by Natasha Ngan
‘If you were my daughter,’ finished Dolly quietly, ‘I would never stop telling the world how proud I am of you.’
Alba laced her arms round Dolly’s neck. Tears tracked her cheeks. They clung to each other, neither one of them caring that Dolly’s clothes were soaked from Alba’s wet skin, or that bathwater had spilled over the side of the tub. Alba realised properly then that she did have a family that loved and cared for her, and it was Dolly, this incredible woman holding her.
‘I’ll come back in an hour to get you ready for bed,’ Dolly said when they pulled apart. She stood, a soft smile lighting her face as she brushed down her uniform and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Alba wiped away her tears with the back of one hand. Was it possible, the future Dolly had promised for them? She didn’t dare believe it was. Everything good in her life was eventually ruined. Why would this be any different?
Just as she closed her eyes, sinking back down into the perfumed water, the door opened again.
‘Dolly?’ she murmured, sitting up and turning, expecting to see her handmaid in the doorway.
But it wasn’t Dolly –
It was Seven.
31
SEVEN
Holy effing hell, she’s naked!
32
ALBA
Oh almighty god, I am naked!
33
SEVEN
Alba’s face flushed so red, a tomato might have mistaken her for one of its own. Even through the dewy haze of the bathroom it was that red. She splashed down in the bath, fragranced water slopping everywhere, the tub squeaking as her body – her naked body – slid along its smooth ceramic curves. She dipped low, her mouth just above the water’s surface. Hair loosened from the messy bun she’d piled on the top of her head, red curls framing her cheeks.
‘What on earth are you doing here!’ she gasped. Her eyes travelled over his wet hair and clothes, drenched from the walk here in the storm. ‘How did you get in?’
Seven’s anger had rolled away the instant he saw Alba in the bath (his mind had been too full of the thought of her naked right here before him to have space for anything else). Now it gnawed its way back.
Who cares what she looks like? This North bitch is the reason Carpenter’s dead.
‘How d’you think I got in?’ he snapped. ‘I break into houses for a living.’
Seven tried to keep calm, remembering the reason he’d come in the first place – revenge, an eye for an eye and all that – but he couldn’t help the grimace of a grin twisting his lips, the way his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. He ran a hand through his rain-slicked hair, trying for a cool, I don’t care gesture. Instead, his fingers got tangled and he spent the next minute tugging them out.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Alba whispered.
He glared. Of course she’d think that. He was just a Souther to her. What made him think he could just come strolling into North?
‘Don’t worry,’ he said coldly. ‘I’ll be gone soon.’
She shook her head fiercely, the motion causing more water to lap over the side of the tub. ‘Of course you shouldn’t be here, after last night! If they find you –’
‘I know exactly what’ll happen. I’m not an idiot.’
‘I wasn’t saying you were.’
‘You were thinking it.’
‘No!’
‘Look, just stop with your lies, all right? I know what you did!’
It came out as a shout. Alba’s eyes widened. When Seven stepped towards her she shrank back, shifting to the other side of the tub as though scared of him.
‘I dunno why I ever thought I could trust you,’ he said, voice rising with each word. He gestured wildly round the room and gave a barking laugh. ‘Look at this! It’s not like you’ve ever had to struggle for anything in your life. You have no idea what it’s like. I hate all you Northers, lounging here in your fancy houses and splashing money around and killing Southers like we’re rats –’
‘Little Alba.’
From the bedroom there was a knock on the door, then the sound of it opening.
One second.
That’s all the time Seven had to react. One tiny second.
Running forward, skidding on the spilled bathwater, he dived round the back of the tub, pressing as flat against its curving side as possible.
There was the click of heels as someone entered the bathroom.
‘I thought I heard voices.’
The voice was a woman’s, its letters curled with an Eastern European accent.
‘Just – just me here, Mother.’
Seven’s eyes widened. He’d seen Alba’s mother before when observing the house. She was blonde, icily beautiful, as though her features were carved from stone; it was strange to think of Alba as her daughter. He held his breath, heart thundering in his ears.
‘Did you want something, Mother?’
Alba sounded terrified. Her voice was faint and trembling.
Why is she scared? Seven wondered. Why isn’t she giving me away? She should be glad to have me trapped.
‘Please, darling. How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?’
The snap of heels on the ceramic tiles drew closer and Seven shrank back, pressing his back so hard against the tub it hurt his spine.
‘What’s that awful smell?’
For a second, Seven thought Alba’s mother meant him.
‘Herbs,’ Alba murmured. ‘Dolly mixed them into the bathwater. It’s supposed to be nice.’
‘Well, it’s not. What remedy is she concocting now? Trying to help slim you down before the Winter-turn Ball?’ A pause. ‘That’s not a bad idea.’
‘Yes.’
Alba’s voice was so small it crushed Seven. It hit him then just how wrong he’d had it. She hadn’t told her parents about him, or given them the information leading to the raid last night. Otherwise she’d have told her mother he was here by now.
