Snakeskins

by Tim Major

  Kit blinked and pulled her hand away from the cord. “At the funeral? Of course.”

  “You asked her to come?”

  “She’s our best friend.”

  Abruptly, Caitlin leant forwards and tugged the cord free. She recognised the ugly elliptical pendant immediately. Evie had worn that necklace every day for a couple of years. It had been given to her by Paul Farrier, who had promptly cheated on her by kissing Caitlin at the school prom. Evie had dumped Paul and forgiven Caitlin immediately, but she had kept the necklace. She said it reminded her that she already had everybody she needed. There was no need to replace the people she loved the most.

  “I wouldn’t have asked her,” Caitlin murmured.

  It occurred to her that by switching places with Kit, she had made a more profound choice than she had realised. Deep down, she had known that Evie would accept Kit. The fact that she had given Kit the precious necklace indicated an even stronger bond than she shared with Caitlin.

  Perhaps, unconsciously, Caitlin had made a decision to move on. She thought of her other friends at college, but struggled to name a single one that she needed to have in her life. She thought of her dad, gazing through his telescope at the stars. It was easy to imagine herself becoming dreamy, like him.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “We should call home. Dad’ll be getting worried.”

  Kit chewed a cereal bar. “Remember what Dodie said. January will do anything to hide what’s happened from the public. It’s too embarrassing. They’ll make some excuse to your dad. Anyway, he was already talking about cutting down on his visits, or even stopping. You can’t blame him. He did his bit.”

  If it was true, then Kit was taking it well. She would effectively have been abandoned by the closest thing she had to family. Then again, Ian had said all this to Kit, after the switch. He hadn’t known it, but it was Caitlin that he was threatening to abandon, not the Skin.

  “I didn’t mean he’d be worried about us escaping from the care home,” Caitlin said. “You’ve been gone more than a day now, without any explanation. And so soon after the funeral. His daughter’s missing.”

  “Oh. Yeah. You’re right. You should call.” Caitlin could imagine her thought process and how painful it must feel. Ian Hext isn’t my dad. Her cheeks were hot with shame.

  Caitlin watched Kit’s smooth, bare shoulders rub against the coarse fabric of the chair. The Skin’s eyes fluttered for a moment as she found a comfortable divot, pressed into the armrest with her knees slightly drawn up.

  If Kit hadn’t broken her out of the care home, Ian Hext wouldn’t be Caitlin’s dad any more either. What could she say to him, now? She shook her head. “There’s a payphone next to the loos. Can you call him? You spent the last couple of days with him. I could easily end up dropping a clanger. All you need to do is tell him you’re taking a breather, and you’re fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Please.”

  Kit pulled herself out of her concertina position. Before she could shuffle across to the aisle seat, an enormous holdall was deposited onto it.

  “This seat taken?” The man must have been in his twenties. His short, fair hair was so fine that it rose upwards where it wasn’t collected in clumps. His face was friendly enough.

  Kit grinned at him. “Let me out and then you can sprawl wherever you like.” She hopped over the armrest and into the aisle. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted, sis.”

  Caitlin leafed through Astronomy Tonight, trying to avoid making eye contact with the newcomer. The young man huffed as he struggled with the holdall, first trying to jam it into the luggage rack close to the ceiling, then finally cramming it into a space beside a bin.

  He dropped into his seat. “I’m Florian. My parents thought giving me a French name meant they were giving the middle finger to the UK’s isolationist policies, or some misguided shit like that. All it did was give me grief at every checkpoint in the country.”

  Caitlin managed a smile. She raised her magazine higher.

  “You two twins?”

  Caitlin scowled. “No. Just sisters. We’re not all that alike, when you get to know us.”

  Florian patted his pockets and pulled out a dog-eared Jane Austen novel. Caitlin suspected it was a prop. His eyes kept straying above the pages.

  A few minutes later, Kit reappeared. She made her way along the aisle, chuckling as she weaved from side to side with the motion of the train. Janet Hext’s dress fitted her perfectly. The cotton clung to her narrow waist and the skirt flared just above the knee. Caitlin ought to have tried it on sooner.

