Walking

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Tom was cramming what she had designated as essential into the large back-pack. A few more items, including a second backpack, were laid neatly on the bed.

“We have to, don’t we? We can’t pay the mortgage anymore.”

“There ought to be a better way.”

“There isn’t though. Come, on. Better get on before the bailiffs arrive.” Sal turned and looked out of the window. “Shall we mess up the garden as well? I’ll get on with that if you like.”

“Do you think you’ve got the strength?”

“I’m angry enough.”

“Get to it, then, gal.”

She picked up the think woolly jumper she’d chosen. It was going to fill the whole of one of the backpacks but it stood a chance of keeping her warm at night. “How long do you think we’ll last out there?”

“You never know. It might make us stronger.”

“And it might not.”

“The trick is to keep walking, they say. Never stay too long in one place.”

“I’ll miss my nice comfortable bed.”

“There’ll be others. You’ll see. That’s why everybody always leaves the beds in one piece.  So that they can be used by others. Come on, I’ve done here.  Let’s go and wreck the garden.”

Sal nodded. She looked once more out of the window. A Walker was just passing. He looked about the same age as them. He held his back high and his face was tanned. There seemed to be a joy in his step. Sal waved. The Walker gave her a thumbs up. “Okay,” she said to Tom.  Let’s get on with it. Quick as we can. And let’s get out of here.”