The solicitor shook my hand and said, ‘Good luck, Monsieur.’ I handed him the keys, and that was it.
Zoe had jammed the last box in the back of the BMW. There were just four suitcases left. I picked up two of them. She was giving the house a forlorn look.
‘We’re doing the right thing,’ I told her.
‘I know.’ She produced a brave smile. ‘I just didn’t expect it to be like this. Murray surprised all of us, didn’t he?’
‘Yeah. You know I grew up with a whole bunch of sci-fi shows and films; it’s amazing how their vocabulary and images integrated with modern culture. They all had bloody great ships flying through space; captains sitting in their command chair and making life and death decisions, shooting lasers and missiles at bug-eyed monsters. Everybody knew that was how it would happen for real. Then Murray found a way to open his wormhole, and the little sod won’t tell anyone how he does it. Not that I blame him. He’s quite right, we’d only misuse the technology. We always do. It’s just that . . . this isn’t the noble crossing of the void I expected. It feels almost like a betrayal of my beliefs.’
Zoe looked embarrassed. She’s nothing like Jannette makes out: some piece of barely-legal nurse totty I pulled because she’s blinded by the title of Dr in front of my name. In fact, she’s training to be a midwife, which takes just as much dedication and intelligence as a doctor. I’m bloody lucky she even looks at a life-wreckage like me. The fact that she’ll take me on with a couple of kids in tow makes her extraordinary.
‘I meant the way this finally split the country,’ she said quietly. ‘Everyone always talked about the North–South divide, and the class war, and the distance between rich and poor. But it was just ideology, politicians lobbing spinning sound bites at each other. Murray went and made it physical.’
I put my arms round her. ‘He gave us the chance politicians always promise and never provide. God, can you believe I actually voted for Blair. Twice!’
She grinned evilly. ‘Wish you’d voted Tory?’
‘Stop putting words in my mouth.’ I gave her a quick kiss; then we shoved the suitcases in on top of the boxes. ‘Mind you, I still can’t believe Gordon Brown won the election.’
‘The bloggers said Murray allowed Conservative voters from marginal constituencies to travel through first.’
‘That’s such a typical internet bollocks conspiracy theory. Only thirty-eight per cent of the population bothered to vote, and they’re all the ones who know they’re not going through. The rest of us didn’t bother, why would we? That’s how Brown won the election. Murray doesn’t know who votes for which party. All he built was a wormhole, not this bloody surveillance state we wound up being oppressed by. And anyway, Murray doesn’t personally organize the exodus. We have to do that ourselves; take responsibility just like the First Article says.’
‘Gosh, scratch a doctor and he bleeds politics.’
‘After working for NHS management for fifteen years, what else am I ever likely to whinge about?’
She laughed, which was a lovely sight. By contrast, Steve and Olivia looked unusually solemn when we got into the 4x4. Zoe gave them a welcoming smile. ‘Hi guys.’
‘Where are we going, Daddy?’ Olivia asked.
‘I’m going to take you to see something. Something I hope you’ll like.’
‘What?’
‘Can’t explain. You have to see it.’
‘What’s in the horsebox?’ Steve asked. ‘You don’t like horses.’
‘Tent,’ I said. ‘Big tent, actually. Food. Solar panels. Four widescreen laptops. Two iPads.’
‘Cool! What kind of apps have you got?’
‘As many as I could download last week.’
‘Yeah! Can I use one?’
‘Maybe.’
‘What else?’ Olivia asked, excited.
‘Some toys. Lots of new clothes. Books.’
‘What’s it all for?’ Steve asked.
‘You’ll see.’ I put my hand on the ignition key, and gave Zoe an apprehensive glance. This was such a huge step to be taking, and there didn’t seem to be any defining moment, just a long sequence of covert events that had deftly led to this point in time. I didn’t feel any guilt about bringing the kids with us; in fact I’d be remiss as a father if I didn’t, there was never going to be an opportunity like this again. I’m not stupid and naive enough to believe New Suffolk is going to be paradise, but it has the potential to be something better than this world. We’re not going to evolve or progress here, not with so much history and inertia shackling us to the past, and the worst politicians of any era running things across the globe.
