The others spread themselves about the surprisingly half-empty car park, while Maude headed for the entrance, only to be told by one of the staff, positioned just inside the doors, to wait until another customer comes out, and although slightly surprised by this, Maude did as she was bid, assuming that there may have been an accident inside, or perhaps one of the elderly customers—thinking not of one like herself, but rather someone like old Mrs Mauleverer, whom she usually referred to as an Auld Biddy, though Millicent Mauleverer was actually a year younger than Maude—had been taken unwell, but then Mrs Mauleverer, in the flesh—or skin and bones, for she was always skeletal, even as a schoolgirl—came out, wearing a surgical mask and wheezing and pushing her shopping trolley and Maude bit her tongue for thinking such unkind thoughts about someone who had never done her any harm, well, not deliberately, at any rate, and then the Co-op staff member was waving her in; first she went to the newspaper section and selected one of her eclectic mixes: The Guardian, Farmers Weekly, Daily Record, Scotsman and Morning Star, which was when three things caught her eye: today's date, on all the papers so it couldn't be a misprint, or a fictitious April Fool joke, the kind The Grauniad does in Spades, is Friday 12th June 2020, near enough five months since she and Oyzell had been whisked off to Glen Glum, less than a week ago; a photograph of the Wendelstein X7 Tokamak Fusion Reactor, which reminded her of the interior of the TARDIS accompanying an article about today being Russia Day; and a piece about something called Covid19, which she soon found was the name for a Global Pandemic which had put Britain into what was referred to as Lockdown, after wreaking havoc in continental Europe! her heart did a Niagara, she could feel her blood-pressure dropping like a stone, coming out through her boots, she swayed, held onto a shelf, her mind racing: would Daphne, May, Cristo, be okay? what about Teri? she almost spoke out loud, Jesus! thousands, tens of thousands, over forty thousand dead in the UK! and in Italy, she scanned the pages, while others fluttered to the floor, Spain, France, the USA, the entire Northern Hemisphere, and a patchwork South of the Equator, she discovered an image floating into her mind, an image of May, sitting dead in the kitchen while the three-legged Barnstaple Oven that was her pride and joy boiled dry and burned on top of the old range, smoke belching out from the vent in the lid, and she slowly sank to the floor, knowing she was being hysterical, neurotic, they were probably all fine in this Lockdown, or Quarantine, but the tears ran down her cheeks and it was Laura, the friendly Check-out girl from Gala who spotted her and called for the Manager, and that was when young May and Cristo, wondering what was keeping Maude, just happened to glance in through the automatic door as it slid open to allow a customer to leave and they saw Maude, sprawled among a drift of newspapers, and—knowing nothing of Social Distancing—rushed in and reached her as a woman, wearing a doctor's mask and with a clear plastic visor over her face, was trying to resuscitate Maude while a man, similarly kitted out, seemed to be calling for an ambulance!