One of Us (14 page)

My heart slows down again. It must be this person called “Ril.” Just as Oskar said. Maybe she will take me to him. I push the door open. A slim woman in a black pants suit stands with her back to me, looking out at the lawn that leads down to the parking lot. She's not Brotherhood.

“Hello.” I step into the room.

She turns, her tidy brown hair staying still, and I stop. It really
is
my social worker. Sue Smith. Is she here to tell Brer Magnus who I really am? Has she already told him?

But before I can say anything, she puts her finger up to stop me speaking.

“Hello, Verity,” she says loudly. “Remember me? Your social worker, Ril.”

I stare at her.

“Well,” says
Ril
. “Shall we go?”

She doesn't speak again until the door has swung shut behind us. “I thought we'd go out for dinner.”

As we cross the parking lot, I glance back. Greg is standing looking out through the glass door. When our eyes meet, he turns away.

“I
TAKE IT
you went to the cafe to see Oskar?” Ril flicks a sideways glance at me.

I don't ask her how she knows this, or even how she knows Oskar.

“He couldn't come tonight,” she says. “He's very sorry. But we know it must be really hard for you. I thought we could have a meal.”

“OK.” I am quite hungry.

Oskar knows she's here, then. My feet are numb with cold again. I wish I still had Greg's jacket wrapped around me. I think of the evening I thought I'd be having: lovely hot shower, snuggled up in a Brotherhood tea-cozy sweater, dinner in the canteen with the others. I realize I was actually looking forward to it.

We stop outside a small hotel and go into a lounge where vinyl armchairs huddle around a flickering fire. The fire is one of those jumping gas ones with no real heat. I curl up in a chair with my feet tucked into my skirt. You couldn't do that in pants. Ril orders food for us both.

“So, how's it going?” She sits back in her chair.

Who are you?
I wonder.
Sue Smith? Or Ril Somebody?
Did Oskar set Ril in place before I'd agreed to help the police?

I shrug. “Some of the subjects are different,” I say. “History—you'd think it was a different country. And Devotional Studies. Art, of course. But the teachers are really good. I think I might pass some exams now.” I give her a hard stare.
Like you care.
“I told Oskar everything I know. It's just a school. They're just kids.”

“Of course.” Ril nods. “You're doing great, K. You're doing everything we need you to do—just being there.”

We.
When did Sue Smith and Oskar become “we”?

“What about Sue Smith?” I blurt out.

But instead of answering me, she smiles briskly. “Now, have you got the list?”

“The list?”

“The names of everyone who attended the Spring Meeting. Oskar asked you to get it for him. We want to follow up on your first lead—Jeremiah?”

I don't want her to see that I forgot all about that. “Where's Oskar? I need to see him.”

Ril sighs. “I told you. He couldn't come, but he said to tell you he'll see you soon, next week. We'll all go away for the weekend.”

Why do you have to come?
“Oskar will be there too?”

“Of course.” She smiles. “You can bring the list then.”

I think of the visitors' book that everyone was lining up to sign. Even the children.

Chicken and fries arrive, and we eat in silence.

“I nearly forgot.” Ril puts down her fork. “We thought you might like your boots back. I've got them in the car.”

I nod. I'd wondered what Oskar had done with my old clothes.

“I'm really tired,” I say. “Could I go ho—er, back now?”

She gives me a sharp look, but she doesn't say anything.

W
E DRIVE TO
the Institute and Ril idles the car inside the gate. She reaches behind her. “Your boots.” She pulls a bag over the hand brake.

I peer inside. “You've cleaned them up.”

“They were a bit battered, so I got them reheeled too.” She stays in the car when I get out, with the engine running
and her eyes glancing up at the security cameras.

I'll ask Oskar about Sue Smith.

As I walk past the canteen, I hesitate, listening to the laughter. The door is ajar, and I can see Georgette at the counter. She makes watery cocoa for us in the evenings. Everyone is there, even Serafina who is back from the hospital. Greg throws his head back and laughs at something Celestina is saying.

I want to join them. But I imagine all the questions I'm not sure how to answer. Instead I go back to the caretaker's lodge and ask Mr. East if I can take Raymond for a walk.

“Just in the grounds at this time of night, though.” He clips on Raymond's leash.

R
AYMOND TROTS ALONGSIDE
me, looking up at me every so often. We walk alongside a line of cherry trees that haven't quite come into blossom yet. The grass is spongy from the rain.

