Soulmates (33 page)

Anita narrowed her eyes. They looked like slits behind her thick lenses.

“Sit down, Poppy.”

I didn’t.

“Sit,” she said more sharply. “And I’ll answer your questions.”

Like a petulant teenager bored in a Maths lesson, I rolled my eyes and sat back down on my chair reluctantly. “So?”

Anita put both hands on the table and leaned forward. She spoke quickly. “We’re allowed to keep you here under terrorism laws. There’s been lots of hoo-ha about these recently in your country, but legally I’m allowed to keep you here for twenty-eight days.”

My head swam.

“Terrorism?” I shook my head. “There must be some mistake. I’m not a terrorist. Noah and I…honestly…there must have been a mix-up. I would NEVER hurt anyone. I’m not dangerous.”

Anita eyed me over her glasses.

“To the contrary, Poppy, at this moment in time, you and your
boyfriend
– ” she almost spat the word – “are considered the two most dangerous people on the planet.”

I let the meaning of her words sink in, and then I laughed and shook my head. “You’re joking.”

“I most certainly am not.”

I put my hands on the table. I didn’t mean to bang them, but I did. “This is insane! I’m not dangerous. I couldn’t even punch someone without hurting my hand.”

“It’s going to take a while for me to explain this to you.”

I shook my head. “You need to explain this to me? Aren’t I supposed to be the terrorist? Aren’t you supposed to be interrogating information out of me? Where’s your permission to keep me here anyway? I don’t see any warrant for my arrest.”

Anita calmly reached into her jacket pocket and took out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and pushed it across the table. It had an official crest on the top. I saw my name and Noah’s. There were also the words
Strictly confidential
,
matter of national security
.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a warrant for your arrest. As you can see, it’s been signed by the Minister of Defence as well as your Prime Minister.”

Prime Minister? My head got fuzzy. I put the paper face down on the table.

“Poppy?”

“I want to go home.”

“You may be able to. Don’t worry about your parents, we’ve been in contact with them. They know you’re safe and they’re not worried. But I’m afraid you and I need to have a talk first.”

I raised my head and looked at her. “About what?”

“About you and Noah.”

At the mention of his name, fresh tears catapulted into my eyes. “I don’t understand what’s going on or what we’ve got to do with anything…” My voice choked. “We’re not dangerous and we’ve not done anything wrong.”

By now the tears were escaping rapidly. I let them fall, no longer caring. If they were able to keep me here for twenty-eight days then they would have to put up with my crying.

Anita turned to Rain. “Do you mind leaving us alone for a moment?” she asked.

I didn’t want him to leave. He seemed nicer than her. He didn’t seem eager to go either but pushed back his chair and exited.

Anita and I were left. Just the two of us.

I looked at her and she looked at me.

I felt exhausted already.

She broke the silence.

“Miss Lawson. What I’m about to tell you is a secret, kept so fiercely private that probably less than a hundred people know about it on this entire planet.”

“So why are you telling me then?”

“Because it’s your right to know. I can promise you, you don’t
want
to know it, just like I didn’t want to know it. There’s no going back. Your life, from now on, is going to be very difficult.”

I wasn’t sure I had the capability for being surprised any more.

“Well, go on then,” I said, not sure how the situation could get any worse.

“Are you in love, Poppy Lawson?”

The question was so direct it actually did surprise me.

I glared at her. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Oh, believe me, it’s my business. Well, are you or aren’t you?”

I thought of Noah and it made trickles of warmth radiate through my body.

“Yes,” I answered, head down.

Anita leaned back in her chair, almost casually.

“It’s a strange scientific phenomenon, love,” she said. “We’re still, to this day, trying to get a grip on it. It does all sorts of unpredictable things to the body. Did you know, for example, that when you’re in love you’re less likely to feel pain?”

I shook my head.

“Intriguing study. They tested a load of loved-up students in America, couples in the first throes of romance, and found their pain thresholds were much higher. Just because they had the comfort of another person loving them – someone to text at bedtime.”

I waited for her to continue.

