The Resistance

by Gemma Malley

  So she sat and she rocked, allowing her mind to empty, allowing herself to be seduced by the gentle rhythm until everything felt safer, until the world had all but disappeared.

  It was only the doorbell that startled Anna from her trance, only its piercing ring that was able to shock her back into the real world. Ben was still sleeping – she checked her wrist and guessed that she had another twenty minutes before he awoke, demanding to be plied with attention and love, demanding to be the centre of her world, something that she willingly allowed him. Ben’s needs were so simple, she thought to herself as she wrapped a cardigan around herself and walked towards the front door. They were so easy to fulfil, so reassuring in their urgency. Peter’s needs, on the other hand, were much more complex and fraught with danger, like a field of landmines that she wanted desperately to grow flowers on; one false move and it would blow up in her face.

  The glass panels on the front door to their house were opaque; it wasn’t until she’d opened it that she realised who it was. Her first reaction was to go white.

  ‘Peter . . . is he OK? Is something wrong?’

  Richard Pincent smiled benevolently. ‘Peter is very well, Anna. Peter is extremely well, in fact. It was you I wanted to see. I wonder if I might come in?’

  He stepped across the threshold before Anna could decide whether or not to welcome him in, had given her his coat before she’d had time to offer to take it. A minute later, he was in the sitting room, sitting on their sofa; Anna hurriedly swept her Declaration off it, placed it face down on the floor.

  ‘Would you . . . would you like some tea?’ she asked. She had met Richard Pincent only once, the day her parents had died; he had come to take Peter away. To her eternal gratitude, Peter had chosen to stay with her, but Richard Pincent’s face had for ever been etched into her memory, a figure to be feared.

  ‘No, nothing, thank you. So this is your house?’

  Anna nodded and sat down on the chair to the left of the sofa; she could think of no appropriate answer to such a question, was terrified that if she even opened her mouth she would say the wrong thing.

  Richard Pincent smiled again. ‘You know, Peter’s turning out to be quite the scientist.’

  Anna nodded apprehensively. He wasn’t really here to talk about Peter, she was sure of it.

  ‘Yes, he’s a very intelligent young man,’ Richard Pincent continued silkily. ‘You must be very proud of him.’

  Anna nodded again. Her feelings for Peter went beyond pride; they were of love in its purest sense, but not a love that could be described with terms like pride, respect, even adoration. Peter was part of her. Peter was the reason she breathed, the reason she got up each morning, the reason this strange, harsh world filled her with hope more often than complete and utter despair. At least, he had been.

  ‘I’m very proud,’ she said quietly.

  Richard Pincent stood up, his expression sad and thoughtful. ‘He really cares about you, Anna. He’s told me, you know. I gather you had quite a time of it in Grange Hall.’

  Anna watched silently, as he turned to look at a painting on the wall, a painting of sunflowers that Peter had picked up in a market for her, a painting that reminded her of her parents’ house – sunny and warm and light.

  ‘And I wondered,’ Richard continued, ‘just how much you care about him.’

  ‘How . . . how much I care about him?’ Anna’s voice caught slightly, with indignation, with outrage. How dare he ask her how much she cared for Peter? How dare he?

  ‘Love, you see Anna, is a difficult thing. It means putting another person first. So often people talk of love, but what they mean is need and longing; they want to own the other person, subjugate them to their will. Real love, well, it means sacrifice. It means thinking of the other person’s needs before your own. Sometimes I wonder if real love still exists, but then I look at Peter, I hear him talk about you, and it chastens me. He does love you, Anna. Very deeply.’

  ‘He does?’ Anna knew that he did, but to hear the words still reassured her, even to hear them from Richard Pincent.

  ‘Of course he does. So much, in fact, that he’s sacrificing himself for you. His life. His ambition.’

  Anna’s eyes widened. ‘His life?’

