by Gemma Malley
‘What do you mean, he didn’t know where I was?’
‘None of us did. I mean, I didn’t know you were definitely down here. That’s why I . . . I mean . . .’
‘You came to find me?’ His voice was chirpy, almost teasing, and Anna felt herself redden.
‘I . . . I just wanted to know where you were,’ Anna said quickly. She cleared her throat. ‘So what happened? When did you get brought down here?’
There was a pause, then Peter started to speak, his voice low. ‘I don’t know . . . They came for me last night. Quite late, because I was asleep. And Mrs Pincent kept asking me questions and hitting me when I wouldn’t answer. Then I was put in here, and they came and got me again – tonight, I suppose. She was asking questions again but then this man got out a needle and I can’t remember much until they were carrying me back again.’
Anna frowned. This didn’t sound like a punishment she’d encountered.
In her experience, Mrs Pincent had several ways of ‘teaching you a lesson’. There were beatings – usually with a belt, sometimes with a ruler and, very occasionally, with her bare fists; there were reduced rations, from hot food to whole meals to blankets, depending on the crime; there was extra work, often late into the night; and there was Solitary.
‘What questions?’ she asked. ‘Was she asking you why you were bad? Because when she does that you have to say “Because I was stupid and I won’t do it again.”’
‘No, they weren’t about that. She kept asking me what I knew. Who I was. Why I was here. They wanted to know where I’d been living. I think they wanted me to tell them about your parents. I didn’t, though. I didn’t say a thing. I’m far too clever for your Mrs Pincent.’
‘She’s not my Mrs Pincent,’ Anna said defensively. ‘And why would she want to know about my parents?’
Anna said the words awkwardly, finding it difficult to say ‘my parents’, let alone contemplate the reality of them existing, of them being linked in some way to Peter’s encounter with Mrs Pincent.
Anna heard something bang against the wall.
‘Yes, your parents.’
‘What was that noise?’ Anna asked. ‘And why would she care about my parents? Why would she even think you’ve met them? They’re just criminals . . .’
‘They’re not just criminals. Your parents love you, Anna. And they’re in the Underground Movement.’
Anna heard the bang again.
‘Peter, shush, what’s that noise?’ she said nervously. ‘You’ll wake someone up.’
‘We’re two floors below everyone, Anna Covey. I’m not going to wake up anyone. I need to bang my head to wake myself up. They must have drugged me.’
Anna shook her head as her logical response kicked in. ‘Surpluses aren’t allowed to be given drugs,’ she said immediately in an authoritative tone. ‘Everyone knows that. It’s in the Declaration. And stop calling me Anna Covey.’
‘That’s your name. Anna Covey. I think it’s a nice name. And I don’t care if Surpluses are allowed drugs or not – they definitely injected me with something. There’s still a mark on my arm.’
Not sure what to say, Anna took one of her feet, which were now feeling like ice blocks, and held it in her hands, trying to encourage the blood to circulate a bit better.
‘I’ve got to go to bed, Peter,’ she said anxiously. ‘I just wanted to check you’re OK, and you seem to be. Don’t do anything stupid. Mrs Pincent will let you out soon, I know she will.’
She waited for a reply, but Peter was silent.
‘Peter? I said I’m going to bed. I —’
‘I don’t think she will let me out,’ Peter said suddenly. ‘Anna, she said something about terminating me. When we were coming down the corridor. She asked one of the men if he was qualified for termination . . .’
Anna shook her head incredulously. ‘Don’t be stupid, Peter,’ she said firmly. ‘Charlie’s the only one making threats. Anyway, you were asleep when you came down the corridor. You just dreamt it, that’s all. You’ll probably be out tomorrow. And if you’re not, maybe I’ll come down again tomorrow night, to see if you’re OK . . .’
She regretted saying that as soon as the words had left her mouth, but before she could take them back, Peter said, ‘Please come.’ His voice sounded so sad and vulnerable.
‘I’ll try my best,’ she promised reluctantly. ‘But you mustn’t fight with Charlie again. If you get out. I mean . . . when.’
‘Thanks, Anna. You’re . . . you’re my best friend.’
