by H M Sealey
Director Summerday swallows a gulp of wine. “Well, with all due respect Ma’am, it really does. I’m afraid we had reason to believe River – Ash - was working with Family Matters, a Christian group determined to undo all the progression this country has fought for over the last century.”
“I see.” Diana regards River gently but with disapproval. “Is this true Ash?”
River returns her gaze with all the warmth of the North Pole. “If it were true, do you think I’d tell you?”
Diana chuckles. “There, you see? A perfectly normal, sullen teenager.”
I raise my head and ask a question. “What did you do to Howard Steele?”
“Who?” Diana asks.
“They tortured him for information about Family Matters. I saw what he looked like afterwards. He ran away with us.”
“Oh dear.” Diana sighs. “This sounds more and more like some sort of television drama.”
Mr Scott clutches the stem of his glass and lets Sophie refill it. He opens his mouth to answer but Director Summerday is already speaking.
“He saw sense and agreed to help us put an end to Family Matters, for everyone’s sake.” She meets River’s eyes across the table. “It’s not some noble resistance cause you know. You’re not bravely evading the Nazis. These people are criminals, nothing more. They break other criminals out of prison and prevent mentally ill people from receiving treatment. I don’t doubt they mean well but they’re a classic example of what happens when warped thinking goes untreated.”
“What about the church you had arrested?”
Director Summerday laughs a little. “What church? There aren’t any churches left,” Her eyes narrow a little as she regards River. She’s cautious, unsure whether to treat River with the disdain her beliefs warrant or with respect due to her mother. “Are there?”
River doesn’t answer that, but her response causes me to hope Gene and his people escaped capture.
“You do like to be dramatic don’t you darling?” Diana pats River’s hand. “And even if there were still churches, nobody would arrest them.”
“You’d hold them for mental evaluation.” River pulls her fingers away from her mother with clear hostility. “It’s the same thing.”
“People who want to hang on to misogynistic, homophobic bronze-aged beliefs need help, not enabling.” Director Summerday points this out in a voice that couldn’t sound any more condescending if she were talking to a two-year-old.
Sophie brings the food and places it demurely in front of each of us. I don’t think I can eat. Not as long as I’m facing these people.
“Anyway.” Diana smiles around at us as though we’re all her children. “I hope you can make an allowance for my daughter and her friend here. I would be most grateful.” She takes another mouthful of wine. “I was thinking of making a donation to your Rainbow Centre. A small amount, maybe half a million. I’m sure you could use it.”
There’s silence. Eventually Director Summerday finishes her glass.
“It’s irregular. Our inmates have to be okayed by our in house psychiatrist before release. But perhaps we could make an exception. Just this once.”
Well, that answers my question as to whether one could avoid the Rainbow Centre with enough money. I can’t say I’m not grateful to Diana though.
“Excellent.” Diana claps her hands. “Then can I expect their release papers tomorrow?”
Is that it? Am I really free? After twenty years?
We eat in semi silence, Diana throws a few questions at her guests and they reply. River says nothing at all. Isn’t she pleased? Isn’t she happy? What’s going on behind those dark eyes of hers, eyes so brooding, so unlike her mother’s bright, sea-blue gaze.
“So, how’s your brother Kat?” Diana asks. “Kit and Kat. I always found that so funny.”
Director Summerday pushes a hunk of bread into her mouth. “He’s fine. Irritating as ever of course, that’s men for you.”
“Of course. But they do have the capacity to learn.”
“So do puppies.”
Both women roar with laughter. I wonder what Director Summerday would say if Mr. Scott made a joke like that about women? I imagine he’d lose his job. I watch Mr. Scott closely as he butters his bread. I wonder what he’s thinking.
I look up and decide to join in the conversation. There are things I want to know.
“Is it that easy to cross the border?” I ask. “Do people just come and go?” I calculate that it’s about fifteen miles between here and the Rainbow Centre, more if you stick to the decent roads. It’s only a short distance in a car, I suppose the Director and Mr. Scott came in a car.
Diana offers me a dazzling smile.
“It’s not that easy, no. Not at all. Passage between Old Britain and the Border is strictly prohibited.” She raises her curved eyebrows in mock disapproval. “Crossing into the border is an arrestable offence.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. I just respect the laws of the Border.”
“But you have a house here? And you can invite people over the border?” Just like the whole place belongs to her.
“I have special dispensation. That’s all. The leaders of the Border have a treaty with the Government of Old Britain.”
“I never even realised the Border existed.”
“No? Well, it was only really conceived as a no-man’s land between Old Britain and the BSI. It’s such a little place really. Quite unimportant.”
“And yet you can buy and sell slaves here?” River’s voice is cold, accusatory.
Diana’s smile doesn’t flicker. “That is awful isn’t it, but like I said, my authority is as part of the government for Old Britain. Not the Border.”
“But doesn’t anybody protest?” I ask, thinking of the myriad of protests organised every week over every imagined slight. It seems to me actual slavery merits a lot of protesting. Sophie is branded, like an animal. No, the animal rights people would probably bomb every farm that still exists if we went back to branding animals.
