The Grasshopper's Child
Page 26
The stranger didn’t answer. He was staring at Clancy, as if a teenage boy in a brown hoodie and beaten-up jeans was the most fascinating vision in the world.
‘I had a phone call,’ he said at last; slowly, as if he was struggling to think of the words.
‘No. A voicemail. The caller avoided speaking to me, but told me I should come to Mehilhoc because all was not well with my mother. But I have often come to Mehilhoc, and always been turned away. My mother wanted nothing to do with me, or so I believed. Excuse me, I should explain. My name’s Roderick Scott-Amberley—’
Heidi looked at Clancy’s old dear. The old lady seemed completely unsurprised, she just sat there beaming under her sunhat. The stranger started to tell a story, still staring at Clancy.
‘It was because of Elizabeth. My sister Elizabeth, and her partner, had worked with Fiorinda’s people in what is known as the First Occupation, or sometimes the Great Satan Occupation. Helping to rescue street children and others from the sacrifice of the unfit. Later, when the Criminal Junta came to power, their names were on a list. As I now know. They were taken from their home, with the children, by armed men. These were members, as I now know, of the Metropolitan Police’s appalling Target Response Squad. At the time we couldn’t find out anything. Elizabeth, Tadic and the children were never seen again. I was, I still am, a successful lawyer. My mother believed I had influence. She was completely mistaken. I have never had any such power. In all the horrors that have swept through this country, since the Dissolution of the United Kingdom, my only crime has been that I survived. But my mother believed I could have saved Elizabeth and Tadic, or at least the children, and preferred to save my own skin.’
Clancy hadn’t moved. He stood at the bottom of the ladder, a bundle of rose trimmings in his arms, his hood well down. He looked frozen in place.
‘So,’ said Roderick Scott-Amberley. ‘I came to Mehilhoc. The situation was as my caller had described it. My mother, unbeknownst to me, had become too frail to protect her own interests. She had not been making her own decisions, and she was very pleased to see me.’ He smiled at the old lady. Mrs Scott-Amberley smiled back; like the sun coming up.
‘I was, Roddy dear. I was very pleased to see you. I’m very pleased to see you again!’
‘I had a difficult interview with my mother’s paid companion. We agreed that she would remain in post until I had settled my affairs; that she would make certain reparations, and that nothing further would be said. I returned to London. Today, I’ve learned that Ms Crace decided not to honour our agreement. I’m not sure how I would have chosen to proceed, but Melinda has taken the matter out of my hands.’
The real Roddy drew a hard breath.
‘I have no family of my own. The young man who made that phone call cited information: about my lost sister, my brother in law; the children, to support his right to call on me. They have never been out of my mind. Not for an hour, and the hideous truth is that records of atrocity were kept. Facts have emerged, over the years. I believe I now know what happened to Elizabeth and Tadic, and their daughters. Nobody has ever been able to help me, about the boy. He vanished. Young man, are you the person who called me?’
Clancy dropped the cuttings. ‘Yeah,’ he said, and pushed back his hood.
‘My God. You look so like her. You are Owen.’
‘I’m Clancy,’ said Clancy, and then his face seemed to break into pieces; it seemed to run like water. ‘They’re dead! Mummy and Daddy and Linnet and Poppy. The bad guys took us away in a van. They stopped in the dark and took Mum and Dad, and I think my mummy and daddy got shot, right there. They took us on to another place. It was a room, all dirty with no furniture. They hurt Linnet, and they hurt Poppy. Then they killed them and I was right there, I couldn’t do anything. I was five, I didn’t know what to do. But they didn’t kill me.’
‘What happened to you—?’ breathed the real Roddy.
‘I got given to some people. Like a puppy. I was supposed to be their little boy, as if I was adopted, but I knew who they were and I kept hitting them and trying to kill them. So I was sent to a boarding school.’ Clancy shrugged. For a moment he had been the little boy, now he had to fight his way back to being his tough, closed-off self again. ‘It was boarding schools all the way. They were all stinking awful, but nobody ever knew who I was. I didn’t tell. I wanted to stay lost. Nobody cared so why should I? Lin was thirteen. Poppy was three, she was three. They’re dead, and I don’t know why I’m still alive. I don’t know why.’
The fight to restore the force field was too much. He crumpled, sobbing as if he’d never cried in his life and had fifteen years to make up. The real Roddy swooped down, on his knees, and held Clancy, and rocked him.
‘My boy, my boy—’
‘Owen,’ said Mrs Scott-Amberley, with proud satisfaction. ‘Owen! It was up the tip of my tongs. Of course I reconnoitred my own naughty little grandson!’
Heidi left the Rose Arbour quietly: Clancy and his long lost family deserved their privacy.
