The Resistance

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  It looked inconsequential, but Peter knew immediately that no one else on his road would have received this particular advert. Quickly, he raced upstairs and dug out the mobile phone that Pip had given him. Computer and standard phone lines couldn’t be trusted, he’d told Peter. The Underground used old-fashioned mobiles tuned to unique frequencies which they changed regularly so that the Authorities weren’t able to discover them. It took just one rashly made phone call from a landline or web phone to put the whole operation in jeopardy.

  Peter dialled the number.

  ‘Yes?’

  He was fairly sure it was Pip, but he couldn’t be certain; his tone was brisker than usual.

  ‘I’m looking for a new direction,’ Peter said, reading the words straight off the flyer. ‘I believe in myself.’

  ‘Then our consultants can help. Grays Inn Road, number 87, eighth floor, room 24b, 6 p.m. tonight.’

  Peter scribbled down the details. ‘Great. I’ll be there,’ he said breathlessly, but already the phone had gone dead.

  Later that morning, Ben was in a grizzly mood, and Anna fussed over him as she walked along the suburban streets, bending over his pram frequently to pull his blanket tighter against the winter’s cold, to smile at him, to reassure herself that all was well. The pram itself, which Anna’s parents had found for him, was like a museum piece – battered, creaky, unsteady on its wheels and now far too small for her rapidly growing brother. Somehow it had survived for over a hundred years to see active service again; somewhere, someone had thought to keep it, just in case. And as it rattled along the pavements, it drew looks from passers-by – looks of surprise, of horror, of confusion. Very occasionally, someone would stop – nearly always a woman, nearly always old, the ones who were alive when Longevity was invented, the ones who remembered what children were like. They would ask to look at ‘the baby’, their eyes invariably welling up as they told Anna their own story – a lost child, a Declaration signed before the woman understood its true meaning, a longing for something that Anna suspected they dared not articulate, dared not name. But more often, people passing would screw up their faces in looks of disgust; they would gaze haughtily at Anna and Ben as though she were parading something distasteful in public, as though she shouldn’t be inflicting his presence on them.

  Anna wished she could feel more confident, wished her heart didn’t skip a beat every time someone looked at her, every time the computer came on at home, every time the phone rang. She’d longed to leave Grange Hall, had worked hard so that she could become a Valuable Asset and live on the Outside. But increasingly, she was finding it hard to throw off her guilt at being Legal when there were so many Surpluses still incarcerated. Every time someone looked at her, she felt they were judging her. Every time she glimpsed a Surplus working as a housekeeper, imprisoned in the home of their employer, she felt her guilt like a knife-wound deep in her stomach. And they were the lucky ones. They were the ones who were considered Valuable, not simply Useless and Evil.

  Doing her best to ignore the stares of the people around her, she walked towards the shopping centre, but as she walked, she saw a large, flickering screen in the window of an electrical store. In front of the window, a small crowd had gathered looking hungrily in at the large, glossy plasma screen. Energy vouchers made such things an unaffordable luxury for most.

  Anna, who had grown up without televisions or computers, had never warmed to the disembodied faces and voices that spoke so confidently, peddling their propaganda, telling her what to think about things.

  Today, though, she wanted to be brave; instead of walking past, she found herself turning the pram to the right, awkwardly, and joining the throng, easing her way in so that she, too, could watch the silent picture show.

  It was a news programme. Anna watched as the camera panned in on a woman talking, then revealed a man being arrested in front of his house. A phone number flashed on the screen with the words ‘Energy Watch – report the waste, confidentially assured.’ As he was dragged away by the police, Anna felt her insides clench anxiously.

  An elderly woman close to Anna shook her head. ‘It’s like the bloody Cold War again. People snooping on other people. I don’t like it. I just don’t like it.’

  ‘You may not like it,’ another younger-looking woman with artificially auburn hair replied staunchly, ‘but if some people abuse the system, there need to be repercussions. I’m sleeping with three blankets and two duvets these days, and then you find out people are tapping into the central grid? I tell you, I’d report them in a flash if I got to hear about it. Wouldn’t think twice.’