  She was wearing lipstick. Caitlin had always hated the greasy feel of it.

  Kit must have noticed her stare. “A nice lady outside the loo gave me it. And then I found these when I went in.” She put on a pair of sunglasses. They were large with dark pink lenses, like a Pinewood star might wear to go out in public incognito. Caitlin would never have chosen them, but somehow Kit carried off the look.

  The Skin wiggled into the seat beside Caitlin. “All fine,” she whispered.

  “He sounded okay?”

  “He’s fine. Don’t you worry.”

  Caitlin bit her lip. Somehow, her dad being unaware of all that had happened made the situation worse. If this escape went wrong, perhaps Ian Hext would never know the truth. Perhaps he’d end up at another funeral, for the wrong daughter.

  Kit was looking at Florian. His eyes were fixed on hers.

  Caitlin pulled her hair over her eyes, sank further into her too-warm tracksuit top, and watched the prickles of light that had appeared in the sky.

  * * *

  Gerry cursed as she tried to overtake a lorry and narrowly avoided hitting a transit van in the fast lane. Something was preventing her from thinking straight.

  Ayo.

  It wasn’t only that she was attracted to him and that she was unlikely to see him ever again. To her shame, it wasn’t even that he might currently be in danger while he attempted to protect Dodie Hope.

  She had always hated being called out on her errors. Then, following her apprenticeship at her local paper instead of attending university, she had developed a thin skin about her motivations for following a story. Only Drew had ever been permitted to point out that her tendency to prioritise stories about Charmers stemmed from a childhood wish-fulfilment.

  But Ayo had seen through her. He had been horrified at her reaction to the news about what went on behind January’s doors. Skins were being killed systematically and Gerry’s first consideration had been about the scale of the conspiracy, the size of the journalistic scoop. She hadn’t expressed any particular concern for the Skins themselves, because she hadn’t felt it. It was as Ayo had said: A building full of Skins, all waiting for the end. Ayo’s reaction was to treat Skins as humanely as he would anybody who was suffering, whereas Gerry’s instinct was to dismiss them. Not only had she never considered Snakeskins as human, she had never considered them as people. They were a commodity, a gift granted to Charmers to be used as they saw fit.

  All of this cast doubt on her reasons for racing off into the night after Caitlin Hext. But no matter how monstrous her opinions may be, Gerry had to believe that she was still needed – that the truth still had to come out, and she was best placed to make it happen. The Great British Prosperity Party was determined to trace Caitlin and her Snakeskin, but it was also still covering up for the destruction of a sizeable proportion of Skins who might otherwise have lived full lives.

  She must put Ayo out of her mind. She was a professional and she was on the trail of the most important story of her career.

  Now she swung the car from lane to lane with greater confidence, finding the optimum path. She was prepared to drive through the night.

  The key to Caitlin’s destination had been given to her by Ian Hext, in his story about the event that had lodged firmly in Caitlin’s mind as a child. Janet Hext was still the most significant person in Caitlin’s life. Ian’s story resona
ted with Gerry – it was great fodder for an article – and she was convinced that it would be foremost in Caitlin’s mind at this moment. The museum. The puppet diorama. The missing mother. The fear that Janet had shed and had been replaced.

  In the distance, specks appeared in the northern sky.

  SIXTEEN

  Caitlin covered her eyes with an arm as harsh daylight flooded into the room.

  “What the hell?” It was her own voice, but it didn’t come from her own throat.

  She groaned. “I was just about to say the same thing. Close the curtains, Kit.”

  She rolled over in bed, but Kit jostled her awake.

  “You need to see this,” Kit said.

  Grumbling, Caitlin struggled out of bed and pulled on her jeans. Kit was dressed already, her hair was brushed and her cheeks shone with cleanliness, making Caitlin feel even more slovenly.

  She slouched to the window, squinting against the light. Their room was on the second floor of the hotel. Last night the owner had been apologetic that all of the rooms overlooking the sea had been taken. Their only view was of the car park.

  “Not down there,” Kit said. “Up there.”