  Richard Pincent sat down again, this time at the other end of the sofa, closer to Anna. ‘Peter has realised some things about himself, Anna, about the world. He’s got so much to give, you see, so much to contribute. And Opting Out . . . it would constrict him, it would decimate his chances to do anything worthwhile. Your parents, Anna, had a huge influence over my grandson. I’m eternally grateful to them for keeping him safe for me, and to you for being there for him. But I’m sure that you are grateful to him for helping you. I’m sure you can see that people change, people move on, that sometimes the loving thing to do is to set someone free, not to impose your own views on them, to restrict their choices.’

  ‘I’d never restrict Peter,’ Anna said, her voice hoarse and dry, uncertain. However much she hated Richard Pincent, he was right. Peter had trusted her, and she’d let him down. He’d saved her, and now she wasn’t there for him. ‘But I can’t Opt Out. I can’t.’

  Richard Pincent nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure you believe that, Anna. I’m sure you think you’re doing the right thing. But the problem is, your decision doesn’t just affect you, does it?’

  Anna wished he would go, wished he would leave her alone. ‘It’s still the right thing,’ she managed to say. ‘My parents . . . They died because of the Declaration . . .’

  Richard Pincent nodded. ‘Of course. Your parents. It was very sad. Tragic, in fact. But they signed the Declaration themselves, didn’t they?’

  ‘Only because they didn’t know what it really meant.’

  ‘You believe that?’ Richard frowned. ‘They were your age, weren’t they? Or older? I’m sure they must have understood it?’

  ‘No,’ Anna said fiercely. ‘They thought they could Opt Out later. They wanted to have children . . .’

  ‘Ah, children.’ Richard nodded, thoughtfully. ‘I understand. But if they couldn’t have had children – then everything would have been OK, wouldn’t it? There wouldn’t have been anything wrong with them signing?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Anna said tightly. ‘I know they didn’t want me to sign, though. They joined the Underground to fight Longevity.’

  Richard raised an eyebrow and Anna flushed at her realisation that she’d mentioned the Underground in front of Peter’s grandfather. She clenched her fists to regain control over herself.

  ‘Yes, the Underground,’ Richard said levelly. ‘Of course, you know that they are all criminals? And that association with such activity brings a prison sentence?’

  Anna nodded. ‘I know. Peter and I . . . we wouldn’t . . . I mean . . .’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t do anything like that,’ Richard said generously. ‘And I’m sure your parents only turned to them out of love for you. They loved Peter, too, didn’t they?’

  Anna nodded again.

  ‘And he risked his life to come and save you from Grange Hall. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ Anna said, drawing her knees up on to her chair, pulling them into her chest.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Richard Pincent continued. ‘Now, do you think it’s possible that it’s time for you to save Peter’s life?’

  ‘Save Peter’s life?’ Anna’s eyes widened in fear. ‘What’s happened to him? What . . .’

  ‘Oh, no, nothing. Don’t worry,’ Richard smiled. ‘I meant that he listens to you. He cares about you. And as long as you won’t sign the Declaration, he won’t. But refusing to sign, you’re cutting his life short. You’re effectively killing him, Anna.’

  ‘Killing him? No, I . . .’ Anna said anxiously, then dug her nails further into the palms of her hands. ‘Humans aren’t meant to live for ever,’ she managed to say eventually. ‘They’re just not.’

  ‘I see,’ Richard Pincent said, nodding sl
owly. ‘Is that what you think? Really?’

  Anna nodded uncertainly.

  ‘I thought you loved Peter.’

  ‘I do!’ Anna said, her eyes widening. ‘I do love him!’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Richard Pincent said sadly. ‘If you loved him, you’d know that he’s spent his entire life hiding, hampered, weighed down by his Surplus status. Now he’s got the chance to reclaim his life, to really be a someone, but instead, he’s being held back by you and your brother.’

  ‘I’m not holding him back,’ Anna said fretfully.

  ‘Oh, but you are. And you will continue to do so if you don’t sign the Declaration,’ Richard said, his voice grave. ‘By Opting Out, you jeopardise his health, your own health. I know what that means, Anna – my own wife died of cancer when she was just thirty. I spent a year watching her die, watching her waste away and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It’s what made me so determined to fight illness, to fight nature’s relentless onslaught. Could you do that to Peter? Could you allow him to suffer if you were to get ill? Could you let him watch you die, knowing that it was your fault?’

