Face (19 page)

             
“But his feelings changed.” Mum adds quickly.

             
“I spoke to Ultiface, I thought there might be some hope for the future- developments, and so forth. But that came to nothing. They’re not doing the research because there’s no profit in it. EMS is too rare.”

             
“But there is a different source of optimism.” Mum’s words gush as if she’s trying to make up for nine months of secrecy in seconds. “Campaign for Original Face put me in touch with a group of EMS parents who campaign for the right to Enhancements for EMS-Naturals.”

             
“It’s time to get political,” Dad says flatly. “They’re a great bunch of people. We’ve been to a meeting, and we signed up straight away. You see, it’s all down to-“

             
“I read about it,” I say. “They want the existing loophole in the Security Treaty for medical procedures extended to cover the right to mental health, including Updates.”

I can’t believe she sneaked off to a meeting with him
, without telling me.

             
“There’s hope for a normal future for your brother. That was what I needed to hear.” Dad says. “I didn’t agree with bringing a child into the world in a dead end situation, with so little personal choice...”

Dad’s voice rises a little at the end. He’s expecting me to understand. They both are.

              “...I missed you so much, True. I was sick with grief at your cutting me out. But I was also angry with your mother for a long time. I felt she took the decision out of my hands.”

             
“You signed the consent form.”

             
“Yes, yes I did. Because I could see how much your mother needed it, wanted it, wanted
him
. I buried my doubts for her. Straight afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking: what have we done? We hit a wall. There’s no middle ground, is there? Either the embryo got implanted, or it didn’t. I didn’t want to leave, but there didn’t seem to be any other option.”

People always say he has a kind face. Today it’s layers of self-delusion. Mum goes to scoop the baby up but I cli
ng on, I need a barrier.

             
“Will you take me back?” Dad says, trying to capture my gaze.

             
“There doesn’t seem to be any other option.”

Something is missing from this post-battle analysis. Dad clearly thinks he ticked all the boxes: heartfelt explanation; a stunning lack of an apology; resume family position. What about my quality of life? Did you forget that my life had already started? Wasn’t I even a factor?

Dad continues to smile at me, a hopeful kind of smile that asks
for a return, so I give him the Smile Blocker. I hold it in place; it’s perfect. I want to watch him flinch worse than Mum, even worse than Seven. I want my sneering face to burn into his brain. This is a face for you, Daddy. But my brother’s eyes snap open and there is a machine-like wail for the end of the world that builds and builds and I’m totally ready to hand him back. Dad has an excuse to cross the room towards the three of us, I’m glad to see he looks on edge. He doesn’t belong here.

Chapter Twenty-Three

             
“Who’s that? It’s you. It’s Daimon. Dai-mon.”

I figure it’s like getting a dog to recognise their own
name. Once he starts turning his head to it, Mum is bound to come down on my side. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t me against Dad, it’s simply the right thing to do.  If my brother can’t have an inspirational face, he can at least have a name associated with brilliance. Daimon is one of the greatest scientists who ever lived. Plus it sounds cool. Unlike Chester O’Reilly which makes him sound like a carpet, or at best, a furniture range.

             
Daimon squirms at his reflection in the mirrored toy cube I am holding up for him, it’s hard to know how much he sees. Still, early days yet. Mum reckons that when babies recognise themselves in the mirror it means they have developed a sense of self. This sounds like the sort of thing a big sister should be encouraging.

             
“That’s you, there you are.”

Get used to
those eyes widening back at you, it might be the only reflection you get. I can’t remember my Original face, but I have proud memories of My First Enhancement, of being allowed- no, invited- to transform along with the grown-ups. I don’t know what percentage is real memory, what percentage is created around the photographs of me showing off. I was four and coming into face awareness, Mum agreed that the time was right. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look that my toddler softness had gone, replaced by the child-like emergence of real features; genetics had taken hold. My First Enhancement Package was the latest thing: a simple restoration of innocence in the roundness of my eyes, a subtle testing of the features; make sure each one is pulling its weight, working in harmony with the whole. Mum reports that I was stoical at the nanobot entry: “sticky prickles.” Most kids cry. Mum is smiling in the after-photos. I got sweets, fizzy balls that made my tight skin feel funny. I pranced around, pulling faces, Dad snapping pictures on his phone. A new face equals extra attention.

             
“Daimon is a gorgeous boy.”

Daimon
has tired of my educational regime, he averts his eyes. They widen at the sound of the front doorbell, but slide shut at the voices of visitors; I shall not be performing at this time. Daimon must get fed up of the succession of strangers’ faces, popping up like puppets for a stare.

             
“You’ve got a visitor.” Mum says.

Mum
glances boldly up into Cliff’s concealed face, and back to me, noting my reaction. (Mum is braver than I was.) She goes to leave, but Daimon wakes himself with a metallic wail, building to the familiar siren.

             
“It’s okay it’s not you!” I shout to Cliff. “He’s just hungry. ALWAYS HUNGRY.”

