“Uniform?”
“For school.”
A brand-new dark blue trunk with brass clasps was tucked against the wall. “But I haven’t agreed…”
Annie went on. “Last thing.” She held a small card against a glass panel set in the wall above the bed and a screen rose up at the foot. I tried to be cool about it.
“It’s an old TV,” she explained. “It doesn’t have holograms, but it’ll sync with your slate, and your phone. The panel controls the lights too but you can just tell the room if you like.” She handed me the card.
“Erm, okay. Great. Thanks.”
“That card will open all the doors you need, so don’t lose it. I’ll bring up refreshments but if you need anything else, just call me.”
“How?”
“There’s an app on your slate.”
“Oh, right, okay.” I had no idea what she meant but Annie didn’t exactly invite questions. I’d figure it out. Somehow. “Can I leave my room, if I want to?”
“Of course. This is your home now, Laura. I believe there are still some minor concerns over security, so it may be best to stay in the building when you’re alone, but you can move around the apartment as you wish.”
She shut the door as she left. I sat Scruffy on my bed, feeling a bit overwhelmed. I opened my case. Next to my slate was the pasta-shapes frame with the picture of my family. A different life, a different time. The deep ache in my heart was so physical I pressed my hand to my chest.
Would it ever get easier?
For all my chats with Vera, I wasn’t okay without my family, not yet. Maybe not ever. But somehow, I had to get on. Blubbing over what I could never have back was not going to help me. I set the picture on my bedside table and picked up my slate. My little electronic pal said, “Hello, Laura, how can I help you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe you can tell me how Laura Henley is supposed to survive in the twenty-first century.”
“Sure. Here is what I found.”
Unbelievably, Notitia showed me a list of entries all about me. At the top was a thing called Wikipedia. I poked it and a page appeared.
Laura Henley is the first known person to survive a prolonged period in cryostasis.
There was an old picture of me and Alfie snuggled on the sofa at home. I caught my breath – I felt the space beside me where he should be like an open wound. I wanted him there, hugging his blankie while we watched Thomas the Tank Engine. The pain was crushing. Stacey’s name was near the picture with a bubble next to it: More information. Maybe all I had to do was pinch it up and I could find out what had happened to her. If she’d really been to prison and—
There was a sharp knock on my door.
Annie came in with a glass of C-plan. “Miss Lilly asked me to tell you she’s charged a pay account on your slate so you can buy a few new outfits.”
I looked blankly at her.
“On the internet. The slate. You can buy some new clothes.”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Ask Notitia. She’ll guide you through it. You really can’t go wrong.”
Notitia was my new best pal. How sad was that?
Annie pointed at the page I was looking at. “I don’t advise reading about yourself on the internet, not until you’ve had social-media training.”
I flushed with embarrassment. “I wasn’t. It…”
I swiped the Wikipedia page closed. I’d only been gone from the clinic for a couple of hours and part of me wanted to go back.
“You never know who is watching what you read online.”
“Watching? What do you mean?”
“All sorts of people track what you do on the internet. That’s how they target advertising. Just…be careful. Giles will explain more.”
She sounded genuinely concerned, which was worrying given she hadn’t exactly created the impression she cared about me. “You should really think about getting ready for your new school,” Annie said. “You’ll need more than a single pair of jeans and there’s not much time.”
A chill of anxiety crept over my skin. “How much time?”
“Term starts in early September. Just under three weeks.”
That wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t, like, the next day or anything.
When Annie had gone, I almost went back to that Wikipedia page, but she’d worried me a bit.
“Notitia?”
Up she popped, with Miss Lilly’s smiling face. It was weird it being her, like I was ordering her around. Or like she was watching me. I said, “Notitia, can I change your appearance?”
“Yes, Laura. You can choose from a list of avatars or you can specify any person whose image might be in my database.”
“Can I change you to John Taylor from the band Duran Duran?”
“Choose your image.”
I picked out John in a grey suit with a white ruffle shirt.
Within seconds, there he was, smiling like the Mona Lisa of the New Romantics. I laughed out loud and turned around to say something to…Stacey. How strong was that muscle memory of sharing everything with my best friend? She must have felt it too. She must have been lost without me. Deep inside I still couldn’t believe she would have betrayed my family – and prison? Really? What had happened to her? I had to know, the pull was just too strong.
“Notitia, can you search for Stacey Flowers?”
Before she’d even answered, Benjie’s face popped up in the middle of the screen.
“How are you settling in, Laura? We got a spike in your readings a moment ago – just checking all’s okay?”
My hand went to the cuff I was still wearing on my arm. “Benjie, have you any idea how creepy that is? You are literally spying on my insides. And yes, I’m fine. Just…”
I felt like I’d been caught out doing something I shouldn’t.
With a sigh I said, “I was just shopping.”
“I guess the price of clothes is enough to get your heart pounding. Don’t forget to divide everything by four to account for inflation.”
“Okay, thanks, I will.”
“Enjoy!”
He vanished, leaving me with a horrible feeling that I’d never be able to keep anything private ever again. The twenty-first century was getting on my nerves a bit.