  Anna flinched. ‘I wouldn’t let him watch me die,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’m not stopping him from signing. He can if he wants.’

  Richard Pincent shook his head. ‘Peter is deeply committed to you and your brother,’ he said softly. ‘He’s an honourable young man. A loyal one. He would never sign the Declaration, however much he wanted to, if you chose not to.’

  Anna hung her head. ‘But . . .’ she whispered. ‘But we have to be Opt Outs. We have to . . .’ She felt her shoulders slump. Had to what? She asked herself miserably. They couldn’t have children. They couldn’t start the Next Generation. They were nothing.

  ‘If you don’t sign, you’re sentencing Peter to an early death. To illness, possibly disability. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No!’ Anna shook her head vehemently. ‘No, that’s not what I want. I . . .’

  ‘You want a family. I understand that, Anna. I’m very proud to have a grandson, particularly one as clever and courageous as Peter. But as I’m sure you know, it’s impossible for the two of you to have children. It’s desperately unfair, but this is the situation we find ourselves in. You have Ben though, don’t you? I’m sure your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to sacrifice Peter, or yourself, for nothing. Would they?’

  Anna wrapped her arms around her stomach and had to force herself not to start rocking again. She thought of her parents, her kind, wonderful parents who had regretted signing the Declaration all their lives, because it had taken her away from them. She thought of Peter, imagined him staying with her out of loyalty, miserable because of her failings, because of the invisible chains linking them together. Then she looked at Richard Pincent. He had Mrs Pincent’s eyes, the same way of staring at her, terrorising her, breaking her down until all she wanted was to please.

  ‘I don’t want Peter to sacrifice himself for me,’ she managed to say. Tears were pricking at her eyes.

  ‘Then you have to sign. Just sign the Declaration and Peter will have all the chances he deserves. Show him that you love him, Anna. Make the sacrifice that you know he’d make for you.’

  Anna sniffed and wiped some stray tears away.

  ‘I can help you, if you want,’ Richard Pincent continued. ‘If you need someone to stand by you as you sign, to give you courage?’

  Anna looked up at him hesitantly, feeling the resistance within her bones fighting with her love for Peter. She couldn’t sign. Couldn’t give up on everything her parents had fought for, and yet she knew she would, knew she had no real choice.

  Slowly, tentatively, aware of every nerve in her body, feeling her legs shaking as they took her weight, Anna slipped off her chair and retrieved her Declaration from the floor. She stood, looking at it for a few moments, feeling a dead weight in her stomach as she scanned the words. Then, swallowing the bile that was rising up the back of her throat, she returned to her seat. Richard Pincent handed her a fountain pen.

  ‘You’re doing this out of love,’ he said, watching beadily as Anna’s trembling hand approached the document. ‘Just think of the long and happy life you’ll lead with Peter. So much time together. So much time . . .’

  Her hand now shaking violently, Anna forced pen to paper, managed to scrawl something approaching her name. Then, dropping the pen and clutching her stomach, she ran from the room, making it to the bathroom just in time before she vomited again and again, her body erupting like an angry volcano. The noise soon woke Ben, whose desperate cries seemed to verbalise her feelings of despair, of having done something so terrible that no words could describe it.

  Then, slowly, she pulled herself upright and splashed water on her face before she went into Ben’s room and, leaning over him in his makeshift cot, she stroked him until his cries abated. Then she carefully made her way downstairs, to apologise to her guest. Her guest had gone, however. Quietly, discreetly, he’d left, closing the door behind him. And with him, Anna noticed immediately, had gone her Declaration.

  Unsteadily, Anna walked towards the bookshelves and she took out a book she hadn’t written in for a long time. Returning to the kitchen, she picked up her pen, a pen far cheaper than the one she’d used to sign her Declaration, and began to write.

  My name is Anna. My name is Anna Covey and I have signed the Declaration. I’m not an Opt Out any more.

