Текст книги "The Dead"

Автор книги: Charlie Higson

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

30

‘Let’s get this out in the open.’ Ed banged his hands on a tabletop. ‘And then I don’t want to hear any more about it. Not from you, Bam, not from Jack, not from anyone.’ Ed looked around, daring the other kids to catch his eye.

They were all in the museum café, off to the side of the atrium, spread out among the tables. The place had been ransacked and no one at the museum had bothered to tidy up; there was litter everywhere.

The Brains Trust was sitting shivering at one table – Justin the nerd, Jibber-jabber, Wiki, Zohra and Froggie. Mad Matt was with Archie Bishop and the other kids from the chapel. There was an ugly black and red scab across Matt’s forehead where Greg’s ring had raked his skin. Brooke, Courtney and Aleisha sat in one corner, in a cloud of perfume and attitude. Chris Marker was by himself. He had inevitably gone back to reading his book, but the others viewed him differently after what he’d done to Greg on the bus. He wasn’t totally useless. Jack, Ed and Frédérique were at another table with Bam. Bam was the only one of the rugby players still alive, and he’d obviously been hit hard by Piers’ death. This was the first time anyone had seen him down and lacking his cheery optimism. Kwanele sat by himself, straight-backed and defiant.

While they’d been waiting in here Bam had been on at Ed and Kwanele non-stop about leaving Piers behind, and Ed had had enough.

‘Have any of you ever tried to carry someone who was unconscious?’ he asked. ‘People are heavy. Piers was heavy. Greg came after us and Piers’ body got caught on something. If I’d stayed any longer, Greg would have got me, and then the other sickos outside would have made it on to the bus and that would have been that. And why? Because you lot had all scarpered and left me to it. Thanks.’

Kwanele obviously thought Ed was referring to him.

‘Piers was badly wounded,’ he protested. ‘He probably would not have lived anyway, not without proper medicine, and doctors and things like that.’

‘So that’s it, is it?’ said Bam. ‘Like DogNut or whatever his name is out there said, look out for number one. If you’re hurt, forget it.’

‘It wasn’t just Kwanele,’ Ed shouted. ‘You all left me behind.’

‘We were fighting off sickos,’ said Bam. ‘I was trying to get everyone to safety.’

‘Exactly,’ said Ed. ‘We’ve all got excuses.’

There was a long silence before Bam spoke.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Maybe we were all to blame. It happened too fast.’

‘It’s basic survival now,’ said Ed. ‘Getting from one day to another. This place is well defended, standing alone, with open ground all around, and it’s stuffed full of weapons. It would be a perfect place to set up camp. But someone else got here first and we can’t expect them to look after us.’

‘I don’t want to stay here anyway,’ said Jack. ‘I want to get home.’

‘Then why the hell were you arguing so much with Jordan bloody Hordern?’

‘He wound me up,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t like anyone talking to me like that.’

‘I don’t want to stay here, either,’ said Matt. ‘I need to carry on to St Paul’s. It’s been ordained that –’

‘Give it a rest, Matt,’ said Ed. ‘We’re fed up of hearing about your bloody made-up religion.’

‘It’s not made up.’

‘Yes it is. Nothing has been ordained. It’s all come out of your head.’

‘And what about this, then?’ said Matt, angrily tapping his forehead.

‘What about what?’

‘The mark of the Lamb.’

‘It’s a scab, Matt.’

‘It’s the mark of the Lamb.’

Ed laughed harshly, using his laughter like a weapon.

‘It doesn’t matter whether you believe us, anyway,’ said Archie Bishop. ‘We want to carry on to St Paul’s. With or without you lot – it doesn’t make any difference.’

‘Doesn’t make any difference?’ Ed scoffed. ‘You’ll be murdered out there by yourselves.’

‘The Lamb will protect us.’

There were groans from the other tables and people started throwing things at Matt. Old discarded coffee cups, screwed-up paper, empty cigarette packets.

Matt tried not to react, as if he was above it all, but they could tell he was getting riled.

‘What does anyone else want to do?’ Ed asked when things had calmed down a little.

‘We want to stay with you,’ said Wiki. ‘We’ll go wherever you say you want to go. If we keep together, it’ll be safer. Like when fish form into shoals. Even though they’re a bigger target, individually they’re safer, and harder for predators to focus on. The chances of being picked out from a big swirling mass are less than if they’re swimming alone.’

