The Glimpse

by Claire Merle

  The front door rattled shut. Leaning over the kitchen sink, Ana peered out of the window at the driveway. Her father strode across the tarmac to his chauffeur-driven saloon. The Board never alowed him to stay for her interviews.

  She returned to the living room with the tray and found a She returned to the living room with the tray and found a third figure by the halway entrance perusing her father’s rock-star photographs. The stocky man didn’t wear the grey suit with gold stripes, emblematic of the Board.

  The tea tray wobbled in her hands. The china clinked.

  The man turned to her and smiled.

  ‘Jack Dombrant,’ he said, moving to assist her with the tray. She returned his smile uncertainly. He was the man her father had been talking to earlier, when she’d heard the news about Jasper.

  ‘You have an Irish accent,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, most young people wouldn’t recognise it these days,’

  48

  he replied. ‘You’ve got a good ear with your piano playing, eh? My ma was from Dublin.’

  Ana remembered the open key cover of her baby grand and at the same time realised Mr Dombrant had to be a Warden.

  ‘We moved to London when I was eight,’ he continued.

  ‘But I never quite managed to lose the twang.’

  She nodded. He must have immigrated before the 2018

  Colapse, when England closed her borders, and Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland became independent. Which meant he was at least thirty-one.

  Ana sat down on the sofa beneath the flatscreen, opposite the Board. The woman signaled for her to rol up her sleeve and attached a plastic strap around her wrist. Then she linked the monitor to Ana’s interface.

  Both Board representatives leant over the coffee table to check their display screens. Ana tried to slow her racing pulse.

  ‘Can you describe your feelings last night at the concert?’

  the man asked, without looking up.

  Members of the Board did not introduce themselves or talk of themselves individualy. Ana had learnt over the last three years that they wished her to address them in a likewise, indirect fashion. The men and women who came to question her were always different, but they managed to create an unnervingly unified presence, like they were the close-up parts of a larger animal, whose singular striations and skin texture were always recognisable as part of a distinct whole.

  ‘I was happy and a bit nervous,’ she replied.

  The Warden helped himself to a Bourbon biscuit and 49

  perched on the edge of an armchair. The crunch-crunch of his chewing grated on her nerves.

  The male Board representative blinked at Ana. The female took notes.

  ‘Have you been feeling guilty about Jasper?’ the man asked.

  Ana swalowed and shook her head.

  ‘Do you feel any guilt,’ he pursued, ‘about the fact that if and when you join with Jasper Taurel, you may not give him children?’

  ‘And if you accidentaly fal pregnant,’ the woman added,

  ‘not only wil you and the children be relocated, but Jasper wil be forced to live in the disorder and squalor of the City, instead of working for his father as a respected defence lawyer?’

  Ana straightened her grey skirt, watching her hands as they brushed the cotton fabric. She didn’t see why living in the City meant Jasper couldn’t work for his father.

  Concentrate, she thought, mentaly kicking herself.

  They’re trying to catch you out.

  Guilt was a symptom of Depression, Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, Bipolar Disorder and a dozen other MIs

  –

  Mental Ilnesses. Her father had repeated it often enough over the years: No matter what, never, never admit guilt.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I do not feel guilty.’ From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Warden amble towards the platform by the French windows where her piano stood.

  ‘Jasper is aware of the consequences of his choice,’ she added.

  The Board members gave curt, synchronised nods and 50

  resumed filing in the Chart of Attitudes, which Ana knew resumed filing in the Chart of Attitudes, which Ana knew they would now have puled up on their screens.

  Discordant notes resounded from the piano. Ana’s eyes shot to the platform. She tried to keep the shock off her face. She couldn’t believe Warden Dombrant would touch her piano without asking first or would behave so dis-respectfuly in front of the Board.

  The Warden dropped crumbs on to the keys as he bit in-to a second Bourbon and tinkled with his biscuit-free hand.

  ‘I have a couple of questions about last night,’ he said.

