The Territory (21 page)

‘I’ll make tea,’ Dad said and sidled off into the kitchen, shooting Mum looks so they could have one of their telepathic conversations.

‘Noa, take Ella into your room. Aunty Vicki and I need to talk. Alone.’

Ella followed me, head lowered. She sat, hands clutching ankles, a foetal ball at the bottom of my bed. And slowly the story spilled out.

Ella was going to fail. She was sure of it. Aunty Vicki had decided to risk the week’s rations and keep her out of school on Friday to sit four past papers. She’d got 32 per cent in Maths, 51 per cent in Biology, 37 per cent in Physics and 43 per cent in Geography. There was no way she’d make 70 per cent on the following Saturday. Even if she aced the other subjects. Just no way. Aunty Vicki had made the decision as they’d gone through the mark schemes together, Ella’s face a mess of mascara-coated tears. She wasn’t going to give away her daughter without a fight. Stand by and watch her pack her last suitcase. Let them take her to the Waiting Place. Pile her into one of the ‘resettlement’ buses to be taken off to die. She’d go with her if it came to it. But they’d run first.

It had taken them three days to get here. Travelling by night. Crawling along ditches, sleeping in skips. Ella’s left heel was a mass of weeping blisters. No one should have noticed their disappearance yet. No one tended to run before the exams. I mean, if there was the minutest chance you’d pass, you wouldn’t, would you? Running itself is an ‘Act of Opposition’ and fugitives ALWAYS got caught, well Norms anyway.

‘Mum was thinking we could hide here,’ Ella continued. ‘They probably wouldn’t check, would they? I mean with your mum working for the Ministry and everything. And then we could go and live in the Arable Lands or hide out in the Solar Fields or something. That Archie guy managed to get by for a year before he was caught and he was basically the stupidest guy ever.’

I just sat there like a denser. A mute denser. I wanted to say, ‘Yes stay.’ I wanted to say, ‘You can hide in my wardrobe. We’ll feed you. We’ll protect you. You’re family.’ But my throat wouldn’t release the words. And all I was really thinking was my wardrobe’s tiny and if you stay they’ll come looking and they’ll find you and then we’ll all die and I really, really don’t want to die.

Suddenly we heard shouting from the main room and the sound of things smashing over and over. Ella and I ran to open my door and saw Dad grabbing Aunty Vicki by the wrists as she brandished the hammer at Mum, who was surrounded by a sea of broken mugs and furniture.

All three turned to look at us.

Aunty Vicki spoke first.

‘OK we’re going. We’re going. Ella, get your things. The plan’s changed.’

Ella’s face was fear itself. Her whole body seemed to crumple. ‘But…’ she began to stutter.

‘There’s no time,’ Aunty Vicki continued. ‘We’ll be OK, sweetheart. I’ll protect you, baby,’ and then her voice broke and she roughly pushed tears away.

Tears streamed down Mum’s face too as she shut the door behind them.

‘They’re not staying then?’ I said, just to say something.

‘No … they’re not.’ And then she said, ‘Oh God, I love you, Noa-bean,’ just like she used to when she tucked me up in bed when I was really small.

Then I started crying too. Crying because of what was going to happen to Ella and Aunty Vicki. Crying because I was so relieved that we weren’t going to risk hiding them. And crying because I felt so guilty at how selfish I am.

I would have killed Anne Frank.

So many lasts in just one day.

Last weekend.

Last day of walking down the streets, hand in hand with Jack.

Potentially last dinner at home. EVER EVER EVER.

Dinner was awful. Truly awful. Mum and Dad were trying so hard to be fun and to ignore what was going to happen tomorrow and what had happened last night that they were like weird wind-up clowns or people in some freaky horror or body-swap film. Mum must have used up about five days’ rations to prepare a feast, but it kept on just getting stuck in my throat and I had to choke every mouthful down. It might as well have been mucor. I don’t know what they’re going to eat for the rest of the week. And they kept talking about plans for the rest of the year and for next year and the year after. As if by repeatedly denying even the possibility that I’d get sent away that’d somehow stop it happening. Like a magic mantra or something.

I broke halfway through pudding. Dad was talking about going on this big family trip to the Woods for my sixteenth birthday and I just stood up and screamed, ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ and ran to my room.

A few minutes later, Mum tapped at my door and sheepishly shuffled in.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ I whispered, peeping out from under my duvet.

‘No, we’re sorry, baby. We just wanted you to have a nice evening. To feel that everything was normal and will be normal.’

‘But it’s not normal, is it, Mum? It couldn’t exactly be further from normal. Daisy’s dead, Raf’s a freakoid, Ella and Aunty Vicki are no doubt already being hunted down by the police and I’m probably going to fail the TAA and get sent off to die and never see you and Dad again.’ Huge sobs just seemed to burst out of my body without my brain even sending signals.

‘Stop right there,’ Mum said, her voice comfort with a steel core. ‘You are my brilliant daughter. You will sail through these exams.’

‘But I might not, Mum. Please, just for once, acknowledge that I might not.’

She took a deep breath and exhaled. I knew how much these words would cost her.

‘OK. Suppose these examiners are morons.’ Mum never says morons. ‘Suppose you do fail. Dad and I are coming with you. We’ll be sitting next to you on the bus and sleeping next to you in the shelter we’ll build with you there.’

