Lying in bed and pulling her blanket around her, Anna shivered. Whether it was with cold, fear or anticipation, she wasn’t sure; all she knew as she drifted back to sleep was that from today, her life was going to change. Today, for good or ill, everything was going to change.
Sheila opened her eyes and watched silently as Anna fell asleep. She’d waited for her in the corridor, waited for over an hour. And then she’d seen Anna’s outline coming back up the stairs, but Anna hadn’t gone back to the dormitory. So Sheila had slipped after her, so quietly Anna didn’t hear a thing. And she’d watched, her brow furrowing with curiosity as Anna softly opened the door to Female Bathroom 2 and went inside.
And now, hours later, she was back. Anna had secrets, Sheila realised, and she wanted to know what they were.
Looking around the dormitory, and satisfying herself that everyone was asleep, Sheila pushed back her covers and slipped lightly out of bed, then padded gently out of the dormitory and down the corridor.
A few moments later, she arrived at Female Bathroom 2, opened the door and closed it behind her.
Then she pursed her lips and frowned, looking around the sparse room, not knowing exactly what she was looking for, but certain, nonetheless that she was in the right place. This wasn’t the first time Anna had disappeared into this bathroom. There had to be something in here. Some clue.
She moved over to the scrubbed basins, got down on her hands and knees to survey the floor, and finally sat on the bath and sighed, rubbing her arms with her hands to stay warm.
And then, suddenly, she noticed something. A slight gap between the bath and the wall. Not something that would stand out to anyone who didn’t know the value of secrets, but which Sheila instantly recognised as a hiding place. Quickly, she hopped into the bath, taking care to wipe her feet first so that she didn’t leave a single speck of dust in it, and carefully slipped her thin, pale arm down the side of the bath. Moments later, she pulled out Anna’s journal, the softest, pinkest thing that Sheila had ever seen.
She opened the book and began to read. As she worked her way through the first few pages, her eyes widened with indignation. But she couldn’t read it all now. Not when the morning bell was due any moment. Carefully, Sheila put it back in its hiding place and, checking that the coast was clear, she darted back down the corridor to her dormitory and slipped into bed just a few seconds before the violent ringing started, announcing the beginning of another day.
Chapter Thirteen
For the second time that week, Anna found herself not wanting to eat her breakfast. But, feeling Sheila’s gaze on her over the table at Central Feeding, she forced herself to swallow spoonful after spoonful of the filling but tasteless porridge. No one must suspect a thing, she kept thinking to herself. Particularly Sheila.
She got through her training sessions that morning without any hiccups; had gone to Female Bathroom 2 to retrieve her journal, which was now burning a hole in her left overall pocket; and had even managed to carve out enough ingredients to make an extra Cornish pasty in Cookery Practical, which she had wrapped up and hidden in her right pocket for Peter, wondering as she did so how she had become so adept at breaking rules. Mrs Pincent had once told her that Surpluses were naturally evil, and Anna had seen it as a challenge – to prove to Mrs Pincent just how not evil she was. But now she knew that Mrs Pincent had been right. And she didn’t even care.
When she’d been a Middle, and before she’d been made a Prefect, Anna and the other girls in her dormitory would sometimes find time just before the night bell to tell each other fables and stories about Surpluses who had tried to escape. The tales originated from overheard snatches of conversations, dark warnings given by Domestics and the girls’ own feverish imaginations, and each was more horrific than the next. There was Simon, the Surplus who thought he was Legal, and scaled the walls of Grange Hall only to be burned alive by a flame cast down from an angry sun. There was the story of Phillippa, the Valuable Asset, who worked as a housekeeper and gradually forgot that she was Surplus. She started to eat her mistress’s food, to sit in her chair and to refuse to take orders, and one day she left the house without permission, stepping into the forbidden Outside alone. The first thing she did was to pick a flower from her mistress’s garden, a red rose which she had often admired from inside the house. She brought the rose to her face, smelling its sweet scent and feeling the softness of the petals against her skin. As she brushed it against her cheek, she felt a sudden pain and cried out, but it was too late. The rose had extended its thorns and attacked Phillippa, tearing out her eyes, and ripping up her skin before leaving her, helpless and valueless on the garden path, where she was found by the Catchers and returned to her Surplus Hall. There, she lived out her days blind, in Solitary, begging Mother Nature for forgiveness, and acting as a reminder to the Surpluses of their fate should they Forget Their Place. And then there was the story of Mary and Joseph, who escaped together and had their own Surplus son. The son was born with two heads and it was constantly hungry, constantly demanding more and more until, eventually, unable to control its evil Surplus urges, it ate its two parents, one with each head, then exploded, a victim of its own greed and its Parents’ Sins.