A memory came to him of Alba standing outside his flat, her voice quiet as she’d said, You’re lucky.
Lucky wasn’t a word Seven would associate with himself (hah! As if). He’d thought Alba had been trying to make him feel better about living in his dump of a flat. But now it was clear she’d actually meant it. She envied him, because she wished she could escape her parents, too.
Alba envied him.
He’d never imagined someone from North could envy a Souther.
‘It’s getting late,’ Alba’s mother said, breaking the tense silence. ‘Don’t be too long. I don’t want you to be tired at church tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘And one more thing. Perhaps you should try and lose weight before the Winter-turn Ball. We’ve got an important announcement to make on the night, and I want my daughter looking her best.’
The bathroom door clicked. Heeled footsteps on the wooden boards of Alba’s bedroom grew faint as her mother left, the room falling silent once more.
34
ALBA
She would have liked the silence to have stretched on forever so she could try and convince herself the last few minutes of her life had never happened, thank you very much. But of course Seven had to say something.
‘Well … ’
He drew out the word. She heard him get up from round the back of the tub, cracking his joints as he went.
‘I can see where you get your lovely personality from. Your mum is a real treat.’
Alba closed her eyes. ‘Just don’t.’
She didn’t want to look at him. It was utterly humiliating. Her mother had been cruel to her before in front of the servants and Dolly, but somehow this was worse. This was a boy from South who barely had a thing to his name.
Now he’d seen that it was actually her who was the one who had nothing.
‘I’m joking, Alba,’ Seven said.
‘Well, I’m not in the mood for jokes.’
‘Are you ever?’
‘Seven! Wil
l you please just get out and leave me alone!’
It came out louder than she’d meant it to, but Alba didn’t care. Her insides writhed with anger and shame. She waited for him to leave. Her shoulders and the top of her back were exposed, and she imagined his eyes travelling over her pale skin. Had he noticed the freckles sprinkled across her back? How can he not have? she thought. You’d be able to spot them from space.
The fact that she’d gone through all this while being naked was beyond humiliating.
And Seven was still here.
‘Oh, why have you not gone yet!’ Alba cried, finally spinning round to face him. Bathwater slopped over the lip of the tub. She hugged her knees, squeezing her arms around them to hide her body. ‘You said you hated me a minute ago. So just leave! God forbid you have to spend another second in my presence if it disgusts you that much.’
Seven’s face twisted. He stood there, frozen to the spot, drenched clothes clinging to his skinny body. His hair was plastered to his forehead. He looked hurt, mad, confused and frustrated all in one.
It was clear to Alba then that this was the last time she’d ever see him, and she felt horrible that this was the way they’d remember each other: angry, cruel words thrown between them. Aside from Dolly, he was the only friend she’d ever made.
Or at least, she’d thought she’d made.
Some unreadable emotion passed across Seven’s eyes before he jerked suddenly round, walking quickly past her and shutting the door without so much as a backwards glance.
There weren’t even any tears. Alba just lay back in the bath, looking up at the ceiling, tiny lights scattered across it to mimic the constellations outside. She tried to remove every memory of Seven, of memory-surfing, and of the friendship they might have shared from her mind.
They should have machines to erase the past, Alba thought. Not preserve it.
Some memories were too unbearable to keep.
When Dolly came to get her ready for bed, Alba put on her biggest smile, her happiest face. She didn’t want Dolly to know her bath had had the opposite effect she’d desired, making her feel far worse instead of better.
Once Alba was changed into her nightdress, her hair dried and left loose around her face, Dolly sat with her on the edge of the bed. Outside, the rain drummed harder. It filled the room with a watery rushing sound, which made Alba think of the waterfall memory she’d experienced last week in Seven’s flat. She’d been hoping to surf it again tonight.
No, she reminded herself. Erase.
‘I meant what I said earlier,’ Dolly said. She looked serious and hard, no hint of the tears that had overwhelmed her earlier. ‘We’ll find a way to make it happen. You don’t have to give up on your dreams. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.’
Alba wanted to believe her so badly. She rested her cheek on her handmaid’s shoulder, and they stayed that way for a while before Dolly pulled away.
‘Bed now. It’s almost midnight.’
Alba flinched. Midnight. That’s when she had meant to meet Seven to go memory-surfing.
No, she thought. Erase.
After Dolly left, Alba took her time getting to bed. She stood in the dark at the windows, watching the growing storm outside. Raindrops rolled down the glass in winding streams. Wind lashed the trees, whipping their branches sideways.
She should have been getting ready to sneak out to meet Seven right about now. She wouldn’t have cared about the storm. All she would have been feeling was excitement at seeing him again, safe after the raid, and the call of the memories waiting for her back at his flat.
No.
Erase, erase, erase.
Alba padded over to her bed and climbed inside. The mattress was warm from the heat-stone Dolly had placed there. Yawning, her eyes fluttering shut, she slid an arm under her pillow –
And froze.
There was something under it.
