, needed some other type of food as part of the deal. And she didn’t think anyone was going to be too keen on her dahlia bulbs.
Beth hardened her determination and stocked up on anything people were still willing to accept money for. She now had enough storage devices to outlast the internet. Which, to be fair, wasn’t saying much. Whole sections of the world were starting to go dark. There was a little left. Some of the email providers were still working. Some forums that had been newly reworked to be entirely text. But the only hope left for video was torrenting, and extremely slow torrenting at that.
On her third visit to the market, Beth recognised a woman who had come over on the boat with her, there with a friend. Beth was a little surprised to see them. The market had seemed to be only frequented by residents. Refugees were too timid. Beth didn’t blame them. It might not have been official policy, but the powers-that-be weren’t trying to hide it either. Consequences were much more severe for a refugee than for a resident.
They made eye contact, and Beth stopped for some brief small talk. The friend was short but imposing. She was dressed in jeans, an oversized fisherman’s jumper and waterproof boots. In contrast, her hair was braided into a pretty crown with white ribbons threaded through it.
Beth asked politely, “Did you get what you wanted?”
“No, not at all,” replied the friend, one hand on her hip. “We want to put up a small stall, but they won’t let us.”
“Really? Why not?” asked Beth.
“We don’t have a residence permit.”
Beth blinked, then ran that through again. “They want a residence permit for an unofficial market?”
“Exactly!”
The boat woman said in a conciliatory tone, “They said that they don’t want to risk anything that would force the authorities to take an interest. They’re in a very precarious situation here. I don’t think we can blame them for that.”
“I absolutely can blame them for that,” said the friend. “It’s very clear that they just don’t want competition. Like us boat people have any goods to sell anyway.”
Beth paused at that herself. “Then what do you want to sell?”
“I’ll sell advice,” she said. “I run a commercial market garden back home, you see. Same weather as here. There’s a bunch of numpties wanting to grow their own food for the very first time in their whole lives. And without tutorial videos to hold their hands, they have no clue what to do.”
Beth didn’t ask why she didn’t offer her services for free. Why should she? If they were going to get a better quality of food out of it, why should she have to suffer with whatever the refugee centres were providing?
In that instant, Beth had a thought. If she couldn’t find a job, then perhaps she could make one for herself.
“I’m Beth, by the way,” she said.
“Gwen,” replied the friend, shaking hands.
“Do you have some time to grab a cup of tea?" asked Beth.
It’d wouldn’t be real tea, not on Beth’s budget. It would be some herbal variant – probably nettle or lavender. But it would be warm.
“You have something you want to say to me?” Gwen asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Well, you see,” said Beth. “I do have a residence permit.”
“You’re a boat person yourself, aren’t you? How on earth did you manage that?”
Beth shrugged, awkwardly. “A family member who lives here pulled in a favour for us.”
“Well, aren’t you the cat that fell into the butter churn,” said Gwen. “That’s quite the favour.”
Beth was slowly coming to realise just how true that was.
“Were you thinking to run a stall together, then?” asked Gwen.
Gwen sounded sceptical, and Beth didn’t blame her. Gwen’s idea was interesting, but not so interesting that it would support more than one person.
“Not quite,” said Beth. “I was thinking perhaps I could create an entire directory for informal services. I’m sure there’s a bunch of things the various refugees would be willing to perform at client’s houses. Hairdressers. Clothing repairs. General handyman. Gardening advice. The kind of services that people used to just find online. Services they probably don’t know how to find now that the internet is down. Advice they can no longer watch a video for. Repairs for things they used to just throw away and buy new.”
Libraries still existed, but Beth was willing to bet most people didn’t even know where it was, let alone the range of services they provided.
Gwen thought that through. “It would be a right pain to give advice right there in the market, I suppose. Likely they don’t know the first thing about their own gardens. I would have to trundle along to their places anyway. Alright.”
They found a stall selling hot drinks and took them a little way away to have some privacy. As they sat down, Beth glanced again at Gwen’s hair, trying to figure out how she had done it.
Gwen noticed and touched it. “It keeps my hair cleaner for longer. That vinegar they’re pretending is soap does horrors to it, I tell you. A lot of the others have cut their hair short, but I’m still holding onto hope.”
Beth touched her own hair. She’d been rationing the product she had and stocked up with as many as she could lay her hands on, but it wasn’t going to last forever.