  Ana suppressed her annoyance. She became aware of her ramrod posture, her interlocked fingers tightening on her lap. ‘I saw Jasper in the foyer before the concert.’

  She smiled tightly. ‘That’s not a question.’

  ‘He appeared to be rather agitated.’ Dombrant’s eyes seemed to be laughing at her.

  Ana shrugged, but the hairs on her neck and arms started to tingle. She thought of Jasper beside her at the concert, leaning forward on the balcony, whispering to her he was in trouble, asking her not to draw attention. He hadn’t trusted the Wardens.

  ‘I don’t think he was feeling wel,’ she said.

  ‘Did he do anything odd?’

  Her heart began to thump again. The Board leant over their screens. Though neither of them spoke, they gave the impression they were somehow conferring – no doubt evaluating her skyrocketing pulse.

  doubt evaluating her skyrocketing pulse.

  ‘Why would he do anything odd?’ she asked. ‘Do you think he knew he was a target for kidnappers?’

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  The Warden stuffed the last of his biscuit into his mouth and brushed crumbs from his suit.

  ‘We’re looking at al possibilities right now,’ he said. He pushed his hands deep in his trouser pockets and skipped down the platform steps, surprisingly agile for someone so bulky. ‘Jasper might have felt somethin’ was amiss, or seen somethin’ that bothered him but not wanted to worry anyone, or spoil your evenin’.’

  But that’s what the Wardens are for, Ana thought. She caught herself before she said it. Focused on regaining her composure. Jasper may not have trusted the Wardens, but why if he’d suspected he was in danger, had he made himself vulnerable by leaving the concert early?

  ‘Now this morning,’ the male Board representative said, claiming back the interview. ‘Please tel the Board how you found out about the abduction, what you did afterwards, and how you felt.’

  On safer ground, Ana began the rehearsed monologue of how her father had knocked on her door, awoken her, and broken the bad news. She was mid describing the shock, which after several minutes faded into worry for Jasper’s safety, when she felt the Warden’s eyes boring into her. Her attention darted to him for a second. A slight smile crept across his lips.

  Inwardly, she cursed. So stupid! He’d been there with her father this morning. He knew she was lying. She dropped her gaze.

  ‘Did it remind you of other shocks?’ the male Board member asked.

  ‘No,’ she answered, starting to panic. She braced herself 52

  for the Warden’s interruption, struggling to think of excuses that would explain the lie. But the Warden said nothing. So she forced herself to continue.

  ‘The shock of discovering that I’m not Pure,’ she said,

  ‘is something I saw a therapist about and have now thoroughly dealt with.’

  ‘What about your mother’s death? Shortly before your fifteenth birthday you contacted the Guildford Register’s Office for your mother’s death certificate. Why?’

  Ana took a deep breath. She’d gone through this story so many times with the Board, she sometimes found herself believing it. The true memory she had of living on the farm and waking early one morning to find her mother missing and a car engine running in the locked barn, felt like information from an interface projection – images su
perimposed on real life.

  ‘When I was ten, my father told me my mother was il and had been hospitalised with cancer. I think he wished to soften the blow of my mother’s sudden death. Nine months later, he took me to see a dying woman. He said it was time for me to say goodbye to my mother.’

  ‘Yes?’ the male Board representative said, wishing Ana to go on.

  ‘The woman resembled my mother, but I doubted it was realy her. After many years of wondering about it, I decided to contact the Guildford Register’s Office for my mother’s death certificate. When the Board informed me my mother had died by car-exhaust asphyxiation, I was surprised and upset, but not shocked. I had already accepted that she was gone.’

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  The male Board member adjusted his glasses and leaned towards his screen.

  ‘Why do you think your father lied about the woman?’

  ‘He thought he was helping me. His psychiatric training taught him I would need closure.’ She spoke flatly, but she couldn’t totaly restrain her disgust for this particular part of her story; her nostrils flared. Her father hadn’t taken her to see the dying woman to help her. He’d done it to shut her up; to stop her from asking him questions about her mum al the time.