  The sky was the colour of steel. It was cloudless.

  But it wasn’t empty.

  There were a dozen or more narrow streaks, high in the sky, claw-mark slashes. At first Caitlin took them to be vapour trails. The lowest end of each streak was slightly bulbous and a greenish shade.

  “You know what that is,” Kit said.

  “Is that a question?”

  “No.”

  Caitlin found it hard to look away from the sky.

  “After all this time,” she murmured. “Why now? And why here?”

  * * *

  Russell’s eyes flicked left as Ellis’s mobile phone chimed. Ellis grunted as he read the text message.

  “Everything all right, sir?” Russell said. Since he had been caught in the banner-printers office yesterday, he had adopted a subservient tone, and hated himself for it. It was a shameful method of self-preservation. His cheeks flushed and he turned to face the motorway. The only other vehicles that had ventured onto the A64 this early were haulage trucks. The dawn light reflecting from the tarmac was almost blinding.

  Ellis ignored him. He tapped buttons and raised the phone to his ear. Though Russell couldn’t hear the words of the person on the end of the line, he recognised the strident, accusatory tone of Angela McKinney.

  Ellis had been complicit in the burning of his own house, and therefore the deaths of Nell and, presumably, all five of his Snakeskins. His demeanour had changed entirely, with no sign of his previous clumsiness or uncertainty. Russell wondered whether revealing to Angela his shameful secret about the hidden Snakeskins had lessened his mental burden, or whether it was simply that the death of his wife and Skins signified a point of no return.

  Either way, he was clearly a far more dangerous character than Russell had understood, and yet still Russell suppressed any outward indication of his outrage. He was a coward and a fool. He had served Ellis faithfully, then had served Ixion due to some half-baked hope that he might help, or at least impress, Nell Blackwood and that she had romantic feelings for him. Following the shock of her death, Russell now recognised something he had previously denied. Nell had never had any interest in him. She had remained married to Ellis Blackwood for one reason – or rather, five reasons. She loved Ellis’s Snakeskins. When Russell had last seen her, in the underground den, she had been clutching the hand of one of them. Theirs was a strange relationship, certainly, but a relationship that would have left no room for Russell. Now they were all dead – all but Clive, though Russell felt less and less sure that he might have survived the loss of blood after the clumsy removal of his foot. It was impossible to believe that Russell might not have prevented the murders if he had done things differently; if he had stepped up. And yet here he was, acting as bus driver for his murderous employer and his cronies. What was the quotation? I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er.

  “All settling down nicely, ma’am,” Ellis said into the phone. He unfolded a sheet of paper and read out a string of numbers that meant nothing to Russell. “There was no change for around six hours overnight, following a consistent north-easterly vector, and only very minor fluctuations in the last hour. Yes, the tech experts are positive. I know I’ve said that before. But there’s no time left for substantive variation. I’ll pass the coordinates on to the others.”

  The others.

  Russell peered into the rear-view mirror. The fifteen seats of the minibus were all filled. As they had filed on board a couple of hours ago, Russell had recognised many of the faces, despite the people trying to hide their identities with sunglasses and headscarves. Almost all of them had been at Ellis’s ‘soirée’ in North Oxford, and Russell was certain he had seen a couple of them at the office complex on Marston Street.

  Several times, he had considered yanking the steering wheel and sending them all into the oncoming traffic. Whatever these people were up to, he was in a position to stop them, temporarily. As it was, he checked his mirrors diligently and kept both hands on the wheel.

  “There are more minibuses, sir?” he said.

  Ellis put his phone away. “No. You have the honour of being our sole bus driver. Our other guests will be arriving in dribs and drabs. They prefer the comfort of travelling in their own vehicles, though I’ve made clear that limousines would be far from appropriate, given the subterfuge required.”

  Russell made the connection. “The names listed on the floppy disk. The people who arranged all those mysterious meetings.”

  “That’s right.”

  “The millionaires.”

  “Mostly. Some aren’t millionaires quite yet, but if I were a betting man I’d say they may be soon. Wealth may be common amongst them, but that isn’t their common denominator, Russell.”