‘Thank you, David Attenborough,’ said Jack, trying to cut him off.

‘We could find another building to shelter in,’ said Jibber-jabber. ‘There’s loads of places near the museum, I came here once with my dad, we had to park miles away and walk, there’s all sorts of houses, I bet if we explored we could find something great, we don’t need to stay here, I don’t like Jordan Hordern or any of them, actually, although I liked the look of that game they were playing, I like toy soldiers, at home I’ve got hundreds, and now we’ve got our own gun and maybe they’ll let us have some weapons from the museum, we could be like a commando squad, you’re good fighters and –’

‘Not all of us,’ said Bam darkly, looking at Kwanele.

‘I never said I was a fighter,’ Kwanele protested.

‘I thought we weren’t going to go on about that.’ Ed sounded tired and fed up.

‘Sorry.’ Bam bowed his head.

Frédérique suddenly let out a sob and collapsed face down on the tabletop, crying. Jack and Ed both put a hand on her, trying to comfort her. She was tugging at her hair, hysterical.

‘What’s the matter with her?’ said Brooke snottily, and Aleisha jabbed her with an elbow.

‘What?’ said Brooke. ‘I only asked what was the matter.’

‘What do you think?’ said Ed. ‘If we weren’t all trying so hard to act tough, we’d all be face down on the table crying like babies. Because that’s all we are. Just babies. This is all too much for any of us to handle.’

‘I ain’t crying,’ said Brooke. ‘I ain’t giving up.’

Jack clapped sarcastically. ‘Well done, you.’

‘It’s stupid,’ said Frédérique. ‘We are all going to die. What’s the point of all this talking? Why must we argue?’ She raised her head. Her face was blotchy and streaked with tears. ‘Why do we need to find somewhere safe? Why do we need to do anything? We are all going to die. I thought there was some hope. Greg was not ill. I thought if just one adult was not ill there was hope for us. But he is ill, and there is no hope …’

Frédérique was crying so much she started to choke, and she crumpled down again, weeping, choking, coughing and spluttering.

‘Cheery soul, ain’t she?’ said Brooke, and Aleisha elbowed her again.

The big glass door opened and DogNut came in.

‘OK, listen up,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘Jordan Hordern’s made a decision.’ He pointed at Ed. ‘You, wossyourname …’

‘Ed.’

‘OK, Ed my man, you go and talk to the general. He’s waiting for you. Chop-chop. The rest of you, chillax.’

31

Ed and Jordan Hordern were sitting side by side in the front seats of a Second World War Jeep, looking out across the atrium. It was cold and the thin winter light that made its way through the massive arched glass ceiling did little to lift the gloom. Jordan had given Ed a furry blanket that he’d wrapped tightly about his body.

‘You mustn’t take any of this personally,’ Jordan was saying, staring straight ahead without looking at Ed.

‘I don’t,’ Ed replied. ‘I know where you’re coming from.’

‘Good. I don’t hate any of you. But I have to look after my people.’

‘It’s cool. So you’re booting us out?’

‘Not necessarily. Like I said, we don’t have enough food here to support any more people. But there’s a simple answer. I’ll let you take any weapons you want. There’s way too many for us to use. And I’ll let you stay here …’

‘Thanks.’

‘I ain’t finished.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘As I was saying. You can sleep here tonight. No conditions. I’ll put you in the 1940s house.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Special exhibit, complete wartime house with all the stuff in it. Beds and everything. I figure the little kids you got with you will feel more at home in there. Less freaked out.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Then, after that, you can stay here as long as you want, so long as you can feed yourselves.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I say. Don’t worry about water, there’s plenty in the tanks here, but if you want to eat you gonna have to go out and find it.’

‘That sounds fair, I guess,’ said Ed. ‘I’ll see what the others think about it. Can you let us have any food to keep us going?’

‘Nope. I’ve given you my offer. I won’t change it. They’re pretty good guys, the guys here. You stick with us, we’ll be strong. But you got to swing your weight.’

Ed was thinking through how this arrangement might work. ‘Do you think there’s food out there?’ he asked.