Anna flushed.
‘You’re my friend too,’ she said hesitantly, the words feeling strange in her mouth.
‘Run away with me, then?’
Anna shook her head. ‘Peter, don’t be ridiculous. No one’s running away. Why don’t you just concentrate on getting out of Solitary?’
‘Actually I’m better off here,’ Peter said sulkily. ‘Solitary’s where the escape route out is.’
He paused, then spoke again, this time his voice more animated. ‘Anna, listen to me, I’ve seen the plans to Grange Hall and there’s a secret tunnel. Comes out near the village. I could go now, if I wanted to – I can see the grate it’s hidden behind. But you have to come too. You have to escape with me, Anna Covey.’
Peter’s voice was becoming slurred again, but it sounded close and Anna realised he must be pressing against the door, only centimetres away from her. For a moment, she let herself imagine leaving Grange Hall with Peter, imagined leaving Mrs Pincent and Tania and Charlie behind and feeling grass under her feet in some magical, safe place. But even as the thoughts entered her head, she knew they were pure fantasy, and a dangerous one at that.
Once, on a winter afternoon when Anna was meant to be cleaning the big ovens in the kitchen, Mrs Pincent had caught her peeking behind a blind. It was snowing, and the entire landscape was quickly being enveloped in a wonderful new coat, even the tall, grey walls that separated Grange Hall from the Outside, the world beyond it where Legal people lived. She could see Domestics and Instructors through the gates pulling their coats around them more closely as they made their way home. She looked longingly at them, thinking how wonderful it must be to feel the wind and snow in your face. Surpluses were not allowed outside unless it was absolutely necessary. Mrs Pincent said they were easier to manage inside. Anna had pressed her nose against the cold glass in order to admire the swirling snowflakes, mesmerised as she watched them coming directly towards her and billowing on to the window sill, joining others until there was a big mound of delicious, new whiteness covering all the grey and grime. She’d been wondering what it would be like to touch something so magical, to hold it in her hands and feel it melting through her fingers, when Mrs Pincent saw her and dragged her away angrily.
‘The snow is not falling for you,’ she’d shouted at her as she pulled Anna to her office by the hair, then set her down on the floor as she searched for her belt. ‘How dare you even look at it! How dare you spend one moment of your life looking at something beautiful when you should be working. Nothing good in this world exists for you,’ she’d screamed as she gave up the search and used her own hands instead to slap her across the face. ‘Know Your Place, Anna. Know Your Place. You are nothing. You deserve nothing. You will never feel snow in your hands or the sun on your skin. You are not wanted on this earth and the sooner you can accept that, the better for all of us.’
‘I do accept it,’ Anna had whimpered as she closed her eyes against the pain. ‘I’m sorry, House Matron. I succumbed to Temptation. It won’t happen again. I do Know My Place. I have no Place. I’m nothing . . .’
Pushing the memory out of her head, Anna looked back at the metal door that imprisoned Peter. ‘Don’t talk about escape,’ she said agitatedly. ‘Why can’t you just accept things? Why can’t you just be my friend here, in Grange Hall?’
‘Because we don’t have much time,’ Peter said, his voice beginning to fade. ‘We don’t have for ever, Anna. Not like the rest of them. We ne
ed to get out, before it’s too late.’
Anna stared at the cold, metal door separating her and Peter, and shook her head silently. ‘Too late for what?’ she wanted to ask. ‘What does time matter when every moment is stolen anyway?’
But instead, she stood up and briefly pressed her hand against the door, before forcing her frozen legs to carry her silently back up to her stark, grey dormitory.
The next day, when Anna woke up, her night-time visit felt rather like a dream, like an unreal vision that might even have happened to someone else. There was nothing like the chill of the morning air on your body and the knowledge that you had five minutes to get to breakfast fully dressed to put a bit of perspective on things, she thought to herself, as she pulled on her overalls and regulation knee-length socks. Nothing like the threat of a beating to get rid of dangerous thoughts and expose them for the deceptions they were. She felt guilty now, embarrassed and fearful that someone might have seen her creeping down to Solitary in the middle of the night. She couldn’t believe how reckless she’d been, couldn’t believe she’d actually told Peter she’d do it again that evening too.