As for Jannette . . . Well, I’m afraid, as far as I’m concerned she hasn’t been a proper mother to the kids for years now.
‘Let’s go,’ Zoe said. ‘We chose a long time ago.’
So I turned the ignition, and pulled out of the drive, the overloaded horsebox rattling along behind.
‘What’s that ring?’ Steve asked suddenly.
That’s my boy: sharp and observant.
‘This?’ Zoe held her finger up.
‘It’s an engagement ring!’ Olivia squeaked. ‘Are you getting married?’
‘Yes,’ I said. It was the first thing we wanted to do on the other side.
‘Does Mum know?’ Steve asked.
‘No.’
62) In order to prevent the mistakes of the old country being repeated on New Suffolk, no organized religions will be permitted. All citizens must acknowledge that the universe is a natural phenomenon.
63) In order to prevent the mistakes of the old country being repeated on New Suffolk, members of extremist political parties and undesirable organizations are banned from passing through the wormhole, as well as criminals and others I deem injurious to the public good.
Examples of prohibited groups and professions include (but are not limited to) the following:-
a) Labour Party.
b) Conservative Party.
c) Liberal Democrat Party.
d) Communist Party.
e) British Nationalist Party.
f) Socialist Alliance.
g) Tabloid journalists.
h) European Union bureaucrats.
i) Trade union officials.
j) Corporate lawyers.
k) Political lobbyists.
l) Traffic wardens.
JANNETTE
Abbey was waiting for me at Liverpool Street Station. It was a miracle I ever found her. The concourse was overrun by backpackers. I’m sure there wasn’t one of them over twenty-five, or maybe that’s just the way it is when you’re looking at young people from the wrong side of thirty-five. And I certainly hadn’t seen that much denim in one place since I went to the Reading Festival in the early nineties. Their backpacks were huge, I didn’t even know they manufactured them that size.
I gawped in astonishment as the youngsters jostled around me. Nearly all of them were couples. And everybody had a Union Jack patch sewn on their clothes or backpack. I don’t think one in ten was speaking English; and under half of them were white. Ha, how do you like that, Murray? One of your big rules was that everyone had to speak English – and we all know what that implies.
Abbey yelled a greeting, and walked towards me, pushing her way aggressively forwards. She’s not a small woman and her progress was causing quite a disturbance amid all the smiley happy people. Her expression was locked into contempt as they flashed hurt looks her way. It softened when she hugged me. ‘Hi comrade darling, our train’s on platform three.’
I followed meekly behind as she ploughed onwards. The badges on her ancient jacket were clinking away; one for every cause she’d ever supported or march she’d been on. The rusty Pearly Queen of the protest nation.
Half the station seemed to want to get on our train. Abbey forced her way into a carriage, queuing being a bourgeois concept to her. We found a couple of empty seats with reserved tickets, which she pulled out and threw on the floor.
&nbs
p; ‘I don’t know where this lot all think they’re going,’ she announced in a too-loud voice as we settled in. ‘Murray doesn’t approve of poor foreign trash. There’s no way he’s going to let Europe’s potheads live in stoner bliss on his liars-paradise planet. They’ll get bounced right off his hole for middle-class worms.’
‘His restrictions are self-perpetuating,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t actually have lists of all the people he doesn’t like. And even if he did there’s no way of checking everyone who goes through. It’s pure psychology. Tell Tory tax-dodgers that no big bad pinkos will be allowed, and they’ll flock there in their hundreds. While the rest of us see who is actually going and we steer the hell clear. Who wants to live in their world?’
‘Ha! I bet the security services sold him our names in return for a nice retirement cottage on the other side.’
You can’t argue with Abbey when she’s in this mood, which admittedly is most of the time.
She pulled a large hip flask out of her jacket and took a slug. ‘Want some?’
