by Natasha Ngan
The car swerved wildly round a pillar. Seven flung out an arm to steady himself. Loe slipped in the middle seat, sliding into Dolly and crushing her against the window.
Dragging Loe back into her seat, Seven pushed the straggly, matted hair out of her eyes. She looked half dead.
‘Wake up,’ he grunted, shaking her. ‘It’s me. Seven. Your favourite person in the world. Come on, Loe. Don’t you wanna shout at me? At least throw one punch?’
Her throat squeezed. A little colour seemed to seep back into her cheeks.
‘Why?’ she breathed finally, her voice rough.
He flashed her a grin. ‘Why should you punch me? Ah, come on. I’m sure you can think of a million reasons.’
Loe gave a tiny shake of her head. Her bleary eyes focusing on him, she licked her lips. ‘Why … help.’
Her words cut through Seven like a knife.
‘Because I understand,’ he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it.
Then the car gave a great swerve and they were thrown in their seats.
‘Fuck!’ yelled the driver.
‘Just get to the exit, Jacob!’ Axel ordered him.
Seven turned to the window and saw three huge black cars – the London Guard’s bulldog seal painted in white on their sides – speeding after them.
‘They’re shutting the grilles!’ Jacob cried.
‘You can make it!’
Through the windshield, Seven saw a metal grate lowering across the car-park exit. It was halfway down already.
Jacob swore loudly. ‘Hold on!’
Seven threw his arm out and gripped the back of the chair in front just as the car reached the exit.
Screech!
His ears shattered. The awful grinding sound of metal against metal filled the air, deafeningly loud. The car shuddered. It slowed, but it didn’t stop, and even though it sounded like the grille was tearing it in two it managed to drag itself through.
Everything fell quiet again as the car cleared the exit. They wound quickly up a long, twisting tunnel. Seconds later, they were out.
Axel looked back from the front passenger seat. He had changed into a black T-shirt and jeans. He grinned, dark eyes flashing as he met Seven’s gaze.
‘Ready for the Ball, Cinderella?’
88
ALBA
She felt a hand on her back.
‘My darling. Are you – are you all right?’
Alba was kneeling in a ball on the ground. She wasn’t sure how she’d got there; she just felt frosted earth beneath her, the smooth texture of her dress where she was doubled over, hugging herself. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but that didn’t stop the tears running down her cheeks. She wanted Dolly. She wanted Seven. The last person on earth she wanted was her mother. It felt all the more humiliating that she had been the one to find her like this.
‘Go away,’ Alba breathed, her voice muffled. ‘Please. Go away.’
‘Alba –’
‘Please, Mother! Just leave me alone!’
She wrenched her head up, crying hopelessly as she turned to face Oxana. She hated the pity she saw on her mother’s face, the worry in her eyes.
‘Now you choose to care?’ Alba shouted. Anger ripped through her. Her chest heaved as she dragged in heavy, stuttering breaths. ‘What about all those times it was you hurting me? Didn’t you care then? Didn’t you care at all?’
Oxana looked as though the world was falling around her. For the first time, Alba saw real emotion etched on her mother’s face.
‘Of course I care,’ her mother said, her voice breaking.
Alba threw her arms out. ‘Then why do you treat me like you wish I’d never been born!’
‘Because sometimes I wish you hadn’t!’
Everything fell silent.
Alba stared through blurred eyes at her mother, and her mother stared back. It was as though a switch had gone off. The soundtrack of the world turned to mute, the sounds of the Ball fading away, and all she could hear was her own ragged breaths and her heart, beat beat beating in her chest.
After what felt like an eternity, Oxana shook her head. ‘I – I didn’t mean that,’ she said shakily.’
‘Please. No more lies.’
For some reason, Alba felt strangely calm now. A sense of peace enveloped her. Her breaths slowing, she stood, smoothing down her mussed and dirtied dress.
Her mother drew a heavy breath. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘it’s time I told you the truth.’