Scrambling back, she threw the pillow aside and saw a piece of paper folded in half. On the top side was her name written in a messy scrawl:
Alber
Her stomach flipped.
‘You misspelled it, you idiot … ’ she whispered, unable to stop a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. She snatched the note and unfolded it.
We said same time, same place, right?
She let out another laugh. In an instant, everything that had passed between them earlier fell away. Alba knew exactly what Seven was trying to tell her, even though he’d put it in his weird, awkward, stupidly wonderful way. She could practically hear him speaking to her as her eyes scanned his words once more.
Midnight. Outside.
I’m waiting for you in the rain, so hurry up, you stupid effing idiot.
(I’m sorry.)
35
SEVEN
The rain was driving down so hard, and the darkness so thick – apart from flashes of lightning illuminating everything in a ghostly, silvery glow – that he didn’t see or hear Alba coming. One minute he was staring at the house, the next he was jumping back as a figure appeared, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a tight hug.
Seven stiffened, arms hanging at his sides.
Not again! he thought, groaning inwardly. He really wished Alba would stop impulsively embracing him like this. Now she was pressed up against his body and, just like the last time, he had no idea what to do.
When she finally pulled away, Seven grinned shakily. ‘You got my note then,’ he said, running a hand through his rain-matted hair.
They were under the patchy shade of the elm grove near the house, but rain was still finding its way through the thick canopy of leaves. Alba was already soaked. Her usually full, bouncy hair was plastered to her face. Raindrops clung to her lips. Only her clothes were dry, hidden underneath the camel raincoat buttoned up to her throat.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Though I could barely read it. Your handwriting is terrible.’
Seven scowled. ‘Well, no one ever taught me how, did they? Didn’t go to Fancy McFancy-Pants School for North Princesses like you.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘Neither do I, most of the time.’
Alba laughed, but her face soon turned serious. ‘The raid last night. I thought … ’ she trailed off, letting out a huff of breath. ‘I was so worried. What happened?’
An image of Carpenter falling, eyes rolling back in his head.
Blood splattering the tables and floor.
Screams cutting the night apart.
Gunshots, gunshots everywhere.
Seven swallowed down a rush of nausea. ‘They got my crew leader. Some other skid-thieves I know got out OK, though.’
He’d gone to Loe’s home earlier to check on her and Mika. Seven hadn’t realised until he saw them alive just how worried he’d been. Mika almost bowled him over, jumping on him the second he appeared. Loe had just scowled and grumbled something about keeping them waiting, but that was practically affectionate for her.
Perhaps Seven did have more friends than he thought.
Alba shook her head. ‘All those people they killed. I thought … ’ Lightning flashed, lighting her eyes. ‘I thought you might have been one of them.’
He grinned. ‘As if they could ever get me. I’m way too fast for those London Guard idiots.’
‘Seven.’
‘All right,’ he snapped. ‘It was effing horrible. Is that what you want to hear?’
Alba’s mouth tightened. Then, slowly, hesitantly, she took his hands in hers.
A jolt ran through Seven at the feel of her touch. Her hands were wet but warm, and he felt her pulse on his own skin, as though a butterfly was trapped between their palms.
‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ she said.
Of course I don’t wanna talk about it, he thought. Not that there were words to describe it, even if he did.
How could he convey the horror of seeing someone shot down in front of him? The bubbling rasp of Carpen
ter’s voice as he’d tried to speak with a great big bloody bullet hole in his throat? The senseless panic of a crowd rushing to live? Or – worst of all – the guilt Seven had felt when he finally came to a stop on some lonely street miles from the market and realised he was alive, and wondered why that was when so many others were dead?
The storm picked up around them. Seven felt like howling into it when he thought of all the things that had been taken from him in just one night.
Alba was watching him with concerned eyes. Her hands were trembling. He’d half-forgotten they were holding hands. Part of him wanted to yank his away, but another part didn’t ever want to let go. He felt strangely stronger with her hand in his, as though she was anchoring him to this world that felt as if it were crumbling down around him.
This is it, Seven realised. This is your chance to let her in. Let her be your friend.
Gods know you could use some of those.
But the weight of last night’s events was crushing down on him, and despite what he knew, despite how he felt, Alba was still a girl from North whose father was most probably one of the people responsible for the raid last night. Seven looked at her and saw everything that had been taken from him.
Well, if he was honest, he also saw a girl he found annoyingly attractive, but he pushed those thoughts down. Alba could never be his friend, let alone anything more. And besides, stolen memories were all he had to offer her. What point would there be, him letting her in, trying to win her over? In the end, some stuck-up North prince was bound to come along with the whole world in his arms, and what girl would give that up for a few stolen skids?
Seven cleared his throat. ‘Look. You and me – we’re never gonna be friends.’
Alba stared at him. After a pause she asked quietly, ‘Why not?’
He gave a strangled laugh. ‘Come on! You’re from North. I’m a Souther.’
‘So? What does it matter, really?’
