Snakeskins

by Tim Major

  She gazed up at the nicotine-yellow ceiling. “I just think that Charmers need to be made public, that’s all. No group should be allowed to hold such sway over society without being called to account. Or at least, without being visible.”

  Drew abandoned his neutral expression. “They’re not some shadowy cabal, Gerry. They’re just not. You’re deliberately conflating Charmers and the Party to suit your own ideology. My brother-in-law’s a Charmer. There was a bit of trouble when they got married, and it had to be a pretty functional wedding, just the two of them, but Theo is— well, he’s all right. Oh, that reminds me that I didn’t have a chance to tell you: my sister’s pregnant. She’ll finish up her producer role at Rise and Shine in September, then she’s due in October. I’m going to be the uncle to a little Charmer baby boy. There’s nothing sinister. They’re just people. People with a few tricks up their sleeves, I grant you, but who can begrudge a kid a better start in life?”

  Gerry watched him for a moment, then let her head drop into her hands. “Point taken.”

  “I’m known for my insight. That’s why ‘Drawn by Drew’ is hotly anticipated every day by as many as three Folk readers.”

  “So I’ll give it up. Stick to dietary advice columns and gossip.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic. You haven’t got the acting chops for it.”

  “I’m serious. Zemma wants entertainment.”

  “You know you can’t go back there, not now.”

  “The rest are all the same.”

  “Shall I change hats? From therapist to job opportunities adviser?”

  Gerry shrugged.

  “Don’t give up. That’s my advice. I know you’re not overflowing with cash, but I also know you’ve been saving, and I also know you’re incapable of taking a holiday and you have no interest in the usual metrics and milestones of progress that other people crave. So given that you’re never going to be able to afford to buy a house and you don’t enjoy travelling for the sake of it, then use that money for something you actually care about.”

  “I could buy a gun.”

  “Seriously, stop. You’re no good at being self-involved. Use the money to buy you time. Follow the story. Follow the Charmers and the Snakeskins and see where it all leads. Without the shackles of a disapproving editor, you’ll be freer. And when you’ve put the story together, they’ll all be battering down your door to print it, or even to serialise the bestselling book.”

  Gerry blinked, less from surprise and more to stop tears coming to her eyes. She gripped Drew’s hand in both of hers, squeezing his fleshy fingers tight. “You know, we really should’ve made it work, you and me.”

  Drew smiled and shook his head. “Much as I wanted it, no. If we’d had a relationship we’d have lasted six months, maybe a year or even two, and then I’d have been so reasonable and you so unreasonable throughout, it’d all have gone to pot and then we’d have been reluctant exchangers of Christmas cards and nothing more. I prefer this. I prefer actually knowing you, Gerry. For keeps.”

  Gerry wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket. “You’re right, as always. About everything. But I—”

  Drew held up a hand. “That’s where my advice ends. I’m not going to tell you how to do your job.”

  “But I think I’m up against a dead end. I’ve been chasing Charmer confessions, mainly, but it’s only the oddballs who’ll talk, and by that I mean Charmers who, for whatever reason, don’t have wealth or power. Any Charmers that might have interesting stories to tell keep shtum.”

  “So don’t try and talk to them.”

  “But you just said—”

  Drew rolled his eyes. “You really are off form. All right. One more piece of advice, though it’s nothing I’d claim credit for. I might have forgotten pretty much everything I learnt during my glory days of journalism, in the mentor programme. But I do remember the one simple piece of advice old McKendrick gave us, every bloody day. ‘When you hit a dead end…’”

  Gerry beamed. She stood, downed her drink, then planted a beery kiss on Drew’s cheek.

  “Go back to the source.”

  ***

  Caitlin munched on the remainder of her baked potato and watched Evie stretch and yawn. The food was already long cold – the two of them had been putting the world to rights for the entire lunch break. The canteen was almost empty and most of the students were outside in the common area between the rows of college classrooms. The hum of their chatter was loud enough for Caitlin and Evie to have to raise their voices to be heard, even here, inside. It had rained for pretty much the last week and the appearance of the sun had energised everyone.

