‘What’s wrong? You seem off.’
‘Off?’ Gwenhwyfar questioned, suddenly feeling defensive.
‘I mean distracted. You were out of it on Friday, too. Is everything all right?’ For a moment Viola tried to figure out what to say. ‘It’s not Arthur, is it?’
She was insulted by the assumption. ‘No, it’s not Arthur. Arthur’s fine.’ Suddenly the words seemed to crawl up her throat, and before she knew it they were tumbling from her lips. ‘I overheard my mam talking with my aunt on Thursday. She thinks my father is having an affair.’
Viola was shocked. ‘She does?’ Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘Does he know?’
‘No,’ she said, angrily. ‘She doesn’t know that I know, either. So they’re both lying to me, acting like everything’s normal when it’s not. This weekend was a complete nightmare. I thought I was going to explode.’
Viola joined her on her side of the bench. ‘What did your mum say? Does she have proof?’
Her tears were immediate. ‘She found a bank account. Apparently he’s been using it to buy that whore presents. He’s always working late and staying up in London. I’d have never thought he was capable of such a thing, but now that she’s said it, I feel stupid. It’s obvious.’
‘Nothing’s obvious,’ Viola contested, calmly. ‘You may’ve heard wrong. And remember, your mum doesn’t know for sure. She thinks he’s having an affair. She could be mistaken.’
‘She should talk to me about it, at least. I’m her daughter. I can’t just go on, pretending like everything’s normal. I can’t!’ She gasped, struggling for the breath to speak. ‘Why else would he have a hidden bank account? What else could he be hiding?’
‘I don’t know. You can’t assume anything.’ Viola frowned. ‘Maybe you can talk to one of them about it?’
‘Oh yeah, that’ll work,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked. ‘“Hey, Mam, Dad; is it true Dad’s having an affair?” Right.’
‘What else can you do?’ Viola huffed, removing her supporting arm as Gwenhwyfar sat up straight. ‘Either that or you don’t say anything: ignore it. Push it to the back of your mind until one of them sits you down and tells you that they’re getting divorced. Plenty of couples stay together after affairs. Nothing may come of this.’
Gwenhwyfar sniffed up the mucus that clogged her nose, rubbed her eyes, and nodded.
‘I know it sounds harsh, but if he is having an affair, and if they do break up, you’ll have plenty of things to worry about later. Trust me.’
She huddled into herself to stave off a sudden chill. ‘Why did your parents divorce? Was it because of your dad?’
‘Partly. My mum also had an affair. I only found out when she’d already run off to Paris with her new squeeze.’ She offered her an empty smile. ‘My dad sat me down and said they’d decided I should stay with him because I was English. She’s French, but I haven’t spoken French since I was six.’
There was a moment’s silence. Gwenhwyfar watched Viola closely.
‘I don’t blame her. I mean, I did, but after learning that my dad was gay I realised that it wasn’t just on her. He never told her. He was afraid to. It’s easier to have a wife and kids. In a way it’s good of them to have held up the façade for so long, just for me.’
‘But they lied to you,’ Gwenhwyfar pointed out. ‘You must be angry.’
‘Why? They both love me, and they both loved each other once; that was real. At least if it happens for you, you’ll be prepared. I’m sorry though. I know it sucks.’
‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault my father’s a sleazebag.’ Gwenhwyfar laughed slightly, but it was false laughter and only made her feel worse. She bent her head to dry her eyes on her woollen gloves. Viola stood up.
‘We should go. Bedivere’s obviously missed us.’
Sniffing, Gwenhwyfar nodded and followed Viola back into Badbury, fanning her face in the hope that she could blow away all evidence of her tears.
* * *
No one seemed to notice that anything was wrong during registration, and when Gwenhwyfar and Bedivere came to their History room they found that Marvin was already sitting at his desk, letting his students wander in as they pleased. As they passed Gavin and Tom’s empty seats Bedivere frowned, and looked back to the door.
‘Marvin’s raring to go,’ Arthur remarked as they joined him. ‘He’s got us set for a lesson on the Tudors.’