Daimon
maintains the aura of generalised emergency whilst I do rushed introductions that nobody can hear. There’s a weird frozen moment when we all watch Daimon’s gaping red face and then Mum shovels him up with a well-practised arm and the rhythmic siren fades as they move away. Volcanic outrage leaves a lot to be desired as a greeting and I feel partly responsible.

             
“Is it a bad time? Of course it’s a bad time. Stupid. I’ll go.” Cliff says

             
“Stay. It’s not you. He’s like that a lot, don’t worry.”

Cliff i
s flattened against the wall. I got Forest’s face on my first visit; he gets screamed at by a newborn. My face dents with joy.

             
“It’s his version of please.” I explain. “Please, untamed. I just hand him to Mum, she’s his best mind-reader. She’s got the milk supply.”

Cliff v
isibly squirms, I reckon it’s getting hot under his scarf.

             
“Do you....have you...changed his nappy or anything?”

             
“Yeah, it’s not so bad. It’s nothing like an adult’s poo.”

Cliff’s grey eyes
are calling for back-up.

             
“...comes out in squirts of yellow.” I add, for my own entertainment.

             
“Too much information.”

             
“Shall I volunteer your services? Mum’s probably doing a nappy change any minute now. Go on, it’s a life-changing experience...”

Cliff
yanks the hat down so hard, one day he’ll just be a pair of feet.

             
“Do you want a drink or something?” I say

             
“No! stay here.”

             
“Babies don’t bite. This one hasn’t even got teeth.”

             
“I didn’t mean that.”

The doorb
ell goes again.

             
“Honestly, it’s like having a celebrity in the house.”

I
try to imagine Cliff’s expression under the scarf, the one that goes with his help-me eyes. It will be the type of tight, helpless face that forms under embarrassment. Kind of sweet on a boy.

             
“Want to accompany me to the front door?” I say

I offer Cliff my hand
backwards like a parent and he takes it. We don’t look at each other. I concentrate on opening the door with my wrong hand.

             
“Big sister True!”

Seven hurtl
es through the door and I stumble backwards onto Cliff’s foot. I’m glad I can’t see her face change. Seven’s energy pulls Mum to the door with Daimon heavy-lidded in the crook of her arm, and Seven smacks her hand over her mouth.

             
“Congratulations Mrs O’Reilly,” she whispers, theatrically loud. “I brought this from all of us. Mum says everyone brings something for the baby but it’s the mum who deserves the present because she did all the hard work!”

Seven extends
the bottle towards Mum who sways forward to collect it, rocking, rocking. Seven’s eyes graze the baby’s head, then settle on mine:
not him again
.

             
“Tell your mother thank you very much. Fizz, lovely.” Mum says

Silence.
Why is everyone looking at me? Like I planned this gathering of friends that can’t stand the sight of each other.

             
“True is obviously not going to introduce us,” Mum peers upwards, “so hello, I’m Adelaide.”

             
“Cliff from school.” I say quickly.

Cliff extends a hand,
notes that Mum’s arms are busy, withdraws and finishes with a sort of stupid head-bow.

             
“Congratulations by the way. He’s really cute.”

Mum beams at him, she’s so easily won these days.
Daimon’s got his distant philosopher’s stare on. Sleep is a possibility.

Seven leads
into the living room and I stiffly follow. We could all be avatars. I’d log off, log back on anywhere else in the world but here. I can still feel the pressure of Cliff’s fingers in mine, though they are long gone.

             
“There’s something new about you, Seven, have you gone Maverick?” Mum says.

             
“It’s not Maverick.”

             
“Oh, I didn’t mean...whatever it is, it looks great. Ignore me- I’m not getting enough sleep these days.”

Seven has done the latest Merlot m
outh, the downturned one. I opt for the baby as neutral ground.

             
“Lucky you didn’t get here ten minutes ago,” I tell Seven. “Daimon was having a complete meltdown.”

             
“Daimon- as in, the nanotech guy?” Seven says.

             
“True thinks he should be called Daimon.” Mum says. “After the Natural who also happened to be a brilliant scientist. He’s Daimon or Chester, we haven’t decided.”

I watch the confusion gather in
Seven’s eyes. I’m busily logging out in my head.

             
“I like Chester.” Seven says

             
“Did True give you all the details? He was born in the car last Tuesday at 9.54pm, 8lb 3oz. He’s also EMS susceptible. We find out either way when he’s a year old, he’ll have the test.”

Seven fixates
on Mum’s lips like she can watch the words exit and advance.

             
“Oh my God. I didn’t know.”

Mum’s
lips fix across her face, displeasure contained in a pout.

             
“We kept it quiet. We’re only telling people now.”

             
“They didn’t tell me either.” I add quickly.

I can feel Cliff’s
eyes upon me.
What
? It’s the truth. She didn’t tell me; he did.

             
“Things are looking positive right now for EMS kids, Seven. There’s going to be a change in the law. The automatic right to Enhancements in the same way they get medical treatments, under controlled conditions.”

             
“Really?”

             
“I’ve been led to believe it will happen soon, yes.”

Cliff is
regarding Seven oddly- like she’s an avatar, a temporary symbol of someone who exists elsewhere. He’s stiller than I ever remember him being able to sit, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing. He wants to bear witness to it all.