She needed a bit of privacy herself, because she couldn’t stop the tears. When she thought of her happy childhood, and the sweetness of looking after Mum and Dad, it felt as if she was covered in gold and jewels and couldn’t give Clancy anything. Not a thing she could do to give back the years to him, to take away any of the pain—
She dried her eyes and jogged up to the house, thinking that she knew practically nothing about the modern history of her country. It was Fiorinda and her partners saved England with their music, and then Here be monsters. That was it. A handful of stories, like Tales and Legends From Many Lands. But maybe that was always what history was like—
Tallis was at the kitchen table, reading, with Stimmy (also known as The Bad Dream Cat) squeezed tight in her arms. She’d made herself a cup of tea, probably with a fat shot of vodka in it. Heidi quickly checked that the kettle hadn’t been left to boil dry, or the gas ring left on, and started putting together a picnic.
‘I’m taking the rest of this cake,’ she said. ‘And some other stuff, to the Rose Arbour. It’s for Clancy and his uncle and his nan, they’re having a reunion. Is that okay?’
She made bread and butter and hesitated over the choice of jam. Mehilhoc mixed fruit, or the Dundee raspberry preserve, imported from Scotland and blatantly black market? The real Roddy might have a fit. She decided to push the boat out. It was worth the risk.
‘I suppose so,’ growled Tallis. ‘As long as you’re not feeding any National Trust swine.’
‘I think we’ll have to, when they come.’
‘Do what you like. I’m just a senile demented old wreck, who cares what I think?’
‘You haven’t got dementia,’ said Heidi. ‘You’ve got a drink problem, a nasty temper, and a bit of clinical depression, which I’m hoping will improve now Roger’s out of the house. I think I’m stuck with the other two issues.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ said the Old Wreck, with an evil glare.
The Bad Dream Cat rolled pleading saucer-eyes at Heidi, but she ignored him.
You’re a pet, mate. You get petted, it’s the deal.
In the Rose Arbour, in the sunshine, Heidi unpacked her picnic and Clancy helped her lay it out: Mrs Scott-Amberley gave orders. The real Roddy looked suspiciously at the Dundee preserve, but he didn’t say a word; just thanked her, and tucked in.
‘Here’s to a fresh start,’ he said, raising his lemonade mug. ‘And oblivion to the bad guys, Owen. Or Clancy; if you like. Just forget them, they’re not worth your consideration.’
‘A very dear friend once told me something,’ announced Mrs Scott-Amberley, ‘He said, “I knew that if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison”. Mr Nelson Mandela, yes, that’s who it was. A great personal friend of mine.’
‘Mm,’ said Clancy. ‘Yeah, right.’ He looked around him at the riotous blossoming roses, wide-eyed, like a child waking up and seeing a brand new world, and grinned at Heidi.
‘This is
very good jam.’
29: October Sky
In July Brook had an operation to implant an artificial heart, performed remotely from China. It was the same deal that the Carron-Knowells had been holding out as a reward for her parents’ good behaviour. It wasn’t a lifetime solution but it would buy her time. And meanwhile the Chinese consultant thought there was a good chance of fixing her self-cell rejection problem, so eventually she’d be completely fine. The heart was too critically complex for printing: it was air-freighted. Brook sent pictures of it from hospital. It looked like an incredibly cute little robotic alien, no bigger than a curled up dormouse. She’d decided to call it Fido. She’d always wanted to have a puppy, but it was impossible at Heaven, because of the native mammals.
The operation was a success, and Brook recovered fast. In three weeks she was home from hospital and getting up in the afternoons. Through August and September she seemed better and better. At the end of September she had a setback, and then she got pneumonia again: for no particular reason, except maybe the awful weather that summer, or the lasting effects of the shipwreck night. She died at home, in her sleep, when she’d only been ill five days.
She was buried beside her sister, in St Mary’s Churchyard. Everyone came home for the funeral, including Challon; who’d been in the Czech Republic, playing her part in the 21st Crisis Management Tour (Wildly Celebrating The Coming Of Age Of Crisis Europe) when she got the word that Brook was ill again. Even Clancy turned up.
After the summer’s storms, and the huge tide surges that had struck East Anglia and Lincolnshire in September, the year’s assortment of chaotic weather had suddenly turned golden. Heidi went out in the Gardens, the day after the funeral, in just a teeshirt. Restoration was in full swing. Fallen trees were being dragged out of the Himalayan gorge by giant cranes. Artistic Japanese boulders were being manoeuvred back into place on the Azalea Slope. The greenhouses were being rebuilt. The waters below Swan Lake, which had been swamp for decades, were getting dredged, and restored to their former glory. And it wasn’t costing the National Trust a penny. Everything, the specialist workers, the fodder and stabling for the heavy horses, the off-grid power for the machinery, was coming out of the confiscated Carron-Knowells estate. It was brilliant; but it was noisy.
Tallis was in a towering rage, the whole time.
Heidi had come outdoors for a bit of peace and quiet; to read a letter and to meet Clancy. Roddy Scott-Amberley was moving to Mehilhoc, to live with his mother. Clancy would live with them, but just recently (until Brook got ill) he’d been in London. She headed uphill from the lake, away from the crashing and grinding of the dredger, and followed the sign for the Unmissable Blue Walk. The autumn gentians, Sino Ornata, were in full bloom, under leaves that were turning red and gold. Flowing streams of sapphire, just the way she’d imagined.
She was intent on her letter when Clancy joined her.
