Sometimes we see the things again. Sometimes they reappear in the exact same place, caught in a crevice of one of the old cars, or behind the ribs of the whale. But most of them get taken somewhere else. That’s why it’s important to send them off right. Give them a proper goodbye.
“As we say it, let it be,” I repeat, watching.
When everything’s submerged in the bronze sea, I turn back to our farm. For a moment I think I see Dad, calling me, but it’s not him. It’s just some strange trick of the opaline light. There’s only Clover, head bobbing in the water, almost back at the platform.
Mum and I are in our kitchen, sitting opposite each other at the little scratched table. Kids’ indignant voices float up from the caged court at the centre of the compound. There’s a basketball game in progress. It sounds like there’s some dispute over rules.
My summer hangs in the air, about to crash. “We can’t go to sea!” I yell. “Has Ezra finally lost the plot?”
“On the contrary,” Mum says. “He’s thinking ahead. It’s a good idea.”
“The sea’s poisoned!” I cry. “What about the rotting dead carcasses of fish and birds, and people too? You can’t want us to go out there?”
“Things are better now,” Mum says gently. “We have to consider the sea’s potential. It’s risky, to rely on one food source. What if disease got into the growing tower? It’s happened in other districts, Nat. And Central won’t help; we’d be on our own. No one wants to go through the Hunger Years again.”
I think of the Uplands people, picking up the caterpillars with their gloved hands. Are they really worried they’ll bring disease? Is that why they hand them all over to Central?
“We saw Uplands people heading out into the fields…” I venture.
“Nat, you didn’t!” Mum snaps. “I’ve told you about playing there!”
“We weren’t!” I lie. “We were on the bike tracks. But what were the Uplands people doing?”
“They were following up on a sighting,” Mum says wearily.
“Sighting?” I ask.
“An insect. There was hope it might be significant.”
I gaze at her questioningly.
“For the Recovery. Bringing us out of the ecological Dark Ages. There was hope it might be a pollinator.”
“And?” I say, with bated breath.
Mum shakes her head sadly. “They’re not viable. We first found them a couple of summers ago. They can’t survive here. It’s toxins from the ground we think. Poor things.”
She smiles at me pitifully as she says the last bit, like I’m a poor thing too.
“Then why were they collecting them?” I ask, frowning.
Mum shrugs. “It’s protocol, after we reported them to Central District that first time. Central want all pollinators, even if they’re not viable. It looks like we’re a long way off having pollinators again, but the sea… The sea, Nat. We’ve ignored it for so long, but what if that’s where we should be looking? What if that’s where the Recovery has started?”
There’s a strange quality to Mum’s voice. I wish I could tell her about the creatures on my windowsill. How can they not be viable, the amount they’re eating? Central must see that too, surely, if they make any effort to keep them alive. Maybe they’re lying to us, like Tally says. Maybe if Mum wasn’t so tired and busy she’d see that.
But I can’t say anything. Mum freaks out at any mention of the solar fields. I’d mess everything up for her if I was caught out there. Ezra can’t have a science advisor with high points.
I lean over our windowsill to watch the kids down in the court. There are blooms of crusty yellow lichen over the concrete, like bursts of sun. There seems to be more every year.
“I don’t have to come with you, though, do I?” I falter, changing tactic with Mum. “I mean, I can see the oyster platform, if I look out the back of the compound. I can stay here and you can come home in the evening so you know I’m all right. I’m thirteen, Mum. I don’t need looking after!”
Mum sighs. “The tides don’t work like that. You can’t always get out to the farm. Half the time there’s not enough water in the bay to take a boat, it’s totally cut off. I can’t be that far away from you. Not in the summer, without school on. What would you do all day on your own?”
“I won’t be on my own, will I? I’ve got my mates!” I think of the summer with Tally and Lucas. Cycling through the fields, with flags to be laid and found and laid again. No work. No classrooms. It’s the best time of the year.