I almost smiled at the idea of Mum and Dad building a shelter. They’re both beyond useless at DIY.

‘But you shouldn’t die too.’

‘We won’t die. The Blakes are survivors. And if you’re not here, Noa, there’s nothing left for us in the Territory anyway.’

Then she helped me pack.

On my bed’s my bag. Still quite slim, innocuous looking. On the top’s the massively anal sheet specifying exactly what I’m supposed to take, the Ministry’s crappy symbol at the top.

‘Revision aids;

7 pairs of undergarments;

2 pairs of trousers;

4 tops/shirts;

2 jumpers;

1 pair of shoes (waterproof)

Sufficient to provide for the two Exam Days and the Waiting Place.’

The bus pulled up at the stop three minutes early. Everyone was already there, waiting; a crocodile of students, parents and suitcases lining the grey pavement. It had just started to rain. Eyelashes blinked away raindrops and tears as we boarded, one by one, Ms Jones grimly ticking off names on her tightly clasped clipboard. Even the freakoids looked slightly freaked out as if some human feelings were finally surfacing.

You could tell a lot about families by how they said goodbye and good luck. Hugo’s mum gave Hugo a cold peck on the cheek and his dad gave him a clipped handshake. I guess they knew there was no way that Hugo wasn’t coming back, so why waste emotion? Raf’s mum gave him a huge hug; his dad hadn’t even bothered to show. I knew how much that would bother him. Or maybe I didn’t. Maybe new robotic Raf wouldn’t even care anymore. In any event, he avoided me, as usual, even after I swear I saw his mum point me out. Jack’s mum rubbed Jack’s head into her chest, which might have looked really affectionate, if massively inappropriate, but was really just to draw more attention to her saggy cleavage and to make sure her carefully applied and over-bright lipstick didn’t smudge.

Mum and Dad were the best. They were sandwiched either side of me, stroking my hair, singing stupid songs, including the classic, ‘Noa, Noa, Noa Blake’ to the tune of
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
. Normally I would have found this the most cringeworthy thing ever. But this morning I kind of liked it and willed them not to stop.

Finally it was my turn to board. The driver took my suitcase and threw it into the hold. I dragged myself up the five steps, my legs like lead weights. Jack had saved me a seat towards the back and I burrowed in next to him.

‘Thanks,’ I whispered. It was the sort of morning that everyone was speaking at half volume.

‘No probs. Couldn’t have you sitting at the front like a loser.’

I punched Jack in the arm and he grinned. His grin was ACE. Then he dove into his rucksack and produced his Scribe and his headphones to share.

I looked around to check Ms Jones was still busy at the front and then produced my discman. He laughed at me as if I’d pulled out some sort of museum exhibit.

‘Shut up,’ I hissed. ‘I know it looks ridiculous but the music’s good. Different. I wanted you to listen to it.’

‘You’re making this up, Noa.’

‘Just listen, but make sure no one sees.’

Jack laughed again and said that no one would care what we were listening to now. Everyone knew this was probably a one-way trip. My mood dropped even lower, if possible.

‘God, sorry, I’ll shut up now.’ Jack said apologetically. ‘And I meant for me. Not you. You’re definitely going back. You’re like a natural super-brain.’ My stare must have got more intense and glum as Jack put his hands up and said, ‘OK, OK, change of topic. Right, let’s listen to your music then.’ I fast-forwarded to my favourite track and the song started. The one where the singer just keeps on repeating, ‘You sent me away, now I’m gonna make you pay!!’ and it really seemed to capture and intensify all my mixed-up feelings of fear and anger – yes, above all I guess, huge boiling anger against the Ministry for taking us away and putting us through this. Jack and I were soon singing along and row upon row turned round to stare at us in total confusion. We looked at each other and just totally cracked up. Lost it. Tears running down our faces although we both knew it wasn’t really THAT funny, it was just a release.

Ms Jones’ voice cut through the laughter. ‘Noa and Jack, stop this noise immediately.’

Jack and I just burst out laughing again. I mean what could she do to us now? There was an unwritten policy against deducting points at this late stage. Seen as too cruel, I guess.

The rest of the journey to the Waiting Place was pretty uneventful. We finally turned into the driveway at just after 4pm. I don’t know if it was just our mood, but as the tyres first crunched gravel, the clouds seemed to grow darker and darker and everyone seemed to shrink a little into their seats. The Waiting Place was massive. Like a factory, or a prison. Large, grey and squat, with loads of barbed wire and high railings. And this was supposed to be one of the nice ones. Waiting Place 12 to be precise – reserved for students from the most prestigious private schools. I guess pre-Archie Rycroft, freakoids got to stay at home and just bus in for the actual exams, so maybe standards were pretty low. I mean a fee-paying Norm’s still just a Norm. I’d hate to see what the other ones were like though.

Hugo’s voice could be heard complaining, ‘My dad will have something to say to the Governing Body about this dump,’ but everyone else was mute, awed by the slab of a building that was going to be ‘home’ for the next five days. Even Ms Jones seemed slightly cowed and spoke reasonably gently with a tinge of – could it be? – pity in her voice as she told us to get out.

We trudged through two sets of thick steel gates that made a threatening ‘clung’ as bolts slid in and out of place and then we were inside. Rooms were allocated randomly and Jack and I were each in a single-sex dorm of eight.