by Alex Marwood
And then Eilidh has her by the hand and she’s sliding off through the gyrating bodies, and she’s laughing with relief. My God, look at us. We’re adults at last! Us, from the Pigshed, dancing as though the world will not end!
‘This is amazing!’ cries Eilidh.
‘Isn’t it?’ cries Romy, and pushes away the disturbing thoughts. Throws her arms round Eilidh because she needs something physical, a touch from someone, anyone but him. I must not think of it, she thinks. It’s forbidden, and besides, it’s Kiran.
She can smell alcohol on Eilidh’s breath, realises that she’s far drunker than Romy is herself. She wobbles on unsteady legs as Romy holds her and nearly takes them both over. Staggers back and pushes her slipping garland back onto her head. Laughs like a child and turns to Rohan, starts once again to dance.
* * *
* * *
On, and on. The drums thunder into the darkness and bodies move closer and closer. How do they keep it up? she wonders. Now she’s stopped, she doesn’t want to go back. She wanders over to the food, slaps a chunk of pork into a flatbread and eats. The meat is cold and greasy and the bread is turning stale, but she is ravenously hungry. It’s two in the morning. A few more hours until dawn begins to creep over the horizon and the solstice is over.
On the dance floor, a hand reaches out and touches a buttock, is slapped away. A woman sways, sandwiched between two men, and suddenly Romy feels uncomfortable. She looks around and sees the adults, smeared and bleary, and senses that the atmosphere has turned. Men are grouping together, standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching. Licking their lips.
She turns to the nearest person, who turns out to be one of the Guards. ‘I could do with a nap,’ she announces.
‘Fucksake,’ says Dom. ‘No stamina.’
‘She’s stocious,’ says Phil.
‘Not as stocious as that one,’ says Ace, and points at the dance floor. In her own little space, as though the crowd has parted to make room for her, Eilidh sways in her sweat-stained dress, small breasts proud under the flimsy cloth, her crown long since gone. She gazes up at the cold sky, though the stars are obliterated by the glow of the firelight.
‘Come for a walk,’ says Dom. ‘You’re overheated. It’s cooler in the orchard.’
‘No,’ says Romy. ‘I want to go to bed.’
‘I’ll bet you do,’ he says.
Suddenly, the three girl Guards, Ash and Fitz and Willow, are standing beside her. ‘Come on,’ says Fitz to Willow. ‘I’m done. Let’s get 143 home before she keels over.’
‘Hold on,’ says Dom. ‘I’m coming with.’
‘Not a fucking chance,’ says Ash.
‘I don’t want to go yet,’ Romy protests. The drums are still thundering and she feels she shouldn’t leave until they stop, though she longs for sleep. She staggers slightly, bumps into the table, sends a clatter of empty tankards crashing to the ground.
Fitz’s strong arms, hauling her upright. ‘Oop,’ she says. ‘That’s enough for tonight. You young ’uns.’
‘You’re only twenty-two,’ says Romy.
‘A world of difference,’ says Fitz.
On the dance floor, Eilidh suddenly clamps a hand over her mouth. Too late. People jump backwards as cider and fruit and not much bread burst out over her feet, over the gravel around her. Romy laughs, goes to point it out to Dom, but finds that he is no longer there beside her. ‘Hunh,’ she says, and staggers again. Ash slams her drink down on the table and grabs her other arm. ‘Right,’ she says, ‘we’re out of here.’
Romy lets herself be led away. She is very tired, and longs for her bed. And then her mother, and Cara, the Cook who shares her dormitory, loom out of the gloom and reach for her arms. ‘We’ll take it from here,’ says Somer to Willow, and Romy is surprised to find that she is glaring.
‘We were just—’ says Willow.
‘I know,’ says Somer, ‘thank you,’ and they take the weight from her legs of jelly and walk her home.
She glances back as they reach the field gate and catches sight of Eilidh, running unsteadily towards the alleyway that leads to the chapel, her hands clamped over her mouth again.
