Coventry was gone; a burnt-out frying pan with the good food scraped off.

  Some ten miles away stood Witt's End, a small provincial town located in the safe zone where the radiation was at its weakest. The developers had tried their best to recreate a historic feel, with monochrome Tudor buildings that could have sprung from the fifteenth century. The tiny shops were cramped, twisted, and hokey, but looked authentic enough for some easy tourist cash. Steep hills were paved with cobblestones, with a Swiss-looking clock tower looming over the pedestrianised High Street. In the end, it meant nothing and was all empty calories. No-one was living in the fifteenth century; and everything felt like a movie set or a theme-park. Somewhere in among the bobbing heads of passing pedestrians, a Swedish woman muttered something about it being a joke as the traffic lights stayed red. On the evening of her daughter's disappearance, Amy Scheckter sat in the antique VW Beetle home under a ropes of churning clouds. The journey was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as she could muster. To her left, ancient carpets were rolled outside pinging Arcades, while the oily trace of a Fish-O-Rama Chippie drifted down the same five shops a dismantled unemployment centre. Out in the sticks, pass the inner city and near the suburbs, everything smelt of burnt plastic.

  ***

  Once home, Amy pulled up outside her rundown Georgian Coach, when her Smartphone began to trill inside a Tote bag.

  “Hey Bab, what's up?" She said, finally answering through great effort.

  "Ah, Mum?"

  "Are you okay? You sound out of breath."

  "I'm gonna need a lift."

  "You broke down already?” Amy said, unlocking the front door. “Sorry love, I made sure that car was fitted with new parts."

  "No, I don't have my car." Fee said.

  "Where are you?"

  Her daughter selected the words carefully.

  "This is gonna sound weird, but...I'm in London."

  Amy looked at the clock. “Okay, where are you really?”

  “I’m serious.”

  "Since you’ve got time to faff around I suggest you get back to work."

  Fee’s voice was barely audible. "I'm going to send you something."

  The phone 'blooped', which indicated a video call was imminent. Amy tapped the prompt, bringing up a live feed from a rainy backstreet filled

  with coffee shops and crowds. Fee suddenly came into view, her expression a mask of utter panic. She was still dressed in her mustard-yellow

  hoodie, but her face was splashed with some kind of cobalt blue liquid.

  Amy's mind went into 'standby' mode.

  "Where are you?" She asked. "What's that on your face?"

  "Soho? I think?" Fee said, touching her face. "I don't know what this is. It's all down my shirt, so that's great."

  "This is a joke," Amy said, her face set stony as the kitchen counter. "You’re winding me up with some kind of fake visuals. Go back to work before you get fired."

  "This is a live video call." Fee said, her voice teetering on the edge of despair. "You have to believe me." She slowly rotated one hundred and

  eighty degrees, so the phone would take in a panoramic view of the street. Amy watched the bustling, grey street with scatterings of people hunched

  over, deflecting the rain. She even recognised a few places, which deepened her confusion.

  "Even it were a prank, how can I travel hundreds of miles in an hour?"

  "I don't have time for this."

  "Mum, don't hang up, please! It's real. The last thing I want is more trouble, especially after this morning."

  ."What you are saying is not possible."

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  "I don’t know! C’mon I wouldn't mess you around like this, I’d never hear the end of it.”

  "Oh trust me; you’ve got a storm comin' your way, if this turns out to be Horseshit."

  "So you'll come to London?"

  Amy padded over to the fridge and pulled out a Cheesecake.

  "Okay," She said. "Firstly, don't show your phone off, you won't get it back. Secondly, do you have any money?"

  Fee checked her pockets. She could feel shiny notes and the shrapnel of loose change.

  "Some, but it's not mine."

  "It is now."

  "Mum, I'm not stealing from work."

  "You are stranded in the middle of London, hundreds of miles from home. You don't have time to play nice."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "You'll pay it back, right?"

  "Of course." Amy said. "Can you get a train back?"

  "I can, but I don't want to be trapped. Anything could happen."

  "I understand. What part of Soho are you in? Hipster or Herpes?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "One is full of coffee bars; the other is mostly air-borne Syphilis. Yes it matters."

  Fee glanced to her left. "I can see somewhere called ‘Shakes."

  “Good. Get yourself something to ear, don't wander far, don't talk to anyone or leave your phone on the table."

  "I just said..."

  "Damnit Fee, I will reimburse the lost cash, just stay inside. I'll try and get there in two, maybe three hours?"

  "I can't sit around for that long, owners don't like that."

  "Okay, okay." Amy said, rubbing her temple. She wondered if there was a guidebook or brochure dealt with teleporting daughters.

  "Hello?" Fee said.

  "I'm here.” Amy brought up her bag and pulled out a leather-bound Tablet. She tapped the global map and pinched the screen to zoom in. “Alright,

  find your way to Leicester Square. There are plenty of movies to choose from. Oh and get cleaned up first."

  Fee started to rub her eye with the heel of her hand.

  "Mum, I'm scared."

  "It’ll be okay, just keep everything zipped up, it's like Oliver Twist over there."

  "Thanks. It's been a crazy day."

  "It ain't over yet."