  ‘Say the first thing that enters your head,’ the male Board member instructed.

  Nodding, Ana focused on the task at hand. Free association was one of her strengths. She almost enjoyed the mental gymnastics. Answers were strictly limited to food, nature, or science – her father’s Golden Rule.

  Replies had to come without the slightest hesitation, or else they’d know she was censoring herself.

  ‘Rain,’ he prompted.

  ‘Rain,’ he prompted.

  ‘Drops,’ she answered.

  ‘Red.’

  ‘Rose.’

  They continued back and forth for over a minute: Black

  – Bird; Open – Flower; Light – Sun; Defective –

  Genetic; White

  – Milk; River – Stream; Silence – Vacuum; Darkness

  – Dawn.

  When the bombardment of words ended, the Board members both leant over their screens again. They had a program that automaticaly analysed her answers and gave a percentile estimate of mental disturbance.

  Anything over 54

  forty meant a whole day of intensive testing. Ana steeled herself for the results. She hadn’t got over thirty yet.

  ‘Twenty-two,’ the man announced, as if that settled it –

  Jasper’s abduction had not sparked the onset of depression or psychosis.

  Ana sighed gently with relief. The woman unfastened a leather case and took out a packet of papers.

  ‘Behaviour test,’ she said, placing a few stapled sheets square with the edges of the coffee table. ‘Creative test .

  . .’

  She laid another block of pages beside the first.

  She laid another block of pages beside the first.

  ‘Every morning,’ the man added, vigorously tapping the creative test with his forefinger, ‘as soon as you wake up, write at least one page. The Board wil return in three days.

  Questions?’

  Ana shook her head. Her entwined fingers itched and her cheeks felt hot, but she knew better than to fiddle. It was almost over.

  ‘I have a question for Ariana,’ the Warden said.

  Ana’s shoulders tensed. She turned to look at him.

  ‘I feel,’ he continued, ‘that I need to understand Jasper a little better. Could you help me with that?’

  She nodded, her dislike for the Warden growing. His lilting accent was starting to annoy her as much as his bad manners.

  Dombrant circled Ana’s armchair and plumped down in a seat between her and the Board.

  ‘The Big3 – schizophrenia, depression, anxiety disorders.

  Over forty per cent of the population are Big3 Sleepers or Actives.’

  ‘Forty-two point eight per cent,’ Ana said.

  55

  ‘Exactly. If one parent is affected by the Big3 the likeli-hood of a child developing some variation of the inherited hood of a child developing some variation of the inherited ilness is very high.’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘Wel, it’s not like you’ve got Readin’ Disorder or Mathematics Disorder. Don’t you find it odd that Jasper isn’t bothered by the fact you’re a Big3?’

  ‘At first I was surprised, yes. But I think after Tom’s accident, Jasper felt there were no guarantees, even for the Pures.’

  ‘So, has Jasper shown any unusual attitudes towards folk in the City?’

  ‘What would you consider unusual, Warden?’

  ‘Friends outside the Communities for example.’

  ‘Oxford accepts Carriers, Sleepers and even Actives.

  Jasper might have made friends with some of them, I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Oxford accepts Carriers, Sleepers and Actives. I believe there are currently three of them at the university. None in Jasper’s year.’

  ‘If you know already, I don’t see why you’re asking me.’

  The Board representatives huddled over their screens, no doubt conferring about the hostility slipping through her comportment.

  ‘Jasper had a friend caled Enkidu. We want to get in touch with him.’

  Ana shrugged. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘Ah,’ the Warden replied. ‘He’s turning out to be something of a mystery.’

  ‘Do you think he has information about the abduction?’

  56

  ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss the investigation at this time.’

  Ana’s face stung as if he’d realy slapped her. ‘Isn’t that what we’re doing?’ she said. She stood and moved over to the sideboard below the flatscreen. With her back to the room, she began rearranging the tal vase of sunflowers.

