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becoming sterner, demonstrating practicality rather than hopefulness. A State of Emergency had been declared, and was effective forthwith. Certain orders were being promulgated by the Home Secretary, and one of these related to admissions to the United Kingdom from abroad. Until further notice no-one aged forty or over would be allowed entry, by any means of transport or from any part of the world.
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    Neil’s grandfather had been diffident about suggesting it, talking round the subject before coming to the point. Which was that the house in Dulwich was being sold. There would be things there Neil might want. If he didn’t feel like going back, perhaps he could make a list of what they were?
    For his part Neil did not hesitate: he said he would like to go with his grandfather and check things over on the spot. As a result they drove up together in the old Wolseley the following Saturday morning, through showers and bursts of sunshine. Neil noticed that they branched off the A21 south of Tonbridge and took the A20 into London; but he did not comment on it.
    Although he had spoken firmly, Neil had wondered what it would be like to see the house again. He had a moment’s forgetfulness when they turned into a familiar road, only about half a mile from their destination—a confusion with another time he had been taken home by his grandfather—and he imagined them all as being there. It only lasted a fraction of a second. There was the familiar jolt of sickness but that did not last, either. The equally familiar blankness took its place.
    They parked in the drive in front of the locked garage, and Grandpa let them in at the front door. The house had a strange musty smell, and although the furniture was still in place their voices seemed to echo. Someone had obviously been in to clean: it was all tidier than Neil remembered. There was agap in the sitting room where the colour TV had been: it had been rented, and would have gone back to the shop.
    While Neil was picking out what he wanted, his grandfather went round the house making a separate list of things to be kept back from the sale of contents. He tackled the ground floor first, and Neil went upstairs. On the first landing the door of his parents’ bedroom was open; he looked, then went in.
    The beds looked very flat and tidy, and the rugs were neatly in place. His father’s slippers were tucked away, side by side, under a corner of the dressing table, and his electric shaver was in its box. On the dressing table his mother’s jewel box was locked, but the little silver ring-tree stood beside it. There was one ring on it, the opal which she did not wear because she thought it was unlucky. She always left that out, and he wondered if it had been because she thought the bad luck might spread, by contagion, to the rest.
    Neil picked up the ring and held it to the light. Sunshine made the colours dazzle in the stone; he could remember marvelling at that when he was very little, barely able to reach the dressing table top. Badluck? He looked at the ring a moment longer, then slipped it into his pocket.
    In the room he had shared with Andy, Neil set about the main task, picking things out and carrying them downstairs, a few at a time, to make a pile in the hall. Books were the chief problem—­deciding which to discard. In the end he was ruthless, keeping only a few he specially liked and a couple with childhood associations— The Wind in the Willows and The Borrowers.
    Andy’s things were mixed up with his own. He saw the portable radio Andy had been given for his last birthday, and remembered feeling jealous on that account. He switched it on, and listened to pop music. The number ended, and was followed by a newscast. Something political. A report on special police precautions being taken because of possible violence at a football match.
    â€œFinally, the Plague. Outbreaks have been reported this morning in