  Evie made pistol shapes with her fingers, pointing at Caitlin. “Got it! Do it at the town hall. Smack bang in Oxford centre. We could hand out fliers beforehand, get passers-by to come in. And then inside it’d be all formal and flashy at the same time, like a wedding. We’d give everyone top hats and bouquets at the door. No. One bouquet for you and then— Ooh, ooh! No, two! One bouquet for you and one for your Skin. The moment she shows up, we give her the second bouquet and you both throw them up as though you’re two brides, but without any need for a groom, obviously.”

  As Caitlin considered this she traced a finger along the doodles on her science folder. Ringed planets, meteors and constellations of stars drawn in silver marker pen made its cover shine with reflections of the canteen strip lights. “And what does all that actually mean?”

  “Mean? What do you mean, ‘mean’?”

  “Well, it’s not a wedding, is it? My Skin’ll be there for a minute, then she’ll disappear in a puff of smoke. It’s more like Cinderella at the ball than any wedding.”

  Evie waved a hand dismissively. “Details. It’s all about the spectacle, Cait.”

  Caitlin tapped her fork on her chin. “No. You’ve got part of it right. The in-your-face-ness of it. But it shouldn’t be formal. That’s what they want us to do – the Party.”

  “What party? Will there be a party?”

  “The Great British Prosperity Party, dummy. The government. My dad’s been ploughing through the book of rules and regulations they sent us, and it’s as thick as your arm.”

  “Oi. No digs about my weight.”

  “Don’t be a dick. I’m saying that they love the idea of us getting buried under formality. It gets rid of the magic of the whole thing. Tobe’s shedding might have been a marvel of the natural world… but to be honest, it was as if he was doing a blood test or something. The government lady killed the fun. You know that tone that nurses have? All bored and seen-it-all-before?”

  “So don’t invite her. Them.”

  “Obviously. That’s for starters. But I swear I’m not going to hide away in the town hall either. That way, only people who want to see the shedding would actually see it. The important thing is showing the people who don’t want to see, people who’d prefer it if us Charmers all piss off and live on an island together. The shouty protesters and the people who suck their teeth and talk about the unnaturalness of it all, or the selfishness, as if we’re doing it on purpose. We’re an endangered species.”

  “That’s only because Charmers hardly ever shack up with non-Charmers. Your parents were the odd ones out. The rest are keeping the gift to themselves. I’m not going to say the word inbred, but—” When Evie glanced up and saw Caitlin’s expression, she clammed up. “So anyway, what are you suggesting? Climb up onto one of the college buildings?”

  Caitlin shook her head. “Wouldn’t work. We set up like we’re doing a street performance. On Cornmarket, where there are the most people. My birthday’s on a Saturday so there’ll be a ton of randoms all wandering around. We gather the crowds under false pretences—”

  “To watch what?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You. You’re hot. You can be my magician’s assistant and draw the crowds. Or you can wear a leotard and tell them you’re going to do the splits and they can ogle your arse cheeks. Anyway, so the crowd are all there, but then instea
d of you doing gymnastics or whatever, suddenly I announce that I’m a Charmer and I’m proud of it and I’m not going to hide away.”

  “So then you undo your belt and your silken dressing gown drops to the floor and you’re stark naked…”

  “Yeah. Maybe. No, actually you’re right! The Skin will be naked when she arrives, so I should be too. Solidarity. Right. There’s me in the street, naked and proud of it. So of course everyone’s looking now, and then you do the countdown—”

  “And set off the fireworks.”

  “Yup. And then there she is, suddenly, right beside me. My spontaneous duplicate. My Snakeskin.”

  “Naked.”

  Caitlin nodded. “And I won’t cover her up.”

  “Won’t she mind? I mean, I know you’ll already be naked, but it’s not as if there’ll be time to get her consent or anything. And you’re the one who’s always banging on about Charmers’ rights and surely that means Skins, too?”