Silently, she led the other Pending girls out of the dormitory and down towards Central Feeding for breakfast, single file as always. As they approached the hall, she stopped them, and inspected their appearance quickly, telling one to pull up her socks properly and another to straighten her hair. Then her eyes were drawn to Sheila’s overalls, and she frowned.
Sheila had never really fitted in at Grange Hall, had never really been able to adjust to institutional living. And she wasn’t any good at anything either – everything she touched, whether cooking or cleaning or mending, seemed to go wrong and she would look at it helplessly, as if she couldn’t understand how she’d ended up with a lopsided pie or the wrong stitch or a floor that was still covered in grease marks. Anna had tried to teach her at first, making her do her work over and over until it was right, but lately she’d begun to cover up for her instead, unable to bear Sheila’s haunted expression and ever-present bruises.
Right now, however, Anna wasn’t in the mood for Sheila’s inadequacies. This was just the excuse she needed to reaffirm her authority – over the Surpluses in her charge, over herself. There was a button hanging off Sheila’s overalls, and everyone knew that overalls had to be kept in good repair at all times.
‘You’ve got a loose button,’ she said sharply. ‘Go and fix it. You can’t go into Central Feeding looking like that.’
‘I’m sorry Anna, I didn’t notice,’ Sheila said quietly. The bruises on her face were now a deep purple colour, and Anna could hardly bear to look at them. ‘Can I eat first and sew it on later?’
Anna met her eyes and for a brief second, she considered agreeing to Sheila’s request; breakfast was the biggest meal of the day where big vats of porridge sat at the top of the hall so that everyone could have at least two helpings. Sheila was thin enough already; a missed meal would make her hollow cheeks positively skeletal.
But then she shook herself. Narrowing her eyes, she looked down at Sheila.
‘Do it now,’ she snapped. ‘If you miss breakfast, that’s your own fault. I will not have you let down my dormitory.’
Sheila stared at her silently, then turned and walked back up the stairs, leaving Anna feeling a welcome sense of control. Order was good, she told herself firmly as she approached the vats of porridge. Rules were there to be followed.
But whilst Anna told herself she was fine, she didn’t feel particularly fine. Taking her bowl back to her table, she lifted the food to her mouth, but found herself unable to eat. The porridge felt dry, like sawdust, and eventually, having almost gagged on the first mouthful, she gave up.
It was tiredness, she decided. That was all.
‘Hurry up, now. Remember that you’re on clearing duty this morning. I want Central Feeding clean before training starts.’
Anna looked up to see Mrs Pincent hovering over her, and she nodded quickly.
‘Yes, House Matron, I remember. We’ll start right away,’ she said. ‘You can depend on me,’ she added unnecessarily, and Mrs Pincent raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, well, I hope I can,’ she said frowning slightly as she swished past, her solid court shoes resonating on the cold, hard floor.
Anna looked up and saw that Sheila was standing nervously in the doorway. The final whistle had just been blown, which meant no more food was to be consumed. And suddenly Anna couldn’t bear it.
‘Sheila, come in, we’re on cleaning duty,’ she said loudly, watching closely as Sheila nodded obediently, her eyes surreptitiously moving to the front of the hall where the big vats of porridge were being taken into the kitchens.
Anna picked up her bowl, which was still full of porridge, and walked over to Sheila.
‘Here,’ she said softly, checking that no one was watching before handing her the bowl. ‘Just eat it quickly and don’t tell anyone, OK?’
Sheila’s face lit up as she took the bowl gratefully. ‘Thanks, Anna,’ she said in her small, soft voice. ‘And I’m sorry about the button.’
Anna nodded, and walked away thinking as she did so of Mrs Pincent’s take on apologies. Don’t ever say you’re sorry to another Surplus, the House Matron had told her repeatedly when she’d first become a Prefect. ‘Sorry’ implies a contract, an expected level of behaviour, and Surpluses don’t enjoy such a luxury. Surpluses should not ask why, or how – they simply do what they’re told, and that’s the end of it. Sometimes she’d pause then, and frown slightly. Life is very straightforward for a Surplus, she’d say, almost wistfully. There’s nothing to think about at all.
