The Legacy (7 page)

‘Of course I know,’ Sheila said lightly. She got up and stood behind Jude. ‘Zoom in on it again,’ she said.

Jude did what he was told.

Then she nodded happily. ‘Don’t you recognise the pattern?’ she asked.

Jude stared at it. ‘I do. I think I do, anyway. But I can’t . . . I don’t know where it’s from.’

‘I do,’ Sheila said. ‘It’s Peter’s ring.’

‘Peter’s ring?’ Jude looked at her uncertainly and turned back to the computer. Then he breathed out loudly. ‘You’re right. It’s the image on Peter’s ring. How did you know that?’

‘I notice stuff,’ Sheila said. ‘So, are you going to start looking for my parents? Look for all the Palmers in London. Look now.’

‘I will,’ Jude said vaguely, but his mind was already racing. Peter’s ring. The circle of life. Why was Richard staring at it? What did he want it for? He would find out. He would discover what was going on, and Pip would look at him anew, and he would be the hero suddenly, he would be the Resistance conqueror. Not Peter. Not any more.

‘Well, go on then,’ Sheila persisted.

Jude looked at her distractedly.

‘My parents,’ she said, her lip quivering slightly. ‘You promised, Jude. You promised.’

Jude sighed inwardly. ‘Sheila, stop looking for your parents, OK? Just give it up. Parents aren’t that great anyway – I hated mine most of the time.’

Sheila stared at him angrily. ‘I don’t want to give it up,’ she said hotly. ‘You promised you’d find them. You promised.’

‘I know,’ Jude said uncomfortably, reddening as he spoke. He could see Pip standing in the doorway watching them; he was out of earshot, but Jude still couldn’t risk telling Sheila what he knew about her parents. It had been stupid to promise that he would. ‘But it’s not that easy.’

‘No,’ Sheila said tightly. ‘I guess it isn’t. I guess it isn’t sensible relying on other people either, is it, Jude? When all they ever do is let you down.’

She stood up and ran from the room, pushing past Pip who looked at Jude with a bemused expression.

‘I’d never let you down,’ Jude said miserably, his voice catching slightly as he turned towards her. But it was too late – she couldn’t hear him. And he hardly believed himself anyway.

.

Chapter Five

Anna chopped tomatoes for the picnic, every so often glancing down at the pile of cushions heaped on the floor, on top of which lay Molly. ‘Beautiful,’ she murmured. Molly was the most beautiful creature in the whole wide world – Anna could stare at her for hours with no awareness of time ticking by. Her daughter. Her Molly.

‘Are you ready?’ Peter swept into the kitchen, stooping down to grab Molly and bringing her to his chest. Molly’s eyes opened for a second, her arms shooting up in a startled reflex before she nestled her head into his shoulder and resumed her nap. Anna turned back to the tomatoes.

‘Five minutes,’ she lied, knowing that the picnic wouldn’t be ready for at least ten, but knowing also that with Molly in his arms Peter, usually impatient, would not notice if five minutes became ten or even fifteen. Time, for Anna, was the real luxury of their freedom. On her wrist Embedded Time, the watch etched into her own skin, reminded her constantly of her days at Grange Hall where every minute was accounted for. There it was drummed into her, into all the Surpluses, that time was not theirs – that it belonged to Legals, just as they did. But she covered it up these days with long sleeves and even when she caught a glimpse of it, it no longer caused her heart to beat faster. She owned her own time now. If the picnic was late, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except their little family unit, their safety.

She glanced back to where Molly had been lying, her imprint still visible in the cushion. She opened her mouth to say something, to tell Peter about the letter waiting for him, the letter that she had stuffed under the cushion minutes before he had appeared. Then she closed it again. She knew what he’d say. The letter would blacken his mood.

‘And how’s my little Molly?’ Peter was grinning, kissing his daughter on the nose, causing her eyes to open again sleepily. She gurgled and Anna turned back to the kitchen worktop, her heart thudding in her chest. She knew who the letter was from, knew exactly what it would say. And she also knew that Peter wouldn’t read it, that he would dismiss it with an angry stare, tell Anna she could open it if she wanted to but that he didn’t want to know the contents, that he had no interest in the letter or its sender, that he had no mother, whatever she thought.

