Falling Apart (19 page)

‘Wow, indeed. This may not have been the time or the place, and yet …'

He made love to me. Every action weighted with emotion, with an unspoken commitment and the kind of gentle promise of more to come. And I responded in kind, with a degree of feeling that almost frightened me. ‘Love,' I whispered. ‘So this is what it really feels like.'

‘Generally it does not have quite so many cats associated with it.' Sil nodded his head at the audience of baffled felines ranged along the back of the sofa, various sizes and colours making it look as though we were being ogled by a patchwork quilt. ‘But, whatever works.'

‘Talking of work …'

He sat up. ‘Yes, I know. Back to the office.'

‘I have to.'

‘But it is different now. Now I know you are … what are you doing?'

From my position, sprawled on top of him on the living room floor, I had seen something strange. ‘Just help me move the rug, will you?'

‘As post-copulatory activities go, I usually prefer to read, or possibly eat something. Not rearrange the furniture.' But he helped me to pull the heavy mat aside.

Our … ahem … somewhat vigorous activity had rumpled it and I'd seen a corner of stationery poking out. It was an envelope and, lying underneath it, a crumpled sheet of headed paper. ‘What is it?'

I scanned the words and felt my heated skin chill. ‘Sil …' His demon rose, feeding off my panic. I could sense it in the speed of his movement as he took the letter from my numbing fingers. I closed my eyes.

He read the letter. Folded it carefully, meticulously, into a perfect square and placed it on the floor between us. Raised his eyes to mine and, very gently, laid his hand on my cheek. There were no words. Nothing either of us
could
say.

Liam stared as I came in. ‘You were gone a long time. And your shirt is inside out, by the way, so don't try telling me you had to go to the bank. Unless the manager has got
really
strict about your overdraft.'

I held out the perfectly folded piece of paper. ‘We found this. In the house.'

Something in my expression or my tone made him straighten. ‘Jess?'

‘Just read it.'

He read it. Aloud, which didn't help my already frayed nerves.

‘“Government Department of Human/Otherworld Affairs” – swish headed paper, this. D'you know, I think they've even got
embossing
 … must be serious.

‘Dear Mr Grant,

‘We, at the Department, have been advised that, some thirty years ago, you were in contact with a woman named Rune Atrasia. Our records show that she was deceased in 2008; however, there is some confusion regarding her life prior to that date.

‘To clarify. Rune Atrasia was a member of a Government Department, which she left under somewhat unpleasant circumstances in 1979. The Department lost contact with her around that time and now wish to establish details of her whereabouts and arrangements between this date and her decease – to whit, whether she formed any relationships and whether she gave birth to any children who may still be living.

‘Our information shows that in 1980 Miss Atrasia entered a programme to assist young women living on the streets during the Troubles, and that both you and your wife were connected with this scheme whilst you lived in Exeter. Therefore we feel you may be well placed to have knowledge of her life up to, and possibly beyond, this time. Any information you can give us regarding her known associates will be treated in the strictest confidence and will be subject to an Order of Government Dissemination.

‘“Yours,” – something illegible which certainly doesn't look like the James Doyle that's typed underneath it – “Under Secretary for the Department.”'

‘Jessie?'

‘I think it's what caused my father's heart attack. He wasn't having a fit when my mother found him: he was trying to hide this. I found it shoved under the rug.' I took a deep breath. ‘I think they're looking for me.'

Liam cupped his hands over his face. ‘But they don't
know.
It sounds more like they're fishing for information, and your parents have always told everyone that you're theirs, haven't they?'

‘But what if Malfaire told someone? What if it got out on that side? And'—I gestured towards his tablet, propped up on the desk and still playing the recording we'd made of Sil—‘what about
this
? Where does it all fit in?'

Liam lowered his head to his folded arms. ‘Shit,' he said, muffled.

I swivelled my chair from side to side, using the motion to burn off some of the bitterness that churned through my stomach. ‘Sil went to London looking for my mother's records.'

‘Sweet, really.' Liam's chin came up so that he could look at me. ‘Sounds like he wanted to find her birth certificate. Maybe he wanted to trace your family, draw you up a family tree or something? Perhaps you've got relatives still alive? On your mother's side, obviously, any rellies that your dad might have left alive aren't exactly going to be the type you invite over for Christmas, are they? Unless you have, like, really demonic Christmases, with blackened-soul pudding and roast eyeballs and stuff.'

