Breakdown (24 page)

Lenny stops and looks at me. ‘Missa, is this a farm?'

‘Yes.'

‘Are all farms like this?'

I flip my palms up. ‘Guess so.'

‘Do you think they'd miss just a tiny bit of them veggies?'

It's a farm all right. With nothing to eat in it. You could starve here, surrounded by huge silvery-green cabbages, if you didn't help yourself.

Something inside me snaps. I'm not going to starve. Neither is Lenny.

I shove as many crunchy cabbage leaves as I can inside my boiler suit.

Whether we make our targets or not, we're not going to starve.

By the time the sun's setting, I've got a whole load of carrot and cabbage stashed inside my top. Only thing I need to do now is weigh out and make sure they don't find it.

We stand in line by the weighing slabs, hoping our baskets will meet the targets, so we can get our food rations. People are hungry. They push and elbow each other out of the line. Lenny struggles to lift his baskets of cabbages along. One woman shoves in, bang in front of him. I shove her back. I'm not having it. I stand still to block her trying that trick again. But she's knocked Lenny and he slips, knocks over one basket, spills his cabbages. And they roll down the line.

‘Dog's Law,' squeals one man. He bends and picks up two of Lenny's cabbages and puts them in his own basket.

I put down my basket. I'm not having that either. I go over to him and snatch the cabbages back.

‘So that's how it is,' he says and pushes me so hard I fall over. I land with a bump. The man strides up to my basket and helps himself.

Lenny races around trying to collect the other scattered cabbages. But they're gone. In desperation I kick over one of the man's baskets. ‘See how you like it,' I snap.

The young man who helped me at the water sluice suddenly appears. He's got three of Lenny's cabbages in his hands. He dumps them back in Lenny's basket.

‘C'mon,' he says to the queue. ‘Let's not spoil the little fella's first day.'

As if by magic, everybody gives the fallen cabbages up without a word. I stand there, mouth open, eyes wide.

The young man strolls up, picks up the man's basket I just kicked over, puts it right. The people in the line put all the cabbages back in it. Then the young man returns my cabbages to me.

‘No need to make enemies, you know,' he says.

‘Thanks,' I mutter. ‘You don't seem to have any.'

‘Well,' he says, ‘that's the way I like it.'

'Now, young fella.' He turns to Lenny, who's standing there fighting tears, his chin trembling, his thin legs shaking. ‘I'll give you a hand with that, shall I?' He shoulders two of Lenny's baskets and heads towards the top of the line.

We've lost our place in the queue, but the young man says, ‘No problem. Everyone here's my friend,' and proceeds to talk to the others saying, ‘If you don't mind,' and, ‘Let's give the young 'un a break, shall we?' and ‘Here we go, that's right.' Soon we're at the front, right near the weighing benches.

Our cabbages are weighed. We pass the target. We collect our rations. A hunk of flat bread, a few vegetables. The soldiers see our companion and wave us through.

And miraculously I'm out of the biome – clutching our dinner in one hand and with the other holding on to all the extra helpings I've stashed down my front!

Some distance from the doors, the young man bows to me in an oddly formal manner. ‘I'm Harold,' he says.

‘Melissa and Lenny – and thanks.'

Lenny is already tearing into the bread.

‘So you're the little ganger, eh? The one they picked off the streets?'

‘I ain't no ganger no more,' says Lenny.

‘That's the spirit,' says Harold. ‘I've got something to cheer you up. Wanna see it?'

Lenny chews and nods.

‘OK. Choose a hand.' Harold balls both his hands into fists and hides them behind his back.

Lenny looks at him, sucks on a finger, takes time to make his choice. ‘OK,' he says, ‘if I choose the right hand, I'll be right.'

‘Oh no you won't,' says Harold. ‘You'll be wrong.'

Harold pulls out his right fist, and with a flourish opens it up right under Lenny's nose. There's nothing in it. Lenny laughs. ‘Then it's the other.'

‘Wrong again,' says Harold. He brings out the left fist, opens it. There's nothing there, either.

Lenny looks peeved.

‘Don't you think he's had enough for one day?' I say.