And he was right; she knew that sometimes. But she also knew that you couldn’t just deny something and be done with it. Peter’s mother was Mrs Pincent, Anna’s overbearing tormentor, a woman who she still sometimes imagined watching over her, criticising her. A woman who she still somehow felt a desperate need to please; a woman whose pain she couldn’t help sharing in her darker moments. To live without knowing Molly? Without knowing Ben? Terrifying.

‘She’s trying to sleep,’ Anna said, forcing her mind back to the present, as Peter threw Molly gently in the air.

‘Sleep’s for wimps,’ Peter retorted. ‘Anyway, I think she wants to play. Don’t you, Molly?’

Molly produced a big smile which Peter pointed to triumphantly. ‘See?’ he grinned. ‘I told you.’

Anna nodded and forced a smile. To tell Peter would risk ruining the day. Not to tell him would mean that she would be carrying a secret around with her. And secrets, Anna knew, were mini-betrayals. She had kept her escape secret from Sheila, leaving her vulnerable friend exposed to the wrath of Mrs Pincent and everyone else at Grange Hall, leaving her to be abducted by Richard Pincent, used to further his scientific ends. She had kept a secret before, for a woman she’d thought was her friend but who’d turned out to be a Catcher, who’d had her arrested and nearly had Molly destroyed in the process. Secrets were never good. They were supposed to protect people, but they never did. They always made things worse.

‘Peter,’ she said tentatively, ‘you got a letter this morning.’

He looked at her for a second and immediately the joy left his eyes and they took on the steely look that made her nervous even though he never directed it at her. ‘Another letter?’ he said, his voice light and apparently unconcerned. ‘Well, you know what you can do with it.’

‘She’s going to keep writing,’ Anna said, her throat drying up as she spoke. ‘Couldn’t you –’

‘Couldn’t I what?’ Peter rounded on her. ‘Write back to the woman who made your life a living hell? Who tried to kill me? She’s evil, Anna. I want nothing to do with her.’

Anna nodded. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘But she’s your mother.’ She couldn’t explain to Peter how enormous that fact was to her. Her own mother had been a virtual stranger to her; she’d met her briefly, loved her, only to have her snatched away again. And now she was a mother herself and it made her feel both stronger and more vulnerable than she’d ever thought possible.

Peter shook his head. ‘She isn’t my mother,’ he said tersely. ‘I have no mother.’ Then he sighed. ‘How are her letters even finding the Underground? That’s what I don’t get.’

‘One of the inmates . . .’ Anna said tentatively, not wanting to risk angering Peter further with her in-depth knowledge of Mrs Pincent’s previous letters. ‘An Underground supporter.’

‘What? They just give away the contact mechanism to Richard Pincent’s daughter?’ Peter asked sarcastically.

‘I don’t know,’ Anna said quietly.

Peter digested this. ‘You want me to write back, don’t you?’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t know what hold that woman’s got over you, but you want me to write to her and tell her I forgive her. You want that twisted psychopath masquerading as a human being to have some peace before she falls apart and dies.’ His eyes were boring into Anna’s but she stayed silent. Then he shook his head. ‘Well, I won’t. I want her to die unhappy, Anna. I want her to die crying out in her misery because of what she’s done.’

Anna stepped backwards. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she didn’t know why. She wasn’t crying for Mrs Pincent. She couldn’t be. Herself then? She didn’t know. She shook herself. It didn’t matter. Peter was right – Mrs Pincent was evil. She didn’t have a hold over her. Did she? ‘Fine, I’ll go and wake Ben,’ Anna said, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘You do that. And I’m going to check my messages. From people I actually want to write to,’ Peter muttered.

As Anna left the room she could hear him switching on the computer and frowned involuntarily. Perhaps Mrs Pincent had some strange draw for her; perhaps she thought of her old House Matron from time to time. But Peter’s own weakness was a far more physical and constant presence in their life and far more time-consuming – it was his computer. The machine was their conduit to the outside world – to Jude, Peter’s half-brother, and the Underground. To Peter, the computer was his connection, his lifeline; to Anna it represented only the uncomfortable knowledge that their rural idyll in the Underground safe house would not last for ever. Peter would hunch over it whenever he got the chance, sending messages, downloading news programmes, searching for information on Longevity drugs, on Pincent Pharma, on all the things he hated. Anna understood, but that didn’t mean she didn’t sometimes entertain thoughts of smashing the computer and cutting them off completely.

