by Gemma Malley
Slowly but methodically, she rinsed her hands under the tap, and moved away from the sink. Maisie raised her eyebrows.
‘No you don’t, missy. You’ll stay there till them nappies are clean,’ she said, with a little smirk. ‘I’m under orders from Mrs Pincent. When she gets back there’ll be hell to pay.’
Anna felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach. Mrs Pincent was definitely away.
Emboldened, she smiled sweetly at Maisie. ‘Then you can tell Mrs Pincent that I was very badly behaved,’ she said, employing her haughtiest voice, the one she used with errant Middles. ‘I refuse to clean any more,’ she continued. ‘It’s not my job, anyway. I thought Domestics were employed to clean nappies.’
It was a cheap shot, but, as Anna had hoped, it worked. Being a Domestic at Grange Hall was, according to Mrs Pincent, one of the worst possible jobs on offer to Legals – Anna had heard her say so to Mrs Larson. To be spoken down to by a Surplus was simply too much for Maisie to bear, and before Anna had even finished speaking, she had lashed out, striking Anna across the face.
‘You’re a Surplus,’ she screamed. ‘You don’t talk to me like that. I’m Legal. Legal, d’you hear? You could be my slave if I wanted you . . .’
‘Really? I didn’t think Domestics were paid enough to have staff,’ Anna continued, wincing slightly at the pain from Maisie’s blow, which had caught her on the side of her face.
At this, Maisie drew herself up to her full height and dealt Anna a massive blow across the head, sending her flying to the ground. Then she looked around nervously. Mrs Pincent didn’t think much of Domestics and they certainly weren’t allowed to hit the Surpluses.
At the sound of Anna falling to the ground, Mrs Larson, who supervised the Domestics from time to time and who had been given the poisoned chalice of looking after things in Mrs Pincent’s absence, came looking to see what the commotion was, and cried out, putting her hand over her mouth just in time.
‘Maisie, what on earth have you done?’ she asked worriedly.
‘She was giving me lip,’ Maisie said firmly. ‘She had it coming.’
‘But what will we tell Mrs Pincent?’ Mrs Larson continued, rushing over to assess the damage.
‘She ought to be in Solitary,’ Maisie continued defiantly. ‘Like I say, that Surplus had it coming.’
Mrs Larson shook her head in disbelief, then looked around nervously to check that no one else was near.
‘Maisie, help me lift her. I think you’re right about Solitary. Better to put her down there than have people talk. And one night should teach her how to behave.’
Chapter Fourteen
Anna’s right cheek was so swollen from Maisie’s blow that she couldn’t open the eye above it. Her hair had blood encrusted in it and her bottom lip was bleeding because she had inadvertently bitten it when she’d fallen to the floor. But she had never been so happy in her whole life.
As she came to slowly on the hard, concrete bed, she opened her eyes and sat up to take in her surroundings, then she smiled to herself, ignoring the pain as she did so. She’d made it. She was in Solitary. That one thought made her feel more alive than she could remember feeling before. And powerful. She felt like she could do anything. With Peter, she was invincible.
Looking around to make sure that she was alone, she called out excitedly, her voice soft at first then louder. ‘Peter, I’m here. Peter!’
‘Anna! You did it! I hoped it was you when I heard them bring someone in, but I didn’t dare say anything. What did you do? How did you get them to send you down here?’ His voice was coming from the wall behind her, which meant that she was in the cell next to him, she realised to her relief.
‘I challenged Mr Sargent,’ she said proudly, smiling at the memory of his red face pulsating with shock at her words. ‘And then I was rude to a Domestic.’
She heard Peter laugh, and it made her glow with pride.
‘So when do we leave?’ she asked nervously.
‘Tonight,’ Peter said, without hesitation. ‘Solitary checks are at about midnight and Mrs Pincent said 4 a.m. was when she’d come for me, didn’t she?’
Anna made a muffled noise that meant yes. Neither of them particularly wanted to think about Mrs Pincent, or what she was coming back to do.