A few seconds later, several Guards slip quietly into the dark behind her, for all the world like a pack of wolves on the scent of prey.
34 | Somer
February 2014
And then there is no more Eilidh.
She vanishes one day, just like that. Vita goes to Glastonbury that morning to sort out a crisis that has arisen there, and Lucien is locked in his quarters, meditating, so only Uri is in charge. Ursola, coming down to check on her when she fails to show in the Infirmary for her shift, finds her bed made, her box beneath it and all her clothes still hanging at the end of her bunk, only her medallion gone, and after a few hours of calling and searching they give up and stop speaking of her, take over her tasks as though she had never been. And Somer finds Romy crying silently behind the godowns for her lost friend, but you never talk of the ones who’ve gone, so she just gives her a consoling pat and moves on with her duties.
* * *
* * *
They don’t see Vita for another week. On the seventh day, as Somer and Ursola are sharing a jar of peppermint tea in the corner of the orchard – how well she is beginning to be reaccepted, since she became a Leader – Somer hears the Guards’ radio network crackle, and moments later Uri strides across the orchard towards the road gate with thunder on his face. He stands in the middle of the drive, folds his arms and waits.
Vita crests the hill in the car, sees him in her way and pulls up. Gets out, and the shouting begins.
They don’t need to eavesdrop. They’re near enough, and invisible enough, and, even if Uri and Vita have noticed that they’re there, it seems that their emotions are running so high that they don’t care. Ursola sits rigid beside her, slows her breath. Perhaps they want this to play out in front of witnesses. For the rumour of discord to sweep the compound. It must be in someone’s interest, though whose is anybody’s guess.
‘Where is she?’ he asks.
‘Gone,’ Vita replies.
‘Gone where?’
‘Gone. I took her out of here. I’m not having it.’
‘Not having what?’ he sneers.
‘You know. Jesus, Uri. You think I’m blind? Even your father ...’
A laugh from Uri. Not a nice one. ‘Well, aren’t you the clever one?’
‘That poor girl. Jesus. Can’t you keep them under control?’
He laughs again. ‘Who says I want to?’
‘They’re not ... toys. They’re not bloody treats for your robots. And Jesus, Uri, she’s your sister.’
‘Half-sister.’
She shakes her head as if in disbelief. ‘I don’t believe you. What the hell has happened to you?’
He folds his arms again. Doesn’t answer. Then: ‘He’s furious, you know.’
‘I doubt he’s even noticed.’
‘I don’t suppose he would have,’ he says, ‘if I hadn’t told him.’
Now she folds her arms, too. ‘Oh, you are the funny one. I suppose you think that’s going to undermine me.’
‘Well, I’ll enjoy watching you explain.’
‘It won’t take much explaining, Uri. If their Father can’t keep them safe, their Mother will have to. Simple as that. And you know what? He’ll accept that, because I’ve been running this place for years.’
‘Bullshit,’ he says.
‘Oh, come on,’ she says. ‘Who do you think’s been keeping this place going? Your father?’
Somer realises that Ursola is looking at her. Turns and sees that her face is tense. She’s as uncomfortable as I am, she thinks. I’ve never seen Vita this passionate before. She’s the calm at the centre of our world. The eye of the storm. What’s happening?
�
�Well, if you think you’re in charge, you’re even more deluded than I thought,’ he says. ‘It’s me, Vita. He’s just been waiting for me to get old enough and strong enough. You’re nothing. You’re a ... a ... placeholder. If you were in charge they’d all be dead on day three.’
‘Wow,’ she says, ‘you really think that highly of yourself?’
‘Just ask him,’ he says. ‘You just ask him.’
‘Oh, kiddo,’ she says. ‘How old are you? Thirty-five? And you still haven’t worked out that your father will say anything as long as it makes people like him? Are you ever going to grow the hell up and figure out how things really work around here?’
She starts back towards the car.