  Anna listened, biting her lip as she watched the screen. She found it hard to judge the world as others seemed able to. Until she’d met Peter, she’d had a very clear idea of what was right and wrong, good and evil, but then her world had been turned upside down, her views challenged, her eyes opened. All those years in Grange Hall she had been told that wrongdoing should be punished, but now, on the Outside, she realised that wrongdoing wasn’t always easy to identify, that sometimes the wrong thing was actually the right thing.

  The elderly woman turned back to the shop window. ‘What’s this bloke supposed to have done, anyway?’

  ‘Probably been trading in energy coupons,’ a man interjected. ‘They’re cracking down, aren’t they?’

  ‘Trading energy coupons!’ The auburn-haired woman tutted. ‘As if we don’t have enough problems.’

  The elderly woman laughed. ‘Is that all? Live and let live, that’s what I say.’

  The auburn-haired woman turned and glared at her. ‘Is that all? Sounds like you might be benefiting from illegal coupons,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’ll make a little call to Energy Watch, shall I? Maybe then you won’t find it so funny.’

  ‘I was just saying . . .’ the elderly woman started to say, but the auburn-haired woman wasn’t looking at her any more. Instead, she was looking directly at Anna, who blanched slightly.

  ‘And what have we got here?’ Everyone turned and stared at Anna, who now blushed deeply at the attention. ‘Only it’s not exactly what we need, is it? Here we are struggling to get by, hardworking people just trying to keep warm at night, and we get criminals bringing Surpluses into the world.’ She turned back to face Anna. ‘Proud of yourself, are you? Oh, I know you got your Legal status, didn’t you? Read about it in the papers like everyone else. Bet you know all about playing the system, young lady, don’t you? Probably think you’re terribly clever. But it’s we who suffer. I don’t suppose you worry about that, do you?’

  ‘No,’ Anna said carefully. ‘I don’t think I’m clever. But . . .’

  ‘That’s probably why I can’t get a Surplus housekeeper,’ another woman interrupted, ignoring her. ‘Making them all Legal, I expect. Four months I’ve been waiting. Four months and not a word from anyone.’

  Anna shook her head. Was that what people really thought? ‘No, you’re wrong,’ she said anxiously. ‘They’re not making them Legal. They’re in Surplus Halls, working day and night to repay their parents’ sins. Even though their parents didn’t sin. Having children isn’t a sin. It isn’t . . .’

  Her voice trailed off – she knew she’d gone too far, knew that what she’d just said could attract the attention of the police, the Authorities. But then she looked down at Ben who was beginning to stir and felt the familiar feeling of love, of tiger-like protectiveness. How could his existence ever be a sin?

  ‘Isn’t a sin?’ the auburn-haired woman shrieked, manoeuvring herself so that she blocked Anna’s path. ‘How dare you? You come here, flaunting that disgusting creature in public; you eat our food, use our energy, and you tell me
that you think it’s perfectly OK?’

  Anna stared at the woman in shock, then she felt her jaw set angrily. ‘He isn’t disgusting. He’s a baby. Surpluses didn’t ask to be born. And anyway, I’m Legal now. So’s Ben. Our parents died.’

  She gripped the pram; her anger made her feel strong, stronger than she’d felt for months.

  ‘Oh, well that’s all right then,’ the woman said, her voice shaking with emotion. ‘Surpluses didn’t ask to be born, so it’s not their fault. Just like all those immigrants who didn’t ask to be smuggled in, I suppose.’

  Anna shook her head; the woman’s face had gone pink, clashing horribly with her hair.

  ‘They think it’s a game, that all they have to do is get to this country and then they can eat our food, live in our houses, use our energy. And where does that leave us? Where does that leave our energy tariffs?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Anna said evenly. ‘You should ask the Authorities.’