‘So we leave here at two o’clock and go through the tunnel,’ Peter continued. ‘That way everyone will be asleep. The tunnel comes out in the village, and we need to get as far away as we can before it gets light because the Catchers will be sent out as soon as they realise we’ve gone. Then we’ll find somewhere to hide and tomorrow night we’ll start making our way to London.’
Anna smiled, but her heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn’t believe they were actually going to escape from Grange Hall. All the windows and doors were alarmed, and there were floodlights which stretched from the building to the gated walls surrounding it. Cameras were fixed to the perimeter walls as an added deterrent. The Catchers always got you in the end, Mrs Pincent said. And when they did, you’d hate your parents even more for having you.
‘We’ll be fine, Anna, I promise,’ Peter said, as if sensing her fear. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘I’m not worried,’ Anna said quickly, trying to convince herself as much as anything. The darkness and musty smell of the cell was beginning to get to her, bringing back memories of her last visit to Solitary. She’d been afraid then, imagining that ghosts and ghouls lived down in the cellars, that Mrs Pincent and the others might forget about her and leave her there to die. There had been noises too, late at night when she couldn’t sleep. Footsteps, things that sounded like voices but more strangled. Sounds that had filled Anna with such terror that she would have done anything to get out, to never have to come back.
But this time she was here for a reason, she told herself. This time she was here on her own terms.
She looked up at the wall that stood between her cell and Peter’s. At the top of it, as with all the other cells in Solitary, there was a gap, about a metre wide and three quarters of a metre high. These holes were the only source of ventilation in the whole of the basement – Mr Sargent had told them so once when Patrick had been sent down there for about the fifth time. Mr Sargent had said that there wasn’t much air at all in Solitary. He’d said that if there were more than three Surpluses down there at once, they’d probably run out of air in a few days. The holes were the only thing that kept you alive down in Solitary, Mr Sargent had told them. The hole was also the only way for Anna to get into Peter’s cell.
She stood up on the concrete bed to get a closer look, then swallowed uncomfortably. It had seemed like such a great idea when Peter had suggested it, but now she wasn’t so sure. The gap was big enough for her to get through, certainly. But she had to get up there first. Standing on the bed, she found that she could reach the bottom of the gap if she went on to her tiptoes. But reaching wasn’t enough. She had to be able to get through it.
‘The gap,’ she called out tentatively. ‘The thing is, I’m not sure I can get up there,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. ‘Even if I stand on the bed, I won’t be able to get high enough.’
‘Of course you can,’ Peter said immediately. ‘If you get hold of the bottom, you can pull yourself through. I tried it myself. Look . . .’
Anna looked up, and sure enough, Peter’s face appeared at the gap. Her face lit up and she smiled.
‘You look awful,’ he said, and Anna immediately turned her face away, embarrassed by her swollen eye and lip.
‘Who did that to you?’ Peter asked angrily. ‘Tell me who did it.’
Anna shrugged. ‘No one. I mean, it doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters to me.’
Anna looked up at Peter curiously.
No one had ever wanted to protect her before. When Mrs Pincent had punished her, sometimes she said it was to ‘protect Anna from herself’, but that wasn’t the same thing at all.
‘OK, I’m going to do it,’ she said purpos
efully and stood up again, reaching as high as she could and using her legs to try and scrabble up the wall. She was going to prove herself worthy of Peter. She was going to get up that wall if it took every bit of strength in her body.
But it was no use. Her arm muscles may have been strong enough for laundry, but they simply weren’t strong enough to lift her entire weight, and the walls were too flat for her feet to climb up.
After a few minutes of concerted effort, Anna fell back on the hard bed, red-faced.
‘I can’t get up there, Peter,’ she said hotly.
But when she looked up, Peter was at the top of her wall again, and he was grinning. Then he pushed himself through the gap and a second later, he was next to her on the bed. He pulled her to her feet again.
‘Put your foot in there,’ he said quickly, meshing his hands together to create a foothold. She stared at him.
‘Come on, just put your foot on my hands and I’ll give you a leg up,’ he said, looking at her encouragingly.