Ben was awake in his makeshift cot when she walked into his room, pulling himself up to a standing position, a huge smile plastered on his face.

‘Mama Nanna!’ he said excitedly as Anna approached, his name for her a result of many attempts at explaining that Anna was like his mother but really his sister, and that he could call her Anna or Mama, or . . . ‘Mama Nanna up now. Nanna up.’

Obediently, Anna lifted him out of the cot; he wrapped his little arms around her neck briefly, then wriggled his way on to the floor. Anna guided him down the corridor to the kitchen, then opened the door and ushered him through.

‘Teter,’ Ben said, toddling in the direction of the kitchen, of Peter. ‘Teter play,’ he said, nodding to himself as though deciding that this was a reasonable and sensible expectation. Anna loved that – loved his innocence, his lack of awareness that if anyone saw him they would call the Catchers. Children did not exist in a world that had become the preserve of the old; there was no place for them, no infrastructure, no welcome. New life only emphasised the futility and endlessness of old life, Anna thought. That was why people were scared of children, she told herself. That was why people betrayed them and called the Authorities. And that was why she kept Ben and Molly hidden, why she would not leave this house, this land, whose isolation provided them with the freedom and independence they would find nowhere else.

‘Teter!’ Ben’s eyes opened wide with pleasure as he saw Peter sitting at the computer, and he ran over immediately. Molly was asleep on Peter’s shoulder, Anna noticed with a wry smile. ‘Teter play. Teter play now.’

But instead of turning round and giving Ben a hug and a smile of welcome, tousling his hair, Peter remained still. Frowning, Anna moved towards him; he was staring at the computer screen, his brow furrowed.

‘Peter?’ she chided. ‘Peter, Ben wants to play.’

‘Not now.’ His voice was tense and Anna noticed that his shoulders were tight.

‘What?’ she asked, her heart immediately thudding in her chest. ‘What’s happened?’ Possible catastrophes rushed through her head: Jude was dead. Pip was dead. The Underground had collapsed. Richard Pincent had found them. The Catchers were coming. Everything was over. ‘Is it something terrible?’ She scooped Ben up in her arms, her eyes moving anxiously towards Molly. ‘Peter, tell me what’s happened.’

Slowly, Peter looked up. Then he shook himself. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just reading a message from Jude.’

‘What did he say?’ Anna said, her throat constricting and an ominous foreboding taking hold of her.
It’s started. I knew something terrible was on the horizon and now it’s here
. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Not wrong,’ Peter said cautiously. ‘Not in so many words. He just said to stay alert.’

‘We’re always alert,’ Anna said, looking around worriedly. ‘We only go out for two hours a day and we never leave a trail and –’

‘And we’re going to be fine,’ Peter said, getting up and walking towards her. ‘Like I said, it wasn’t a warning. It was probably just a reminder.’

‘A reminder,’ Anna said, biting her lip. ‘Are you sure?’

Peter pulled her towards him. ‘Anna, we’re safe here. You know we are. No one can find us and even if they did I’d protect you.’

‘You promise?’ Anna asked tentatively.

‘I promise,’ Peter said, kissing the top of her head distractedly as his eyes returned to the computer screen. ‘Although I wish I knew what was going on. I’m sick of being treated like a convalescing child up here in the middle of nowhere.’

There was something about the way he said it that made Anna’s stomach clench. A few times recently she had found Peter pacing up and down, a look in his eyes that she recognised, that she feared. Eyes that darted around, thinking, noticing, planning. ‘I don’t mind not knowing,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s a small price to pay.’ She looked over at the children then back at Peter; he nodded immediately.

‘You’re right,’ he said quickly. ‘Of course you’re right.’

And she
was
right, Anna thought to herself defiantly. They’d earned their freedom, earned this new life.

‘We’re happy here,’ she said, not sure why. ‘We’re happy here. Aren’t we?’

Peter looked at her for a second or two, then grinned. ‘Of course we are, Anna. We’re very happy. So, picnic?’

She handed Ben back to him and moved over to the kitchen counter. ‘Picnic,’ she agreed.

‘Nic nic,’ Ben said immediately, taking Peter’s hand and leading him towards the kitchen door. ‘Nic nic playtime.’