‘Don’t see why not,’ said Jordan. ‘Take it from me, though, you won’t find nothing fresh: no bread, no eggs, no milk, no fresh vegetables and fruit, nothing like that.’

‘Have you got any of that stuff?’

‘Nope. We got cans and packets of dry stuff. It ain’t exactly healthy but it keeps us alive.’

‘Where’d you get it all from?’

‘We wasn’t the only ones who had the idea to hole up in here. Some guys was here first. Men. Real nasty. They was tooled up, and must have brought a load of kit in with them, boxes and cans and whatever. I think maybe they’d robbed a supermarket or something. They killed off the guards looking after the place and was settled in for a siege, but like everybody else they found out real quick that the enemy was inside, not outside. The sickness. Already eating away at them.’ Jordan paused, ran his fingers round the rim of the steering wheel.

‘What happened to them?’ Ed asked.

‘Tore each other to pieces. The ones who was slower to get sick whacking the ones who got sick first. When we turned up, there was only five of them left. We got rid of them, but they took out a bunch of us. It was pretty heavy duty. Which is why we figure we earned the right to what’s here.’

‘So there were more of you to start with?’

‘Twenty-two. Five died in the attack. One died after of an infected wound. Two more got sick later on – turned out they was older than we knew – broke out in spots; we ejected them quick. Then four more left to try their luck elsewhere.’

‘What were you, all at the same school?’

‘We’re a mix. Family, friends, school, we all just sort of come together out on the streets, moving from place to place until we washed up here about five weeks ago.’

‘OK.’ Ed sighed and got out of the Jeep. His muscles felt stiff and sore from being tensed for so long. ‘I can see why you want to look after what you’ve got,’ he said. ‘I’ll go talk to the others. You sure you can’t give us any food, though? They’re all pretty hungry.’

‘You want to eat, you got to go shopping.’

Ed was overcome with tiredness. Everything seemed such a struggle. He rubbed his face with his hands. ‘I just don’t know where to start,’ he said.

‘Can I make a suggestion?’

‘Sure.’

‘What was you eating before you got here?’

‘There was stuff on the bus.’

‘What I thought.’

Ed looked at Jordan Hordern. His glasses were glinting in the half-light.

‘So what’s your suggestion?’ he asked.

‘Go back to the bus,’ said Jordan. ‘See if there’s any of it left.’

Ed nodded. ‘Sounds like a good plan.’

‘But first,’ said Jordan, ‘you need to get yourselves some serious weapons.’

32

The main exhibition gallery of the museum was on the next floor down, underground. Ed remembered coming here with the school. It was a big, dimly lit, windowless area filled with display cases and divided into various sections. There were exhibits covering the two world wars, and another covering conflicts since 1945. There were also a couple of special sections like the Blitz Experience. The rows of glass cases were filled with dummies in uniform and hundreds of guns, grenades, knives, small artillery pieces, maps, banners, personal items and equipment.

Six boys were coming down the stairs, their torch beams showing the way. Jack, Ed, Bam and Jordan were at the front followed by Matt and Archie Bishop. Ed’s torch wasn’t working properly; the beam kept cutting out. He rattled it, then banged it against his palm and swore.

‘Not scared of the dark, are you?’ Jordan asked.

‘Not the dark,’ said Ed. ‘Only what hides in it.’

As he said it, Ed’s torch came back on. It landed on a face and he jumped. The others laughed.

‘Only a dummy,’ said Bam.

Ed didn’t like it down here. Everywhere he turned there was another dummy. He was surrounded by perfect, clean-faced young men, frozen to attention, or holding their guns ready for action. They looked very different from the men who now roamed London’s streets with their bloated faces and ruined flesh, but they still gave him the creeps.

His heart was thumping. He felt like a silly little kid. Frightened of ghosts. But he couldn’t shrug the feeling off. He’d been strung out for so long, scared for so long, not sleeping, not eating properly, it was no wonder he was on edge.

And what if there were sickos down here? What if one had got in and was hiding in the dark? Waiting to jump him? What if …?

He told himself not to be an idiot, but stayed close to the others all the same.

‘Most of this stuff’s no use to you,’ said Jordan. ‘Mostly guns without ammo, and you’d need a manual to work out how to use them. There’s some gear through this way you might like, though.’