‘You have clearly never eaten my mother's sprouts.' I carried on spinning. ‘Eyeballs would be an improvement.' I stared at the tablet. ‘So. Sil went to the records office to trace my mother, he found the book she should have been in, and the birth certificate wasn't there, yes?'

‘Yes, oh queen of the recap.'

‘I'm trying to get it straight in my head. But, there's loads of reasons that the certificate wouldn't be there. I mean, she was born during the Troubles – maybe she didn't get registered?'

Liam shook his head. ‘Not possible. Births were monitored, had to be. Humans needed accurate accounts of the numbers in case … well, they just did, and you couldn't get aid or housing or pretty much
anything
without the official paperwork.' He stared hard at me and I realised I was frowning. ‘I've got a degree in modern history. You did
read
my CV, didn't you?'

‘There was a page from
Colour In Pirates
, I thought that was it.'

‘Very funny. But the chances of a birth going unregistered … well, that opens a whole can of worms that I'm not sure I want to have to shovel back in.' His stare hardened. ‘You are understanding the implications here, aren't you?'

‘Um.'

‘It was a legal requirement – well, still is, that all births in a district be recorded, and those records be duplicated in a central location, in London. In case of enemy destruction of one or other location, you see.'

‘Coffee. Now.'

‘In a minute. This is the first chance I've had to use my degree since I wore the silly hat, and I am bloody well going to go on a bit. Besides, it looks like it might actually be
useful
for once, and some of those essays took
days
to write, so you are going to shut up and listen. Unless you're about to fire me for what I just said, in which case I apologise deeply and will go and get the mugs.'

‘No.' I sighed. ‘You're right. I am going to regret saying this but, do go on, Liam. Just, you know, not for too long or anything. I've got a healthy bladder and I'd like to keep it that way.'

‘So the fact that there is no record of your mother is odd.'

‘Could her record have been lost?'

Liam moved his head thoughtfully. ‘There
was
an Otherworld movement to try to destabilise the human government by creating disorder …' He glanced around the office. ‘You're not working for them, are you?'

‘I'm going to stop listening—'

‘But it never really succeeded. Humans are too good at paperwork. Well'—another quick glance around—‘
some
of us are. Besides, Sil said something about “numbers” being right. All birth certificates are numbered; I'm presuming he meant that the numbers were consecutive, so that rules out a certificate being torn out or mislaid.'

I kept swivelling. Motion made it easier to think. ‘Possibilities, then? One, she wasn't human, in which case her records would be somewhere else …'

‘But remember when they did the blood test on Malfaire, to try to find out what kind of creature he was? We used your blood as the control, and it showed you as half-human. So we know that much.'

‘Two, then, she wasn't registered. And that's the scary one.'

Liam just made a motion with his head, like a half-nod. ‘She “left the programme” in 1979. When she would have been … how old?'

‘I was born in 1981, when she was seventeen, I think Mum said. So, fifteen. Unlikely she'd have been employed that young; she should still have been in school.' I stopped the chair's rotation. ‘What the hell kind of programme
was
it? And then Sil finds out that there was no record of my mother and, suddenly and amazingly coincidentally, he gets shot and put somewhere until he was starving.'

‘And let out near a crowded shopping street when he must have been so hungry that his demon just took over.' Liam pulled a face. ‘Woah. Like I said, can of worms.'

I found that I was swallowing hard and continuously, almost as though something was rising in my throat. Sil. Trying to surprise me, to give me the gift of knowledge, something, anything about my birth mother and now having to hide in fear of his life. He could die and it wasn't his fault … ‘We need to talk to Zan. Once he knows that it wasn't Sil going off the rails …' To my surprise, Liam bent forwards with his hands on his knees, almost as though he was trying to stop himself from fainting. He blew a series of long, deep breaths. ‘You're not about to give birth, are you?'

‘I'm thinking. This is my “thinking” pose. Also my “not shrieking like a girlie” pose and my “oh God, help help help” pose. You might want to adopt it too.'

‘Why?'

He straightened up. ‘I know it's Sil, and I know how much he means to you. But where the hell is your paranoia? Because, just for once, I think it might come in useful.'

I stared at him. Various thoughts were dashing through my mind like a sprint final, in first place was,
It wasn't Sil's fault
.
We can tell everyone what happened and Zan can let him off
 … followed by,
He loves me enough to try to find my mother's family
. Trailing in a dim, distant third was,
So what really happened in the Records Office
? ‘Paranoia?'