“At least I have my boots back, Raymond,” I say, rustling the bag at him as if that will help him understand.

He rests his head against my leg as I reach down to stroke him, giving me one of his brief upward glances.

Weird that I was thinking about my boots all day, as my feet got wetter and colder, and then Ril gave them to me. Eventually I take Raymond back, and trudge up to the Sisters' house.

There's no one in the bedroom. I put my boots under the bedside table, get into bed, and lie staring into the dark.

I'm tired but I can't switch off. So I make a list of all the beds I've ever slept in. This one, then the narrow, hard bed at the halfway house. Then the single beds in foster homes until I get back to the lumpy mattress on the iron bed frame at Grandma's house. I could hear the sea there, on rough nights, rocking me to sleep.

The door opens and Celestina comes in, late as usual. “Verity? You awake?”

“Mmm.”

“You should have come to the canteen,” she says.

“I wasn't sure you'd still be there when I got back,” I lie. “I suppose you and Emanuel were still arguing about your Math thing with Greg?” Greg is studying for three different Math exams to prepare for Medicine at college.

“Greg.” Celestina snorts. “What would he know? He didn't even come to the lesson this afternoon! I've no idea where he went.”

I think of the boy in the gray jacket and baseball cap, and my sense of being followed. Could it have been Greg? I should have recognized him, but I've never seen him without his red checks. Thinking about it, I'm not even surprised. Following me is what Greg does, isn't it? He stopped for a private talk with Brer Magnus before we left. It's like he's my watcher.

Now I really can't sleep. I don't want to think about Greg following me all around Gatesbrooke. Is it because he doesn't trust me, or because he's part of the cell? And what about Ril? Or is her name actually Sue Smith? Even Oskar is becoming a big question mark. I don't want to think about them either. I wish I could just be me. A girl with no secrets.

I want to go to sleep jolting with the bus, my ear warm against Greg's checked shoulder; I want to go back to that moment before I fully woke up, when we could both pretend we hadn't noticed how close we were. But it's not real.

I can't believe that Greg's in the cell. I'm sure he was unhappy with the Brotherhood activists torching the rioters' car. I can't see him being violent.

I want to go to sleep as Verity. Tomorrow I can go back to the hard task of being K. Or is it the other way around?

I have even less of an idea who to watch than when I first came in. How can I make friends with people only to spy on them, when my gut feeling is telling me that we're looking in the wrong place? I push away the thought that I could be horribly wrong, that I could be right in the middle of the hornet's nest.

No, I can't do this anymore. It's suddenly so clear that I sit up straight.

When I see Oskar next week, I'm going to tell him I made a mistake. We'll have the whole weekend, so there will be time to talk, and Oskar will understand. He'll make it OK.

I want my old life back. I want to be K Child again.

CHAPTER 16

S
CHOOL
'
S OVER FOR
the week and those of us who board are relaxing on the couches in the common room, when the loudspeaker cuts over our conversation: “Verity Nekton to Reception.”

Greg looks across the coffee table, one eyebrow raised. Celestina puts her book down. “Where are
you going, Verity?” She gives me an innocent little smile, but I'm sure she thinks I'm up to something.

“Um, I don't really know.” I put my sketchbook down on a cushion and it falls open to a drawing of the view from my halfway house room.

“If you don't know, why are you going?” Greg leans forward.

Always so suspicious. But that's it, isn't it? It's that
he
doesn't trust
me
. Within the Institute or the Brotherhood. His suspicion masks his worry. He thinks
I
might be an activist. Oskar is wrong about there being a cell here. I'm the cell, the citizen cell.

“I'm going away for the weekend with my social worker,” I say. “She didn't say where.”

Greg smiles. He's put me in the wrong again.

Celestina picks up my sketchbook. “Hey, this is good,” she says. “There's the station, the square, the Town Hall. And even”—she passes it back to me—“the Institute, up at the top.”

I take the sketchbook from her, seeing it suddenly through her eyes. The river, bisecting the picture, and the Old City Meeting Hall so small compared to the Town Hall in the New City. “I'd better go.” I pick up my file.

“Have a nice weekend, Verity.” It's a relief to have Serafina back from the hospital. There's nothing knowing in her voice. She really means it.

And then I realize with a pang of sadness that I might never see any of them again. But I feel relief too, because I'm not going to harm them, or lie to them anymore. I look at Serafina, beaming at me. Emanuel smiling at her.