  ‘Like they’d do anything,’ the woman snorted. ‘More border police, that’s what they’d say. But it isn’t working, is it? They still keep coming, every single day. It’s not our fault there are floods. It’s not our fault rivers are drying up. I’m sorry, but this is our country and they have to keep these people out.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ another voice suddenly said, a soothing, sensible voice. ‘I do hope that you get somewhere. You mustn’t stop fighting.’

  The auburn-haired woman frowned. ‘No, I won’t,’ she said forcefully. ‘I’ve got my rights. We’ve all got rights and we need to stand up for them, not let these people get away with it. I got a leaflet the other day, pushed through my door, saying we’re stealing energy from countries in Africa . . .’

  Anna felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘Perhaps now might be a good time to go?’ the soothing voice said, and Anna looked up to see a kind face framed by grey hair, pulled into a chignon.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, pulling the pram back awkwardly. ‘Yes, I think you’re right.’

  She pushed through the crowd, doing her best to avoid sending the wheels over anyone’s feet; the grey-haired woman followed her.

  ‘What a lovely little boy he is,’ she said, a few moments later. ‘How old is he?’

  Anna started. No one had ever asked her how old Ben was; it was as if age had ceased to mean anything, even when it could be counted in months.

  ‘He’s nearly one,’ she said warily.

  ‘What a lovely age. And he’s so well behaved.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he is.’ Anna’s only knowledge of babies had been gleaned from the Smalls’ floor at Grange Hall where the under-fives were left to scream until one of the staff couldn’t take the noise any more and reluctantly came to feed or change them. It was partly the memory of those scenes of horror that prompted her to lavish so much attention on Ben, to rush to his side at the first hint of a cry.

  ‘It’s Anna, isn’t it?’ the woman said suddenly. ‘You’re Anna Covey, aren’t you? I wonder, would you like a cup of tea? I only live around the corner. I’m rather an admirer of yours, I must confess. My name is Maria. Maria Whittaker.’

  She held out her hand and Anna took it uncertainly.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘I should probably get back to my shopping.’

  ‘Of course,’ Maria said kindly. ‘Then perhaps I could walk with you?’

  Anna nodded gratefully. She didn’t usually seek company, apart from Peter and Ben’s; other people made her feel anxious, on her guard. But this woman seemed so nice, and after the run-in with the horrible auburn-haired lady, she welcomed the companionship. Together they made their way back through the high street, silent at first, until Anna couldn’t stop herself from asking the question on the tip of her tongue.

  ‘You . . . you said you were an admirer?’ She looked around hesitantly as she spoke, looking out for cameras, for police, for anyone who might be following her. But the street was clear.

  The woman laughed. ‘I have always admired the young,’ she said softly. ‘And when I heard your story, well, it touched me. You sounded very brave. You and your friend, Peter. And to look after your brother like that . . . I think it takes a great deal of courage, and, yes, I admire that. I admire it greatly.’

  Anna smiled awkwardly. Other than from Peter, she didn’t hear kind words very often.

  ‘It wasn’t very courageous,’ she said quickly. ‘Peter was the brave one, not me.’

  ‘I’m sure you were brave too,’ Maria said warmly.

  Anna found a little smile creeping on to her face. ‘You know,’ she said, as they turned a corner, ‘I might be able to have one cup of tea. If that would be OK.’

  Maria returned her smile. ‘It would be more than OK. It would be a privilege.’

  Maria lived in a modern apartment building just a few minutes’ walk from the high street. Her apartment was on the fourth floor, so they left the pram downstairs and Anna carried Ben up the winding staircase.

  ‘I’m so sorry about this. I’m afraid that the lift was decommissioned as part of an energy-saving exercise,’ she said, with a rueful smile. ‘It’s a nightmare with shopping too.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no problem,’ Anna assured her, pulling Ben to her and holding the banister carefully as she climbed.

  ‘So, do you take sugar?’ Maria asked when she’d opened the door to her apartment, revealing a small sitting room with a kitchen area just off it and a narrow corridor which Anna presumed led to the bedroom.

  ‘Yes. Yes, please,’ Anna said. ‘Just one.’