  ‘What can you tel me? Has his father heard from the abductors? What do they want?’

  ‘Wel, it depends who they are. Could be a mercenary group doing it for a ransom. Could be paranoids, thinkin’

  Jasper’s involved in a plan for Novastra to take over the world. Could be religious fanatics taking a stand against the use of Benzidox. Could be the Enlightenment Project.’

  ‘So they haven’t made contact yet?’

  The Warden yawned, stretching his arms, irritatingly noncommittal. She extracted a floppy sunflower from the vase by the head of its stem and turned to him.

  ‘Wel,’ she said, ‘with the little information you have managed to scrape together, what would you say are his chances?’

  chances?’

  ‘We’re hopeful it’s just some mad City folk after a bit of attention, knowin’ it would make a stir because of who his father is.’

  Ana’s throat ached. She pressed the stem of the sunflower she held between her finger and thumb, crushing the stalk flat.

  The male Board representative coughed. ‘The Board has decided we wil come back to see you tomorrow morning, Ariana.’

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  Ana snapped the broken flower at the top of its stem.

  The severed head dropped to the floor.

  ‘Of course,’ she answered, cooly regarding the Warden.

  ‘Warden,’ the male Board representative said, ‘do you have any other questions for Ariana today?’

  ‘That’s it,’ he replied. ‘For now.’ He leaned forward, nabbed two more biscuits from the tea tray and stood up.

  The Board members both shut off their screens and tucked them back into their cases. Their insignia, a golden triangle in a dazzling white circle, now shone from their interfaces.

  Ana held up her wrist. ‘May I?’ she asked.

  The woman nodded. Ana unstrapped the pulse monitor The woman nodded. Ana unstrapped the pulse monitor and handed it back.

  ‘The Board wil show themselves out,’ the man said.

  ‘And so wil the Warden,’ Dombrant said. Winking at Ana, he crammed both biscuits into his mouth.


  58

  6

  Surfing

  Ana watched from the kitchen window as her visitors strode across the courtyard and down the drive. The movement sensor on the metal gates picked up their approach. The gates swung open. As the Board marched through, the Warden turned and looked at the house. His eyes found her in the window. She glared at him, knuckles turning white around the tea tray. An expression of curiosity crossed his face. He smiled, doffed an imaginary hat and folowed the Board on to the street.

  Ana flipped the tray. The china cups, milk jug and remaining biscuits crashed into the sink.

  ‘The Board would like to come back and see you tomorrow, Ariana,’ she mimicked. ‘Any more questions, Warden?

  Yes,’ she answered in the Warden’s Irish accent, ‘I’d just like to know why I’m such an arsehole.’

  She stomped into the living room and waved a hand across her chest to power up her interface. It came on, automaticaly synching to the flatscreen. She considered caling her father and teling him it was a fiasco and it was caling her father and teling him it was a fiasco and it was al his fault for not warning her about Warden Dombrant.

  But he would try to calm her down. He’d tel her she was over-reacting, that she needed to get a grip. Ana was sick to 59

  death of controling herself. She wanted to scream, swear, smash things up. There was no way she could endure another session with the Board tomorrow without losing it.

  She’d end up teling them where they could shove their stupid association tests and creative writing.

  For three years she’d kept her head down and done as she was told. Was she going to sit back and keep quiet now?

  Was she going to put her trust in the Wardens when Jasper hadn’t? Warden Dombrant was spending time questioning Jasper’s behaviour and who Jasper was friends with, when he should be tracking down the kidnappers.

  Ana navigated to the BBC News website and stroked her index finger through the air, scroling down the front page. On the left side of the flatscreen appeared al the day’s breaking stories. She tapped her finger in the air over the article titled: Novastra CEO’s Son Abducted .

  A page opened up featuring an old photo of Jasper and his father playing golf.

  She scanned the article for information. It covered little more than the seven o’clock news. As yet, no demands had been made and no contact established. An information hotline number flashed at the bottom of the information hotline number flashed at the bottom of the page.