46

"It was so long ago, like an old book once read but parts forgotten. Ya know?" she asked and although Ianto did not have that good fortune to forget some bits, he nodded anyway. Then she continued "So, I didn't grow up rich, but not poor either."

"Mama was a housewife with extras. Raised to live off the land and she made her own preserves and we have bee hives, sold the honey at the market each Sunday. And eggs from our chickens, good free-range eggs were sought after ya know" she smiled, then added "But I am not a big egg eater myself. But those chickens did help us survive… after."

"Tell me."

.

.

Jessica was humming softly as she wandered along, the bucket of slops for the pigs swinging at her thigh as she watched her dog rampage ahead, no doubt whatever it was chasing the undergrowth did not even exist. Bloody nutta.

Stan had been a little weird outside the school that day while waiting to drive her home and she was not sure why. Sure, there was an age difference and it was not her fault that his friends needled him about his little girlfriend. The fact it was an Area School, like most country schools it catered form pre-school to university entrance exams… those families that knew one another, did os for life.

Stan was different. He was not the tallest but he was the most… built. He seemed to fill a room with his stance, his demeanor and his silent brooding. Well, for Jessica he did. For her, he was the sun and the moon, had been ever since she was about twelve? Yeah. He had been… what. Fifteen? Wow… and even then he was a behemoth on the sports field. He already had a dirt bike that he rode everywhere, even if he was not supposed to and that jacket he wore… well. Now she was coming up eighteen herself and in her final year of bloody school she knew how it felt to be so… intensely aware of others around you, if ya know what I mean and the fact Stan was now a handsome man who was turning twenty five in a few months but still loudly and clearly going steady with her was testament to the fact she firmly believed they would be together forever.

"Jessieeeeee"

She sighed as she turned to look back at the homestead and her mother, standing on the doorstep with her hand over her eyes, looking for her.

"Here mom" she yelled back lustily waving the bucket "feeding the pigs like ya told me to!"

"Jessie, get back here. Come look at this and tell me if this is some stupid joke. You know the media and the technology things" she called out and Jessica bit back a growl of annoyance.

Why her mother had to pretend she was thick was anyone's guess. Talking dumb did not make it better and her mother knew damned well that 'technology things' sounded dumb. Was this woman trying to piss her off already? God, not even the first day of the weekend to enjoy and already…. Jessica's thought process stalled as she heard sounds coming from the telly.

"Mom? What are you watching?" she asked as she moved closer to the TV and the horrible horror movie she seemed to have found. This time of day? God. Jessica was shocked, "Mom, you don't like this sort of thing."

"Not at all" came the firm reply. "But it's the BBC news channel."

"Well… color me confused" Jessica snorted softly, watching as the reporter droned on about something to do with a disease? What? This didn't' look like a disease. No, this looked like the very thing Grandpa Seamus kept waffling on about.

"The Centres for Disease Control and Prevention is recommending that people distance themselves from anyone displaying these symptoms. They are also recommending that families gather emergency supplies and start making plans in case they are asked to evacuate. You can get more information at .gov."

"Mom, where's Dad?" Jessica asked nervously.

"On the way home with Grandpa I hope" came the nervous reply as Sorch watched her daughter change the channel to the same thing still playing.

"And Morai and Daideo… they can turn back to scoop them from the home?" Jessica asked, turning to look at her mother who paled as she thought of her parents who lived in a retirement village now, their Irish friends and relatives there with them all forming a small community of stern faced old people in the middle of Cornwall.

"We will need to call him to see" she said finally, reaching for the phone to call her husband's cell. Hopefully things would be fine.

Jessica reached for her own phone, a wonderful birthday gift she was still only allowed for a short time after her schoolwork and chores were done. Thank god she was eighteen now, an adult who was allowed it for emergencies. She called Stan. Of course.

"Sweetheart, please stay where you are" Stan begged.

"But my grandparents… and Dad…." Jessica whined, hating to hear her voice doing that but unable to stop the fear growing as the screen showed these… well… monsters marauding though London streets as people ran for their lives.

If it was there… it would soon be here. She had no illusions. Her grandparents that survived the troubles by going underground… literally… and raised her mother in the way of a small terrorist which was also passed to her, even as her dear Yorkshire father constantly scolded and tried to stop the madness.

If only he knew.

'Irishness' is not something you can change, alter or in any way forget. Generations of a certain way of life was now ingrained in her very DNA making her inner Danger Radar ping like mad.

"Stan, I do love you but get your head out of your arse and swing past the home for me grandparents would ya now!" she huffed.

The silence was telling and she knew he had found a TV, his soft curse echoing down the phone. Stan was barely two months home from training. Something her father liked immensely and he had finally agreed to them marrying now they were of age, now that Stan was officially in the armed forces, like her father had been.

SAS training, something that they were all proud of, her Dad's medals hidden away as was his true life before early retirement due to a sniper taking most of the sight in his left eye as well as part of his ear and skull. A lucky shot. Her father should be dead, instead returned with a vivid scar on his face and a milky eyeball that startled at times.

Not her though.

Her Dad was a hero and one day Stan would be too, his basic training something she knew her Dad had helped wrangle.

The entire bloody village knew Stan and Jessica were meant to be.

As he reluctantly agreed to go past the old folk's home and grab the crotchety Irish couple who would likely give him an earful and refuse to come with him, Jessica relaxed slightly.

Slightly.

This was bad.

So very bad.