The Future King: Logres (32 page)

Arthur glanced to the clock at Marvin’s desk in the corner of the
room. Their time was up, and the session was at an end.

‘Gwen? What do you think of this?’

Her mother stopped by a very expensive-looking trench coat. Unhooking
it, she held it up for her to see.

‘Mam, it’s hardly suitable for winter,’ Gwenhwyfar complained. It was
Sunday, and they were out on a spree at Hollow Way, a designer-shopping village
that had come highly recommended by her aunt. Gwenhwyfar felt the fabric, and
found that though it was soft, it was thin. She immediately hunted for the tag.
‘What percentage is it? It’s not even one hundred percent cotton.
Polyester
? Ugh.’

Shrugging, Eve put it back. ‘Well, what
are
you looking for? You hardly need much more than what you
already have. I hear it’s going to be a mild winter.’

‘I heard the opposite,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked, stopping by a much
warmer, much thicker coat with a fleece lining. She juggled with the bags she
had already accumulated, five from three different stores, and hooked them over
her forearm. ‘Something like this is better. What do you think?’

‘Try it on,’ Eve encouraged, her face lighter than it had been all
week. She held Gwenhwyfar’s bags for her, clutching them tightly with her own. Gwenhwyfar
took off her own jacket and put on the new one. It was warm, definitely, but
too bulky.

‘Maybe we should try somewhere else,’ she said as she put it back on
the rail. ‘What time is it? I’m starving.’

‘Two,’ Eve said. ‘Shall we get some lunch?’

Gwenhwyfar reclaimed the spoils of their shopping trip, which, like
the spa yesterday, was her mother’s treat. She had been afraid that their weekend
together was a platform for Eve to tell her that she was filing for divorce,
but so far nothing had been mentioned and they had only spoken of more trivial
things.

When they were sitting in a café, on-site next to one of the smaller
handbag boutiques, Eve asked Gwenhwyfar to remind her what she had chosen.

‘The running shoes, remember?’ she said, extracting the box and
handing it to her to inspect. ‘And that leather handbag you liked.’ Pulling it
out of its wrappings, she tried it on over her right shoulder. ‘You don’t think
Dad will mind?’

‘Why should he?’ Eve said, giving the trainers back. ‘It’s my money.
Which dress did you get again?’

‘The black one.’ She pushed the shoebox back into a bag, and
rewrapped her new handbag. Her mother had bought her a bangle as well: a
delicate silver band fashioned in the style of a torque. The whole café was packed
with hungry shoppers, each one sitting next to their own hoard of expensive
things. ‘And those jeans. I’ve been needing new jeans for weeks.’ As the
barista brought them their hot drinks they cleared the table, and then sat in
silence for a moment, recovering.

‘Mam,’ Gwenhwyfar said after a while, ‘I was wondering… how do the
finances work at home?’

Eve stiffened, and frowned at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, do you and Dad have a joint account? Or separate?’

‘Joint, of course, but we each have our own accounts, too.’ She
straightened up and fiddled with her favourite necklace, a silver chain with
sterling beads that hung from her throat like raindrops. ‘You should always
have your own money Gwen, in any relationship. Always have something separate,
that your partner can’t touch.’

She wondered how contemporary the advice was, and if it was born of
recent circumstances. Gazing down at the perfect swirl of whipped cream on her
hot chocolate, she sighed.

‘I know, Mam.’

‘Know—?’

‘I know about Dad. I know that you found a bank account he’s been hiding.’

‘How did you—?’

‘I overheard you talking with aunt Melissa.’

‘Darling, I—’

She looked up at her sharply. ‘Don’t lie to me! I heard everything.
He’s been buying her things, hasn’t he? That’s why he’s always
working
, that’s why he’s never home.’
She shook her head, and suddenly she felt sick. ‘Is that why we moved? So he
could be closer to some squeeze?’