‘Makes a change from the World Wars,’ Bedivere murmured. He leant towards the middle of their two tables anxiously. ‘Is Gavin in today?’
‘I think so,’ Gwenhwyfar said. ‘Why?’
‘I need to ask him something. About Marvin’s club.’
‘What about it?’
‘Marvin’s said we can invite one person each,’ interrupted Arthur. He looked at her expectantly. ‘I was going to invite you.’
‘Oh.’ He’d caught her off guard. ‘So I don’t have to ask Marvin if I can join, after all?’
‘No. He’s fine with it. I can pick you up, if you like.’
‘Couldn’t you have asked him earlier?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, if you really wanted me there you could have just asked him in the first place. It’s not like he would’ve said no.’
‘He did say no, actually,’ Arthur frowned. ‘I asked him two weeks ago but he was worried about expanding too quickly.’
‘And before?’
‘I told you; it was by invitation only. He only invited me, Bedivere and Morgan.’
She wasn’t in the mood for something like this. Shrugging, she turned to Morgan, annoyed that it was her who had been chosen first. ‘Who are you inviting?’
‘Lance, but I haven’t asked him yet.’
That surprised her. Thrown, Gwenhwyfar looked to Arthur.
‘I still can’t believe you’re choosing him,’ he grumbled darkly. Morgan rolled her eyes and returned to her work. He set his brown eyes on Gwenhwyfar. ‘So are you coming?’
‘I’ll think about it. After all, I’m sure it’s just looking at stuffy prose, right? Completely boring.’
‘He was only being cautious,’ Arthur said. ‘He wasn’t suggesting that you wouldn’t find it interesting—’
She felt a flare of irritation. ‘That’s what he said, Arthur.’
‘You know he didn’t mean it like that. Once you’re in the club it’ll be different. He knows you’ll find it interesting—I told him.’
Reluctant to give in when she had been excluded for so long, Gwenhwyfar glanced at their teacher. ‘I don’t know. Fridays are difficult for me,’ she lied. ‘Look, if you’re sure he wants me there, I’ll come. I just thought it was a bit exclusive. When is it?’
‘Friday, at quarter to six,’ Arthur said, clearly wounded.
She thought for a moment. Perhaps it would be good to get out of the house. ‘I’ll see if I’m free.’
‘It’s only an hour,’ Bedivere pleaded. ‘You have to come, if only to help keep Lance in check.’
‘Will you stop talking about him like he’s some unwanted mongrel?’ Morgan snapped, her face flushing pink with anger.
‘But he is unwanted,’ Arthur remarked with a smirk.
Morgan wheeled on him. ‘What, afraid he’ll knock you off your perch? That you won’t be Marvin’s favourite anymore?’
‘It’s not about that,’ Arthur objected, abashed.
‘No—? Then what is it? You’re behaving like a spoilt child.’
‘Why is everyone suddenly having a go at me?’ Arthur exclaimed. ‘I’m not the one who wants to bring the village idiot to the table.’
Morgan’s cheeks brightened to beetroot, and whether it was pain that flashed in her eyes or anger, Gwenhwyfar couldn’t tell.
‘Fine!’ she hissed. ‘Ridicule him if you want. I’m asking him, and that’s that. If you’ve got a problem with it, don’t turn up.’
Gwenhwyfar had never seen Morgan lose her temper before, but was glad of it. Suddenly the other girl seemed more human. ‘
He probably won’t want to come anyway,’ she said with confidence. ‘If Arthur’s going, and Marvin’s there, he’ll keep as far away as possible.’
‘Right,’ Bedivere agreed, looking at his friend. ‘You’re probably worrying over nothing.’
Morgan caught his eye sharply, but held her tongue, and buckled low over her exercise book to scrawl in the margins. Gavin and Tom arrived late, and soon Marvin was on his feet again, lecturing them on the triumphs and tragedies of the house of Tudor.
* * *
‘Did you hear about the Mobilisation Centres?’