Harold twists his right hand, brings it forward again and, right in front of Lenny's eyes, he snaps his fingers, says, ‘Abracadabra.' And between his thumb and forefinger is the hugest ripest strawberry I ever saw.

Lenny's eyes light up.

The smell of it. So sweet, tantalising. Lenny stares at Harold, takes the strawberry.

‘How d'ya do that?'

‘Everything's simple when you know how,' says Harold. ‘Just a snap of the fingers and a flick of the wrist and there you go. Anything you want. I can get it for you.'

That's far too exciting for Lenny. He sucks his finger again and says, ‘No you can't.'

‘Go on,' says Harold. ‘Try me.'

‘OK,' says Lenny. ‘I'd wanna duckling.'

‘No problem,' says Harry. Quickly he balls his fists again, hides them behind his back. ‘Choose a hand, any hand.'

Lenny considers. He doesn't want to be caught out this time. He reaches forward and says, ‘I think I'll have that one.' He suddenly puts both hands out and grabs both of Harold's arms at exactly the same time.

‘Got ya now,' says Lenny. ‘Where's my duckling?'

Harold laughs, says, ‘OK, you win.'

‘Bring it out,' says Lenny. Then his face falls. ‘You ain't got no duckling. You got that strawberry outta one of them biomes. You ain't got no duckling nor nothing.'

Harold brings out first his right hand, snaps his fingers. Nothing. Brings out his left hand. Snaps his fingers. Nothing.

‘I knew it,' says Lenny.

‘Well, sorry about the duckling,' says Harold with a bow, ‘but you can have this.' Suddenly he spins around, crouches down and then throws his arms out, hands clasped together. There in his cupped hands is a bird.

Lenny stares. ‘It ain't a duckling – is it?' he says at last.

‘It's a pigeon,' says Harold. ‘Now do ya want it or not?'

‘I want it, but I ain't got nothing to feed it on,' says Lenny very solemnly.

‘Then I'll just have to let it go back where it came from.' In one motion Harold throws the pigeon in the air. It flies high. Lenny watches it, eyes wider than saucers. The pigeon whirls in the air, circles, comes lower, circles again, and then suddenly turns, as if it knows where it's going, and flies straight off.

Harold turns and winks at me. ‘One of the army's homing pigeons,' he whispers. ‘But it cheered him up.'

Lenny's still watching the bird.

‘Thank you,' I whisper back.

‘So, young lady.' Harold turns to me. ‘What do
you
want?'

I shake my head.

‘Have a think about it. When you're ready, let me know.'

‘It'll take more than a snap of your fingers to get me what I want.'

‘Pity,' says Harold.

‘It is,' I say.

‘I don't mean it that way.'

‘What way do you mean it, then?'

‘I mean that it's a pity you don't believe in magic,' he says.

Back in the room with the ripped floor I hold Lenny. He can't sleep.

‘Why ain't nobody happy here?' he asks.

‘Sshh.'

‘There's food. And it smells nice.'

‘Let's look at your book.'

He tugs it out from under his top. It's damp, crumpled.

I open it at the tens page where all the bees are buzzing.

‘On the farm they had ten –' I pause.

‘They've got bees,' says Lenny. ‘I seen them today, real live bees in that biome and there's loads of 'em.'

‘Yes,' I say.

‘And they didn't die, did they?'

‘No, they adapted.'

‘Adapted?'

‘They've got used to living in the biomes. They could probably live outside of them too.'

‘But what about the radiation?'

‘The biomes don't keep out the radiation. They just keep the bees in.'

‘Tell me about the radiation.'

‘You know about it,' I say.

‘But I don't,' he says. ‘I never really did.'

‘Well,' I start. ‘Long ago, they were pretty clever and they discovered lots of things like electricity and –'

‘Proper food,' says Lenny.

‘They grew lots of it –'

‘On farms.'

‘Why don't you tell the story then?'

He shakes his head.

‘They invented a way of making electricity from nuclear energy.'

I pause. I can see Lenny's eyes drooping. He's tired.

‘And just when nuclear energy made everything work fine, somebody blew it up.'

His eyes open up a bit. He wants to ask: Whadda they wanna do that for?

But his eyelids sink lower instead.

‘All of it,' I whisper. ‘And then we got this.'

