CHAPTER 2

Forgotten now, behind them lay the hill. Empty except for the wild life and the wind. Had they stayed longer they may have seen past some trees in the distance a cluster of parabolic aerials jutting from the hillside. Cold and shadowed, this newly erected structure seemed deserted and empty. Shiny barbed wire gleamed straight from the factory and threatening signs warned off the inquisitive.

Unseen by any eye, every second, millions impulses dashed against these reflectors, bounced off and launched themselves away again into the distance. Travelling at the speed of light, some found distant hillsides to bounce themselves off again, some found satellites suspended in the lonely emptiness of space to help them along their way.

Combining, for fractions of a second, then splitting apart as their journeys converged and separated, they sped across the face of the world. In an instant they coursed through sleet, rain, howling gales and gentle breezes until they reached their destination and were converted into speech, sound waves and pictures.

Some became secret then, people talking privately about their hopes, their grief's, their plans. Some splashed themselves into a million homes through radios and televisions. Others crept onto computer screens where they lay darkly waiting for silent keyboards to be pressed in cautious response.

Reality existed side by side with fantasy. Tiny impulses they were yet sadness, happiness, tragedy and hope flowed in their wake. For some expectations soared, fortune shone and their spirits were renewed. Others cried, felt pain and despaired.

Some electrical impulses represented earnings, some expenditure and as the darkness of the 1990s recession flowed across the country, inexorably for many, the latter for many exceeded the former and the consequences were relentless.

For those unlucky ones, yet more impulses flashed around silicon circuits and, soon after, letters fell through letterboxes spelling pain for the recipients. Letters regretting dismissal from employment, letters demanding payment for goods and services provided, letters that threatened, letters that cajoled and for some, already at their wits end, letters that spoke of the loss of even the home they lived in.

Unknown to Peter, well before he met her on that first day in Hyde Park, the slippery path was already far advanced for Sarah and her husband. Had Peter known he would have been surprised. Her husband David's senior position commanded a good salary and Sarah's many years of good service with her employers had yielded a much better money until now than would be usual for someone in her secretarial position.

But the increasingly higher interest rates had hurt them badly and when Sarah's employers went into liquidation as a result of the complete failure of their computer system, a substantial part of their family income had been removed at a stroke.