They were sitting in the canteen, enjoying the rarity of a nearly empty hall. The door at the end of the cafeteria was open, refreshing the building with a clean autumn breeze warmed by golden sunlight. Gavin crouched closer to the table. ‘Someone’s blown the whistle. They’re not as great as the New Nationals make out.’
Tom and Lancelot were in the practice rooms, working on their music with The Oxymorons. Gwenhwyfar frowned.
‘You mean those reintegration centres where they send the homeless?’ she asked quietly. Gavin nodded. ‘What have you heard?’
‘That the residents are being systematically abused,’ Gavin explained in an undertone. ‘Some have even disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’ Gwenhwyfar echoed. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means vanished: gone. People recorded in one register but omitted from the next. Old records amended to erase their existence completely. Families asking about loved ones sent away with lies about them reintegrating into society. It’s the people with physical disabilities that go first.’
‘What’s this?’ Bedivere arrived at their table with a dinner tray in his hands; his usual serving of mashed potato, gravy and peas piled high.
‘Mobilisation Centres. They’re basically hard labour camps. I’ve seen the documents… pictures.’ Gavin’s mouth distorted with revulsion at the memory. ‘The government knows.’
‘I haven’t seen anything about this in the news,’ Viola commented.
‘Of course not. The main broadcasters won’t cover this. It’s just been released on the Dark Net. If anyone does try to report it—’
‘They’ll get corrected?’
Gavin looked at Bedivere curiously. ‘Right.’
‘Corrected?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.
‘The article is amended, or deleted. The sites that published have already been taken down. The guy who blew the whistle, Meerkat6791, has gone into hiding. He published the official documents: it’s all in there. The people who go into these centres don’t come out. Think about it, when have they ever? We’ve all seen the homeless disappear off our streets, but do we ever ask where they end up?’
‘This can’t be true,’ Gwenhwyfar said. Her voice seemed separated from her own body. ‘People wouldn’t stand for it.’
‘People either don’t know, or don’t want to know. The New Nationals won’t admit to anything. “It’s just one centre. We’ve launched an investigation.” I can hear it now. I’m thinking about getting in contact with the people who helped Meerkat publish.’
‘Gavin,’ Viola warned, suddenly afraid. ‘You shouldn’t.’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because it’s dangerous?’
‘Viola’s right,’ Gwenhwyfar urged. ‘If this is true, getting involved is the last thing you want to do.’
‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes,’ he retorted. ‘I’m not stupid, Vi.’
‘And neither am I!’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘I know that you want to help people, but sticking your neck through the guillotine—?’
‘So you’d rather me sit back and do nothing?’ he hissed, his voice rising.
‘We don’t know yet—’
‘We do—!’
‘I haven’t read anything.’
‘Look it up, then,’ Gavin exclaimed.
‘It’s bad enough that you hide your activities from the New Nationals,’ Viola argued, ‘but to get involved in something like this? In a world of open doors, it’s the locked ones that get picked. As far as the New Nationals are concerned wish to conceal will be taken as guilt enough. Involving yourself with activists will only give them more reason to monitor you.’
He shook his head, rejecting her attitude out of hand.
‘There may be another way to help. Contacting people online can be traced.’
‘It can also be hidden.’
‘And it can be meddled with. The New Nationals love planting illegal material and fabricating browser histories. They do it all the time.’ Her eyes went glassy with anger, and she shook her head. ‘If this is true, then it’s horrific. But don’t let your anger make you do something rash that won’t help.’
The table fell silent. Bedivere seemed to have forgotten about his food, but after a moment pushed his fork through it, his mind detached from the action. Gwenhwyfar thought of the little boy who had gone missing. Had he been sent to a centre? She didn’t even know what they looked like, and with an abruptness that made her feel cold, realised that she had never even seen one.
* * *
It was Tuesday, and first period was over. Arthur joined Morgan the moment she came out of their French room.
‘Morgan—! I was wondering if we could talk.’
She didn’t stop for him. ‘Don’t you have Science next?’
‘I wanted to see if you’ve asked Lance about the club yet.’ He followed her as she strode down the hall. ‘Because I really think it’s a bad idea.’
‘You do, do you?’ Morgan scowled. ‘Who should I invite instead, then? Any suggestions?’