Diana gives a sort of weary sigh, as if she’s considered this subject for a very long time. “Who are we to tell the people of the Border what’s right or wrong? That would be very rude, don’t you think? The Border isn’t my responsibility.”
I suppose there’s no answer to that. I return to my dinner while Diana chats to Director Summerday. Mr. Scott glances in my direction every now and then, but otherwise, nobody takes a great deal of notice of me. Diana and Director Summerday begin to discuss the inequality in the Cabinet and Mr. Scott watches them with surprising antagonism in his eyes.
“Ultimately we need more paedophiles and individuals who identify as trans-species in government and business.” Diana says. “If we ever want to be truly representative of the British people.”
Director Summerday nods enthusiastically.
“There are far more Trans-species people than we first thought in society.” She says sagely. “People who prefer to identify as another species need to be given full representation. When I was younger, I used to wear cat ears and my brother laughed at me.”
“You could still sue him you know, childhood trauma.”
Director Summerday shakes her head. “No, no I just want love and understanding for those communities. It’s important to make a harsh example of people who oppose them.”
“Absolutely. People must be allowed the freedom to identify as anything they choose.”
Mr. Scott drains his second glass of wine as they speak.
“Oh come on!” He suddenly snorts, snatching the half-full bottle from Sophie’s hands and re-filling his glass. “There’s got to be point that we stop this nonsense hasn’t there?”
We’re all surprised to hear him speak like this, Director Summerday looks livid.
“I’m sorry? What nonsense?”
Mr. Scott waves an arm, I think he might be drunk. “All this, I identify as a toast rack and want to marry a goose. It’s c
rap! There’s a point where reality has to come into play surely.”
The two women stare at him as if he’s just admitted to being a Christian who wants to kill and eat homosexuals.
“Reality?”
Mr. Scott hiccoughs and swills his drink. His pale face is flushed. I never realised Mr. Scott felt this way.
“Reality.” He repeats. “I mean, it’s one thing to surgically change a man to a woman because he doesn’t like reality, but changing species is a bit fucking beyond us, don’t you think?”
Director Summerday and Diana give a collective gasp.
“Reality is subjective Mr. Scott. You know that. People have the perfect right to identify as anything they want. Everyone’s reality is valid and must be respected.”
He drains his glass and sways a little. “Fucking great. Then I identify as the Prime Minister. You bitches can’t stop me. No, no….wait, I identify as the Lone Ranger! Go Tonto!”
Director Summerday leaps to her feet. “Mr. Scott, I’ll have you arrested for this. I swear!”
Mr. Scott stands up too, but he’s not very steady on his feet. He leans into the Directors face.
“Fuck. You.” He says slowly. “This is the Border. Your rules about what I can say and think don’t count for shit here. I always wanted to get away to the Border, I’m so fucking grateful you asked me to come, even though I’m only a man so I should be kissing your feet.”
Mr. Scott pushes Sophie aside and staggers to the door. He pauses and turns, his tie’s lopsided, his face is a strange mixture of inebriation and sheer joy. He waves a finger towards me.
“You stay here too Skye.” He tells me, his voice slurred. “Best thing you ever did, to run. I was so fucking jealous when you went. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll stay free. Any freedom they give you over the border comes with too fucking high a price.”
And Mr. Scott lumbers out of the room. None of us move as we hear him crash over the floor and through the hall. The next moment the door opens with a thump and then slams shut.
“I’ll have him arrested for Hate Speech.” Director Summerday promises in a tight, grim voice. “I’ll have him in a Rainbow Centre himself.”
Diana is still seated, still sipping her wine, utterly unperturbed.
“I wouldn’t worry Kat. He doesn’t have a permanent permit to work here. Eventually he’ll be deported and you can catch him then. Honestly, I wouldn’t have expected anything better from a man anyway. They can only hide their misogyny for so long.” Diana reaches out a long arm and pats Director Summerday’s hand.
“Calm down, Have another drink. Don’t let a man wind you up. He’s not worth it.”
Director Summerday sits again, looking flustered she drains half her glass.
I can hardly believe Mr. Scott felt the same way as I did all along. How many others are there, other people who want to resist the attempts to remake us into the image of the modern god? People too frightened of reprisals to voice their resistance outright? People who say and do the things expected of them, but all the time their real selves are lurking just beneath the surface, peering out through an invisible veil of imposed beliefs, longing to be free?
~
~ Eighteen ~
Asim
The old Town Hall was an impressive building set back from the street with four great pillars outside and several largely empty rooms inside.
Once it had been a grand building, marriages had taken place in the biggest rooms and local people, Guides, Brownies and Drama groups, playgroups and adult learning classes had hired the smaller rooms to meet with their friends, back in the days when the land had been an altogether freer place.
“Nice.” Kit declared when he stepped through the door, Asim at his side. “Must be mid nineteenth century.” He ran his finger along the gold banister. “Shame you savages don’t appreciate decent architecture.”
Asim stood quietly. So many of these old buildings had fallen into disrepair or had their beautiful old features torn out to become something new. This building though, it was not as abandoned as it seemed to be.
