The Testament of Jessie Lamb (21 page)

When we got back to the house there was a nice smell of fried onions. Mum came out of the kitchen. ‘You must be frozen. I've made soup.'

‘It's OK thanks, we had lunch at the White Hart.'

‘Oh.' She stood watching us in the hall as we took off our stuff.

‘How's she doing?' Dad asked kindly.

‘Mandy? She's still angry. It's really hard, Joe.' We went into the kitchen, and she ladled some soup into one bowl and sat at the table.

‘Is Caroline with her?' Dad asked.

‘Yes. I had to have a breather. She spends the whole time ranting at me, because I sent that little shit packing. I'm ruining her life–'

‘Look,' said Dad. ‘Every day you get her through is a plus.'

Mum shook her head. ‘She's driving
me
mad.'

‘I'll come back with you,' he said.

‘Why did you go to the White Hart?'

‘It seemed like a nice thing to do,' said Dad. ‘I didn't know you were coming home.'

Mum looked at me as if she hadn't seen me for a while. ‘So has he managed to talk some sense into you?'

‘It's OK, Cath,' said my Dad. ‘We've had a discussion.'

‘And?'

‘Just leave it,' said Dad.

I didn't want them to start. ‘I'll think about waiting a year, like Dad said.'

‘Right.' Mum stared at Dad then bent her face to her soup. I hung up my coat and went upstairs. I needed to know there'd be a baby who was OK. I sat on my bed and looked up at the tree. I felt like a traitor.

There was a blizzard of news about the Sleeping Beauty programmes, over the next few days–including stuff about the pre-MDS embryos. There were allegations that clinics were tricking girls into volunteering; that money was changing hands; even that girls were being kidnapped and drugged to take part in the programmes. There was a lot of publicity about the natural parents of the frozen embryos–how their rights were paramount, and how they might choose not to have their embryos used experimentally. I was watching TV to keep up with it all, and so I knew as soon as the Wettenhall film was posted.

I checked it on the internet. It was gruesome–dark shadowy footage of a concrete building like a multi-storey car park, with hundreds of wire cages and the most pitiful creatures inside them. Terrified monkeys that clung to the bars and chattered at the camera; sick dull-eyed monkeys that rested propped in the corners of their cages, scratching feebly at scabs or at tubes that ran into their arms and legs; comatose monkeys that lay strapped down with wires and monitors wriggling out of them, their fur shaved back to reveal the raw pink skin. There were naked sheep wired up and strapped in place like astronauts in a space shuttle; cage after cage after cage, stacked high with misery. In some the animals lay sprawled in vomit, dead.

I could see why Nat was angry. You couldn't look at this and not be angry. You couldn't believe human beings were responsible for this. I remembered Dad cheerfully talking about transgenic sheep, as if it was just science. Clean, tidy, painless science. Either he didn't know what was going on, or, if he thought this was OK–well, I simply couldn't trust him. I switched off the computer and went into the kitchen.

I think at that point I was almost equally balanced between going ahead, and backing out. The nastiness of science, the drugs and tubes and machines, appalled me. If I gave myself up to it, I'd be no more than one of those sheep. And if, as Dad said, I might die and produce no baby–die for no reason … ugh.

What would it be like, to die? I told myself it would be like the time before I was born, when I knew nothing, a dreamless sleep. But imagine not seeing sunlight. Not getting up in the morning and wondering what would happen today. Not feeling the soft cotton of my clean t shirt as I pull it over my head. Not getting that ache in my fingers from the cold water when I clean my teeth. Not swinging open the door of the kitchen cupboard with one hand while I press down the lever on the toaster with the other and my feet are jigging to some tune on the radio. Not seeing something bright–oh good, a flower!–in the back garden then realizing a fox has raided the bin and rubbish is spilled across the lawn and going out in my slippers to pick it up and feeling the cold damp of the grass soaking through at the edges of the soles and picking up the soggy mess and realizing that Mum or Dad has not only thrown away potato peelings which should go in the compost but also tins which should be recycled, and standing in the cold garden feeling irritated but also enjoying the fresh air on my face and the creeping chill at my feet and my head crowded with everything that's going to happen today…

Dying just didn't seem
possible
.

From the moment the ALF film was posted up, the news was jumping with it. The ALF claimed these animals were all part of the transgenic breeding programme. They had been doctored to make them capable of incubating human embryos. Large numbers of them had already been implanted with embryos, without the donors' consent. People were flocking to demonstrations at the research lab–crazy numbers of people, enough to cause havoc on the motorway. There was something up at the airport as well, traffic was at a standstill all the way from Chester to Birmingham. I was staring at the helicopter views of the miles of cars when the doorbell rang.

I wasn't expecting anyone, I assumed it was post. But when I opened the door I had a nasty shock. Iain. I didn't know he even knew where I lived. He'd locked his bike to the gate, and he was busy taking off his waterproofs. His face was pink and wet. ‘Hi Jess, can I talk to you for a minute?'

I let him in with a sinking feeling. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing. Nothing's wrong. How are you doing?' He dumped his cycle helmet and his wet things on the hall chair. ‘Can I borrow a towel?'

I fetched the kitchen towel and he rubbed his face vigorously. The thought of kitcheny stuff together with his sweaty skin was disgusting. I wanted to grab the towel off him and put it in the wash. I turned quickly away into the living room, but he followed me. I muted the TV. ‘You know this is Nat's lot?'

‘Yes. A happy conjunction of protests–that one and the airport. The police will be stretched.'

‘The YOFI airport protest?'

He nodded. ‘Finally got off the ground.'

I could tell he'd said it before. ‘Haha.'

‘Yes,' he said, sitting down. ‘It's been hard maintaining momentum. YOFI's very much reduced. People dipped in and then dipped out.'