‘I don’t know, Gwen, really I don’t,’ Eve said quietly. ‘I—I
don’t want to talk about it here, I don’t even know if he
is
—’

‘You said so yourself: you
know
something isn’t right.’ She sat back abruptly, her eyes stinging with the threat
of tears. ‘Don’t you
defend
him,
don’t you dare do that. You’re worth more than that, you hear me?’

‘I’m not defending him, trust me,’ Eve implored, her face ashen, her
voice faint. ‘I’m
not
—’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Gwenhwyfar hissed. ‘You’ve been lying to me
all week, pretending like everything’s normal when it’s
not
. How could you?’

‘Gwenhwyfar Taliesin, don’t you dare shift this onto me,’ Eve
snapped, her voice low. ‘I didn’t tell you because I don’t want you to think
badly of him. I don’t even know if he
is
having an affair. What sort of mother would I be if I came running to you with
this? This is something I need to work out. You shouldn’t know. You shouldn’t
have heard.’

Shaking her head, Eve tried to lift her coffee, but when her hands
trembled too much she set it back down.

‘You shouldn’t know. What am I supposed to do, now that I have you
judging me?’

‘I’m not judging you—’

‘Well, it certainly feels like it. If you get off that high horse of
yours for just one minute you might realise that I
don’t
know anything but what I saw and that it was none of your
business to go snooping around like you did. Why didn’t you announce yourself
when you heard us talking?’

‘I didn’t get the chance!’ she snapped, her face burning. ‘I heard it
as soon as I came through the door. It’s not like I closed it quietly. I wasn’t
snooping
, if that’s what you think.’

It seemed that Eve was no longer listening, for her head fell into
her hands, and for a moment Gwenhwyfar feared she was crying.

‘What am I supposed to do?’

She didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ she tried. ‘It’s
like you say, you don’t know… you can’t be sure.’ She watched her for a moment,
forlorn. ‘Can’t you ask him about it?’

Eve rose from her palms, and shook her head. ‘I went into his study.
The door was locked, but I found the key. I was… I was just looking for some
old documents. I thought they might have been put there during the move by
accident. But I found all these files… a whole folder of receipts and
transactions. An account, hotels… odd bookings, large withdrawals, restaurants…’

‘Are you sure it’s not just for work? He might have a separate
account that they reimburse.’

‘
Jewellers
,’ she added,
through a sudden sob. ‘
Florists
. I’ve
never seen any flowers, not since my birthday last year.’

Gwenhwyfar jumped up and sat next to her mother, and wrapped her arms
around her, furious to see her so heartbroken. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ she decided.
‘I’ll ask him about it and see what he has to say for himself.’

‘No, don’t. I don’t want you to.’

‘Just let me talk to him. There’ll be a logical explanation, just you
see.’

‘No Gwen, I’ll do it. I want you to forget about this, do you hear
me? I don’t want you thinking that your father is some sleaze.’ She took her by
the hand, and squeezed it with her cold fingers. ‘You’re right, you’re both
right; it probably is nothing. I’ve just… let my imagination run away with me.
It’s that house; it’s being at home all day with nothing to do. Mel’s right. I
need to start work again.’

Gwenhwyfar lingered next to her, reluctant to move.

‘I’m fine, darling, really. I’ll talk to your father when the time’s
right. I’ll push Mel about the firm. George thinks they’re doing well enough to
take me on.’

The smile she gave her daughter wobbled, but as she dried her tears
it became more concrete. The waiter reappeared with their lunch, so Gwenhwyfar
moved back to her own place, and watched her mother anxiously as he set down
their pasta and waltzed off.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she asked, picking up her fork.

‘Yes, cariad,’ she murmured in her awkward Welsh, ‘I’m fine.’

‘It’s out, it’s on the news.’

Gwenhwyfar looked up as Gavin joined them, his shoulders hunched and
his head low. ‘What is?’

‘The Mobilisation Centres: it was on the six o’ clock news this
morning. Didn’t you see it?’ He pulled his phone out, tapped and swiped, and
then slid it into the middle of the table. ‘It’s everywhere. As soon as the
Eyewatch
website published, the main
news sites had to acknowledge the story. They’re still playing it down as much
as they can, but it’s out. So much for Milton’s great firewall.’

