MORNING SERIAL
THERE are hours to fill before Ioan is due home from work. She imagines him in his overalls and mask, maybe behind the heavy respirator, sweating inside the protective suit, alien and safe. Swigging PowerAde on his break to replenish lost body salts, showering quickly before dressing for home.
She looks outside again, at the empty washing line cutting through the sky, disappearing into the leaves of the apple tree. Opens the back door and smells the sea on the wind. On the doorstep there is a large pickle jar, empty. Cabbage scraps shrivelling on the path.
***
‘So, you are the girl who plays in the Zone, yes?’
‘I don’t play.’
‘But you like to take risks.’ Helen looks at him. His eyes are on the road, but his grin is wide, and he is nodding to himself.
‘Did you eat anything there? Drink the water?’
Helen twists in her seat again to check on Anton, wondering what he has told his friend. His eyes are closed, although she is sure he isn’t asleep. ‘Are you okay?’ She reaches around to squeeze his knee. He smiles ever so slightly and nods, doesn’t open his eyes.
Maksim lets go of the steering wheel with one hand and pulls down the front of his T-shirt. ‘Look.’ He twists and the car swerves slightly on the road. ‘They already have my thyroid, so when I go in there, I eat and drink and nothing happens.’
There is a curved scar just below his Adam’s apple, resting on the jutting shelf of his clavicle. He smiles as she leans in to look closer. ‘They call these Chornobyl necklaces.’
‘I’ve seen pictures.’ She thinks of Anton, neck exposed. The puckered pink wound.
‘Is better in real life, yes?’ He grins wider. Helen thinks that if he became any more pleased with the situation his face might split. The scar on his throat is like a second, permanent grin.
‘Anton, vona myla!’ he calls back, through the rear-view mirror.
‘Vidchepys, Maksim.’ It’s barely more than a whisper.
> The Half Life of Snails by Philippa Holloway is published by Parthian at £15
CONTINUES TOMORROW