  “Then what?”

  Ellis’s smile struck Russell as almost demonic in its zeal. “Their usefulness. Watch the road, Russell. You have precious cargo.”

  Russell yanked the steering wheel to overtake an army truck. The road ahead was clear. “Useful to you? Or to that insane woman who orders you around?”

  “Watch yourself. That’s your future prime minister you’re talking about. And it’s your future deputy prime minister you’re talking to.”

  Russell digested the statement. Ixion had been right from the start. “So all of this, whatever we’re doing, is in the name of a political coup? You’re aiming to topple Adrian Lorde and the Party administration, then take over?”

  “You make it sound prosaic. And I would like to make it clear that this ‘coup’ has been a long time in its gestation. Even before recent developments, our faction represented the progressives within government. I have been among the loudest voices demanding changes that would have benefitted our economy. Developments that would allow our nation to thrive once again. Automation in factories, for example. Your own father performs menial work, does he not? Then you ought to approve. My lobbying would have resulted in faster, safer, more effective work.”

  Russell refused to allow himself to engage in the details, though he wanted to ask whether the changes would result in his father being paid more, or being allowed to retire, finally.

  “You said ‘would have’. Something’s changed, then?”

  Ellis gazed out of the window. “Our ambitions have been adjusted. The ending of Lorde’s premiership and the installation in power of those sympathetic to our cause are now only consequences of a greater good.”

  Russell twisted, trying to look Ellis in the eye. “But what I don’t understand is why dozens of millionaires would help fund all of this. What’s in it for them?”

  “Eyes to the front, Russell.”

  Russell did as he was told. He could now see the sea. At a gesture from Ellis, he took the next turn. A sign at the roadside read: Welcome to Scarboro
ugh.

  He braked. A barrier blocked the road ahead. A man and woman wearing army uniforms stood before it. Russell heard the passengers of the bus, who had been silent until now, mutter excitedly.

  “One moment,” Ellis said. When the bus came to a stop he reached for the door release, then hopped out onto the road. Ellis produced something from his pocket and showed it to them, and the army officers began to shift the barrier aside. Russell squinted to see more barriers further along the road. What on earth was happening here?

  He heard the thrum of helicopters. He pushed the sun visor away to see them.

  The helicopters were far less arresting than the other sight that greeted him. High up above the ground, the sky was laced with green-tinged diagonal lines.

  He had seen the pictures in books. He had watched all the Elstree heritage films about it.

  The Fall.

  A second Fall.

  Ellis grinned as he clambered on board the bus.

  “And to think,” he said with a smirk, “that all our friends have paid so handsomely for a chance to be here at the right moment. And you’ve hitched a ride for free.”

  * * *

  Caitlin ducked into the empty ticket office of the funicular railway. From this position of safety she tracked one of the helicopters as it travelled south to north across the bay, appearing to bisect the diagonal lines in the sky. It was low enough to whip up sand from the beach, making a swirling trail in its wake like the train of a bride’s gown. The deep thudding of its rotor blades was something she felt in her chest more than heard.

  Perhaps it had been wrong to agree to Kit’s suggestion that they split up. When they had left the hotel and seen the first of the street cordons and the army patrols, it had been a knee-jerk reaction that they oughtn’t to risk being found together, in case anyone looked closely, spotted them as twins, then made a connection to January’s missing Skin. The closer Caitlin came to the sea, the more densely packed the barriers became. The streets were entirely empty of pedestrians.

  Further along the beachfront a group of soldiers marched in a ragged line. Most of the buildings were tourist businesses – ice cream parlours, amusements and souvenir shops – and none were open this early in the morning. Each time the officers reached a seafront hotel, one or two of them peeled away from the line to thump on the doors. Caitlin stepped from her hiding place to watch as a stream of confused people emerged from a cheap-looking hostel. She ducked into cover as a white van crawled along the seafront road. The soldiers bustled the families into the van – there were a dozen of them or more. The van was the type used by tradesmen, and Caitlin could see that it didn’t even contain seats. Children’s cries carried on the still air.