“It makes you more creative as well. Did you know that?”

I shook my head again.

“It’s true. The electricity produced in the brain while you’re going through what popular culture calls ‘The Honeymoon Period’ is so strong it actually stimulates creative firings.”

She took off her glasses and then, to my astonishment, rested her heeled feet up on the table.

“Of course love actually helps your overall health. You’re less likely to get sick. And, my current favourite discovery?” Her eyes were excited. “They’ve recently found that love actually has a drug-like effect on the body. Isn’t that incredible? Scans show the receptors that light up in the brain when a person is in love are EXACTLY the same receptors that light up when a drug addict jacks up, or snorts a line. This is why humans are so, well, crazy when they fall in love. It’s this feeling that produces cheesy love songs, drippy poetry, what causes people to have affairs. That’s because someone in the giddy first throes of love is effectively a drug addict. It explains the dopamine-rollercoasters, the irrational insecurity, anxiety and jealousy. The physical withdrawal pangs you get when you can’t see your boyfriend for a week.”

Despite my anger, fear and upset, I was actually finding this all quite interesting. I leaned forward to hear better, comparing what she said to how I felt about Noah. It seemed to fit.

Anita let out a long sigh. “Of course,” she said, “it’s all fantasy.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh come on, hon, you’re a teenager. Aren’t you supposed to be a cynic at your age? This initial rush of love isn’t anything romantic, it’s just biology. The purpose of our species, Miss Lawson, is to reproduce. That’s it really. We like to think there’s more to it than that. We write fancy literature, build tall buildings and philosophize about the afterlife, all in a desperate attempt to try and leave a piece of ourselves behind. We pretend we’re not only here to produce offspring, die and then leave them to it. But that’s the meaning of life. Reproduce and die. Depressing, isn’t it? No wonder we’ve constructed this fantasy of love to cover the disappointment.”

She put her feet down and leaned over the table conspiratorially. “Do you want to know a secret?”

I figured she was going to tell me anyway but nodded. She was obviously enjoying the dramatic build-up.

“Love is just hormones,” she whispered.

“Hormones?”

“Yep. Millions of hormones. Our silly species pretend it’s much more than that. That we get to ‘pick’ who we love, that things are ‘destined’ and that someone out there is The One. It’s ludicrous. Love exists to facilitate the mating process. When one person is drawn to someone of the opposite sex, they are drawn there on one basis only – will sleeping with this person provide me with healthy offspring?”

I stretched my arms out. “I did GCSE Biology,” I said. “I know what you’re trying to explain. You’re talking about pheromones, right? The scent we’re supposed to unknowingly secrete that attracts people to us?”

Anita twitched. “Yes. You’re right. I’m impressed.” She smiled slightly. “Our pheromones are like our own personal brand of perfume. But instead of smelling like vanilla, or roses or Mariah Carey’s new commercialized whiff, it’s more like a scratch ‘n’ sniff story of your genetic code. Subconsciously, members of the opposite sex smell you and can tell if your genetics are compatible.”

I thought back to all my pre-Noah rants about romance. “I knew all this already.”

She ignored me. “But, what I find interesting is humans’ refusal to accept it’s all as clinical as that. They want to believe in love, they
have
to. When really they’re just imagining a deep and meaningful connection to make them feel better. Pathetic really.”

I was becoming increasingly aware that I really didn’t like this woman. She may have had science on her side, but her views on love and relationships were just…backward.

“Wow,” I said. “Someone’s obviously single…”

Dr. Beaumont didn’t appreciate that comment.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” she said, shuffling through her papers. “I read that you have attitude. Love to be sarcastic, don’t you?” She pulled out a sheet of official-looking A4 with a flourish.

“Here we go.” She began reading the page. “Poppy Lawson is an intriguing patient and very strong-minded. She’s the only one I’ve had who actively seeks argument in the therapy room. She has that usual adolescent habit of always thinking she’s right and usually dismisses information that suggests otherwise.”

I looked at her in shock. “What the hell is that?”

She put the paper down.

