I Am Margaret (19 page)

“It’s not my idea, it’s Bane’s. He sent me the flyer and I wasn’t quite stupid enough to chuck it straight away.”

“Well, it’s a good idea. Though… do you happen to have a hundred thousand word novel highlighting the plight of reAssignees lying around somewhere?”

“No. But that’s not even the first problem. I need a winning short story to send to Bane by next Friday or we’ll miss the deadline. That’s number one. Bane needs to persuade Sue to submit it for me, that’s number two. Lack of novel is a distant third and I’ve got two months to worry about that.”

“Can’t Bane submit it?”

“The teachers aren’t completely stupid.”

“I suppose not. I doubt he’s written a short story in his life.”

“Oh, they’ve forced him to write one or two, but somehow I think they might smell a rat. But Sue writes, and she writes quite well. It’s the holidays, so it’s only the school receptionist we have to fool to get the entry in, but the Head will see the list.”

“Isn’t Sue entering herself?”

“
Um… I don’t think she writes… quite
that
well. But I doubt the Head knows that.”

“Ah. Well, you’d better get busy, hadn’t you?”

“
Margo? Margo, are you here?” Mum’s voice, urgent but not panicked. She’d seen the wellies in the hall.

“
I’m up here, Mum.”

Rapid steps up the stairs, then Mum looked in.

“
Margo, why didn’t you come back to us? Your dad stayed at the sports ground in case you were still there... And I really think Bane’s a bit big to be in your bed, you know.”

“
Sorry, Mum. Bane, er, wasn’t feeling so good, so we had to go. And please don’t make him move, I can sleep in the spare room.”

“
What’s up with him?” Mum asked, as Bane opened an eye and grimaced something that was probably supposed to be a smile.

“
Urm, I think perhaps you’d better take a look, actually.” Mum worked in the pharmacy, so she was more likely than most people to know what to do about broken ribs. “He, um, fell. Sort of. Hurt his back.”

Mum strode over and drew back the duvet. Gasped.

“
Why didn’t you take him to hospit...?” She broke off, bending to scrutinize Bane’s pink face and singed eyebrows. Her breath went out in a dismayed huff. “Right. I see why not. He hit something pretty hard, I take it?”

“
A wall. We think he’s broken some ribs or something.”

“
Bruised ribs can hurt like anything.”

“
It’s worse than bruises, Mum, seriously.” Bane didn’t easily show pain, so I was sure of that.

“
Right, well, there’s only one way to find out.” She sat on the bed, placed her fingers on his first rib and pressed firmly. Bane gave a strangled yelp and sank his teeth into the pillow.

“
Well, I don’t think they’re broken,” said Mum, when she’d poked each one. “But from all that whimpering and thrashing around, some of them are cracked. Good job it’s your mid-semester break. Now, did you tell your mum you were coming here?”

“
No,” growled Bane.

“
Right, I’ll give her a ring, then,” she sighed, rising. At the sound of the front door, she called, “We’re up here, dear.”

“
We—good!” exclaimed Dad, as he took the stairs two at a time. “Margo, why didn’t you... Heavens above, young man, what have you done to yourself?”

“
The secret’s in the eyebrows,” said Mum dryly, sweeping out of the room. Dad reached the bed and peered down at Bane’s face. Relief was suddenly wiped from his own.

“
Gracious, boy, what did you
do
to those fireworks?”

“
Poured petrol on them and lit it,” Bane muttered. “Thought it would make sure they all went off and it meant I didn’t have to worry about getting the door open...”

“
A large quantity of gunpowder when lit, will for all practical purposes go off like a large quantity of gunpowder, even if there are a few thin cardboard tubes in between,” stated Dad, in a rather patient voice. Dad was a trained engineer, though mostly he worked construction with Mr. Marsden, since there was far more of that work available.

“
Really?” retorted Bane, “You know, I think I noticed!”

“
Yes, I imagine you did. You know, boy,” Dad put his hands on his hips and stared down at Bane in exasperation, “if they catch you, you’ve done it this time.”

“
Yeah, well, when they execute you, they give you that stuff first to put you under and I have to say that would feel pretty good right now.”

I smacked him on the head.

“
Joke, Margo!” he protested.

“
That wasn’t by any definition, any relation whatsoever of funny.”

“
She’s quite right, you reckless fool. Why don’t you ever listen to her when you have these crazy ideas?”

Bane’s eyes opened all the way and his lips parted in silent protest, but he didn’t speak, bless him.

“
Urm,” I said. But fortunately Dad was just walking out of the door.

“
Well, I seem to be in their good books.”

“
You think? Just you wait if they find out I helped you!”

“
Perhaps the EuroGov
will
come and take me away.”

I smacked him again, but he just sniggered at me. I couldn’t feel too angry with him, anyway, still high atop that storm surge of relief that’d swept me up when I saw him alive.

“
You know, I think I’m going to pray...” I rose from the bed, my arms lifting, and spun in a slow circle.

“
Oh good, that kind of praying.” Bane turned his head to watch.

I danced in thanks, mostly, that the Lord had given us victory in our little endeavor, even if it’d perhaps been rather ill considered, and thanks above all that Bane was alive and suffering from no injury that a bit of time and rest wouldn’t fix. And a little bit of appeal at the end, that we would go on being free and alive, were it the Lord’s will...

And with all that expressed, I danced into stillness again.