He led them into the First World War section and shone his torch into a trench warfare cabinet whose glass had been kicked in.

‘I’d suggest you take a rifle or two,’ he said. ‘No bullets for these, but they got straps to carry over your shoulder, and if you stick them bayonets on the end you can use them like spears. I recommend the British Lee-Enfield. It’s a good solid gun.’

Ed reached in and took a rifle from the display, then found a bayonet that fitted it.

‘There’s a load more weapons in the armoury downstairs,’ Jordan explained. ‘And ammo too, but I’m keeping the best stuff for my boys, you understand.’

‘We understand,’ said Jack wearily. ‘You’re keeping the best stuff.’

Jack hadn’t quite forgiven Jordan, but he had to admit that these weapons would be very handy.

‘These are useful too,’ said Jordan, swinging his torch beam over to the case opposite that held a selection of weapons for close-up, hand-to-hand fighting in the trenches. Clubs, knives, knuckledusters, knuckleduster knives …

Ed and Bam tried some of them. Bam picked out a sturdy wooden club that was studded with bits of metal and nails. It looked completely evil and Bam grinned, taking a few practice swings. Finally he turned to one of the dummies and caved its face in with one blow.

‘This should do the trick,’ he said. ‘Very nice.’

Matt and Archie were pressed up against one of the other cases, deep in conversation.

‘What are you after?’ Bam asked them. ‘A Holy Hand Grenade?’

‘A what?’ Archie and Matt looked confused.

‘It’s in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.’

‘Monty Python?’

‘You must have heard of Monty Python,’ said Bam, as if he was talking to a couple of idiots. ‘They were like this old comedy team? They made films and everything.’

‘No.’

‘Well … I don’t suppose you ever will see any of that now. But they were very funny.’

‘Right.’

‘So what are you looking for, then?’

‘We need a banner,’ said Archie Bishop seriously. ‘There’s a lot in the texts about banners.’

‘We will be the army of the Lamb,’ said Matt. ‘Modern crusaders marching under a banner. The pages have shown us that we are fighting a new war – we are soldiers of the Lamb.’

‘Yeah.’ Bam wasn’t really listening. He was distracted by the scab on Matt’s forehead. It was going a bit yellow and gungy round the edges and looked really horrible.

‘Did you properly clean that?’ he said, nodding towards it.

‘No. It’s the mark of the Lamb. The Lamb will heal me.’

‘It looks infected. You need to be careful.’

Matt shook his head. ‘I don’t need to worry about anything. I am being carried by the Lamb. His arms are around me.’

Matt walked on in search of a suitable banner, and Bam held Archie back.

‘Listen, mate,’ he said quietly. ‘If you’re really serious about heading off to St Paul’s, just be a bit careful, yeah? You go wandering around out there singing hymns and waving flags, you’ll attract every sicko in London.’

‘Banners not flags.’

‘Same difference,’ said Bam.

‘We’ll be all right,’ said Archie.

‘You reckon?’ Bam asked, his face creased with a frown. ‘You really believe that the Lamb’s going to protect you and all that?’

Archie shrugged. ‘I might as well believe in the Lamb as anything else, Bam. None of the old gods really helped anyone much, did they? My dad was a vicar; he got sick along with all the rest. Nothing we put our trust in before stood up to much. It’s reassuring, you know, Matt being so, well, so sure of stuff. If I stick with him, I don’t have to worry about anything else.’

‘Fair enough.’ Bam smiled.

‘Think about it, Bam,’ Archie went on. ‘You’re going to have to do something sooner or later. We’re all going to have to try and work out how we’re going to survive.’ Archie looked around the museum. ‘This is all right, I suppose, but it’s not real life. You’ve got to have a plan, or you’ll go crazy.’

‘Good point.’

‘I mean, how long are you planning to stay here?’

‘I’m trying not to think more than about twenty seconds ahead, Archie. Never have. It’s got me this far all right.’

Jack had wandered away from the others, unsatisfied. He didn’t know what he was looking for but he hadn’t seen it yet. The knife he’d picked out wasn’t enough. He wanted something that when he held it in his hand he’d feel invincible. Feel its strength and power flowing into him.