She took her hands. Alba could see the soft tracks of tears running down her mother’s face, and she stared at them in disbelief.
Her mother, the Ice Queen, was crying.
‘When I left Ukraine,’ Oxana began, her voice even, despite the tremor running through it, ‘I was only seventeen years old. I came to London hoping for a better future. One of the girls I knew from my district had left a few months before. She told me that the streets were paved with gold. That women had as many rights as men, and there was more for us than marriage and hard factory work. She told me there was no crime. We didn’t need to be scared of walking through the city alone. London was safe. It sounded like heaven.’
Oxana looked away. When she turned back, there was a hardness in her eyes.
‘It was only an hour after I had arrived at the port. I’d just left the Immigrations Office. They attacked me near the river, beating me before tying me up and blindfolding me, and taking me away on a boat.’
Alba could feel her mother’s hand shaking in hers.
‘They took me somewhere underground,’ Oxana continued. ‘I know now, of course, that they were Tube Gang members and they’d taken me to the maze of disused tunnels beneath the city. I thought I’d die there. That I’d never see the sky again. And I thought how wrong my friend was – London was not safe. It was not heaven.’
She took a deep, shuddering breath, her gaze drifting away. ‘But I didn’t die there. They let me go. I suppose they didn’t think they needed to worry about me telling anyone because I was new in the city. Two men from the London Guard took me to hospital when they found me walking the streets later that night, bloodied and dirty.’ Her eyes clicked back to Alba. ‘That’s where I met Alastair. He came to ask me for details on my attackers. At the time, he was working on a big case involving one of the Tube Gangs and was hoping I might have some useful information.’ She smiled tentatively. ‘He proposed after a month. And eight months later, you were born.’
The shock of her mother’s words snapped through Alba like a current. Every inch of her seemed to scream alert.
‘Eight – eight months later?’ she croaked.
No.
No.
Oxana’s eyes were imploring. ‘Please, my darling,’ she said desperately. ‘You have to know that your father loves you every bit as much as he would if you were his own. That even though I know I might not show it all the time, because sometimes the memory of it all just gets too much and something inside me breaks, I love you too, Alba. I love you so, so much –’
BOOM.
The world let out a giant shudder.
Alba dropped her mother’s hand as the ground shook. The air snapped, breaking apart with a horrible, groaning roar that seemed to rip everything in two. All of a sudden the November night felt hot and burning, and as she stumbled back she saw flames dancing where the Ball was taking place, fiery tongues licking high into the sky.
Her mother’s eyes were wide. ‘What on earth … ?’
‘The Movement,’ breathed Alba.
They were here.
She looked back at her mother. Her beautiful face was lit by the glow of the flames. Alba knew they only had minutes, that this was very possibly the last time she’d ever see her, and she felt desperate because of what she’d just learnt. How strange and sad it was that knowing the truth about how she’d been brought into the world only made her feel closer to her mother than she’d ever felt before, because now –
Now she understood.
&nb
sp; Before she could think about what she was doing, Alba threw her arms wide and pulled her mother against her so tightly their hearts raced alongside each other.
‘I love you,’ she whispered.
Then she let go, running in the direction of the Ball, forcing herself not to look back, even though every step that took her further away from her mother broke her heart into another tiny piece.
89
SEVEN
The car sped through the night-time streets. They heard the wail of sirens in the distance; the London Guard were chasing them. Over the growl of the engine Jacob and Axel discussed the Movement’s plans in low voices. They cut off as the beeping of a tablet sounded.
‘It’s them,’ Axel said, then fell quiet; Seven guessed he was reading a message. A moment later, he let out a shout. ‘They’ve done it! Detonated the bomb! They had to go ahead early as the guards at the Ball just got the message about our break-out – they didn’t want people to start leaving.’
Seven’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Bomb? No one said anything about bombs.’
‘Kola told you, Candidate. He said it would be dangerous.’