“
That’s the only type of praying I like watching,” said Bane.

“
You should try it sometime.”

“
Nah, I prefer to dance with other people.”

“
You know that’s not what I meant.” I went to sit on the floor by the bed.

“
If you don’t mind, Margo, I think I’ve got more important things to worry about right now than speaking to something I’m not convinced exists.”

“
I’d have thought they were the sort of important things that would’ve made you quite interested, actually.”

Bane snorted.

“
Margo, the way I see it, there’s only one way to find out for certain and I don’t want to know
that
much. I can wait.”

“
Well, according to that reasoning, the only way to be certain that the sun will rise tomorrow is to wait until it does.”

“
I won’t argue with that.”

“
Yeah, but you’ll go about as though it
is
going to rise, won’t you?”

“
Actually, right now I frankly couldn’t give a damn.”

“
Oh dear. Poor Bane is hurting.”

“
Yes, he is.”

“
Well. It could be worse, you know.”

“
Your bedside manner sucks, Margo.”

“
Sorry.” I rose on my knees to draw the duvet up over him again. “I’d offer to kiss it better but I think you’d rather I didn’t.” But I did brush a tangle of black hair back from his sore forehead and place a gentle kiss there.

“
Umm,” sighed Bane, “Your bedside manner is improving.”

We were on tenterhooks for a long time, waiting for that knock on the door, but it never came. After all, Bane had never showed up at the hospital, we’d both worn gloves, we’d left nothing behind, the guards had never got a proper look at my face, we’d both scanned in and out at the gates and dozens of couples must’ve climbed that fence that night… The police were looking for two needles in a haystack.

It’d taken a long time for us to relax. But the days had drawn on into weeks, and then into months, and gradually we’d accepted that we’d got away with it…

I pulled my mind back to the mortifying business of the night. Say my prayers
before
going down to Jonathan’s bunk? I’d been trying so hard with my last prayer, but the fear sat inside me, cold and dark like… like a black hole. As I lay alone in the darkness, it sucked all my efforts into it, leaving nothing but the memory of Uncle Peter, dying. I couldn’t remember when I’d last cried, before I came here… okay, perhaps I could, it was when we heard Sister Kate had been executed, but still, I wasn’t
weepy
. Yet here I was, crying myself to sleep night after night.

There were still a few people whispering, but the nighttime quiet had already settled over the dorm. The whole idea was that everyone else should be awake to notice me go down. Surely I’d manage not to cry with him right there beside me! I slid down to the floor, paused, then pulled my blankets off.

The rustling sounded loud enough to wake the dead, and when I lifted Jonathan’s ‘curtain’ and scrambled inside, I’d no sooner let it fall than there was an outbreak of whispering followed by a great deal of giggling. Success, I suppose.

“How are we going to arrange ourselves?” I breathed, once I’d located Jonathan’s ear. His bulk already seemed to fill the narrow bunk and top to tail would’ve been far the most comfortable, but it only took one person peeking and we’d be rumbled.

“I thought we could probably arrange a blanket between us,” he murmured back, “without it being visible. It will take a while to get it straight as well, in this confined space, which is… probably best.”

Ah yes, a good quantity of ongoing rustling sounds were quite indispensable for true success.

“Okay,” I whispered, and then thought it prudent to give a tiny, smothered giggle. Which sparked a positive eruption of giggling from beyond the curtain. Which made me blush.

Jonathan’s plan proved even more awkward than anticipated. Every time we tried to move a blanket, we’d find one or other of us was lying on it. We’d move one part of our body and find another still trapped it. The incredibly frustrating exercise produced as much panting, heavy breathing and general thrashing around as our listening audience could possibly desire.

Finally, blanket positioned, we flopped gratefully down, only to find ourselves pressed together like a pair of sardines. Every line of his warm, firm body touched mine and my cheeks, already flushed from all the exertion, grew painfully hot.

“I’m sorry, this is awkward,” he muttered—blushing too, I’d bet.

“How… how should we… you know, lie. I… bet someone peeps in the morning.”

“Yeah. Let’s just… face each other, you think?”

“Right.”

We both turned on our sides and that did give slightly more room in the bed, though even with the dividing blanket our limbs became embarrassingly entangled.

“Um. Okay. Good night, Jon.”

“Night, Margo.”

Right, prayers. Ignore the handsome now-somewhat-less-than stranger beside you. This was
so
embarrassing.
Hello, Lord. Please watch over Bane. Please, please? Don’t let him do anything stupid. Please watch over Mum and Dad. Please watch over Father Mark. Please don’t let
him
do anything stupid either…

And all too soon I came to it… ‘Domine…’
I now, at this moment, willingly accept whatever
… ‘quodcumque … quodcumque…’
kind of death,
‘quodcumque…’ and Uncle Peter was stretched out in my mind, bloody and pale, as they sliced him to pieces—had he been screaming inside, screaming and screaming in utter, helpless agony as they killed him? Or had he been praying, his prayer helping to keep that pain at bay?

Could even the greatest love of Our Lord hold back that pain? What’d it be like to have every part of you cut away while you still lived?

‘Quodcumque…’ I couldn’t say it, even in my mind. I trembled with the effort of holding back the tears, and I could not say it. My throat was burning and I wrapped a hand over my mouth to keep from making any sound. But my troubled breathing told Jonathan enough.