‘We need to keep quiet! Sil wasn't drugged just so that they could move him somewhere – they could have just tranqued him … Somebody has tried very hard to make sure he wouldn't remember what he went there for – they couldn't know that you'd make a frankly quite fantastical leap of logic and try using your blood. And whoever it was knew that killing him, having him disappear completely, would throw up more questions, so they starved him and then let him out among humans so that he would condemn
himself
to death. Just a heads-up, this is where an “oh God, help help help” pose comes in useful.'

I stood up and yanked my jacket down from its peg. ‘I need to get out on the streets.'

‘So, what? We pretend that none of it happened? We keep calm and carry on? You realise that's just a slogan, you're not supposed to actually
do
it.'

‘But I
have
to, don't you see? We can't afford to start flapping about. Any hint that we know something weird is going on will make people sit up and notice us. We've got the best cover of all at the moment – the fact that York Council barely bothers to acknowledge we exist.'

‘Yeah, we're like the Avengers, if the Avengers were invisible and underpaid. I get the picture. Keep functioning, keep up the pretence of normality so no-one suspects we know anything.'

‘
All
our normality is a pretence,' I said. ‘We're pretending that I'm completely human, for one thing.' I pulled on my jacket, pocketed the tranq gun and headed for the door. ‘And we're pretending that you've got a full complement of testosterone, for another!'

I heard the thump of whatever he'd thrown at me hitting the door as I closed it behind me.

I went to the warehouse where Richard worked. Almost the entire workforce was made up of zombies; it was like watching a computer game seeing them driving the forklifts and stacking crates, all with the slightly jerky, imprecise movements that a rotted nervous system and a careless hand with the Bostik gave. The supervisor – human, of course, which gave me a tiny prickle down my spine – stopped the shift to let me talk.

‘So, how are things? Any more problems with the bully boys?'

The zombies looked around among themselves for someone to speak, and Richard shuffled forward. ‘There's threats,' he said. ‘They keep saying they're going to burn us out.'

My hand travelled to the gun. I hadn't even realised I was touching it until the chill of the barrel hit my fingers. ‘It's just talk; they're always mouthing off that lot. They daren't do anything. You've got rights.'

‘But we haven't, not really.' Richard said. He'd assumed the sunken attitude that zombies tended towards, as though their necks had collapsed under the weight of their heads, a kind of prolonged shrug. ‘We don't come under human laws because we're … well, we're dead, aren't we? It's not our fault we got that Otherworld infection and everything just keeps going … And the Otherworld lot won't touch us either. So we kind of fall in the middle, well, slouch anyway, there's nobody backing us up. 'Cept you, Jess.'

‘Maybe I could talk to Zan?' I glanced around at Richard's crewmates. Lacking the need to drink coffee or go for a smoke or a loo break, they were standing around the factory floor looking purposeless and a bit lost, rather like a bunch of mushrooms that had just broken surface. ‘All your friends, all of you, could be in danger. There must be somebody who's interested in stopping it.'

‘We tried. But we're practically indestructible, so they don't take us seriously; they just mutter something about keeping away from naked flames. It's the glue, y'see,' Richard said, somewhat sadly. ‘Goes up like a firework.'

‘But,
someone
has to do
something
. These bullies can't be allowed to carry on treating you as though you're just … just …' I whirled my hands as I tried to search for an appropriate word.

‘Things? We're treated like that by pretty much everyone, Jess.' Richard creaked his head around at the warehouse. ‘Don't need sleep, don't eat … we're machines that just happen to be shaped like people.' There was a tired resignation in his voice that really annoyed me.

‘Do you want to stay that way? Maybe you don't have rights at the moment, but you need to make some and then stand up for them! Without anything falling off, obviously.'

He looked around again. ‘But how would we do that, Jess? We're the grunts, doing all the grubby, dangerous jobs that nobody else wants to. We're, like, invisible. All over the world, loads of us, laying undersea cables, getting rid of explosives left over from the Troubles and all that stuff.'

I sighed. ‘I'll have a think, all right? Just stay together – they won't tackle you if you're with your mates – and I'll get back to you.'

Another zombie, one I only vaguely recognised, came forward. ‘We can't even revolt,' he said. ‘That's what they don't realise. We haven't got the glands. Can't do anger or anything. All we can do is moan, and no-one takes any notice of the moaning.'

In my pocket my phone vibrated. Rachel.

Why not pop round for a cuppa?

I looked from the screen to the slightly doddery people in front of me and had the merest flicker of an idea. ‘I think I might know someone who could help you do something about your situation, but it might take a few days … I don't suppose that zombies have a pension scheme, do they?'