Anna hadn’t heard these stories for a long time, but she knew them word for word. And a little part of her wondered whether her tale would soon be frightening female Surpluses late at night, the tale of Anna who didn’t Know Her Place, who tried to escape. What would the ending of the tale be? she wondered, as she made her way unsteadily to Science and Nature, the training session she’d chosen to be defiant in because Mr Sargent loved sending Surpluses down to Solitary, believed that the dank, dark cold cells beneath Grange Hall taught a Surplus everything they needed to know about their Place on this earth. Would Anna’s defiance lead to eternal misery, she thought to herself. Blindness? Or would it be death itself, the only thing that Surpluses had that their Legal masters didn’t. For a Surplus’s misery was finite; for Surpluses, everything had an end.
As soon as Mr Sargent came into the training room, Anna felt a little surge of anticipation in her stomach, and she was barely able to listen as he started to talk through Longevity drug doses. Surpluses needed to know about drug doses, he explained, because they may administer them in some households. Longevity required a delicate balance of cells and it was important that Surpluses were able to spot the symptoms of under- or over-dosage.
Under-dosage was easy to spot – people got tired, and stiff, and they stopped wanting to go to work or to mow the lawn or anything else. Men might get thinner and women might become forgetful. It was important that the signs were spotted early so they would be addressed before they were irreversible. Longevity meant you stood still, he said, but it couldn’t make you younger. Not yet, anyway.
Over-dosage was harder to spot, because there were fewer overt signs, but you could tell if you looked closely, Mr Sargent said. Longevity drugs contained a hormone called thyroxine and if people took too much their eyes might start bulging and they might not sleep well. They might seem agitated, he said, might start to get irritable.
Then he took out the capsules and showed them the different sizes, and how to reduce or increase the dosage in 25 mcg units.
Midway through the class, Anna raised her hand, and Mr Sargent, probably expecting a thoughtful and supportive question, because that’s what she usually aimed to ask, beamed at her.
‘Yes, Anna?’
She smiled nervously and shifted awkwardly in her chair.
‘What would happen if a Surplus took Longevity drugs, Mr Sargent?’ she asked, her voice small and timid and her eyes apologetic.
He looked at her uncertainly and frowned.
‘Surpluses do not take drugs, Anna. You know that. They do not take any drugs. Surpluses are stretching Mother Nature’s generosity simply being here in the first place; it is absolutely right that they should live short lives, ending with disease or old age. You know that it would be an abomination to leng
then the life of a Surplus any further than necessary.’
The vein above his eye was twitching slightly, and Anna had to steel herself.
Then she raised her hand again.
Mr Sargent looked at her irritably and nodded.
‘But why should Legals get to take the drugs just because they were here first?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t that a bit unfair?’
Mr Sargent was staring at her now, his eyes bulging slightly in their sockets.
‘Unfair?’ he bellowed. ‘Unfair? No, what is unfair is that people like you exist. That your selfish, criminal parents thought nothing of the planet and of their fellow countrymen and produced you . . . you vermin to feed on our food, drink our water and use our energy.’
Everyone was looking at Anna now, and she realised to her surprise that, now that she had overcome her fear, she was rather enjoying herself. Words and arguments that Peter had used so often when fighting with her now flooded into her head, and she wasn’t scared by Mr Sargent’s reddening face. This was why so many Pendings failed their readiness test, she realised suddenly. This was her first taste of challenging the doctrine, and it was absolutely delicious.