  “Of course she won’t mind. She’ll be my Snakeskin, Evie. As close to being me as anyone could be. With all my memories, so they reckon. Of course she’ll be in on the plan. In fact, just by me deciding right here and now that I’m okay with it, then that means she is too, because she’ll remember this conversation and the fact that she agreed to it.”

  “It sounds iffy, from a legal point of view.”

  Caitlin rolled her eyes. One citizenship module and suddenly Evie thought she was a lawyer. “The point is that this isn’t about the law. This is about pride in who we are. And saying sod everyone else.”

  “Everyone else meaning me.” Evie scowled. Caitlin couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking.

  “Of course not you.”

  “Me, the magician’s assistant, forever labelled a Charmer-lover.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Oh, don’t be a diva. I love you, don’t I? But the scale of what you’re talking about… well, it’s illegal, for one thing. And maybe I want to keep my options open. You know, not messing up my life before I get going.”

  Caitlin felt a sudden sense of being caught out. There was no way she really wanted to strip naked in the high street and force people to watch her shedding. But if she had wanted to do it, she wanted to know that Evie had her back. Was she actually going to go through with the whole thing, just to prove a point?

  “Don’t come, then,” she said, her voice cracking a little.

  “Oh, get real, Cait. I’ll be there, whatever you decide to do. All of us will.”

  “All of us who?”

  “Me, Amy, Jacko, Jane, Flip… everyone.”

  In a quiet voice, Caitlin said, “I only wanted you. I don’t need all the rest of them. Just you.”

  “Don’t be daft. You said you want everyone in the world to see you. You don’t have to be naked really. But you need our support.”

  “I need your support. Not you and your whole gang. I’m serious. If you can’t do this for me without everyone else in tow, I don’t want you to come.”

  “I’m your best friend in the whole world.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it. You’ve got Amy and Jacko and Jane and Flip and a thousand other people.”

  Evie’s expression hardened. “Non-Charmers, you mean. Not special types like you.”

  “Normal people.”

  Evie shrugged. “Same difference. It’s a bloody shame, that’s what it is. You of all people. I’d never have expected you to be all up yourself about being a Charmer. Maybe you lot can’t help it.”

  As if responding to the mention of her name, Jane Rowntree appeared, carrying a tray. “Scrag ends,” she said, nodding down at her plateful of hardened bits of lasagne scraped from the sides of pans. She looked at Evie, at her quivering lip, her fidgeting that suggested she was on the verge of tears. “What’re you fighting about?”

  Evie rubbed at an eye. “Turns out Caitlin hates us lot. Us normal people.”

  Jane thumped her tray onto the table before Caitlin. “Leave Evie alone.”

  “Oh, so you’re Evie’s mummy now, are you? Trust you to come and wipe her tears away.”

  “Don’t be a twat. Leave her alone, skinflint.”

  Caitlin’s cheeks reddened immediately. She had always suspected that Jane disliked her and that their friendship relied on Evie, as though Evie were the pivot of a seesaw. “What did you call me?”

  “Skinflint. You’re just like the rest. Living up there in Woodstock in your bloody castle. Bathing in money, same as all Charmers. Waiting for your turn to get your claws into the country, then wait for the rest of us to get sick and die off so you can take our money and our jobs.”

  Rationally, Caitlin knew that Jane probably didn’t feel that way about her, not really. Those were probably someone else’s words. Her dad had been an influential anti-prosperity campaigner. He had once been on the news, arguing with low-level government ministers, and soon afterwards he had been in prison for a year or so. But Caitlin saw the effect Jane’s words had on Evie, who had fallen silent. Perhaps she was thinking of the vast, unused rooms in Ivy Cottage, compared to her own small tenement house, her own bedroom shared with her brother.