  She followed Maria into the sitting room and stood next to a sofa as Maria walked over to the small kitchenette in the corner and put on the kettle. On the mantelpiece were photos of children, and Anna stared at them curiously, looking away quickly when Maria handed her a steaming cup of tea and motioned for her to sit on the sofa.

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t very big,’ she said, sitting down at the other end. ‘My apartment, I mean. But that’s the way of things nowadays, isn’t it? I used to have a house, you know, years ago, but the rates and energy bills kept increasing and eventually the Authorities encouraged me to move to somewhere smaller.’ She smiled wryly.

  Anna smiled back. She knew all about how ‘encouraging’ the Authorities could be. ‘It’s very nice, though,’ she said politely.

  ‘Thank you. I suppose it’s comfortable,’ Maria said thoughtfully. ‘And comfort is, after all, one of the Authorities’ prime objectives. Comfort, health, wealth and learning. Worthy goals, I’m sure.’

  Anna smiled awkwardly feeling ignorant and hating it. Peter followed every edict and news briefing from the Authorities avidly, using up valuable energy coupons on a computer, switched on daily to check for news and analysis; she couldn’t seem to care much about it. So long as she, Peter and Ben were safe and warm, that was all that really mattered. But now, now she wished she’d paid more attention so that she had something to say.

  ‘Of course, you can’t be huge fans of the Authorities,’ Maria continued. ‘I can’t imagine they have many fans amongst the incumbents of Surplus Halls.’

  Anna shook her head. The truth was that at Grange Hall the Authorities had been a vague and distant power; the only authority she’d thought about was that of the House Matron.

  ‘It’s better now we’re out,’ she said quietly, hoping that Maria wouldn’t notice her sidestepping the question. ‘It wasn’t very . . . comfortable in Grange Hall.’

  Maria smiled ruefully again. ‘No, I don’t imagine it was. You know, when the Surplus Halls were set up, we were told they would be like schools. Separation from parents was seen as necessary to put people off having them – Surpluses, I mean. And to differentiate them. To make it clear that you . . . that they were different. But they were never meant to be brutal places. And employment – employment was always the end goal, but not slavery. That came later.’

  ‘Later?’ Anna asked, curious now. No one ever talked openly about Surpluses, about ch
ildren, for fear of being labelled a revolutionary, a threat to the Authorities.

  ‘When no one cared any more. People used to, you see. They used to care about civil liberties, about the welfare of Surpluses, about the treatment of illegal immigrants, criminals even. Nowadays, all people care about is how they look, how they feel, how many hours they can have the central heating on, how many hobbies they can take up and discard. They don’t like children. They’re scared of them. You’ve seen the way people look at that little man.’

  Anna looked down at Ben’s chubby face and pulled him closely towards her.

  ‘The photographs,’ she said, blushing slightly at the prospect of asking a direct question. ‘On your mantelpiece. You’re not worried what people might think?’

  Maria followed her gaze, her eyes full of pity and sadness.

  ‘Of course. I worry all the time, but that’s no reason to hide them away. We can’t be scared into doing nothing, Anna, can we?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But the Authorities . . .’

  ‘The Authorities have too much power,’ Maria said immediately. ‘Power which they use badly. Power which needs to be challenged.’

  Maria moved so that she was sitting close to Anna and took her hand, before looking at her hopefully. ‘Anna, I hope you don’t mind. These children . . . these photographs . . . they’re the reason I invited you here. This one . . .’ She walked over and picked up one of the frames, clutching it to her breast before passing it to Anna. ‘This one is my child. I was young, foolish, I thought I would manage to keep her secret. But the Catchers . . . well, they found her. Took her away. It was the early days when people were still treated leniently if they apologised; they fined me, but otherwise let me off with a caution because I showed “due remorse”. Thought I’d learnt my lesson. But you see, it doesn’t work like that, does it?’

  Anna quickly took the frame, tears appearing in her eyes as she studied the photograph of a tiny baby, wrapped in a blanket.