‘But Mother Nature likes new things, doesn’t she?’ she said boldly, wishing that Mrs Pincent could see indoctrinated Anna now. ‘I mean, old leaves fall off trees, don’t they? Why should the old humans stay and the new ones not be allowed? Is that really what Mother Nature wants?’
Mr Sargent got up slowly and walked over to Anna’s table, where he looked down at her and struck her across the head. Then he grabbed her ear. ‘You vile creature,’ he said, spitting as he spoke. ‘You will pay for those words. You will pay for talking to me like that. You will be thrashed and sent to Solitary, my girl. Bit of time to think about what you’ve just said, that’s what you need.’
As Anna heard the words she needed to hear, she found relief flooding through her. She could take a beating; now that she knew she was going to Solitary, she could take anything.
Mr Sargent pulled her up and started to drag her across the room, bashing her into the other desks intentionally as he walked. As she passed Sheila’s desk, Anna felt Sheila’s gaze boring into her, and, unable to meet her eyes she looked down. She felt something brush against her leg, a touch of friendship, perhaps, and she felt her stomach clench with guilt. Sheila didn’t understand, she told herself as she was dragged away. Sheila couldn’t understand. Only Peter understood.
‘Thank you Mr Sargent. I’ll take it from here.’
Mr Sargent stopped abruptly, dropping Anna to the floor. She looked up in shock to see Mrs Pincent standing in the doorway. Immediately, she lowered her eyes, but it was anger, not humiliation, that made her do it.
‘Marga— Mrs Pincent,’ Mr Sargent said angrily. ‘This girl has been saying blasphemous things. She needs to be punished. Beaten and thrown into Solitary.’
‘I see. Solitary is not the answer in my opinion,’ Mrs Pincent said curtly. ‘There is a great deal of cleaning to be done on the Smalls’ floor. Perhaps Anna would like to spend a couple of days up there, to . . . think about things.’
Anna’s face fell. ‘I don’t mind going to Solitary,’ she said quickly, her voice betraying a slight desperation. ‘Really I don’t.’
‘I will decide the punishment, Anna,’ Mrs Pincent said evenly. ‘I think, when you are covered in excrement and urine, you may have a different view about your value to Mother Nature. You will be watched around the clock for forty-eight hours and you will be fed just once a day. When you return, your Prefect privileges will be taken away. Now, follow me.’
Mrs Pincent’s voice was angry and low and Anna knew that resistance was useless. Feeling sick to her stomach at the realisation that what she’d thought would be her moment of triumph had turned out to be a hollow and pathetic failure, she walked to the front of the room, her legs shaking. Gone was her defiant stance, gone was the elation at finally challenging the Grange Hall doctrine, and back was the familiar feeling of submission and humility.
Listlessly, Anna left the training room and followed Mrs Pincent to the Smalls’ floor, where instructions were given to a Domestic to keep her under constant supervision.
It was as if Mrs Pincent knew her plans – as if she somehow knew that this was a far greater punishment than a night in Solitary. There was, Anna acknowledged with a desperate sigh, no way she’d be able to creep down to Solitary this evening. No way she’d even be able to get a message to Peter.
And no way she’d ever be Anna Covey.
Margaret Pincent sat down at her desk angrily. She’d known that Peter would disrupt things. Hadn’t she told the Authorities when they announced he was coming that it would mean trouble?
It hadn’t even been one of the usual suspects to be corrupted either – it was Anna. Anna, who Mrs Pincent depended on so often to maintain order and root out miscreants. How had it happened? she wondered. How did Peter turn her?
Then she sighed and shook her head. They were teenagers, she supposed. Perhaps Anna had developed a crush on him – or him on her. How remiss of her not to consider that, to have forgotten what it was like to be young.
Well, she would beat any idea of romance out of Anna. And then she would have her transferred as soon as possible. She’d been as useful as she was going to be to Grange Hall, Mrs Pincent realised. Once a Surplus started to ask questions, they never stopped in her experience.