‘I don’t care what he said! Alba’s there. If she’s hurt –’
Axel cut him off. ‘Look, we’re almost there. Just keep a hold of the gun I gave you and be ready to go.’
‘It’s all right, Seven,’ Dolly said, reaching across Loe to take his hand in hers as Axel fell back into conversation with Jacob. She gave him a small smile. ‘Alba will be fine. I know it. She’s strong, you know. Stronger than anyone gives her credit for.’
Seven’s glower dropped away. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s just … ’ He trailed off, frowning, a sickening feeling twisting in his stomach.
Something was wrong.
Gazing down, he let go of Dolly’s hand –
And his palm came away slicked with blood.
‘No,’ he breathed. He looked back up, feeling as though he’d just been winded. His voice flew higher. ‘No! You said you weren’t hurt!’
Dolly drew back her hand. She slid it behind her, holding it low on her back. Seven leant over and saw the dark, blooming stain that had spread across the bottom of her pinafore and white of her tights.
‘No!’ he cried again. He jerked forward, grabbing Axel’s shoulder. ‘Stop the car! We need a doctor!’
‘Seven,’ Dolly said gently.
‘Axel, stop the car!’
‘Seven, please.’
Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to face her. Her eyes were filled with tears. Under the cuts and bruises and swollen mess of her face, he saw her then the way Alba saw her: a woman who was more of a family to Alba than her own flesh and blood.
Tears filled Seven’s eyes, too.
‘You’re gonna be just fine,’ he croaked.
But she shook her head. She reached for his hands again. ‘Listen to me. Alba – she is a treasure. She deserves the world. If I find out you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll be coming for you. Even if it’s from my grave.’
Seven’s face twisted. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘Just promise me.’ Dolly’s hands were grasping his with such a fierceness he could feel her fingernails marking his skin. ‘You’ll keep her safe.’
It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway.
‘Yes. I promise.’
And it wasn’t like promises Seven had made in the past. This promise was different. It was real and true, and Seven knew the moment he made it that he’d spend his life doing everything he could to keep it.
Dolly let go of his hands just as the car growled to a stop. Without Seven noticing, they’d entered the grounds of Hyde Park Estate and pulled up to the Whites’ house. Gold flames flickered in the distance. He heard shouts and screams piercing the night. Figures rushed about in the shivering darkness. The sirens that had been tailing them wailed louder.
‘We’ve got to go,’ said Axel, turning round in the front seat.
Seven shook his head. ‘Dolly and Loe –’
‘Jacob’ll drive them to our getaway spot by the lake. They’ll be safe. Come on.’
Axel opened the door. Sounds that had been muffled now flooded in, sharp and clear. Gunshots rang out. He got up, the car shifting as his weight was lifted, then slammed the door. A moment later, he yanked Seven’s door open.
‘Come on!’ he barked again. ‘Now!’
Seven looked back at Dolly. He was about to tell her he’d see her soon, that he’d find Alba and keep her safe, but then he saw Loe’s expression and how still Dolly had gone, how her eyes were glazed and blank.
The words died in his throat.
‘Seven, go,’ Loe said, looking at him with tear-streaked cheeks.
What else could he do? Biting back his own tears, he turned and stumbled out of the car.
The night was a mess of gunshots and screams. Bursts of light studded the darkness. The glow of the fire at the heart of the Ball made everything look as though it were trembling, like the world was melting away. Or maybe it was because Seven was shaking so hard he was throwing off his own vision.
As the car squealed off behind them, Axel grabbed his hand and led him towards a line of people. Seven thought for a second they were London Guardmen, and his gut swooped. You bastards. Then he saw their ragged clothes and realised they were Takeshi’s Bakerloo Boys.
‘I’ve got Candidate Seven!’ shouted Axel over the roar of noise.
The gang lowered their guns, letting them past. Seven guessed they were here to stop anyone entering or leaving the party.