He tried to think of someone she might like, but drew a blank. ‘Viola?’
‘Viola?’ she repeated. ‘Viola’s never even spoken to me before. Why should I ask her? Though I don’t know, maybe Gwen’s got a cousin,’ she bit. ‘What happened to us being friends?’
He was taken aback. ‘We are friends, Morgan.’
‘Oh really? Then why don’t we sit together at lunch?’
‘Because! I’ve been busy. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Marvin. Besides, aren’t you sitting with Hattie now?’
‘So what if I am?’ she huffed. ‘I’m not an idiot. I know that Gwen doesn’t want you spending time with me. What happened to us going to London together again?’
‘We will!’ He studied her profile. ‘And we can sit together tomorrow if you like. Are you doing anything?’
‘Yes. Asking Lancelot if he wants to join our club,’ she remarked sourly. Their pace quickened, and they hurried down the stairs at the end of the Languages corridor. ‘I can’t do then, anyway,’ Morgan added. ‘I’m meeting Percy. You know, in Year Twelve. He’s a sixth former.’
Arthur felt a twinge of jealousy. He knew who Percy was. Everyone loved him. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in those types,’ he said, suddenly distracted.
‘What types?’
‘Popular types.’
‘He’s not popular,’ she contested.
‘Yes he is. He’s the most popular guy in school.’
There was a flicker of something in her eyes, and her face softened. ‘I’m free Saturday. We could do something then? If Gwen doesn’t mind, of course.’
‘I could always see if she wants to come with us.’
‘That’s probably not a good idea.’
‘Why not?’ They passed the practice rooms. The closed doors leaked the sound of a piano and a wavering note sung by an unbroken voice.
‘Because,’ Morgan declared, ‘she obviously doesn’t like me. So I’m sorry if I don’t think your plan to turn us into best friends will work. I have to get to class,’ she stated sharply, ‘and so should you.’
Arthur stopped at the doors to the courtyard of the Drama studios and held them open for a string of year sevens. ‘But what about Lance?’ he shouted. Morgan strode on, and didn’t look back.
He was late to Science. Mrs Paxton called him out as
he tried to sneak in unnoticed, and as punishment he was forced to sit next to the known goody-two-shoes of the class, Chris; a small freckled boy with blonde hair who rarely said a word to anyone.
‘Why were you so late?’ Gwenhwyfar asked him once the bell expelled them for break. Mrs Paxton shut and locked the door behind them, and then hurried off to the staff room. ‘You’re usually the first one here.’
‘I was trying to convince Morgan not to invite Lance to the club,’ he admitted. ‘She’s adamant, though.’
‘It probably won’t do as much harm as you think,’ she said as they walked to the stairwell. ‘Marvin wouldn’t allow it if he thought Lance was a risk. Morgan can invite who she likes.’
‘She’s just doing it to annoy me.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because she only said she wanted to invite Lance once she knew I was inviting you. She thinks you don’t like her.’
Gwenhwyfar said nothing to this, but as Arthur followed her down the stairs she seemed to think over something. ‘Does it annoy you? That Morgan’s inviting him?’
‘It annoys me that anyone’s inviting him.’
‘But I don’t get why Morgan would invite Lance just to upset you,’ she said. ‘I mean—if she’s just a friend, she shouldn’t care who you invite.’ They came into the old entrance hall by the medical room, and paused. ‘She knows that you’re not interested in her, right?’
‘You think she’s jealous?’
‘Isn’t she?’
He didn’t know what to say to that. Gwenhwyfar looked towards the blue double doors that led out into the car park, and shifted from foot to foot.
‘So have you thought any more about joining?’
‘Do I have to decide now? It’s not till Friday. I’m still thinking about it.’
‘What’s there to think about?’
She turned away from him, and together they pushed their way out into the car park. In daylight Arthur noticed her make-up seemed thicker than usual. Her eyes were heavily bruised with eyeliner. ‘I just find it odd. An afterschool club at a teacher’s house… is it even allowed?’
The Future King: Logres Page 26