Fine. I’d do what I’d been asked. Shopping.
Besides, if I was going to go to that stupid posh school, I needed clothes. I didn’t want to get my head kicked in for having the wrong jeans.
“Notitia, can you find Topshop?”
“Are you sure you want Topshop? I can recommend clothing outlets more suited to your style?”
Was my computer judging me?
I said, “I’ll decide what suits me, thanks. Notitia, find me Topshop.”
“Here’s what I found.”
Up came a shopfront complete with an assistant saying, “Hi, what are you looking for today? I can recommend some tooth-whitening products.”
Seriously? Was there a conspiracy to make me even more worried about my not-white teeth? How did it even know? Had Notitia been listening to me talking to Mariya? I shuddered. The assistant continued her sales pitch: “We also have some great offers in uplift bras.”
I looked down at my nearly flat chest. It was like being twelve again and back in Chelsea Girl with the snobby assistants looking at me and Stace like we were scum. Only now I had no Stacey and no idea of what to buy or even HOW to buy. How did you even try anything on?
The assistant read my mind again. “Order now and we can deliver in two hours. All returns are free.”
Two hours? “All right, tiny psychic shopping woman, show me some jeans.”
Up they popped, picture after picture of jeans in all shapes and colours. Adverts ran down the side. I smiled when I saw one with Miss Lilly holding up a pale green bottle:
Try my new skincare range for young adults – made with you in mind.
The picture rolled away and was replaced by a new one. It was me, at the press conference, with
a banner splashed across it:
Get Laura’s Eighties Style!
An arrow pointed to my too-big jeans and my yellow sweatshirt. I poked at the image and it took me to another page.
Laura Henley, 1980s dream queen and self-confessed shopaholic, inspires one of this season’s key trends – BIG. Big on Hair, Big on Size, Big on Colour! One of the first things Laura said when she was revived after more than FORTY YEARS in the deep freeze was, “I can’t wait to go shopping.” Well, Laura, we’re with you there…
They were using me to advertise their products! Could they do that? That quote made me sound so shallow. It was totally out of context.
Well, I didn’t need Laura Henley’s style, thanks. I already had it. I’d deliberately choose something different. Black black black.
I poked at a pair of tight black jeans and then I saw the price. Even when I divided it by four it was ridiculous. But I needed something to wear and I could always send them back if Miss Lilly said no. I wondered if there were any normal clothes in the school trunk. I put my slate down and went to have a look.
The trunk was neatly packed with brand-new uniform. I lifted out a dark blue woollen blazer. It was itchy – expensive – not like the polyester thing we’d worn at my old school. There was a kilt too, purple and blue. Was that uniform or – what did Miss Lilly call it – mufti? I dug deeper. There was another one. And a tracksuit in the same shade of purple. Uniform then. Okay, weird but okay. I smiled. Miss Lilly had packed stationery – a plain black pencil case stuffed with everything I might need and an A4 pad with a leather cover. People still used paper then.
I put them back in the case and pictured Mum’s haphazard approach to a new term – a last-minute dash to get school shoes and then a desperate sort-out to see which felt tips hadn’t dried up over the summer.
Mum…
I shut the trunk.
I couldn’t dwell. I couldn’t. I’d buy the stupid jeans. Miss Lilly clearly had loads of money and she wanted to help me.
I said to my slate, “Notitia, how do I pay for these jeans?”
“Would you like to return to Topshop?”
“Yes, yes I would.”
The shop assistant reappeared. “Hi! Welcome back. How can I help you?”
I asked again how I paid for the jeans, aware that I was making an entire friendship group out of two imaginary computer people. At least, I assumed they were imaginary. Maybe they were real people somewhere out there.
The Topshop lady said, “We have no size on record for you, would you like to be scanned?”
“No thanks.” I’d had quite enough of being examined. I looked down at my scrawny frame.
Hopefully I’d put a bit of weight on, but right now… “Try extra small.”
“Okay, that’s ordered for you.”
“That’s it? How do I pay?”
“We’ve charged your Airpay account. Thank you for your custom.”
“But how do you know where I live?”
“I’m sorry, I do not understand the question.”
I guessed it didn’t matter. It must know where I was or surely I couldn’t have placed the order.
Tight black jeans.
I hoped I hadn’t just made a massive fashion mistake. Was Topshop still cool? What if they were all wearing flares? Or long dresses? What if Laura Henley was the only person NOT dressed like Laura Henley? I’d only seen people in uniform. No, no I hadn’t, I’d seen the press people. But they had been old. What would they know? They all had shiny white teeth though. Oh God.
“Notitia, what’s fashionable?”
“Fashionable is anything representing a current popular style.”
“That is not helpful.”
“I’m sorry. Please ask me another question.”
I didn’t and the slate powered off.
Was it sulking? For real?
I’d had enough of computers so I went for a wander around the house. There was a bedroom next to mine, almost identical except the walls were the same white as the rest of the house and the bedding and curtains were a shimmery silver-blue. It looked tidy but lived in and it smelled amazing – it had to be Miss Lilly’s room.
I crossed over to the window.