They discussed Beth’s idea, and after a little while concluded that it was worth the attempt. Beth would first see if she was allowed to open a stall at all, and then they would tour the various shelters to collect candidates. It wasn’t perfect. Certification or authentication for people’s skills ranged from difficult to impossible. They couldn’t do anything about any of the safety issues. All they could do was have a reputation system and remind all parties to be careful. But it was better than nothing.
Beth negotiated with the market staff for a booth alone. She had wanted to ask one or both to come with her, but she had held herself back. It wasn’t just that a single ‘resident’ alone would be more likely to succeed than a whole flock of outsiders. It was also that this was her job now, and she needed to get used to being responsible. She would be the person handling matches. Gwen and her boat friends were happy to help her find contacts, but they weren’t interested in the business.
Fortunately, the residence permit was enough. Beth could only afford a part-time placement, which placed her in the morning before the lunch rush would start. It wasn’t the busiest of time for the market, but given what she was trying to sell, that wasn’t a bad thing. She wasn’t there for impulse buys or pre-made meals. Having the space and quiet to talk things over would help. In addition, it gave her plenty of time to complete all her other tasks, further job-hunting included.
The next day, Gwen met up with Beth to tour the shelters. While they walked between them, Beth asked, “How did you end up in Pines?”
“All on my ownsome, you mean?” asked Gwen. “I wasn’t supposed to be. It was supposed to be my honeymoon, if you can believe that. It was all booked last year, and none of it refundable. So I decided, screw it. I’m going by myself. And here I am.”
Had her fiancé been infected? Or died from some unrelated reason? No, judged Beth. Gwen didn’t sound grieving. They’d broken up. Had Gwen caught him cheating? Surely not the other way around.
“You can ask what happened,” said Gwen. “Everyone does. I’m not the one who needs to feel ashamed.”
“What happened?” asked Beth.
“The bastard invited my parents to our wedding.”
“And… that was a bad thing?” asked Beth.
Gwen laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Oh yes. I spent years getting rid of them. I’ve had to move twice already. They arrive on my doorstep to tell me how much I owe them, you see. I should really just get over my childish delusions that they abused me as a child.”
“Did your fiancé know that?”
“He did indeed,” said Gwen. “I told him. He invited them anyway.”
“How did you find out?” asked Beth.
“He told me,” said Gwen. “But not because he realised that I deserved to know or anything reasonable like that. He told me because we decided to postpone the wedding, but they planned to come to visit anyway.”
“Did you postpone the wedding because of the infection?” asked Beth, trying to figure out the timeline.
“Yes. The official restrictions hadn’t happened yet, but he had vulnerable family. We decided better safe than sorry. Thank all the heavens for that, otherwise I might have been halfway down the aisle before I clapped eyes on my parents. Cancelling the wedding by email was bad enough. It would have been awkward as hell to do it by turning around and walking out.”
“What was his explanation? I mean, surely when he realised how you felt—”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” replied Gwen. “But no, not a bit of it. Good thing, really. If he’d pretended to be sorry, maybe I would have forgiven him, and wouldn’t that have been a mistake and a half. You know, because I understand how people don’t understand. He wouldn’t be the first. Those who have loving parents think that’s always true. That everyone’s parents love them, even if they’re bad at showing it. If you’ve never been hurt yourself, it’s hard to understand the pain. Especially with all the movies and shows tell them that only physical abuse is real abuse.”
“But he wasn’t sorry,” continued Gwen. “No, he went behind my back to contact my parents, and then he believed them. He told me he was doing it for me. That I was an adult now, and it was time I grew up and looked at it from their point of view. That they hadn’t been perfect, but they’d done the best they could. They’d had a very hard time of it themselves. We were family, and I’d eventually come to regret not having them in my wedding. I had to forgive them sooner or later after all, so it might as well be sooner.”
“Why would you ever have to forgive them?” asked Beth.
“Thank you!” said Gwen. “He didn’t see it that way. He was telling me that ‘holding onto a grudge’ is bad for me. And maybe it is. But it’s still better than speaking to my parents ever again. They’re the ones who destroyed any hope I had for a perfect outcome. I can only do what I can with what I have left. But no, that wasn’t good enough for him. He was convinced he knew the right and proper way to live, and that he as doing me a favour by guiding me back to the true path.”
“What a prick,” said Bet, surprised into vulgarity.
