Feeling a little nervous, Irene drove onto the High Street, looking for a cash machine. She needed money to pay the plumber they had recently used, as he would not accept a card.
She would happily have avoided being there. The area was almost deserted, with very few people around. The boarded-up shops were a sad, scruffy sight. Several groups of men were lazing about, while another cluster had gathered near a public house.
She edged her shining silver saloon car towards the kerb and looked across the pavement at the ATM, hoping it would not take too long to withdraw the money. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the door handle.
Why couldn’t Tom, her husband, be there? She remembered the smirk on his face when she had told him about her fears, reminding him that a friend had been attacked not far from where she needed to go.
He had smiled and said, “It’s the High Street. Nothing is going to happen. You’ll be fine, and I’m off to work.”
“What about all the stabbings that are taking place?” she had shot back.
He simply shrugged as he put on his work coat. However, the need to pay the plumber finally persuaded her to go and withdraw the cash.
With her heart pounding, Irene opened the car door. She reminded herself that she had done this many times before without incident. But then she thought about Britain in 2026. In her mind, it had become dangerous to be out and about, especially for a woman. Nothing seemed the same anymore.
She looked both ways along the High Street, took a deep breath and surveyed the area once more before leaving the car. She then made the short walk to the gleaming cash machine, which protruded from a sunlit wall.
Standing in front of it, she quickly glanced in both directions. This time, she noticed a crowd of immigrants and several others outside a betting shop a short distance away.
With the warmth of the sun on her back, she raised her hands in front of the screen, trying to block the glare so that she could read the instructions. She opened her bag and fumbled inside her purse, searching for the card that would activate the machine.
Feeling uncomfortable about being alone on the High Street, she could not resist glancing sideways again. She was relieved to see that nothing had changed and that no one appeared to be looking in her direction.
Why did they install these machines where the sun shone directly onto their screens, making the instructions so difficult to read?
She remembered the recent local news about someone being stabbed nearby. A shudder ran through her at the thought, and she automatically looked down to see whether there was any blood on the pavement.
After another quick glance around to confirm that no one was close, Irene gripped her blue bank card with trembling fingers and managed to push it into the required slot. She watched as the machine came to life.
Leaning forward, she used her body to block the reflection while trying to understand what the machine was asking her to do. She did not hear a car pull up at the kerb.
Suddenly, there was a tap on her shoulder.
Fear sent shock waves through her body. She screamed, dropped her purse and bent over in an attempt to protect herself, aware that her money was spilling from the machine.
Then she heard someone calling her name.
Turning around, she saw her sister standing beside her.
“Tom was worried,” she explained. “He asked me to come and check on you.”
“Once upon a time” sounds like the beginning of a children’s story. In some ways, I wish it were, but things are very different now.
Dear reader, there was once a time when walking along the High Street was a pleasure. That has completely changed, particularly for wives and daughters, as real danger now lurks on our streets. It should not be like that.
With Andy Burnham as the new, unelected Prime Minister, it is difficult to see where he is taking the country. As one wit remarked, perhaps he does not know either.
I would like to think that everything will be different from the past few years under the previous Prime Minister, although it is doubtful whether he was ever taught the meaning of honesty.
However, everything appears to be heading in another direction, with more fit young men being allowed to remain and then dispersed around the country, almost as though an army were being put into place.
I also do not understand why mayors are being placed in charge of various matters that were originally the responsibility of local councillors. Are they to be trained as military commanders?
With a Labour Government in charge of our lives—one which, as local events have shown, appears to have little love for democracy—and riots taking place on the streets, I would not be surprised if it declared a state of emergency, cancelled elections and remained in power for as long as it wished.
Take care.
© Percy Chattey
