Before the Fall teaser

 Hey folks here is a wee tease of Before the Fall. Hope you enjoy. If you want to find out what happens next the book is available here

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FNXDG5FP

Before the Fall

Prologue

> BBC News, 09:00

“The World Health Organisation has issued new guidance this morning following reports of unusual flu-like outbreaks in Eastern Europe and South America. Officials stress that these cases remain isolated, and there is no cause for public concern.”

> Channel 4 Broadcast

“Supermarkets across the central belt were busy again today as more residents stockpiled food and medicines. The government has urged calm, insisting supply chains remain ‘stable and secure.’”

> Sky News Live

“A leaked memo suggests the Ministry of Defence has authorised support for local police should emergency measures be required. When pressed for comment, a spokesperson said there are ‘no immediate plans for deployment.’”

The voices overlapped, switching channels but repeating the same message: stay calm, remain indoors if unwell, there is no cause for alarm.

---

In Blantyre, life carried on.

At the nursery, Anne knelt to tie a boy’s shoelace while parents hurried out, chatting about football and weekend plans. At the school, Maggie handed plasters to a scraped knee, listening as the television in the staff room repeated the government statement word for word.

On Glasgow Road, Callum leaned on the bonnet of a car outside his garage, laughing with a customer. “World’s gone daft, mate. Flu my arse.”

At home, Jennifer was sketching table layouts for a wedding party, radio murmuring in the background. She tapped her pen, humming softly, barely noticing the clipped voice repeating: “Please avoid unnecessary travel…”

And in Edinburgh, Derek Anderson checked his watch, muttering at late deliveries. Deadlines loomed, crews waited, and his phone buzzed with another problem. He rubbed his eyes and turned up the radio in his site office.

“…The World Health Organisation stresses that these outbreaks remain isolated. Citizens are urged to remain calm. Please, stay in your homes.”

Derek snorted, shut it off, and picked up his hard hat. Another day. Another job.

Outside, the world kept turning. For now.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Chapter One

The wind cut sharp across the scaffolding, rattling loose sheeting and carrying the tang of wet concrete. Derek Anderson, broad-shouldered and still carrying the strength of his years on the tools, stood with his boots planted on the half-finished floor, clipboard in hand, watching as two of his men argued over measurements. At thirty-six, the beard he often rubbed was flecked with early grey, his eyes carrying that steady weight of a man people turned to without thinking.

“Six inches out,” one shouted, tapping a steel beam with the end of his tape.

“Six inches my arse,” the other shot back.

Derek lowered the clipboard. “It’s out,” he said simply. “Fix it.”

Both men groaned, but they moved. He checked his watch — deliveries still hadn’t arrived. Materials were stuck somewhere between Glasgow and Edinburgh, another victim of drivers not turning up or depots shutting without warning.

He looked across the city skyline. Edinburgh’s streets were clogged more than usual, traffic backed up along Princes Street. Sirens carried faintly, but that wasn’t unusual. At least, it hadn’t used to be.

“Boss!” someone called.

Derek turned to see Stewart, his site foreman, waving a folded newspaper. “They’re saying folk are dropping like flies abroad. Some virus. Whole towns locked down.”

Derek frowned. “And?”

“And… maybe we should knock off early.”

“Work’s still here, Stewart.”

The man grumbled but didn’t argue. The crew were already jumpy. Too many late-night news reports, too many rumours at the pub.

Derek tucked the clipboard under his arm and headed back into the temporary office — a prefab cabin with a humming kettle and a radio tuned low. The same calm voice from the prologue filled the room:

“…isolated clusters… government monitoring the situation closely… public urged not to panic.”

He turned the volume down.

It wasn’t his problem. Not yet.

---

In Blantyre, Jennifer sat in her small office, tapping her pen against the page. Thirty-four, practical yet stylish even in work clothes, her brown hair was tied back neatly. A party planner by trade, she had a knack for detail and for people — the kind of woman who could calm a room just by walking into it.

She eyed the sketch she’d been working on all morning: two dozen round tables, a dance floor, buffet against the far wall. The bride had wanted a fairy-tale feel — lights strung everywhere, pastel runners, lilies on every table.

Jennifer sighed and scribbled out a note in the margin. Half the suppliers were already giving excuses. Delays. Shortages. Not enough drivers to make the deliveries. It was getting harder to pull everything together.

Her phone buzzed. Anne.

Anne was younger — twenty-nine, a nursery worker, all warmth and chatter on the outside, but tougher than people gave her credit for.

“You still good for later?” Jennifer asked, tucking the handset under her chin.

“Aye, but I might be late,” Anne said. Children’s voices rang in the background, high and chaotic. “Half the staff called in sick. Feels like I’m running the nursery myself today.”

Jennifer smiled. “You’ve got this. You always do.”

Anne laughed, tired but warm. “Maybe. Everyone’s talking about that flu abroad, though. Got some parents whispering, saying it’ll be here next.”

Jennifer flicked her pen against the page again. “Folk love a panic. We’ll be fine.”

“Hope so.” Anne lowered her voice. “You know how people get. One headline and it’s the end of the world.”

Jennifer ended the call with a reassuring tone, though her own smile had faded. She looked down at her sketch again, trying to focus, but the lines blurred.

The party was still weeks away. If things carried on like this, she wondered how many more suppliers would cancel before then.

---

By late afternoon the site was half-empty. Stewart had finally given up pretending the men weren’t skiving and let most of them go early. Derek stayed, running through the paperwork no one else bothered with.

Outside the cabin window, the traffic hadn’t moved in half an hour. Car horns blared across the city, echoing between the buildings.

He made a note on the delivery sheet. Concrete still delayed. Steel frames late. Bricklayers hadn’t even shown. It was getting harder to keep the schedule on track when half the suppliers weren’t answering calls.

The radio buzzed behind him. He almost switched it off again, but something in the announcer’s tone kept him listening.

“…reports continue of increased cases abroad. Officials stress there is no immediate threat to the United Kingdom. Citizens are urged to remain calm, and to follow normal public health advice.”

Derek rubbed at his eyes. Abroad. Always abroad. He’d heard it before — bird flu, swine flu, whatever name they gave it. Folk panicked, shelves emptied, and life went on.

Still, he couldn’t shake the way Stewart had looked when he waved that paper around. Jumpy. Too jumpy for a man who’d spent twenty years on sites and never rattled once.

He shut down the radio, grabbed his jacket, and stepped out onto the scaffold.

The sky over Edinburgh was darkening fast, heavy with rain, the city below restless and loud.

Another day done. Another problem tomorrow.

He dialled Jennifer as he walked to the car.

“You on your way?” she asked, her voice soft, familiar.

“Soon. Just locking up.”

“Good. Can you stop at the shop for me? We’re short on milk and pasta. I’ll start dinner once you’re back.”

“Milk and pasta. Aye, no bother.”

The line clicked dead.

Derek slipped his phone into his pocket and swung into the car. The drive was slow, lights turning red in front of packed junctions, people crossing without looking.

When he finally pulled into the supermarket car park, it was nearly full. Inside, the noise hit him first — trolleys crashing, voices raised, the clatter of hurried footsteps.

Half the shelves were bare. Bread gone. Toilet roll stripped. Milk down to the last few bottles.

He grabbed what he could, weaving past a woman clutching three packs of bottled water, another with her arms full of tins.

Folk love a panic, he thought again, dropping the milk and pasta into his basket.

But when he reached the checkout and glanced back at the stripped aisles, a knot tightened in his stomach.

Maybe this time was different.

I hope you enjoyed reading the start of my book. If you want to find out what happens then please head to the link and get a copy. 

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