Saturday evening. The mood is sombre. It is deathly quiet. No notifications, no pings, no computer-generated, even-tempered female voice warning us that we are very quickly running out of butter.

All of a sudden, a heavy sigh. Then soft sobs permeate the air.

"I am losing all my flames now." The 14-year-old is inconsolable.

"Wylie, this is really the least of our worries now, " Mother gently admonishes. "I could drive you to one of your friends. Then you could get your flames back."

"How could I even get in touch with my friends?" Wylie raises her offending smart phone and waves it into her mother's face.

"You could just ring their doorbell." Even Mother's voice sounds unsure.

"I have never rung anyone's doorbell in all my life. Who, apart from the postman, even does something like that? I can't ring people's doorbells! I'd never live it down, ever!" There is no denying the hysteria that's crept into Wylie's voice now.

Wylie's brother, Chris, shakes his head in resignation. "Not only are we effectively cut off from the rest of the world - Christ, I haven't had any meaningful private conversation in over 14 hours -, we will probably starve, too. And I don't know which of the two is worse, to tell you the truth."

Mother's eyes seem to be tearing up, so Dad chips in soothingly, "Nobody is going to starve. We can always go to the shops."

"Go to the shops?" Three hysterical voices bark back at him.

"What shop would you have us go to, then, genius?" Mother sounds a tad acidy now.

"Well, the supermarket might be a start, sweetheart."

"The supermarket? The supermarket? Which freaking supermarket are you talking about exactly?" Mother's voice has risen to Mount Everest heights, nearly bursting the precious crystal in the kitchen, while Wylie and Chris hold their heads in both hands as if trying to ward off a massive migraine they can feel coming on collectively.

"The one round the corner, for crying out loud. Are you lot suffering from memory loss, too?" Dad looks bewildered.

"The one round the corner." Mother does an impressive imitation of her husband. "You mean the one that shut about three years ago? There are no grocery shops anywhere in a fifty-mile radius to my knowledge. Everyone orders online these days. So what now?"

"And we'll have to do shifts tonight, Dad," Chris chimes in. "We'll have to defend our property against intruders ourselves now, I reckon." When Dad flinches, Chris adds helpfully, "My old baseball bat should be somewhere in my wardrobe. I can go and get it."

"It's early evening only. Maybe they'll fix the problem before nighttime. Have you checked the router lately, Chris?" Dad is obviously not keen on providing muscle instead of electronics to keep the riff raff out. Come to think of it, Chris doesn't look too enthusiastic himself. He is nodding vigorously in agreement.

Conversation has ground to a halt now. Everyone is staring into the far distance morosely, contemplating the end-of-the-world situation they are facing.

Suddenly, Mother's face brightens up. "When I was a kid, we didn't even have internet. There were times when we sat down together as a family and played a board game. We might still have a board game downstairs somewhere."

The kids look at their mother like she has lost her mind. "How can you think of games at a time like this?"

"You are right. Sorry." Mother looks contrite. "I wish I had saved Amanda's last stock-taking of our fridge and pantry contents. Then I would have a better handle on the situation." Then she shakes her head in defeat. "The hoover won't work without an internet connection, either. Nobody is counting my steps and monitoring my heartbeat. Christ. What a mess!"

Wylie has flopped into the armchair and has closed her eyes. Chris keeps checking the screen of his smart phone. Dad stares at the wall. The ghostly quiet has returned. Hours pass. Everybody mourns the loss of valuable lifetime separately.

Suddenly, a ping.

There is no reaction.

Then another ping. The tablet screen lights up. Amanda advises to order more butter and to regulate the heating up.

Wylie opens both eyes simultaneously, grabbing her phone. Chris presses buttons on his laptop furiously. Dad reboots the computer. Nobody's talking, but the hustle and bustle has returned to the household.

Slowly, a big grin spreads across Mother's face. She clicks on her coffee app twice. In the kitchen, two coffees are prepared. With a relieved sigh, she leans back.

Rescued by the wireless.