“That is a report written for us by your psychiatrist, Dr. Ashley. He’s been keeping an eye on you under our instruction.”

“You got my therapist to spy on me?”

Anita smiled. “He didn’t have much choice. Kept droning on about patient confidentiality but we’re not a force to be argued with. Anyway, he provided an interesting insight into your relationship with Noah.”

Noah.

His name triggered so many emotions it was hard to keep them under control. I thought back to my previous sessions with Dr. Ashley and it began to make sense. There was that weird one where he’d asked me about Noah and I’d lost my temper. In fact, he’d seemed determined to bring up my boyfriend even when I wasn’t mentioning him. The realization fell down around me like giant jigsaw pieces I hadn’t yet finished assembling.

Dr. Anita was looking at me, a smug smile on her face. “You’ve gone quiet.”

I gave her my best-ever evil. “Let’s just get on with this, shall we?” I said. “You were at the bit where everyone in a relationship is a deluded idiot.”

Her smile strained.

“Well, the real point I was making was that for ninety-nine per cent of humans, the reality is they find someone they’re genetically compatible with, convince themselves they’re ‘in love’, release some hormones and stay together through shared experiences and bonding attachment. Then they die and their kids continue the chain.”

“You should be a romance writer,” I said dryly. “I can imagine that version of
Romeo and Juliet
flying off the bookshelves and getting on the
New York Times
bestseller list.”

Anita winced slightly. She turned to another page in her file and scanned it. “This brings us onto you and Noah.”

I sat up.

She took her glasses off, relaxing almost.

“Tell me, Poppy. Do you believe in soulmates?”

“I’m quite sure
you
don’t.”

Anita smoothed an invisible strand of hair away from her face.

“Actually,” she said. “This is the part where it gets
really
interesting.” I couldn’t help it. The way she’d whispered the last sentence made me lean across the table.

“As I was saying, real life and real love isn’t romantic.”

The overhead light flickered.

“Whereas the idea of a soulmate is very romantic. People love it. The idea there’s one person out there just for you, your perfect fit, your other half. The thought is so intoxicating humans ignore the fact that, if we were to have a soulmate, we’d probably never meet them. I mean, what are the chances that your soulmate is, conveniently enough, Tony from work, or that girl from the pub?”

I nodded. I could see her point.

She put her glasses back on and lowered her voice.

“The thing is,” she said softly, leaning in close, “what people don’t know, is that every so often, yes, two people are born on this planet who are essentially the perfect match for each other.”

I shivered. “Perfect match how?”

“This takes into consideration a lot of things. But, mostly, genetically they are opposites in a way that makes their attraction astounding. Scientifically they are the perfect couple. There are a few select people born with a missing puzzle piece, shall we say? And when these particular pairings meet, it feels as though they’re complete.”

I noticed the way her eyes appeared to sparkle as she got into her stride.

“Of course, odds are still against them. The likelihood of ever meeting your perfect match is slim to nil. Usually it’s a rich kid from New York paired with a poor farmer in the Philippines. When are they ever going to meet each other? Statistically it’s practically impossible for any of these unique pairs to meet. It’s a big world. They just pass through life, falling in love hormonally like the rest of us. They may even get married and have children. Although lots with a perfect match choose a life of solitude. Not consciously, but merely because they feel something is missing.”

I thought about the file she had on the desk. I thought about her having Dr. Ashley spy on me. Then I thought about how I felt when I met Noah.

I shivered again.

“You’ve obviously had people spying on me and Noah,” I said. Anita nodded. “Am I allowed to ask why?”

She straightened herself in her seat.

“Because, quite simply, if these couples meet each other, it’s potentially catastrophic.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s more dangerous than your small head can even imagine.”

I remembered what she’d said earlier. About how Noah and I were the two most dangerous people on the planet.

My voice was tiny when I spoke.

“And Noah and I are…?”

Anita gave me a hideous smile.

“That’s right. You and Noah are a match – destined to be a match. I suppose if you were going to be romantic about it, you’d call yourself soulmates.”