Tarquin visits me in the night. In dreams he comes to me, out of the waters of a great river. He wears a tunic of white cotton. ‘I have come to take you home,' he says.

He folds me in his arms. He holds me to his breast. He kisses my hair. He chants a sad hymn to the sound of tin pans beating. The whole of the underworld is filled with music.

‘I have paid the price for your freedom,' he tells me. ‘Now you must follow me up, out of the darkness, out of the Valley of Shadows, into the sunlight.'

He holds my hand one last time, kisses me until my lips are hot with desire. ‘I will lead you to the upper world,' he says. ‘And you must believe in me. Follow wherever I go, but do not call out to me, do not tempt me to turn and look upon you, for your beauty will bewitch me, and I will not be able to lead the way. The curse will be unleashed, and you will remain forever in the underworld.'

And together we climb up the long hill towards the light, where the sun forever shines in a valley, where a brook forever runs, and the grass is filled with wild white clover.

But just as we reach the doorstep between the worlds, and he crosses the threshold, I forget my promise and call out, ‘Tarquin!'

And he turns, being already in the sunshine. His face is lit up for a moment in dazzling light.

Then the door to the underworld slams shut.

And I am left in darkness.

The next morning dawns.

We aren't taken back to Biome Thirty-four. We're lined up and marched to the green, our numbers recorded. We're taken into the courthouse. Once again the long hut, the long benches. There're more of us, new arrivals. They sit on the benches too.

At the far end sits the General.

I feel physically ill. I can't avoid him. The balding head, the watery little eyes, the cruel mouth, the sloping teeth. My heart thumps. I break into a cold sweat. My boiler suit sticks to my back.

‘I'm scared,' says Lenny.

I wrap my arm around him. He's shivering.

‘What're they gonna do?'

‘It's part of the journey,' I say. I hold him close.

He rests his chin on my arm.

‘The hard part again?'

‘Yes. This is the really hard part.'

One by one, each goes and stands in front of the General's table. The short man in camouflage reads out the charge. He's got a gun strapped to his thigh. Oh yes, I remember him. The adjutant who told us we were a pile of shite.

‘Out after curfew.' A girl with mousey hair.

‘Loitering with intent.' A young man.

‘Two years' hard labour.' Judgement for both.

It isn't any different when it comes to us.

‘Where were you going?' barks out the adjutant.

‘Scotland,' says Lenny, before I have time to shush him.

‘Why?' says the man.

‘We was going to live there,' says Lenny. His voice trembles. His eyes seek mine. I don't shake my head. He knows it was our secret. They drag him forwards.

‘Explain.'

‘We was going to make blackberry crumble.'

The adjutant pushes Lenny to the side. Turns on me. ‘I'm going to put the question to you again. Where were you going?'

‘We were escaping,' I say. ‘We were escaping from the Bone Cross Bone gang. We were trying to get out of London.'

The General smiles.

‘And how were you going to feed yourselves?' says the adjutant.

‘We had some food.'

‘How much?'

‘A bag of potatoes.'

‘And after that?'

‘We'd look for work.'

A look shoots from the adjutant to the General.

He nods.

‘Two years' hard labour each. The child can stay in the biomes. The girl is for house service.'

The General looks at me. He's smiling. A light sweat glistens on his upper lip. He leans forward and hisses, ‘
This is going to be fun, isn't it?
'
He flicks an eyebrow up. A soldier steps forwards, wrenches Lenny from me. Drags him away.

Lenny's eyes plead. He raises a hand, as if to hold on to me.

‘The hard part,' I whisper.

His thin frame is trembling like a leaf. He twists free from the soldier, races to me, clings on. Instantly the adjutant steps in, whacks Lenny across the head and yanks him off me.

Lenny screams, all legs and arms, stamping, punching, then he's pulled off through the door. At the last moment he turns. His face is lit up by a sunbeam from outside.

Then the door slams shut, and he's gone. I'm left in the darkness.

They lead me out through another exit. No sniggering faces. No jokes.
Poor Lenny.
They all know why I'm singled out.

Two years' hard labour. The General with his watery eyes.
Poor Lenny
. Tarquin flogged and locked up.

O ye Gods. Don't desert us.