Anna’s face lit up, and she did as he said. He held her up high as she reached for the gap, and continued to hold her until she had managed to squirm right up the wall, even though she could feel that he was shaking by the end. Then, like a monkey, he scrambled up the wall himself, through the gap, and helped her down the other side.
‘See? Easy,’ he said, a satisfied grin on his face. ‘Any other problems you want to freak out about before we go?’
Anna shook her head and blushed, embarrassed at how quickly she’d given up. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as invincible as she’d thought.
‘No more problems,’ she said gratefully. ‘And thanks, Peter. I . . . well, thanks.’
Peter shrugged. ‘I said I’d get you out, didn’t I? So, you got any food on you?’
Anna nodded happily and took out the Cornish pasty she’d made that morning.
‘Did you really come here just to get me?’ she asked curiously as she watched Peter eat. ‘I mean, did you really let the Catchers find you just for that?’
Peter caught her eye and shrugged again. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t come here for the grub,’ he said, his eyes twinkling slightly. Then he put the pasty down on the floor in front of him.
‘I . . . I wanted to do my bit for the Underground Movement. Do my bit to help your parents,’ he said seriously. Then he swallowed, and looked at her with the darting eyes that she knew so well. ‘But I wanted to find you for me, too . . .’
Anna looked at him silently, and he bit his lip, then looked down at the floor.
‘I never had any friends, Anna,’ he said a few moments later, his voice smaller than it had been. ‘Never had parents, or anyone who . . . well, I didn’t ever have anyone. And your parents used to talk about you, and how if you weren’t in Grange Hall, we’d be friends. You know. And I used to think about that a lot, about you being free, and about us going places, doing things. So that’s why I came. I felt like we knew each other. Before we met, I mean.’
He swallowed again, and Anna found her eyes drawn to him, to her friend Peter who, for the first time since she’d met him, wasn’t looking defiant or angry, but vulnerable and lost.
‘And now?’ she asked, her voice almost a whisper. ‘Was I like you thought I’d be?’
‘I think so,’ Peter said, nodding, and his eyes met hers. They were shining, Anna noticed.
‘And do you like me?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘The real me, I mean.’
Peter nodded again slowly. ‘I suppose,’ he said quietly, attempting a little smile.
Then he took a deep breath and looked down sheepishly.
‘I like you quite a lot, actually,’ he whispered, his voice so fragile that it barely sounded like Peter. And as soon as the words had left his mouth, he turned away, focusing all his attention on a loose thread hanging from one of the sleeves of his overalls.
Anna stared at him, and for a second she felt like the whole world had stood still, and she had goose-bumps all over her.
Then Peter shrugged and started eating again, and everything suddenly went back to normal. Although not quite normal, because Anna now knew that, whatever happened, she would follow Peter anywhere. And that, she knew, could be her salvation – but it could also get her into a whole lot of trouble.
Chapter Fifteen
At two o’clock that morning, Anna woke up and sat bolt upright, shocking Peter, who’d been just about to wake her. She’d gone back to her own cell for the midnight check, and then returned to Peter’s right afterwards and since then they had been lying together on the concrete slab that constituted a bed, huddling together for warmth and comfort. Anna wasn’t sure quite where Peter’s storytelling had finished and her dreams had begun as she gradually fell asleep. She’d been sure she’d never be able to sleep in such a place, with so much anticipation fizzing through her body, but now she was glad she had. She felt sleepy, but she also felt rested and a little calmer.
The vent, behind which their future lay, was the same as the vents found around Grange Hall – rectangular in shape and just about big enough to wriggle through. It was positioned about two and a half metres up the wall, on the opposite side of the cell to Peter’s bed. Anna hadn’t allowed herself to fully believe that behind it lay a tunnel that would lead them out of Grange Hall until Peter had carefully pulled it off earlier to show her.
‘It’s small,’ he’d said seriously. ‘It’s not big enough to walk down, only crawl, so we have to go one at a time.’