It was a pity she couldn’t throw her into Solitary for a few days, really. But she had unfinished business to attend to first. Still, Peter would be dealt with in the early hours of the following morning, she thought to herself with relief. In under two hours she would be on her way to London. She’d return with her old friend Dr Cox before dawn, and once he had ‘treated’ Peter, the boy would cease to be a problem. In fact, he would cease to be at all, she thought to herself with a little smile.
She might even turn his death into a report for the Authorities that suggested that Surpluses could not be integrated after a certain age – maybe nine should be the cut-off. The stress of change had been too much for Peter, she would tell the Authorities with regret. He couldn’t adjust; he’d upset the other Surpluses and he finally succumbed to a stress-induced heart attack. Such a shame, she would say. If only they had taken her advice.
And then? And then, things would return to normality, she supposed. Everyone would fear her again. And love her, of course. Mrs Pincent needed to be loved as much as she wanted to be feared – to her they were two sides of the same coin. Both gave her total control. And when you ran an institution filled with over five hundred unnatural abominations, control was essential just to get you through the day.
Anna stared desultorily at the sink in front of her, which was filled with towelling nappies, each of which contained a day’s worth of Small excrement, and each of which she had to scrub with her bare hands. This was the third full sink she’d faced in as many hours, and the job did not get any easier the more you did it.
It was rare for her to be on the Smalls’ floor – generally Mrs Pincent forbade them from visiting it, which suited the Surpluses down to the ground because who would want to hang around with a bunch of screaming Smalls? The top floor of Grange Hall, where they were housed, seemed more cramped than the others. It had lots of smaller dormitories instead of ten big ones, and a large room where the older Smalls went during the day to learn how to walk and talk, and obey orders and keep their eyes cast downwards.
That was the room that Anna was in now, at one end where a large sink sat surrounded by debris and dirt. All around her was the sound of infants, some screaming, some crying softly and some desperately trying to repeat the words being shouted at them.
But it was the quieter ones that Anna couldn’t bear. The sight of a two-year-old comforting itself by rocking silently on a mat, or a three-year-old gently banging its head against the floor was more than she could stand. She had been that three-year-old, she realised. She had sat in that very spot, trying to make
sense of her new surroundings, trying to find a way to regain some control over her life.
And now, she was right back where she had started. If things had seemed bleak when she was three, they seemed so very much worse now.
In truth, she didn’t really care that she was faced with the most vile of cleaning jobs, and barely blanched at the stench that emanated from the sink.
All she really cared about was Peter, waiting for her down in Solitary, wondering where she was, wondering why she hadn’t come.
As she methodically rinsed the soiled nappies and began to scrub them, Anna found herself wondering what the rest of her life would hold for her. If Mrs Pincent forgave her little outburst, it wouldn’t make any difference – she no longer wanted to be a Prefect, was no longer satisfied with the prospect of being Useful. She wanted more. She wanted freedom. She wanted . . .
She wanted Peter, she realised. Wanted to feel once more that wonderful feeling of being accepted fully, for what she was. Wanted to feel the excitement that fluttered through her whenever she even thought of his name.
‘You cleanin’ them nappies or what? Just ’cause Mrs Pincent’s gone to London, don’t mean you can stare into space, y’know.’
Anna looked up quickly at Maisie, the young Domestic who was supervising her, and who had looked utterly delighted when Anna had been handed over to her; Domestics rarely got to put their feet up on Floor 3 because Surpluses weren’t usually allowed on the Smalls’ floor. Had Anna heard correctly? Was Mrs Pincent in London?
Hurriedly, she started to clean again, but her mind was elsewhere. If Mrs Pincent wasn’t there, perhaps she had another shot at being sent to Solitary. Surely it was worth a go?
Suddenly, Anna frowned, and let go of the nappy she was holding.
Out of the corner of her eye, Anna watched Maisie picking the dry, calloused skin from her hands, and she had an idea.