“Having a look around?”
I turned towards the door with a start.
Miss Lilly was smiling from the doorway. I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about me being in her room. “Was it okay to come in? It’s a beautiful room.”
“Of course it’s okay. I haven’t got any deep dark secrets. Though there might be the odd sock that didn’t quite make the laundry basket.”
I laughed.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I have permission to try you on some solid food? If you want?”
I was across the room in seconds.
Mashed apple. That’s what my solid food was.
White cloth. White china. Silver cutlery.
Baby food.
We sat together at one end of the table.
“You’re disappointed,” she said.
“No, I…”
“It’s okay. Baby steps, Laura. Your system has a lot of adjusting to do.”
I put a spoon in the apple. It was lumpy-looking but the smell was yum. It reminded me of Sunday lunches with crumble and custard and all the family chatter. Mum always made extra in case Stacey turned up, which she usually did – her mum didn’t do Sunday lunch.
I looked at Miss Lilly. I wanted to ask her about Stacey, about what she’d said to the papers, but she smiled at me and I just couldn’t do it. The way she’d reacted when I’d mentioned Stacey in the clinic… I got the feeling she’d be happier if I didn’t even think about Stacey.
I took a spoonful of apple and tried to swallow. It stuck in my throat with all my unasked questions.
As I headed back to Brighton, I prickled with sweat and worry.
Vagrant.
Why was it so stupidly hot? It was always stupidly hot, or stupidly wet, or stupidly cold.
Vagrant.
What if they knew where my shed was? What if the phone had been in there long enough for them to pinpoint it?
Vagrant.
I wanted to scream. I felt for the sharp corners of the twenty in my pocket.
Maybe we should just get on a train and leave. Go to London where nobody knew us.
That actually wasn’t a bad idea. I could find a job or something. We could start from scratch.
I made my way to the station. I didn’t know how far twenty quid would get us but I could buy a ticket as far as it would stretch and then stay on the train until they chucked us off.
The station was busy. I’d never caught a train before so I watched. People just walked through a gate. It looked like you didn’t even need a ticket. I picked up Scrag and tried to follow someone through. They passed through fine but the barrier stayed shut in my face.
I pushed at it but it stayed firm. I looked to my left; someone else just walked through. They weren’t doing anything special; the gate was just opening for them. My heart started to race a bit – it was embarrassing, like everyone was part of a club and I was excluded. Someone tapped my shoulder. I flinched against the barrier but it was a young mum with a baby in her arms.
“You need to charge your Airpay,” she said.
“What?”
“On your phone. You must have run out of credit.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks.”
I stepped back and she walked through.
There must be some other way. I looked around for a ticket machine and spotted a sign:
AIRPAY ONLY. CASH IS NO LONGER TAKEN AT THIS STATION.
I wanted to punch something. It wasn’t fair. I was shut out of everything because I was poor.
I kept hold of Scrag, tears building at the back of my throat. I sniffed and headed away down the hill. Maybe we could hitch to London. Or walk. I didn’t feel safe here, all my places seemed contaminated. The thought of leaving my shed though, my home, it was unbearable �
�� I should check first, to see if anyone had been there. That made more sense.
Scrag caught a whiff of the sea and began to yap and wriggle in my arms. I tried to keep hold of him but he’d got the devil in him and squirmed until he was free. He raced off towards the beach.
“No! No, Scrag! Come back here.”
Great. Now I’d have to go and get him.
I followed him down, on high alert for anyone taking too much interest in me. I was a nervous wreck by the time I got to the stones, and Scrag had properly disappeared. I scanned the beach, searching for him, until someone tugged at my sleeve and I yelped like I’d been scalded.
“Hello.”
It was a little kid. He looked harmless but I knew you couldn’t trust anyone, no matter what size. I braced myself to run, then saw Scrag, who was bounding towards me at last, soaking wet and full of joy. The boy dipped a hand in his pocket and brought out a handful of coins.
“I got all these pennies.”
Scrag leaped up at me, wet and full of mischief now he’d cooled down a bit. He started running round me and the boy in a figure-of-eight. The kid thought it was hilarious. Scrag rolled on his back, his stubby legs in the air as the boy gave him a belly rub.
The boy looked up at me with wide eyes. “Are we friends now?”
“What?”
“The man asked me to make friends with you.”
I stiffened. My heart did a horrible little dance as I searched the beach, twisting round to check they weren’t behind me.
It was all just normal beach people – except for a woman about six beach towels away who was standing up and looking for something. Someone. I said, “Is that your mum?”
The boy shrugged. “Yeah. She won’t get me an ice cream.”
“Get straight back to her and don’t talk to no one else. Didn’t she teach you not to talk to strangers?”
With a sulky pout, he headed back towards his mum. I looked again. Harder. They had to be here, watching me.
Scrag got to his feet and shook water off his coat. If I left the beach, they could be waiting to pick me up, but if I stayed where I was, eventually everyone on the beach would go home and they’d come for me. I wanted to puke.
I was a sitting duck. I looked out to sea. There were a few boats bobbing about.
Beauty Sleep Page 8