‘Things are going to change,’ she tells him. ‘Your little personality cult has got way out of hand. This is the final straw, Uri, I’m telling you. It was bad enough when it was just you exerting your droit de seigneur. You can’t have a whole pack of them created in your image.’
To Somer’s surprise, Uri responds with a laugh. ‘Just extending the privilege,’ he says.
Vita stops, a hand on the door handle, and looks up. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘Like you haven’t been his personal procurer for years. Why, Vita? You need to ask yourself that. Are you really so scared of him leaving you that you have to pimp for him?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
He folds his arms again, waggles his shoulders.
‘There were plenty of women,’ she says, ‘who were ready to mother the One.’
Somer feels sick. I don’t want to hear this, she thinks. I don’t. I don’t want to hear it.
An explosion of mocking laughter rings out across the orchard. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘That really was a stroke of genius, my love. It’s been such a sacrifice for him, making all those babies.’
Vita slams the car door. Marches back across the sward. ‘You know what, Uri? You’re way too confident. Way. This place wasn’t founded on tyranny and it won’t survive on it. You can rule people with fear for a while, but you can’t rule that way forever.’
‘Oh, you stupid old woman,’ he says. ‘You stupid old woman. You’re a fucking relic.’
‘Well at least I’m not a fucking rapist,’ she snaps. Gets back into the car and slams the door.
* * *
* * *
Somer doesn’t speak until Uri has marched away towards the Guard House. ‘So Eilidh’s gone, then,’ she says.
Ursola nods. ‘Yes.’
‘Another victim of solstice?’
Another nod. Somer feels a stab of anger. No one smuggled me out, she thinks. No one showed me anything but scorn.
‘Somer?’
She turns to look at Vita’s deputy. ‘Yes?’
‘I think something’s coming,’ says Ursola. ‘I think this place is changing and it’s going to get worse.’
Somer considers what to say. Words like this from someone so deeply embedded in the higher ranks of the Ark are two things at once. Flattering, to be taken into confidence after all these years. And frightening. For all she knows, this could be a test.
‘We’re all here by Father’s grace,’ she replies eventually. ‘Uri as well.’
And one day Father will no longer be here, she thinks as she drinks her tea. And someone else will lead. And he said it himself, over and over again. There can only be One. Not two.
Among the Dead
November 2016
35 | Sarah
The Year Tens are holding an anti-bigotry demo on the lawn outside the science labs. They have wrapped their faces in scarves and pulled slogan T-shirts over their uniform jumpers, and are punching power fists into the air beneath banners on sticks that read JC4PM, FUCK THE TORYS, PUNCH A TERF TODAY and TRUMP OUT. In front, a gaggle of Year Sixes play some complicated skipping game without ever glancing in their direction. The rest of the school is looking at its mobile phone.
‘Ah,’ says Helen, ‘schoolyard politics. Always one execution away from utopia. They’ll tire of Magic Grandad eventually.’
‘I do wish they’d learn to spell “Tories”, though,’ says Sarah.
‘Or go and look “bigotry” up in the dictionary,’ says Helen. ‘And since when has “feminist” been an insult?’
‘Well, it always was in some quarters,’ says Sarah. ‘Just not among progressives.’
‘Ack, “progressives”,’ says Helen. ‘Another word that knots my knitting.’
‘D’you think we should break it up?’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Swearing? Inciting violence?’
‘Mm,’ says Helen. ‘I suspect the fact that no one’s paying the slightest attention might undermine our argument. How’s home?’ she asks. ‘The kids tell me the half-sister has come to stay?’
Sarah grins. ‘Yes. I went to talk to her and ended up bringing her home. Did they tell you she’s pregnant?’
‘No!’ Helen leans in, fascinated. I suppose she can pump me for info, thinks Sarah. Just a shame I’m not allowed to do it the other way round, now my children are her clients.
‘Yes. And she wasn’t ...’ Some instinct makes her pull back from mentioning the injuries. ‘She wasn’t coping all that well. I thought I should. She was ill. I couldn’t not, really.’