  "Don't jinx it!" Fee said. She then peered into the camera. "Are you eating a Cheesecake?!"

  "I'm eating my half." Amy said.

  "Wow. Thanks." Fee said flatly. "Take your time, why don't you?" She glanced around. "Look, message me when you get to Leicester Square, okay? I've got to go."

  "Be safe, Bab. Love you."

  Fee signed off with a watery smile, before her feed disappeared with another 'Boop', leaving Amy to look blankly at a dead screen. Usually, she would have sped to her daughters rescue, because nothing in the world mattered more, but something made her pause and stare at the shape on the horizon. Wandering out into the garden, she could see the cherry-red blink of an aircraft warning light. Silhouetted on horizon a great Tower blotted the skyline like a felled Titan; a constant reminder, mocking her pain.

  No." Amy said, quietly. "No...You don't get to have her."

  With furious determination, she grabbed her bag and head for the car.

  ***

  By six in evening, it was still sunny and the world smelt like a dying campfire. Shrugging off the humidity, Fee ordered an ice orange soda from a fast food place known as: ‘Shines, Shakes and Laughs.’ and to avoid attracting thieves, she used a brown payphone to call Rick.

  "Dude, I am freaking out.” She said, her voice tinged with a quiet panic. "I'm about to lose my shit in front of everyone."

  "Don’t freak out and end up making a scene.”

  "I've just been teleported to London; damn right I'm making a scene. What the hell is going on?"

  "I honestly don't know, this is new to me too."

  "Great help you turned out to be." Fee said bitterly.

  "Where exactly did you land?" Rick said. “Someone must have seen you pop out of nowhere.”

  For the life of her, she not could remember the point of entry. It was like parts of her memory had been redacted.

  "It's all been wiped." Fee said. "Anything to do with travelling or arriving is a blank. I could have been walking for miles in a daze.”

  "It's scary that someone could do that."

  Time was getting on.

  "Gotta go, talk soon." Fee said, and hung up without waiting for a reply.

  ***

  Back outside, a warm breeze prickled her bare arms.

  The fancier bars nearby were filled with patrons dressed for an opera, which Fee avoided like a bag of rats. There was no way she was going to get served wearing a Yellow hoodie, with a streak of vomit down one side. It was then, something flashed in her peripheral, a shape obscured by the crowd, but its motion was flittering, as if untuned to reality. She shook her head and glanced at a small Bistro, with its hologram of a rotating bottle of Stella Artois. The male clientele wore the usual status symbols: Rock watches, Gold pops, a suit cut from Saville Row. The women were poured into little black dresses, wrapped in cashmere and sat ordering Persian Wine. Fee stopped to see the evening stretch into night; its clouds like bruises on an Apricot Sky. A sideway glance toward a nearby shop window caught the figure again. It might have been due to the glass, but she swore the stranger’s face distorted into a mess of computer pixels, before becoming flat, as if drawn on a box.She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  Keep it together.

  The longer she walked, the more her shoes were starting to chafe. She cursed how her new red trainers were still in the car, back in that loathsome Cul-de-Sac where nothing made sense.She felt a shudder crest the tops of her arms at the thought of any kind of retrieval. For now, all she could do was take in Soho during the faded evening.

  ***

  The weather changed on a penny. Streets sizzled with a pattering rain, making the pavements shine like new glass. Fee passed music murmuring out from dirty, Satanic bars, while people tottered out from shadowy backstreets, and cast hollow stares in her direction.

  London is a circus. She thought. And all the clowns are pissed off.

  The scent of rain still lingered in the cold air, while strong lights began to blaze out from almost every corner. She could hear the wheeling seagulls heckle somewhere from up high and wondered if any inbound splatter would improve the smell. Stopping by a Pharmacy, she bought some toiletries, a cheap tub of headache pills and an over-priced banana milkshake. The place was so small, that no-one could have fit more than a bicycle inside. On her way out, she spotted a comic called ‘Bat-Fish’.

  “It’s a Jellyfish that dresses like a bat.” The Shopkeeper said, with a shrug. “Gotta love the Malaise Era.”

  Leaving the pharmacy, Fee knocked back a pill and drained the milkshake, before tossing it into a bin. No sign of her stalker. Under the gold-lit wash of incandescent bulbs, she came across a clothes shop named 'High Dungeon' off a side street alley.The place was run by a sneezing Filipino woman in a pale grey Rugby shirt. Inside was gloomy, austere and sold cheap clothes in neat piles with two mobile racks. The purple walls were painted with silver snakes. Fee bought a pale yellow sweater and pleated brown mini-skirt, and paid for both. After seeking the help of passing Police officer, she made her way to Leicester Square, a large plaza hemmed in by three large cinemas with a couple of restaurants thrown in. Gravitating toward the closest building, she bought a ticket for a Sci-fi movie, before heading off toward the restroom. Staring into the mirror, Fee spat out a thick, blue wad into the sink.

  “Happy birthday, you fuckin' idiot.” She said.

  Fee was tempted to get dressed, but something made her pause. The fact that she was in London was crazy in itself, but it could have been a lot worse, like how she nearly died at the hands of Miriam Stosur.