He wished there were bullets for the various pistols on display; a handgun would have been perfect. He wondered whether he could persuade Jordan to let him see what was in the armoury. But thought probably not. He’d got off to a bad start with Jordan. Misjudged him. The guy was hard and cold, but at least he was reasonable. Nothing he did was because of any twisted emotions. In a way Jack respected him. But he didn’t want to push his luck.

He wandered past the displays, impressed and appalled at man’s ingenuity, the endless ways he’d found to kill other people. He stopped and reached into a broken cabinet to pick out a Russian Second World War helmet. It fitted perfectly and he kept it on.

‘Come on, Jack. We’re going.’ Ed’s voice. ‘You got what you need?’

‘Yeah, nearly,’ Jack replied. ‘I’m coming.’

Jack headed back towards the entrance, flicking his beam from side to side, angry at himself for not choosing something, and then a flash of bright sky blue caught his eye. It was a uniform. He went over for a closer look. It was in a cabinet of outfits from another era, a time before camouflage and khaki and dull olive-green. They looked so old-fashioned they might have been worn at the battle of Waterloo, but they were from just before the First World War, when soldiers still wore brightly coloured uniforms to stand out on the battlefield and impress the enemy. They were Officers’ uniforms, covered in braid and gold buttons and fancy details.

And there, neatly displayed, a sturdy-looking naval officer’s sword. It looked to be a good length and was probably well made. Jack smashed the glass with the handle of his knife. The noise sounded like an explosion going off in the silent gloom of the gallery.

‘What was that?’ Ed’s voice again. He was probably bricking it.

‘It’s all right. It’s only me. I found something.’

Jack lifted out the sword. It was clean and gleaming, the edge still sharp. The curators at the museum had obviously looked after everything very well. He smiled. The blade was perfectly balanced in his hand, a good weight. He sliced a long curve through the air.

Perfect.

‘Jack?’

He took the scabbard and belt from the dummy torso they were fixed to and fastened them round his waist. It was a good fit. The scabbard hung well.

‘You coming, Jack?’

‘Yeah. I’m ready.’

33

It was perhaps a five-year-old child’s idea of a feast, but it was a feast all the same. Crisps and biscuits and Coke. Perhaps a five-year-old would have turned up his nose at the cans of cold sausages and beans, but to the hungry kids in the museum it was the best food they’d ever tasted.

Jack, Ed and Bam had done a mad dash to the coach and grabbed as much food as they could carry before Ed spotted a group of sickos approaching along the road. They’d made it back without having to use any of their new weapons and were welcomed as returning heroes. The only bad moment had been when they’d spotted what they’d thought was a discarded pair of dirty trousers in the road. Ed had gone over to check them out and realized there were legs inside, with black shoes on the feet. And at the waist was a ragged tangle of guts and a stub of white spine.

It was all that was left of Piers.

They’d thought about rationing the food and trying to make it last a couple of days, but in the end they decided what the hell, they might as well scoff the lot and have a proper look for some decent food in the morning.

The Brains Trust and the girls had made an effort to tidy up the café and make it feel a little more welcoming. The tables had been wiped, the rubbish collected and they’d put candles about the place that helped to give the impression that the room was warmer than it was. Even Frédérique had perked up and joined in. It had helped her having something to do. Stopped her from sitting by herself and staring into space. She’d bustled about and chatted to the other girls and now she was sitting at a table with Jack, Ed, Bam and Brooke, and was even laughing as Brooke told a funny story about eating too much chocolate at Courtney’s tenth birthday party.

‘I puked me guts up!’ she boasted. ‘It was like a fire extinguisher going off. Kersploosh! It went everywhere. All over the cake, all over Courtney, all over Courtney’s mum, all over her presents … Sorry if I’m putting you off your dinner, Fred.’

Frédérique couldn’t stop laughing. It was a slightly hysterical, out-of-control laugh that was just a little unnerving. She’d taken a gulp of water and the puking part of the story had taken her by surprise. She was now mainly laughing at the fact that she was laughing, and choking and dribbling and about to spit water everywhere. Somehow she managed to swallow it, but that caused her to start coughing and spluttering, which made the others laugh, which made her laugh …

It hadn’t been lost on Ed that Brooke wasn’t sitting with her two girlfriends, who were at a table with the Brains Trust, enjoying playing mother for a bit with the younger kids.