They were in the cafeteria for break. During registration that
morning Gwenhwyfar had reassured Bedivere that her mother was fine, and that it
was nothing to worry about, wishing she’d given Arthur another excuse for
missing Friday. Viola reached for the phone first.

‘
No
—’ she said, still
disbelieving.

‘What did they say?’ Bedivere asked.

Gavin sat back. ‘The usual.
These
reports are not yet confirmed
,
we are
uncertain as to the source
;
it is
likely to only be an isolated case
. That’s what they’ll go with, I reckon:
that the abuse and disappearances have just been happening in one centre, and
only a few heads will roll. Enough to convince us all that they think it’s
terrible too, and to show us that they’re doing something about it.’

‘Surely they can’t get away with that now,’ Viola said, handing the
phone back to Gavin. Bedivere intercepted it, and Tom craned to read over his
shoulder. ‘They’ll have to admit to everything if there are documents.’

‘It’s horrific,’ Gavin admitted, ‘but as far as they’re concerned,
there’s too much at stake. They’ll only admit to what they have to. They’ll
trim the weed and leave the roots.’

Tom’s face darkened as he scanned the article. ‘It says here it’s just
one centre.’

‘Of course it does,’ Gavin remarked.

Once again Gwenhwyfar thought of the boy that her mother had been
worrying about, the one that she had given soup. ‘How many?’

‘All of them—it’s what they’re for. Obviously they weren’t
killing themselves quickly enough. The rehabilitation thing is a farce; it has
to be.’

Gwenhwyfar waved for his attention. ‘Wait, what? Killing themselves?’

‘Cut funds, skeleton support from the state… there have been nearly a
hundred suicides in relation to poverty this year alone, and that’s not
counting the deaths of those below the quality of life line. Though that’s
something else you won’t hear about.’

‘These people, these
disappearances
…
where do they go?’ Viola asked, her porcelain face paler. ‘Do you think…?’

‘I don’t know what I think,’ Gavin muttered. ‘No one knows. There are
theories, of course. All we can be sure of is that they’re getting sent
somewhere.’ Scowling, he looked around. ‘Where’s Lance?’

‘I haven’t seen him,’ Viola said quietly. ‘Are you still thinking of…
you know…’

Gavin shook his head. ‘You were right—it’s not smart and it
won’t help.’ His blue eyes flitted left and right, and then he leant further
into the table. ‘I’ve heard there’s a protest being organised for this weekend,’
he murmured. ‘It’s in London. I’m going to that instead.’

There was a crash at the other end of the hall. All five of them
looked up to see Lancelot shaking himself off as he disentangled himself from
another boy in their year. Shouts were exchanged. Gwenhwyfar let her eyes
linger on him as he loped towards them, shaking his head. She noticed Emily by
one of the vending machines, sitting on her own.

‘Clumsy idiot wasn’t looking where he was going,’ Lancelot said as he
came upon them, twisting out of his bag and dropping it on the floor. ‘Stupid
phones.’

‘That’s still no reason to push him,’ Viola scolded as he sat.

‘I didn’t touch him!’ Lancelot elevated his hands. His dark eyes
slunk around the group. ‘What’s the matter with you lot?’

‘You haven’t heard?’ said Gavin.

‘Heard what?’

‘The Mobilisation Centres. It’s on the news, the New National news. There’s
a protest about it on Saturday. We should go.’

Everyone exchanged a look.

‘Hang on, Miles. You know what happens to protesters, right?’

Gavin remained still, and said nothing. Lancelot leant towards him.

‘You
do
want to join the
Marines after school, don’t you? If you go on Saturday, and someone recognises
you, that’s your chance of a military career gone.’

‘I know that, Lake,’ he snapped, ‘but I’m not going to sit back while
they bury this in more lies and corrections. Are you?’