‘Just mind you don’t turn into one of those people who collects rescue dogs.’
‘Oh, no,’ she says, ‘it’s not like that. She had ... flu. She was totally in a state of collapse. She’s much better now. She’s been in bed all weekend but she’s completely compos mentis.’
‘Good. And how long’s she staying?’
‘A few more days, I guess. It’s good having her. She’s only been properly with us since yesterday lunchtime, but she’s really brought Ilo out of himself already.’
‘And Eden?’
‘Not so much. But I think I’m starting to understand the dynamic now. Romy’s already told me a lot I didn’t know. Those two have spent much more time together. Eden is a ... I suppose what you’d call an aristocrat. You know: Brahmin class, because of her father. I hadn’t really taken that on board. It does explain quite a lot. I think she’ll need more time, is all. It must be hard if you’ve been special, getting used to being ordinary.’
‘Yes,’ says Helen. ‘Well, it’ll be a while before either of them attains ordinary, I should think.’
Sarah spots Eden, on a bench with her back to the netball courts, reading a book. Reading a book: a surefire way to put a target on your chest in the world of school playgrounds. Ilo must not have emerged from the lunch hall yet, or he would be sitting with her.
‘They shouldn’t be covering their faces, though, should they?’ Sarah asks.
Helen looks at the protestors. ‘Pfft, better here than in Trafalgar Square. Besides, I can tell who they are at a glance, can’t you?’
A littlie trips on the skipping rope and falls to the ground. They both stand and watch, sip their coffee, wait to see if there will be wailing. There isn’t. She scrambles up, brushes down her hands and knees and goes to take her turn at turning. ‘Phew,’ says Helen. ‘Wouldn’t want to have to do anything on lunch duty, would we?’
Over by the art block, next to Year Eight’s chickenwire carthorse, Marie is sitting on a bench examining her fingernails. She does that a lot, though uniform rules prevent her from having more than a French manicure. Mika and Lindsay and Ben McArdle (there are some people whose surname just naturally falls from your mouth whenever you mention them) form an indie band around her, lounging and sprawling and emanating disdain for the whole world.
They’re looking at Eden. Mika nudges Ben and says something, and they both laugh. Sarah suppresses an ‘ugh’. ‘I wish that lot would just can it, though,’ she says, tipping her chin in their direction.
‘Oh, they’re just kids,’ says Helen.
‘They’re not exactly gangsters, are they?’
Sarah shrugs. No, she’s right. None of Marie’s crew is going to be bringing a gun into school or flogging crack or raping their classmates. They’re just ordinary overindulged brats of the provincial suburbs, sneering at their peers for lack of anything else to do. She shouldn’t mind them so much. Marie Spence dissing your trainers is hardly going to count in Eden’s world when you think about all the other things she’s seen.
Ilo comes out of the main doors, looks around. Looking for Eden, she thinks. But no. He sees his sister, nods, and sets out across the tarmac towards Marie.
Sarah feels herself tense. Ben gets up from his perch on the back of the bench and the three girls straighten up, watch him approach with their ankles pressed primly together.
He looks so small, she thinks. I will not go over there. It’s not my business.
Ilo stops in front of Marie. His stance is relaxed; his hands hang by his sides. He says something, points at what looks from this angle uncomfortably like her bosom. Marie sits back and fingers her necklace. Smirks and shakes her head.
He speaks again. Ben takes a step forward. Ilo looks at him calmly, then his hand strikes, like a cobra, on Marie’s collarbone, and he’s wrenching and she’s struggling and the two girls are shouting, and then whatever it is he’s pulling at snaps suddenly loose, and his hand flies sharply into the air and instantly Marie is screaming and blood is spouting from her nose.
Shouts ring out as Helen and Sarah start to run – ‘You hit me! You hit me! Oh, my God, you’ve broken my nose!’ – and Ilo is stepping back with the necklace clutched in his fist and Ben is jumping onto his back. And then Ben is flying through the air like a marionette and everyone within twenty feet has started screaming.