Brooke had made a point of sitting right next to him, and she kept directing her conversation at him, and touching his arm and making eye contact. He found it quite flattering, but, to be honest, Brooke scared him. She was so loud and confident and unforgiving. She was one of those girls who used her friendship like a weapon, giving it and taking it away to reward or punish people.

He was just glad she was on his side for the time being. Maybe since Jordan Hordern had put him in charge she wanted to make sure she was at the top table.

Jack was making an effort with Frédérique. Trying to keep her spirits up and not let her slip back into her dark mood. But he reckoned he was fighting a losing battle. She seemed exhausted after her laughing fit, and the more Brooke talked about the past the quieter Frédérique became. Slowly the haunted look came back into her eyes and she retreated into herself.

‘Hey,’ he said when he noticed that she was crying again. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow there will be no more food and you will go and I don’t know what I will do.’

‘I’m not going to abandon anyone,’ said Jack, and he caught Ed looking at him. ‘OK? I’m not just going to leave you. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go out and we’ll find some food and, when I’m sure you’re all going to be fine, I’ll go home. But not before.’

‘OK.’ Frédérique nodded.

‘There’s nothing to be frightened of any more. Greg’s gone. We’ve got good weapons. The sickos don’t stand a chance, eh?’

Jack immediately wished he hadn’t bothered. As soon as he said the word ‘sickos’, Frédérique let out a huge sob and the floodgates opened. The crying set her off coughing again. Jack whacked her on her back.

‘Don’t talk about them,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, Fred. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘Greg is one of them now.’

‘Yeah, I guess, or else he’s dead. Good riddance, I say. He was an arsehole.’

‘But he said he would not get sick.’

‘Yeah, well, he could have said he could fly – we didn’t have to believe him, did we? He thought he could cheat nature. He couldn’t. Basically, if you’re over fourteen, forget it.’

Before Frédérique could say anything else Justin the nerd came over to their table, looking embarrassed and secretive. He tucked in behind Jack’s chair and leant over to speak quietly into his ear.

‘Can I talk to you?’ he said.

‘Yeah, of course, Just’. What’s up?’

‘Did you bring Greg’s cool box back from the bus?’

‘The cooler? Yeah. Why? You want something from it?’

‘No. Have you … Have you eaten anything out of it?’

‘Nope.’ Jack shook his head. ‘We thought we’d save it for breakfast. As a kind of treat. There’s proper food in there.’

‘Only … Don’t eat the smoked meat.’

‘Why not?’

Justin shuffled about nervously. ‘We’ve been talking …’ He glanced back at his table where the Brains Trust was watching him. ‘About something Liam said before he, you know, died … About the meat.’

‘Is there something wrong with it?’

Justin looked at the other kids sitting around the table, not sure how to say the next bit. Not sure if he should.

‘Can we talk in, you know, private?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

Justin and Jack went over to the food counter where nobody could hear them. The kids in the Brains Trust were still staring at them.

‘Why all the mystery, Just’?’

‘I don’t want to, you know, upset anyone,’ said Justin. ‘That French girl seems pretty freaked out by all this. I wasn’t sure …’

Jack laughed. ‘You’re not really a nerd, are you, Justin?’

Justin looked surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

‘A real nerd wouldn’t care about hurting anyone’s feelings.’

‘Oh, well …’ Justin blushed and Jack laughed again.

‘So, come on, then, Mr Sensitive, tell me – what’s wrong with the meat?’

‘We think it’s human meat.’

‘You what?’

‘We think Greg butchered a boy down on that farm in Kent he was always going on about. We think that’s what he was eating.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Jack looked appalled. ‘So he was already sick?’

‘In a way, maybe. Or maybe he was just trying to survive. He said the livestock on the farm got ill, so he … you know …’

Jack sighed and rubbed his eyes. Half of him wanted to laugh. The other half wanted to throw up.

‘Thanks for letting us know,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll chuck it out. Thank God we didn’t eat any of it. And you were right, mate. Let’s not tell anyone else about this. We’ll stick to our sausages and beans.’

‘Mind you,’ said Justin. ‘The crap they put in those tinned sausages, you never know what you’re eating. For all we know they’ve been putting human meat in them for years.’

‘You are still a bit of a nerd, aren’t you, Justin?’