‘I–I got fed up of all the arguing.'

‘I know. I always knew you really believed in the group Jess. I was sorry you left.' He stared at me evenly with his calm hypnotic Iain-stare, until I felt really bad at letting him down.

‘The thing is,' he said, ‘you need a critical mass to keep a group like YOFI going. I still believe it can achieve a lot, but not as a single group. I want YOFI to affiliate to London
New World
, and recruit a northern membership for them.'

‘That sounds good,' I said. ‘A good idea.'

‘I knew you'd be pleased, because you're a really committed person. I've heard what you're doing, Jess.'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘Volunteering. The MDS-free babies.'

‘I'm not! It's a secret.'

‘It is a truly heroic action. I wanted to tell you how proud of you I am.'

Who had he got it off? Lisa? ‘Nobody's supposed to know.'

‘Don't worry, no one else in YOFI does. I've got a proposal to make.'

On the TV scores of police vans were arriving, and riot police jumping out with their massive shields. ‘What?'

‘I want you to let YOFI handle the publicity surrounding your volunteering.'

‘YOFI? But I'm not even a member anymore.'

‘That doesn't matter. Listen. The way the press are treating this is rubbish–patronising the volunteers, insulting girls who're being incredibly brave. If we handle your publicity, I guarantee people will understand exactly why you're doing it; that you've made a politically aware and responsible decision.'

‘But I don't need publicity.'

‘Jessie, you'll get it whether you need it or not. D'you want them putting words into your mouth, and pretending you're some giddy young fool who doesn't know what she's doing? Or do you want everyone to know precisely that you care enough about the future to consciously decide on this selfless act?'

‘But why d'you want YOFI–'

‘This could multiply the effect of your action tenfold, a hundredfold–can't you see? Not only will you be rightly understood and respected for what you've done, you'll be an inspiration to thousands of other young people, to work for world change. With you as our figurehead we can join
New World
from a position of strength. Members need to feel they have the power to change things. Other girls will volunteer. You'll be their role model!'

Would it help other girls to volunteer? I thought about Ursula Johnson. I suppose in a way she had inspired me. ‘The thing is, it's confidential.'

‘Of course. All I want to do is be able to tell the London
New World
people that it's coming, so we can plan in advance. And so that they realise YOFI is bringing something pretty amazing to the merger.'

I lost track of what he was saying because something had happened at Wettenhall and clouds of smoke filled the screen. An explosion? Iain followed my glance.

‘I hope that's not a bomb,' he said. ‘They're going to get themselves arrested, and then how effective will they be?' We stared at the TV, I could see flames leaping from the buildings now, the place was on fire. ‘Protest is about effectiveness,' he went on; ‘rallying people to your cause, creating weight of numbers. That's why what you represent is so amazing.' He was staring at me unblinkingly. His light eyes made me think of an owl.

I knew he was right–it was like the old days again. He could see the whole picture, cause and effect, not just the thing under your nose. He was right, what good would it do if Nat and Baz were arrested? I might not even be able to
see
Baz again. My stomach felt like it was shrivelling up.

Iain stood up. ‘OK, thanks Jess. This is the best thing for everyone–politically, what you're doing is pure gold. And I can make sure hundreds of girls will want to follow in your footsteps. You'll be making it a choice they can respect.' He stepped towards me and I was afraid he might try to kiss me, but then he held out his hand to shake. It felt hot and damp and meaty. He went out to put on his bike gear. I turned up the telly again, and waved through the window when I saw him unlocking his bike. When I knew he'd gone I went and double locked the door. I didn't like the feeling in my stomach. I didn't know if I'd done the right thing.

Then Dad came home that evening and told me Mand was pregnant. Mum had done another test, and the doctor had confirmed it.

When it actually happens, the bad thing, you can't feel anything. Feeling seems to drop right through you like a stone, and you're just this empty hollow tube. Even though I knew it was a possibility, hearing Dad say it was a complete shock. Mum was staying with her, and after Dad told me and I'd tried to take it in, he set about gathering his and Mum's things together. He asked me if I could sleep over at Sal's. They didn't even know she'd moved.

‘Aren't you bringing Mand back here? Or can't I go there with you?'

Dad sighed and put down his bag. ‘No. I'm sorry Jess, but no. Is there someone else you can stay with?'

‘Why?'

‘Because it's horrible.'

I knew about MDS. I knew what happened. But a flicker of terror licked at my heart, as if there was something more, something unknown, that I hardly dared to ask him.

‘I have to go and be with your Mum. Look, Jess, this is very hard on you love, but it won't help you or Mandy or Cath, if you go over there now. You need to remember Mandy the way she was.'

‘Why? What's happened? Has something happened already?' Just asking made me break out in a sweat.

‘She thought she'd be allowed to have it. That's what she believed–that we would take her into the clinic and have her for a Sleeping Beauty.'

‘Can't you pretend?'

He gave a little hopeless laugh. ‘That's what Cath said. No, of course we can't. The clinic has serious work to do–you can't start taking people in and lying to them about their treatment. It's not a game.'

‘So what's going to happen?'

‘She'll start to get ill–and, and then–the doctor'll sedate her–and, she'll die.'

‘But right now, right
now
–'

‘Sweetie, Mand didn't understand. She didn't understand why we weren't taking her to the clinic. When she finally started to understand, she broke her heart. She wants us to save the baby. She thinks everyone's betrayed her. It's not … it's just too miserable. It's not going to help you to see her like this, and it makes it harder for your Mum to handle. D'you understand?' He hugged me and I started crying and he was crying too. I told him I didn't want to stay anywhere else and that I'd be OK at home on my own. I went out to the car with him and watched the rear lights to the end of the street. When I went back in the house I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't know what to do.