Slowing a little, Axel steered him into the main throng of the Ball. It was chaos. There were people everywhere. Women whose expensive dresses were ripped, men with singed hair, waiters and guests and performers alike all crushing together, straining to leave but beaten back by the studs of the gang’s gunfire. Seven stumbled over a body on the ground. He tried to look back to see who it was but Axel was moving too fast. He pulled him down a narrow path between the back of a bombed-out stage and a line of melting ice statues.
‘Kola!’
Seven looked ahead at Axel’s shout and saw the tall outline of his flatmate crouched next to something on the ground. As they neared, he saw what it was –
A girl.
His heart flew into his mouth. Then he realised the girl had blonde hair and was older than Alba. He sagged with relief but immediately felt sick at himself.
This was still someone. Someone else’s Alba.
As Axel hurried to the girl, Kola stood and turned to Seven. His face was tight.
‘We need you. Now.’
‘Not until I find Alba.’
Frustration flashed across Kola’s face. ‘There’s no time for that! It’s about to begin.’
But Seven was already backing away. ‘I promised!’ he shouted. Then, quieter, ‘I promised Dolly.’
And before Kola could stop him, he span on his heels and ran back into the flame-lit crowds.
90
ALBA
She didn’t know where to go. What to do. Everywhere she turned there seemed to be something that made her want to turn back, get away: bodies flung across the ground; a woman whose dress was on fire; a man in a purple suit sitting calmly on the edge of a stage, holding the bloody stump of his leg, looking down as though wondering where on earth his foot had got to.
Alba was shunted aside as a man carrying a young child shouldered past her. She only caught the girl’s limp wrist, how one of her little sparkly shoes had fallen off. She stared hopelessly after them, confused about how this had happened, how in a few minutes the whole world had been torn apart, when –
A voice cut through the night air.
A voice she had never quite believed she’d hear again, and yet had never quite believed she wouldn’t.
A voice that put her world back together with one shout.
‘Alba!’
Seven was on her at once. Slamming into her, they staggered back against a broken statue. His arms clung tight a
round her. She squeezed back, imagining that if they held each other hard enough they could disappear into each other, dissolve away from here. His heartbeat raced under her cheek where her face was pressed to his chest.
When Seven eventually drew back, Alba stood on her toes to kiss him.
‘I was so worried,’ she breathed.
She pulled back to look over him. Though he looked haggard and haunted, Seven didn’t appear to be hurt. His clothes were scuffed but there was nothing that indicated he’d been tortured by the London Guard.
Alba’s mind flicked to her handmaid. ‘Where’s Dolly?’ she asked.
Her heart skipped as she noticed for the first time the red slicking one of Seven’s palms. She glanced down at her dress. Dazed, she saw dark patches smeared where he’d touched her.
She looked back up, something wild dashing through her. ‘Is that … blood?’
‘I love you,’ Seven said suddenly.
Alba blinked.
‘I’m sorry, and I love you, and you have to know –’
But before he could go on, a great, booming voice blasted through the fire-torn night.
‘LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, WELCOME TO THIS YEAR’S WINTER-TURN BALL!’
The noise of the ruined party fell at once. It wasn’t silent; there were still sobs, murmurs, cries, the crackle of flames. Gunfire cracked in the distance as the London Guard fought Takeshi’s boys on the edge of the Whites’ grounds. Shouts drifted across on the burnt air. But a chilling hush spread through the crowds at the sudden announcement.
It took Alba a few moments to find the source of the voice. She was still dazed from Seven’s words; had he just told her that he loved her? But why was he sorry about it? Everyone was turning to the main stage, a large platform backed by a screen that had earlier been drifting with glittering silver snow, but now was a deep blood red. Written across it in bold black print were the words:
THE MEMORY KEEPERS IS MURDER
Alba let out a gasp.
‘Let’s give a round of applause to the White family. They have been such welcoming hosts, have they not?’