  There was a flurry of movement outside the canteen. A crowd of students had gathered, making a horseshoe around the double doors. Their hoots and cheers sounded ghostly as they echoed from the bare walls of the canteen. The students were watching three boys in the middle of the half-ring. Caitlin knew only one of them by name, but she had seen the two larger, stockier boys before, swaggering around the small campus, hollering at girls. Just last week, the gurning one with the barely-there goatee had made a crack about Caitlin having ginger pubes. The other, even uglier boy wore a black denim jacket with the words FUCK SAKE written on it in white electrical tape.

  The smaller boy was called Spencer. Caitlin barely knew him, only enough to know that he was quiet and that he was a Charmer. In fact, he was the only other Charmer at the sixth-form college – Charmer kids tended to attend posh private schools. Caitlin had always made a point of not gravitating to Spencer, in order to demonstrate that their shared gift was no common ground at all.

  The bigger boys were goading Spencer, spinning him around between them. The one with the goatee tried to grab for his rucksack. Spencer stumbled to one side and Goatee snatched the bag. The strap caught on the smaller boy’s arm and sent him crashing to the ground.

  Caitlin had reached the doorway before she even realised she had left her seat. Her hands were fists again. The bewildered Spencer sat on his bottom like a well-behaved toddler at nursery. The howling, ape-like Goatee and Fucksake held his rucksack aloft between them, like a trophy or a weapon. The crowd of watching students had become even denser.

  It was the other students that really scared her. A few were obviously concerned, but most had gleaming eyes and were calling out or chanting nonsensical insults. “Finish him off!” “Skinflint!” “He deserves it.” “Snakeshit!”

  Blackness crept in at the edges of Caitlin’s vision. If she didn’t do something, she was certain she’d pass out from rage.

  “Leave him alone!” She was surprised at the volume of her voice.

  Everybody turned to look at her – everybody except Spencer, who was watching Goatee and Fucksake calmly, blinking slowly as though their only crime was to have woken him up.

  At first nobody said anything, but Caitlin heard a hum of disappointment. The students had been promised a spectacle and now it had been stopped abruptly. If a teacher had called a halt there would have been a general scurry away from the fight. Caitlin’s interruption had only served to ruin the momentum.

  Goatee and Fucksake watched her, too.

  It was Jane Rowntree’s voice that broke the silence. It came from somewhere behind her. “Of course she wants them to stop. Charmers always stick together.”

  Something jabbed into Caitlin’s spine. She staggered forward, then turned to see that it was Jane who had pushed her. The semicircle closed, blocking Cait
lin’s way out.

  Evie stood at Jane’s side. Her face was pale and she was chewing her cheek.

  Caitlin forced herself to face Goatee and Fucksake. She held out a hand. “Give me the bag.”

  Fucksake held it inches away from her fingers. His lip curled, making his face more grotesque than should have been possible. Caitlin resisted the temptation to make a grab and, as she had expected, he snatched it away again.

  He unzipped the rucksack, making a show of peering inside. “Let’s see what kind of kinky shit Charmers lug around with them, hey?” He pulled out a book. It wasn’t a college textbook, but a computer-programming guide of some sort. Fucksake adopted a theatrical voice, loud enough for everyone in his audience to hear. “What’s this? Some kind of self-help guide. Called, ‘How to fuck over normal people’.”

  Everyone laughed. Fucksake might be a total meathead, but he knew how to work a crowd.

  Goatee nudged him in the ribs. He had the mannerisms of someone much younger and much less confident than he at first appeared. All bullies were cowards, up close. “Careful you don’t catch a disease. Charmer stuff’s riddled with germs.”

  “Excellent point,” Fucksake boomed. He dropped the book, keeping hold of one corner of the paperback cover so that it ripped clean off. The book and the loose cover fell to the ground. Spencer scurried over, crablike on his haunches, to rescue them.

  “Give the bag to me,” Caitlin said again. She took a step forwards and Fucksake took a step back.

  “I wouldn’t let you near me if you were the only woman in the world,” he shouted. Then, in a lower voice, perfectly judged to be audible to all, “I know about you – your mum’s a Charmer but your dad’s a normal human, isn’t he? Shacked up with a Charmer, the fucking traitor. My mum says they should have strung him up.”