Anna looked up at the stark, musty tunnel uncertainly, then looked down at Peter. He was pulling a blunt cutlery knife out of his overalls and he met her eyes with a grin.
‘Got it a couple of days ago. Lunch, I think it was,’ he said, winking. He lifted it up, his forehead creasing in concentration as he used it to unscrew the wire mesh panel. ‘Domestic didn’t even notice it wasn’t on the tray when I gave it back to her. Not that I’m complaining.’
Anna didn’t say anything; instead she took one last look around the cell. It was – she thought wryly – quite apt that her last view of the Hall should be of Solitary, the greyest, bleakest area of all. That night she would be leaving this place for ever. She didn’t want to contemplate the idea that they might get lost in this small, winding tunnel, to die in the underbelly of her prison.
‘I’m going to have to lift you up, so you’re going to be going first,’ Peter said seriously. ‘But I’ll be right behind you. OK?’
He was looking at her intently – even in the darkness of the cell, she could see his eyes glinting, looking at her for reassurance that she was all right. She stuck out her chin bravely and nodded. Then, silently, she allowed Peter to hoist her up so that she could wriggle through the opening.
‘Will you hurry up!’ Mrs Pincent urged Dr Cox irritably. It was late, later than she’d planned to leave London. If they didn’t get to Grange Hall by four o’clock, it might be too late. The first checks were at six in the morning, and she wanted the boy dealt with by then.
‘All right, I’m just about done,’ Dr Cox said, easing the last of the Longevity+ fluid into a small bottle. It was a difficult job, collecting stem cells from unwilling patients, but the rewards more than made up for it.
‘The boy,’ he said thoughtfully, as he packed up his things. ‘I presume I can take what I need from him before I administer the injection?’
Mrs Pincent shrugged. ‘Do what you want, but do it quickly. We’re going to be pressed for time by the time we get back there.’
Anna expected the small opening to widen slightly once she got through, but to her dismay it didn’t. It remained resolutely about fifty centimetres squared, big enough for her to squirm through, but only just, and the dank air and lack of light made her feel like she was journeying into the bowels of the earth.
As she travelled further along the tunnel, the smell got worse and the light all but disappeared. She could hear Peter clamber up behind her, which bolstered her for a while, but it wasn’t long before her demons were surfa
cing again. What if there was a dead end? she found herself worrying. What if they were discovered and instead of being pulled out of the tunnel, Mrs Pincent put the vent back on and left them to die?
‘I can’t see much at all,’ she called back to Peter, not even sure he’d be able to hear her – there seemed to be no space even for sound to travel.
‘Just keep going straight ahead,’ she heard his muffled reply. ‘It’s only fifty metres or so.’
‘How many metres have we done so far?’
‘About ten maybe.’
Anna’s heart sank, but she gritted her teeth and continued squirming along the enclosed passageway, half crawling, half wriggling like some oversized worm.
It took them over an hour to travel the short distance the tunnel covered. To her relief it had opened up a little as they continued. Anna’s only indication that the tunnel had come to an end was the fact that she squirmed straight into what felt like a brick wall. By now she was hot and sweaty, and covered in foul-smelling slime. Each movement made her squirm. It was absolutely pitch black too and if it hadn’t been for the sound of Peter behind her and his stupid jokes she’d have been tempted to give up ages ago.
‘Peter, I think we’re there,’ she said, feeling around for any twist in the tunnel that might explain the sudden wall in front of her. ‘But I can’t find an opening.’
‘Huh. OK, can you feel around for a grate or something?’
Anna felt around again. There wasn’t much room to manoeuvre, but slowly and methodically, she felt every centimetre of the wall in front of her, hoping for something – anything – that would indicate the way out.
‘I . . . I can’t feel anything,’ she said eventually.
There was a pause, then Peter said, ‘OK, hold still, I’m coming.’ Moments later Anna found herself pressed into the slimy ground, her cheek forced into the corner, as Peter made his way to the end by clambering on top of her.
‘I . . . can’t . . . breathe . . .’ she complained, but Peter wasn’t listening.
