Custard creams and comfort

Agnes Bliss was content. Less than a month after being bundled into that pokey room at The Laurels in Billericay, she was back where she belonged.

She smacked her lips as she drained the last dregs from her bone china teacup. Her cataract-dimmed eyes flitted around the living room taking all her favourite, familiar knick-knacks. It was sheer heaven not having to share the place with a bunch of doolally old dears and creepy Kenneth, The Laurels’ only widower, who thought he was as irresistible as Idris Elba coated in caramel.

Zach, that nice young Care Assistant from somewhere she could never remember nor pronounce, had been just as happy as she was to leave. That wretched virus had done them both a favour.

Dark curls and smiling eyes appeared around the door jamb, followed by a face half-covered by a pseudo-surgical mask.

“Supermarket van just came,” Zach chirped in his staccato accent. “I’m just going to get the bags.”

Zach didn’t really need the mask – his type was pretty much immune to any plague man or nature had ever devised. But it suited him that no-one raised an eyebrow at his covered mouth and nose these days. Just the ticket for someone who didn’t want to be found.

“Make sure they brought my custard creams. The proper ones, not those half-baked imitations they sent last time,” called Agnes as she heard him heave the bags to the kitchen.

Zach pulled Mrs B’s shopping list from his jeans pocket. As he did, an envelope flopped out onto the floor. THE envelope. The one that had arrived when they still knew where to find him.

Frowning, he picked it up and put it to one side, putting it out of mind as he unpacked the groceries. He liked his new, mundane routine. Life lived at a snail’s pace, offering care and companionship to a sweet old bird approaching the end of her days suited him. The last thing he needed was a reminder of what was to come – and the role he was supposed to play. How he wished the end of ALL days wasn’t on his agenda.

“Don’t you worry, Mrs B. I’m checking it all. And then we’ll have another cuppa.”

He appeared at the doorway, holding a fresh cup of tea in one hand, waving a packet of biscuits triumphantly with the other. “With proper custard creams.”

Agnes smiled up at him as he placed her tea on the table beside her, two biscuits from the pack nestling in the saucer.

“You’re my angel.”

Zach blushed, and hoped she didn’t hear the dry flutter beneath his t-shirt.

“Lovely looking boy. Beautiful manners too. I’m lucky some girl hasn’t snatched you up.”

She took a slurp of her tea, then turned up the volume on her favourite midday show. Zach settled on the sofa, shut his eyes and let the blare of the TV wash over him as Mrs B’s steady breathing morphed into gentle snores.

He was lucky, he knew that. Literally, one of The Chosen. But he’d happily give it all up for a quiet life in this anonymous little house that smelled faintly of boiled cabbage. Life is easy when it’s boring.

A buzz from his back pocket broke the thoughts. He took out his phone and checked the message.

Val - again. Of course. Who else? He pressed the button and opened it:

WHERE ARE YOU??
BE AT TOMORROW’S MEETING – OR ELSE.

YOU HAVE THE AGENDA.

Same old, same old. He hit delete, just like he had 13 times before. The threat of ‘OR ELSE’ didn’t worry him – knowing the end of the world was coming put things into perspective.

The doorbell rang. Zach stood up and headed for the hall. Through the frosted glass he spied a dark, spindly figure in a shabby overcoat.

He’d been found.

“Hello Gabe,” he sighed at the nicotine-stained grin that flashed at him beneath a pencil moustache and pork pie hat. “How did you find me?”

The owner of the smile waggled his cell phone in triumph. “GPS, baby. Ain’t technology grand?”

In his other hand was a battered old trumpet. Gabe raised it to his lips, a question dancing on his eyebrow.

“Do I have to blow my horn? Come on. It’s time to save the world, little brother.”

From her favourite armchair in the living room, Agnes Bliss smiled and let out a long breath as the last custard cream she would ever enjoy fell from her hand.