It had rained all morning and the rain had turned to sleet and then snow. There was a bitter wind too and, earlier than they should, Anne’s colleagues left work and headed to the pub.
Anne had decided to go on record and reveal the big secret. She knew precisely what the fallout would be. Or she thought she did. Then, in the afternoon, her boss resigned. He said he had a moral duty to do so. The implication was that so did she. But she did not see that.
Anne’s colleagues bought drinks and began to plot her downfall.
He lit a cigarette, pressed up against the wall, sheltering from the freezing air. The cigarette would warm him. Taxis and buses clattered along the street, which was still wet from the rain. There were voices and laughter from inside the pub. It was packed. Always was at this time of year. So tiring. So much food and drinking.
Aeroplane lights crossed the starless sky. Where were they flying to? In the future no one would fly any more. And no one would eat or drink. People were scared. They talked fearfully as if it all, soon, had to end.