“Upstairs I think.” Kit said, and Asim climbed the stairs that had once been red carpeted and used by mayors and dignitaries of all sorts.
There was a man standing by the door, a big man in a thawb with dark eyes and a heavy black beard. He was glued to his phone and barely looked up when Kit arrived.
Asim stepped up. “I am here with Christopher Summerday.” Asim said to the man. The man passed his eyes over them both, checked a crumpled list in his hand and nodded.
“Go ahead.”
Beyond the doors the world was a different place. Asim gazed around in wonder. The room was bigger than he had expected, and had been set up like a restaurant, with small tables around which sat both men and women. To Asim’s amazement, the women were largely in western dress, their legs, arms and breasts visible in short dresses and spiky-heeled shoes. There were men in the traditional Thawb and men in business suits, all sharing tables together. The women sat with the men and nobody arrested them, even though their hair was uncovered.
The room smelled of smoke and wine. Girls in black dresses with white aprons wove through the tables carrying trays containing bottles and long-stemmed glasses. There was music combined with raised, cheerful voices, both Arabic and English, that wafted like perfume in the warm, merry atmosphere.
“This way.” Kit pushed his way through the exuberant throng until they reached a quiet table covered with a white cloth and decorated with a few real flower stems in a crystal vase. “Sit down.” Kit told him. “You want a drink?”
“A drink Sayyid?”
“I suppose you’re too young for scotch aren’t you? What about beer?”
“Alcohol is haraam sayyid.”
Kit sat back in his chair and slipped his jacket from his shoulders.
“Not here it’s not. Nothing in this room is forbidden. Have a drink. I need one.”
He grabbed a passing waitress by the arm and pulled her close.
“Speakee English?”
She blinked at him and answered in Arabic. She was a pretty girl, but Asim had never seen a Muslim girl dressed so immodestly before.
Kit nodded at Asim. “Tell her to bring me a neat scotch. And a beer. Go on.”
Asim translated the order and the girl smiled at him. Why was she here? Why was she dressed like that.
“Not used to seeing girls out of those sacks you make them wear are you?” Kit said. Asim nodded.
“It looks….wrong.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the analogies you use. Suggesting uncovered meat would be eaten by the cats. Pathetic. If your men weren’t all such savages your women could wear what they wanted.”
Asim lowered his eyes. He wondered when Uncle Baraq would arrive. They had already decided it would be best if Asim did not acknowledge the presence of his family, all the same, he would feel safer if they were here too.
The girl returned carrying a tray and set the drinks before them.
“Go on, drink up.” Kit ordered. Asim sniffed the unfamiliar liquid. It smelled strong and pungent.
“I – I don’t want it.”
“And I don’t like to drink alone. So drink.”
Asim tipped the glass and took a gulp of the golden liquid. The taste was so strange he spat it out again, coughing. Kit seemed to find this funny and patted him on the back.
“Stick with it, it’s an acquired taste.”
Asim let his eyes search the room. In the centre there was a wooden stage decorated around the edge with flowers and draped with white cloth. He supposed that would be where the auction was to take place. He scanned the people, so many laws being broken and yet Mahmud knew of this event and did not close it down. It didn’t make sense.
“Well now, here’s a surprise? Christopher Summerday.”
An old man leaned over the table and Kit took his hand.
“Sir.”
“Oh, no need for that tonight. I’m just plain old
Sylvester. Lester to my friends.”
Kit seemed genuinely surprised. “Whatever are you doing here?”
The old man eased himself into a chair opposite Kit. “I might ask you the same question.”
“Now you ask, I’m here to clear up your mess.”
“My mess?”
“You took the girl, Elsie Kessler away. If it hadn’t been for you she wouldn’t have been injured, so she wouldn’t have been in hospital -” He paused. “Well, it’s a long story. Where the hell were you taking her sir?”
The old man reached into his pocket and took out a packet of cigarettes. He selected one and lit it with a silver lighter. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
“I needed that.”
“You still can’t smoke at home?”
“No. Very health conscious is Hajjah.”
“I bet she doesn’t know you’re here either.”
“I’m not here. Not officially.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Where were you taking Elsie Kessler?”
Sylvester blew a mouthful of smoke into the already smoky atmosphere and Asim tried not to cough.
“To Plas Gwyn. Where else?”
“Plas Gwyn?”
“The girl has information concerning Family Matters. Do you think we’d leave it to you to question her?”
“You didn’t even give me a chance. I found her. I was conducting the investigation.”
“Badly Christopher. Very badly.”
“Sir, with all due respect -”
“Don’t you dare pretend you had everything under control!” Sylvester’s voice became a snarl. “Don’t you dare! The old woman killed herself. She already had access to Assisted Suicide drugs. She killed herself before you could ask her a single question. You scared her Summerday! I’d lived next door to her for ten years! I was watching her and you had to blunder in like an idiot. You had one of her people arrested!”
“Howard Steele was a coup!”
“Howard Steele gave himself up you idiot! Isn’t that obvious by now?”