  She stared at the words – they looked alien, wrong.

  My name is Anna Covey and I’m going to live for ever. Peter and I are going to take Longevity and live for ever. And it’s OK because we Didn’t Have a Choice. It’s OK, because I did it out of Love. Peter said

  She sighed heavily, trying to remember why it was OK, trying to remember what Peter had said. She felt sick again, felt a sense of ominous dread rising up inside her and she picked up the phone to call Peter, for reassurance, but then she put it down again.

  Instead, moments later, she dialled another number.

  ‘Maria? It’s Anna. I was just calling to say . . .’

  She never finished the sentence, because her body started to shake violently, juddering sobs crashing up through her lungs, loud and raw.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Maria was waiting for Anna when she arrived; tea was already brewing and biscuits were laid out on the table. She hadn’t sounded surprised to hear from her, had soothed her, helped her to focus, told her to come over immediately. Now, Maria pointed to the sofa, where Anna gratefully sat down, allowing the soft cushions to comfort her. Maria, meanwhile, took Ben and rocked him in her arms until he fell asleep. And then she looked up, her expression tentative, and said, ‘So.’

  ‘So,’ Anna repeated, and sighed. ‘So . . .’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Peter . . .’ she started, but even as she said his name she could feel her stomach clenching at the thought of telling anyone anything about what she had done. Peter was hers, he was her hero, her everything; she would die for him if that’s what it took, and here she was about to discuss him with a virtual stranger. It felt wrong, it felt like a betrayal.

  ‘I can’t have children,’ she said instead, her eyes welling up with tears as she spoke. ‘There was a Surplus Sterilisation Programme. My name was on the list. Peter wanted to sign the Declaration. I had to. I love him. I don’t want to restrict him. But . . . but . . .’

  ‘You signed the Declaration?’ Maria asked gently.

  Anna nodded. ‘I . . . I did it because I love him. But it feels wrong. Desperately wrong. Maybe I don’t love him enough? Maybe he doesn’t love me enough. Not now. Not any more.’

  ‘I’m sure he loves you,’ Maria said soothingly.

  Anna looked up at her, and gave voice to the demons that had been circling her mind since she’d discovered the truth.

  ‘But I’m useless,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t have children.’

  ‘That’s not your fault. And he can’t, either,’ Maria said reasonably.


  ‘We wanted to start the Next Generation,’ Anna said, her voice becoming hoarse. ‘That was the point. Of me, I mean, of us. My parents . . . they said that I was Nature’s hope. That the human race could be reborn bit by bit. They died . . . They died so that I could live. To have children. They didn’t know. If they’d known . . . they . . . they wouldn’t have . . .’

  ‘Oh, I think they would, Anna,’ Maria said, moving closer. ‘You were their child. They would want the best for you. Just as the rest of us want the best for our children. You can start the next generation by helping us, Anna. That’s just as important as having children.’

  Anna nodded seriously, and took out the map she’d found amongst Peter’s things. ‘I brought the map, like you asked,’ she said tentatively. ‘I don’t know if it will help, but . . .’

  Maria took the map and studied it, her eyes lighting up. ‘Anna, this will help enormously. Thank you. You see? You’re not useless at all. Not one little bit.’ She stood up and walked to the window, moving the curtain just slightly.

  Anna forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Everything’s so different now,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for it.’

  ‘You will be,’ Maria said, returning to her chair and handing Ben back to Anna. ‘You’ll find a way. You’re strong, Anna. Strong people always find a way through their problems. They always find a way out.’

  ‘You mean like Peter,’ Anna said sadly. ‘He was the one who found the way out of Grange Hall. Not me. I never thought you could get out. I never thought . . .’

  She didn’t finish her sentence. At that moment, the front door crashed open and three men burst through it. Maria immediately jumped up and ran from the room.

  ‘Anna Covey?’ another man asked. She nodded fearfully.

  ‘You’d better come with us,’ the man continued. ‘And we’ll take that,’ he said, picking up the map that Maria had left on her chair.