“Doing what, Nat?” Mum says brusquely. “Trespassing in the solar fields? Climbing the growing tower?”
“No,” I say, my face hot.
“Do you think I don’t know? Do you think I don’t know what you and your mates get up to?” Mum sounds tired and deflated suddenly.
I flush with guilt. “What will I do all day out there?” And the caterpillars, I think, who hatched in the fields and eat thistles. What will they do at sea? Or should I take them back to the windmill, to be picked up and sent to Central and labelled ‘not viable’.
“A girl lives there,” Mum says. “On the oyster farm. She must manage it.”
I bow my head at the thought of meeting the girl. She and her dad come to the compound for supplies every so often. Everyone laughs at her behind her back and makes fun of the odd clothes she wears and the way the sea has washed all the colour out of her hair.
Sometimes, when a storm comes and keeps us all inside the bunker for hours, or whole days even, kids say the girl and her dad sent it. Some of the adults say it too.
But I remember what Tal said. I’d swap places with her in a heartbeat.
“It will be new, Nat,” Mum’s saying. “It’s a whole new landscape for us. Isn’t that what you’re always dreaming of?”
Her hands are squeezed together tight. Mum’s right. I might be excited too, if I didn’t have the caterpillars to worry about. But they’re mine now – I’m responsible for them. I can’t go out to sea.
“It’s a few rotting boats tied together with rope,” I say dully.
“And this is a concrete block with a few fields of silicon panels,” Mum bites back. “Which you’ve already explored within an inch of your life.”
I look at Mum oddly. She’s never said anything like this before. It’s the compounder way to acknowledge how grateful we are. We survived. We’re alive and our stomachs are full. Never mind that there’s a different kind of hunger. I didn’t think any adults got that. They’re always reminding us that the rules were brought in for a reason.
“I thought you’d be pleased for me, Nat. It’s a vote of confidence. Ezra picked me for this. He’s recognized how hard I’ve been working.”
“Will I have to live off seaweed and oysters?” I mutter, softening a little, realizing I’m fighting a losing battle.
Mum grins. “Don’t worry, we’ll pack food you like!” She rises on to her tiptoes, to kiss me on the head. “You’re growing so fast. I won’t be able to reach you for much longer.”
“Mum!” I groan.
Mum laughs. “Why don’t you go and join them in the cage? While you still can?” She gestures down to the games court.
I shake my head. “I can’t be bothered. Tally might come round. Can you let her in?”
Mum nods and smiles gratefully. “It’s only for a few weeks, Nat. It’ll fly by. You’ll see.”
I go to my room and pick up one of the jars from behind the curtain where I hide them. I’ve punched holes in the lids for air. The caterpillars have already eaten themselves out of three or four different skins, which lie discarded on the bottom of the jars.
“Not viable,” I whisper slowly. Does Mum really believe that too?
If the information we found on the computer is correct, the next step will be for them to hang upside down from the top of the jar and spin themselves a cocoon to wait out the rest of the change. That’s the bit I find hardest to imagine. Anything can eat and get bigger – humans do that –
but to spin yourself a sack, sprout wings and fly? Maybe there’s a reason those pictures didn’t show up on the computers. Maybe it’s all made up.
I wanted to be right out of the way when they arrived but I can’t make myself go. Someone’s got to know what they really want. I hide round the side of the cabin, out of sight.
If they’ve come to seize our home, they’re not looking very fierce about it. The woman is small and thin. Her eyes dart round our platform. The boy keeps his head down, intent instead on a small box that he grips with both hands.
George is hauling boxes of equipment up from the boat on to the platform. He looks slightly bemused by his new passengers. Usually it’s prisoners he carries, to the ship. Once Clover asked what the prisoners were like and George said how quiet they were on the way over. He said he always tried to make their ride as smooth as possible.
“But they’re prisoners! They don’t deserve it!” Clover had said, aghast.
George had been disappointed in her. “You don’t know what it’s like, living there,” he’d said quietly, gazing back to land. “Some rules are hard to keep.” Clover had burned bright red with embarrassment.