Chapter Ten
Later that morning, Anna found herself in Laundry, which that day involved ironing all the clothes they took in for the local houses – the ones that didn’t have housekeepers. Grange Hall’s income had risen steadily over the years, Mrs Pincent was always proud to point out. They now did laundry regularly for over fifty households and two local hotels and the high quality of the work was often commented upon, something that Anna always heard Mrs Pincent telling people, particularly people who were from the Authorities.
Anna quite liked doing laundry, because she got to see the soft sheets and beautiful clothes that people in the village wore – soft woollen jumpers, wisp-thin silk blouses and beautiful cotton dresses that she sometimes liked to imagine wafting around in as if life were nothing more than a wonderful holiday. Not today, though. Today, all she wanted to do was scrub – scrub away dirt, scrub away her wickedness, and scrub away all thoughts of Peter and her appointment later that night. She’d even offered to do undergarments, which was considered the worst job. They were all hard and full of wire – called ‘bones’, apparently – and impossible to clean properly.
Anna couldn’t understand why anyone would want to wear such uncomfortable undergarments, at least she hadn’t until she’d worked for Mrs Sharpe.
‘Longevity doesn’t cure gravity, unfortunately,’ Mrs Sharpe had told her when she’d been caught frowning at a particularly painful-looking thing that she discovered was called an Uplifter. ‘Until they develop a drug that renews the skin as well as the body, we’re going to need boning to keep everything in place and to hold everything up.’
Anna had just nodded then, even though she didn’t really know what Mrs Sharpe meant, but a few days later her employer had called her into the bathroom because she needed a towel. When Anna came in and saw Mrs Sharpe naked, she would have gasped if it hadn’t been for all her training, which had taught her never to stare or react to anything except with a nod and, if appropriate, a curtsey.
The truth was that Anna had never seen a body like it. Fully dressed, Mrs Sharpe was so pretty, with golden skin and white blond hair and pretty blue eye-shadow around her eyes, but her naked body was so . . . droopy. That was the only word Anna could find to describe it. Her skin sagged disconsolately around her frame, hanging off her flesh as if it were waterlogged or had simply lost the wil
l to hold itself up any longer.
Anna had kept her eyes lowered, but Mrs Sharpe must have seen her looking out of the corner of her eye because she looked at her and smiled sadly.
‘I just can’t bring myself to go under the knife,’ she’d said with a little shrug, as Anna blushed furiously at being caught out. ‘It’s ridiculous, I know, when I could have everything perked up in no time. But every so often, things go wrong on the operating table. And now I know I’ll be living for ever, it’s made me scared of death. Isn’t that silly?’
Miss Humphries took Laundry, and checked every sheet, blouse and towel before it was packed away, because Mrs Pincent had said that every single item had to be ironed to perfection before it could be sent back to its owner.
Anna had partnered with Peter in Laundry for the past few weeks, but today Miss Humphries put her with Sheila, which meant, Anna recognised, that she would have to do most of the load herself if it was going to achieve the high quality expected. She wondered how Sheila would cope on the Outside, whether she would ever prove Useful enough for employment. Anna pushed the thought from her head. Sheila was not her responsibility, she reminded herself. Sheila could look after herself.
Silently, they started to iron the large sheet, folding it into a neat, pressed rectangle as they did so. Then they ironed another, and another, then a duvet cover, then three blouses and a whole load of undergarments until the entire pile had been turned into a neat, fragrant stack.
‘Well, doesn’t that look nice and pretty.’
Anna looked up to see Tania standing over Sheila, her eyes focused on the laundry sitting in front of her.
She narrowed her eyes in warning, and Tania tossed her hair. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, smiling silkily, ‘I’m not going to do anything. But Sheila, I bet your parents would be proud, don’t you think? That their dirty worthless Surplus daughter is learning to do her chores?’
Sheila stood up angrily to face Tania, but even standing, the top of her head barely reached Tania’s nose.