I looked at the battered old flask, ready to refuse. Then I remembered I didn’t have the kids tonight. I wasn’t stupid enough to take a slug as big as Abbey’s. Thankfully. ‘Jesus, what the hell is that?’
‘Proper Russian vodka, comrade,’ she smiled, and took another. ‘Nathan went through last week,’ she said sourly.
‘Nathan? Your brother Nathan?’
‘Only by DNA, and I’m not even certain of that after this. Little prick. He took Mary and the kids with him.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do any of them go? The economy, sticking with their fellow traitors, blackouts, global warming, pay cuts, taxing the poor, NHS collapsing. Or in other words, the real world that everyone actually has to live in and try to make work, that’s what he’s running away from. He thinks he’s going to be living in some kind of tropical tax haven with fairies doing all the hard work, the dumb shit.’
‘I’m sorry. What did your mum say? She must be devastated.’
Abbey growled, and took another slug. ‘She says she’s glad he’s gone; that he and the grandkids deserve a fresh start somewhere nice. Can you believe that? Selfish cow, she’s gone senile if you ask me. And who’s going to be looking after her, hey? Did Nathan ever think of that? Oh no, he just sold out, took off and expected me to pick up the pieces, just like everyone else left behind.’
‘I know. Steve’s school is talking about classes of sixty for next term. The remaining governors have been having emergency meetings all summer, so I know how many staff have left.’ I hesitated. ‘It surprised me, I thought they were more dedicated than that.’
‘They would be if they were paid properly.’
‘The principal has to recruit another fifteen teachers before term starts, or they won’t be able to open at all.’
‘Fifteen? He wouldn’t have managed that many in a normal year.’
‘He said he’s quite confident. There’s all sorts of new placement agencies starting up to source overseas professionals for the UK. A lot of people are coming in to fill the gaps. Life’s going to go on pretty much the same as before once the exodus is over.’ That last was a straight quote from Gordon Brown last week. Damn, I so much want to believe it.
‘Great,’ Abbey grunted. ‘Just what we’re fighting for.’
Our train started to pull out of the station. The backpackers were squashed down the length of the aisle, nobody could move anywhere. There was a big cheer when the PA announced the stop at Bishop’s Stortford.
Abbey took another swing, and muttered: ‘Wankers.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘If we ever get our own wormhole to a new world, we wouldn’t let any of this lot through.’
‘That’s the whole fucking point, isn’t it?’ Abbey snarled. Her anger was directed at me now, which was kind of scary. She gulped back another mouthful of vodka. ‘We wouldn’t want to have a new world even if we could open a wormhole. It’s a stupid waste of talent and wealth that could be used to help people here and now. We have to solve the problems we’ve got on this world first, starting with the biggest problem there is, that traitor Murray and his rathole. Colonization is imperialism, and the bastard knows it. We’ve got to teach people to have social responsibility instead.’ She jabbed an unsteady finger at a badge on her lapel. It was one showing an Icelandic whaler being broken in two by a Soviet-style hammer; but above it was a shiny new Public Responsibility Movement badge. ‘That’s what today is all about. Murray isn’t building him and his kind a new world, what he’s doing is ruining ours. You can’t just do that, just open a doorway to somewhere else because you feel like it, it’s fucking outrageous. When did we ever get to make that democratic decision, eh? He never consulted, never warned us. They’ve got to be stopped.’
‘You can’t stop people leaving,’ I said. ‘That’s Stalinist. What we’re not ready for is this panic exodus that the wormhole has made possible. Emigration to North America in the nineteenth century was slow, it lasted for decades. There was time to adapt. This is too fast. Two years, that’s all he’s giving us. No wonder the country can’t cope with the loss as it happens. But it’ll settle down in the long term.’