I wonder what the woman and boy’s trip was like. They’re both looking a bit green.
Dad puts out his hands to take the box from the boy, so he can grip the guide rope as he comes on to the platform, but the boy shakes his head ungratefully. “It’s OK, I can manage.” I watch him look inside our cabin disparagingly, before he clambers awkwardly across the makeshift gangway.
The woman’s more graceful. She puts her arms out for balance. Still, a flash of worry travels across her face as the platform bobs slightly in the water, adjusting to their weights.
“It’s good to be here,” the woman says, when she’s far enough away from the edge to breathe normally again. She stands still, feet slightly apart. “It’s good of you to have us. I know it’s an imposition, unwanted guests.” She laughs gently, like a trickle of water from the desalination tank. Light, with all the salt taken out. “I’m Sora. You must be Atticus.”
“That’s right,” Dad says gruffly. He looks uncomfortable. He’s wearing a shirt for the first time in months but it’s creased and stained with rust.
Clover steps forward, determined not to be left out. She’s brushed through her hair so many times it’s flying out, like strands of magic thread, catching the sunlight. She’s wearing her one dress. It used to be yellow when it was mine, but it’s white now – bleached by so much sunlight. For some reason Clover’s never wanted to dye it. She looks like an angel, or a ghost, with golden sun-touched skin.
Clover sidesteps from one foot to another. She’s excited. She’s been hanging out of the crow’s nest all morning, watching out for them. “Sora. That’s such a nice name,” she gushes. “Like flying. Soaring, like the gulls.”
Sora looks up to the birds in the sky and laughs, and I creep forward to get a better look at her. Her dark eyes glisten like periwinkles when they’re wet. “Wouldn’t that be amazing?” she says. “Actually, my name means sky. It’s a Japanese name. Some of my family were from Japan. A long time ago now. Before… Before everything changed…” Sora’s voice dies away.
Clover nods soberly and hangs her head, because she thinks that’s expected of her when people talk about the past.
“And what’s your name?” Sora asks, a new smile brightening her cheekbones.
“Clover. It’s a plant, from before. A plant with three leaves.”
“Or four for luck!” Sora says.
Clover’s face lights up. “You know it?”
Sora nods. “It grows around the edges of the compound. In the solar fields too. You must have seen it, Nat?” She turns to the boy. “It has little white flowers with pink tips.”
The boy, Nat, is standing in the exact place he came off the boat, and still clutching his box.
George says when landlubbers think about the sea, they think of drowning. It’s a nightmare that went right into them. They can’t ever forgive the sea. Even on the brightest, calmest day, they’re still thinking of everyone that got washed away.
The boy’s mouth curls up at the edges and he sighs pointedly. “I wouldn’t know about the solar fields, Mum. You know that!”
Sora laughs. “He’s not meant to go there,” she explains. “Only sometimes I think he gets led astray, by his friends.” She leans in to Clover, as if she’s telling her a secret.
“Mum!” Nat protests, though still with that mouth curl. “No one leads me astray!”
Sora grins. “If you say so. Anyway, I think Clover’s a very pretty name indeed. How lovely to be named after a plant!”
“I think so too!” Clover sings. “We’re so glad you’ve come! I’ve been wanting new people for ages.”
I retreat back again round the corner of the cabin. There’s a clatter as I knock against a crate of empty bottles, and Clover looks directly at the space where I was.
The others don’t seem to have heard. Dad’s shifting his feet impatiently. “We’d better show you where to put your things.” He nods his head when Clover jumps up and rubs her hands together with excitement. “Lead the way then, my fine legume. This is your moment.”
“Welcome to your quarters! I got them ready all by myself,” the girl, Clover, says, bouncing on ahead. She looks at me expectantly.
It’s a boat, or part of one. Except for the main platform, which Atticus says was once part of an oil rig in the North Sea, the whole farm is a collection of boats all strung together. This looks like the smallest, most ramshackle one of the lot. It rocks as we step down into it.