‘Hi, Running Girl.’
Heidi put the letter away carefully: it was a treasure she wasn’t ready to share.
‘Hi, Hooded Boy.’
They stood on either side of one of winding flowerbeds.
‘They’re making a fine old mess of your Gardens,’ said Clancy.
‘The National Trust swine? Yeah, tell me. I love it. There’ll be visitors, but most of the land will be refuge habitat, a no take zone, the way the bad guys promised Tallis. Turns out there was never any danger of the Gardens being turned into Food Plant, really. They’re hopeless terrain for farming: much more valuable to us as they are.’
‘Is she going to be okay?’
‘Depends what you mean. She’s better than she was, and much happier, but she’s not going to make a stunning recovery. Tallis in a smart suit, hair brushed, and looking after her own life: that is not going to happen.’
‘Same with my old dear,’ said Clancy. ‘Better, but no miracles.’
Heidi nodded, and they couldn’t speak for a moment, thinking of Brook.
No miracles.
‘I’ve been called up, Heidi. I didn’t want to tell you at the funeral. I can go to Ag. Camp on trial. To see how I cope. I’ve said yes.’
Heidi said nothing, but she looked stricken. He crossed the river of sapphires and hugged her. ‘It’s not the East Coast. It’s near Peterborough, inland, totally safe.’
Nowhere is safe, thought Heidi. They don’t tell us half what happens: Jo still hasn’t heard from Sonia. They keep saying things will stabilise. But the tide keeps rising, whatever we do.
‘Well, bully for you,’ she said. ‘ I’m staying here. Far as I know, I’ll be here until I’m eighteen. Or twenty five. I’m Indentured, remember.’
‘I can’t believe that’s still happening.’
‘It’s the law. Anyway, I like Tallis, and I’m used to being a carer.’
‘And a poet doesn’t worry about how she makes her living.’
‘That’s right.’
They smiled, and then, neither of them knowing what more to say, they turned together to walk hand in hand, between sapphire streams, under the blue October sky.
Looking to the future, and hoping they could have one together.
Dear Heidi
Dear Heidi,
Your friend the Inspector will have told you the news. Jerez has confessed, and I won’t have to be a witness in court, but I will be able to give my testimony about the money and all about it. I’m glad it’s over. I want you to know, my little darling, that what you did when your Daddy got killed DID NOT do me any damage. It wasn’t wise, but wise isn’t everything and if things had even been what you thought I know my Claude, your Dad himself, would have wanted you to do nothing else. You tried to get me out of trouble and God bless you. So, don’t you worry. It was what Jer did that set me off, and nothing else. I know you never liked him. You didn’t understand what a sweet guy he could be, and how he was your Daddy’s bro, and we’d been friends, him and your Dad and me, all our lives. It was terrible, terrible. But I’M OKAY, I’M getting better every day.
I know I never answered, but I can’t tell you what your messages meant, you kept me hanging on. I can think about it now, and I know I was very lucky. Your Daddy knew I was there, he died in my arms. Give my regards to Tallis, tell here I’m really, REALLY grateful to her for looking after my baby, and for letting me come to stay. I’ll see you soon.
Love you, sweetheart.
Sources and Notes:
The Grasshopper’s Child is set in East Sussex where I live. If you know the area, think of Mehilhoc Gardens as Sheffield Park; Mayle as Lewes, the river May as the Ouse; Friston Forest as Mehilhoc Woods; the cliffs where the bunkers build their Tower as the Seven Sisters at Exceat, and Maymere Haven as Cuckmere Haven (aka Cuckmere Estuary, now). It doesn’t fit together on any map, but you won’t be far wrong.
The Unmissable Blue Walk, although it’s not called that, can be visited in Sheffield Park Gardens any October; where you will also find the original of Swan Lake. There are too many smugglers’ secret passages in Sussex for me to name one as the inspiration for the tunnels between Knowells Farm and the Garden House. The frogs in the Jurassic Swamp swimming pool are the charming, brilliant green Edible Frog (Pelophylax Esculentus). They’re not endangered in our time. A colony of them lives in the Ouse, on the Railway Land just outside Lewes town centre. It’s true that hedgehogs are vanishing: currently among the 10 most endangered species in the UK. It’s also true about the weasels and the brain-eating nematodes: I found out about their grisly doom when I was researching for Siberia (an Ann Halam book)
The Grasshopper’s Child is set in the same post-Dissolution near-future England as the Bold As Love series, a little further down the line, and without much fantasy this time. (I don’t count the Sacrifice of the Unfit as fantasy. I think it’s happening now, one way or another, all over the world). If you’ve been following the story you can place these events about ten years after the Chinese Invasion; featured in Band Of Gypsys; part of which is also set in Sussex.
Many thanks to Barry Hacker for expert work on my cover, Peter Gwilliam for encouraging me to make this happen, and letting me use his photo of Ditchling Beacon; Gabriel Jones for insightful and practical feedback, and to all my early readers for their kind support.
The Bold As Love Series:
Bold As Love
Castles Made Of Sand
Midnight Lamp
Band Of Gypsys
Rainbow Bridge