Gwen laughed more genuinely. “It was a lucky escape, really. Looking back, it wasn’t the only sign. I just hadn’t thought to look before. There were other times he thought his opinions were the only ones that mattered. He was a charmer, he was, but that was all there was to him. He liked having me, like I was an artwork he could show off to all his friends. He didn’t respect me as a person of my very own.”
“I’m sorry you went through that,” said Beth. “It sounds like you’re better off without him. I just… I mean, what was he thinking, trying to spring that on you? Did he really think he could just trample all over your wishes like that, and you’d be grateful?”
“That’s precisely what he thought,” said Gwen. “He knew I had to actually agree with him, because he’s always right. I was just being too stubborn to admit it. You know that stage toddlers go through when they realise that other people don’t know what they know? That Bastard missed a few steps.”
Beth laughed. She knew that Gwen couldn’t really be as unaffected as she sounded, but it was a good sign that she could take humour in the situation. Gwen asked about Beth’s own story, which was considerably less noteworthy. They chatted comfortably as they worked through the refugees. Within two days, Beth had made up quite a sizable book of services.
For a small commission, preferably of plants and seeds, Beth acted as an introducer between the refugees and the market attenders. A few hours in the morning, and she was doing much better at accumulating everything she needed. She could see why the service was so popular – she needed them herself.
Originally Sophie and Beth had intended to install a bidet attachment themselves. It wasn’t just a sensible response to the toilet paper panic; it was actively supported by the government. The government had managed to convert some sort of pipe manufacturer into producing them. Unfortunately, Sophie and Beth had fallen prey to the same lack of tutorial videos and helpful articles as everyone else. The second that they found the diagrams on the product incomprehensible, they had no idea what to do. They had a mutual fear of irreparably damaging things. They gave up and hired one of Beth’s handymen.
After that, Beth arranged for a more personal project. There would be a time when Beth learnt all these skills for herself, she decided, but that time would not be quite yet. Beth guided a carpenter to her bedroom and gestured out the window.
“The top of that wall looks to be the same height as this sticky-out-bit beneath the window,” said Beth. “I’m hoping you could build a platform between the two. Something that will take the weight of some planters.”
“I’m guessing you don’t have any permits for that,” he said.
Exactly why Beth had wanted the services of a refugee and not a resident.
“I’m guessing they’ve got more important things to worry about,” said Beth. “It’s not street facing, anyway. But if they do complain, I guess I’ll be hiring you again to take it down.”
“As long as you know the risks. Just the frames for soil and a walkway between them?”
“On the platform, yes,” said Beth. “But do you know what a cold frame is?”
“One of those mini greenhouse things? Sure.”
Close enough. Beth pulled out the box of plastic covers she’d been saving. “If possible, I’d also like a removable framework with these nailed in. Preferably lightweight enough for me to move easily, but solid enough that it isn’t just going to be blown to pieces.”
The carpenter looked dubious. “I’ll do what I can, but you know that isn’t designed to be weatherproof, right? It might just disintegrate in the sun.”
“I know,” said Beth, “but it’s the best I can buy. I’m just asking you to do your best. I won’t hold you responsible if it doesn’t survive.”
He reluctantly agreed, and a day later, Beth had her little garden. For all his reluctance, the carpenter had done an excellent job, going beyond simple functionality to be aesthetically pleasing. The walkway, the railings, and the sides of the plant beds all matched visually. He’d even putting in additional braces above the garden that the frame and any future trellises could be tied to. If it wasn’t for the fact that Beth had to literally climb out a window to get to it, she could have imagined it was a legitimate part of the construction. Beth added another excellent rating to the carpenter’s already impressive record.
The next morning was when she discovered she had competition. Not just an informal part-time affair like hers, but a completely dedicated booth. For the meantime, they still had slightly different markets. The competitor was handling matching between residents. The fully registered businesses that were battling to connect with their customers. It had been decades since the last yellow pages had been printed, and people had forgotten how to find them. The competitor was taking all the clients that was reassured by craftsmen working out of brick-and-mortar businesses. Beth was left with the clients that preferred craftsmen who weren’t going to insist they had the proper paperwork.
Beth rearranged her supplies. There was no need to panic. She still had clients. And besides, she had already achieved more than she had imagined possible when she’d first walked into the grey market. She was doing her best. Things would turn out alright.