‘We can stop them,’ Abbey said forcefully. ‘There’s enough people taking part in the movement today to block the roads and turn back all those middle-class tax-avoiding scum. Murray didn’t think it through; half of the police have pissed off through his rathole. Who is going to protect the responsibility-deniers now? People power is going to come back with a vengeance today. This is when the working class finds its voice again. And it’s going to say: no more. You see.’
n) Local Authority Executives.
o) All quango members.
p) Stockbrokers.
q) Weapons designers and manufacturers.
r) Arts Council executives.
s) Pension fund managers.
t) Cast and production staff of all TV soaps.
u) All sex crime offenders.
v) Child behavioural experts.
w) Call centre owners and managers.
COLIN
As ever, the M11 was horrendous, a solid queue of bad-tempered traffic. It took us nearly two hours to creep from the M25 to the Stansted junction. Actually, not as ever: I was smiling most of the way. It didn’t bother me any more. I just kept thinking this was the last time I ever had to drive down one of this country’s abysmal, potholed, clogged, anachronistic nineteen-sixties roads. Never again was I going to come home ranting about why can’t we have Autobahns, or eight-lane freeways like they’ve got in America. From now on my moaning was going to be reserved for sixteen-legged alien dinosaurs tramping over the vegetable garden.
The estate car in front had a bumper sticker with a cartoon of angry Gordon Brown using a phone to hammer on the side of the wormhole. Tax for the memory was printed underneath. We’d been seeing more and more pro-exodus stickers as we crawled our way north. I reckoned that all the vehicles sharing the off road with us were heading to New Suffolk. After all those months of furtive preparation it was kind of comforting finally being amongst your own kind.
‘It’s the wormhole, isn’t it?’ Steve asked cautiously. ‘That’s where we’re going.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘We’re going to take a look at what’s there.’
‘Are we going through?’ Olivia asked, all wide eyes and nervous enthusiasm.
‘I think so. Don’t you? Now we’ve come all this way, it’ll be fun.’ I saw the sign for assembly park F2, and started indicating.
‘But they’re bad people on the other side,’ Steve said. ‘Mum said. They’re all Tory traitors.’
‘Has she been there herself?’
‘No way!’
‘Then she doesn’t really know what it’s like on the other side, does she?’
The kids looked at each other. ‘Suppose not,’ Steve said.
‘Just because you don’t agree with someone, doesn’t make them bad. We’ll take a look round for
ourselves and find out what’s true and what’s not. That’s fair isn’t it?’
‘When are we coming back?’ Steve asked.
‘Don’t know. That depends how nice it is on the new planet. We might want to stay a while.’
Zoe was giving me a disapproving look. I shrugged at her. She didn’t understand, you’ve got to acclimatize kids slowly to anything this big and new.
‘Is Mummy coming?’ Olivia asked.
‘If she wants to, she can come with us. Of course she can,’ I said.
Zoe let out a little hiss of exasperation.
‘Will I have to go to school?’ Steve asked.
‘Everybody goes to school no matter what planet they’re on,’ Zoe said.
‘Bummer.’
‘Not nice,’ Zoe squealed happily.
I found the entrance to park F2 and pulled in off the road. It was a broad open field hired out to newsuffolklife.co by the farmer. Hundreds of vehicles had spent all summer driving over it, reducing the grass to shredded wisps of straw pressed down into the dry iron-hard soil. Today, twenty-odd lorries were parked up at the far end, including three refrigerated containers, and a couple of fuel tankers. Over seventy cars, people carriers, transit vans, and 4x4s were clustered around the lorries; most of them contained families, with kids and parents out stretching their legs before the final haul. The fields on either side replicated similar scenes. In fact all the countryside around the wormhole was the same. It made me feel a lot more confident.
I drew up beside a marshal, who was standing just inside the gate, and showed him our card. He looked at it and grinned as he ticked us off his clipboard. ‘You’re the doc, huh?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Fine. There’s about a dozen more cars to come and we’re all set. I’m Barry, your community convoy liaison, so I’ll be travelling with you all the way to your new home. Any problems, come and see me.’
‘Sure.’
‘You want to check over the medical equipment you’ll be taking, make sure it’s all there? Your new neighbours have been going through the rest of the stuff.’
Manhattan in Reverse Page 11