“Is it safe?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Oh yes, it is, I promise,” Clover says seriously. “We wouldn’t put you anywhere that wasn’t safe!”
There’s a wooden bench either side, and if I stood in the middle and stretched out my arms, my fingertips would touch both walls.
“It’s a narrowboat,” Atticus says gruffly.
Set as image
“I can see that,” I say under my breath.
Clover laughs lightly. “That’s a type of boat. It was built this size on purpose, for canals.”
“Man-made waterways,” Mum says, anticipating my question before it’s even out of my mouth. She smiles at Atticus. “Growing up in the compound you’re not given much information about life before the Decline. It’s not considered…” She pauses. “Necessary.”
“Safe,” I say at the exact same time.
I see Clover glance between us.
A mattress on each bench is made up with sheets and old woollen blankets covered in shells of dead sea creatures. The air’s hot and stale.
I look round for a place to hide the jars of caterpillars. There’s no windowsill. Nowhere to hide them where they’ll get any light. Surely in all these different boats there would have been somewhere for me to have my own space. Why do I have to share with Mum like I’m a baby again?
Clover crowds in close to me and bumps up against the box. I snatch it back into my chest.
“Look,” she says, pointing at the shells laid over each bed. They’re arranged in a heart shape.
“Oh yeah,” I say, taken aback.
“It’s from a book I read,” Clover says. “An old one. There was this big manor house and when the girl – the heroine – arrived in her room at the top, in a turret, there were rose petals on her pillow. I didn’t know where to get rose petals, but…” Her words tail off and she stands awkwardly, looking at the shells.
I don’t know what a turret is but I wish I had a room in one – at the top, out of the way, and I wish the girl would go away. And Mum and Atticus. They’re waiting for me to be appropriately grateful.
The box feels heavy in my sweaty hands. The caterpillars don’t weigh a thing, but what they mean, that’s heavy. I brought chrysalises to sea. What’s going to happen to them now? And what if someone discovers them? My heart rattles in my ribcage like the jars sliding around in the box.
<
br /> “I wanted to make it nice for you,” Clover says, quieter now. “It was stupid of me. I should have known you wouldn’t like shells.”
“Shells are better than rose petals,” says a new voice, bright and brittle. There’s a chiming sound and a girl steps into the room, pushing past me to stand next to Clover. My jaw drops open.
“Ah, you must be the other daughter,” Mum says, just like that, like it’s no surprise at all.
I gasp, looking around at everyone. How can there be two girls here?
The new girl glares at me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I… How… Who are you?” I splutter.
Clover squeaks beside me. “Ezra told Dad you knew about us!”
Mum puts her hands on my shoulders and smiles reassuringly at Clover. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe. I just hadn’t told Nat yet. I thought it best to wait for him to meet you both in person.” She smiles at the girls. “The rules are so strict in the compound. A word out of place and…” Mum lets the implication hang in the air.
I stare at her, feeling betrayed and horrified, and then again at the girls, standing side by side. “You’re sisters, aren’t you?” I say to them, still hardly believing what I’m seeing. And then to Mum, “You didn’t trust me? You really thought I might tell on them? That I would do that?”
“Of course I trust you, Nat,” Mum says easily. “But because of the situation with Tally, it felt … sensitive. And you were so upset about coming here.”
“We didn’t want you to come either,” the new girl says coldly. She looks a couple of years older than her sister. My age, probably.
“Pearl!” Clover shrieks, red-faced. “Ignore her!” she says to me. “We did want you to come. I did. Pearl’s just in a mood. You’ll find that out about her. Pearl’s stormy. She doesn’t like land people.”
Atticus pulls a face. “Pearl had a bad time,” he says, blushing a little. “When their mum, Vita, was…” His voice cracks. “It was a bad time for all of us, but Clover doesn’t remember it so well.”
Between Sea and Sky Page 5
