by Tim Major
“She’s not okay, is she? I mean Kit.” She wondered whether the Skin had told Ian her name.
Again, Ian drew a deep breath. “She’ll be gone soon. And then it won’t matter.”
“You went through this before, with Mum’s Skins. Is there really no other way?”
“The government people are insistent. They have to keep Snakeskins apart from the rest of society, they say. Issues about ID, country of residence, all that. It makes a kind of sense.”
“Except when you talk to them.”
“Yes.”
“Because they’re people.”
“I believe that, Cait. Yes.” Ian fussed around the telescope, checking the settings. He was still facing away from her. “But it’s not because I think she’s you. You do know that, don’t you?”
Caitlin tried to judge her real feelings, about Kit, and about her dad spending time with her mum’s remaining Snakeskin, after Janet had died. She accepted that he hadn’t believed they were one and the same person. But it was impossible to imagine that he hadn’t treated the Skin like Janet, a little. “I think so. And it’s your business, Dad. Like you say, she’ll be gone soon. And then you’ll be stuck with just me again.”
Ian laughed softly. “That’ll do me fine. You’re all I—”
His shoulders hunched even more. He had stopped looking into the eyepiece of the telescope. His body shook.
“Dad?”
He turned. Now Caitlin saw the tears shining on his cheeks.
“Cait. There’s been some bad news.”
Caitlin didn’t know how to respond. Something in his manner told her that this wasn’t about her.
“It’s your uncle. It’s Tobe. He’s dead.”
Instinctively, Caitlin glanced through the bay window to the dark area of the garden where Tobe’s shed was. He ought to be in there, snoring loudly, or pulling an all-nighter playing some computer game.
“No,” she said.
Ian nodded slowly. “It happened the day before yesterday, but they only rang today. They couldn’t figure out who he was at first, so it took a while before they knew to get hold of me.”
Something bitter rose up in Caitlin’s throat. She didn’t want to ask the question, but finally she said, “Why couldn’t they figure out who he was?”
“Oh God. No, Caitlin, no. Nothing so gruesome as that. He didn’t have any identification on him, that was all. He was— Well, he was naked. In the swimming pool, at some hotel over Ilford way.”
Caitlin thought of the dog beneath the train. “Was it suicide?”
Ian paused. “They don’t know. There’ll be an autopsy, they think. It hardly matters, Cait.”
Caitlin waited for a wave of grief to hit her. She felt worse for its absence. Uncle Tobe was gone and yet her only response was confusion. That, and a trace of anger about Tobe providing a final frustrating distraction when she already had enough to deal with. She hated herself for her coldness.
“What was he even doing there?” she said.
Ian waved a hand. “They told me, but I didn’t really take it in. He was there for a game of some sort. Computer games, maybe?”
Caitlin half-remembered Tobe talking about something coming up, in one of his rare moments discussing the future. “No. You were right before. It was a card-game tournament. It was a big deal. To him.”
Ian nodded. “Well, he won it. I don’t think there was any prize money. But that’s how they identified him in the end. Eventually, they found something—” he choked back a shuddering sob “—lodged in the filter of the swimming pool. A trophy.”
He wiped his eyes, then reached out to her with fingers that glistened with wetness. “He wasn’t a happy man, Cait. I mean, I don’t know that for sure, but— You know what he was like.”
Caitlin nodded. And though she’d seen him for hardly any time since her first shedding, Tobe had been even more dejected after what had happened. It was hard to avoid the conclusion that his death might have been partly her fault.
“They couldn’t tell me when we’d be allowed to have the funeral. I mean, when they’d give us back his body.” Ian shuddered again.
He must be thinking of her mum’s funeral. His wife’s.
Three years ago, Caitlin had made a fuss about having to wear black. Her mum would have hated everybody looking so gloomy. She had been painfully red-eyed before they even reached the crematorium, and then she had run out in the middle of the service, stumbling along the aisles of her mum’s grieving friends, sobbing and coughing. Evie had followed her outside. Caitlin had no idea what her dad had said in the speech he’d prepared for the service. She’d been sitting in the lobby of the crematorium, crying and, when the attendant wasn’t looking, taking swigs from the hip flask Evie had snuck in under her dress.
She couldn’t bear the thought of going to another funeral. Her relationship with Tobe might have been barely communicative at times, but he was family and she preferred the idea of sorting through her memories on her own, rather than in public.
Her dad was watching her closely. He held her at arm’s length, still studying her face. She wondered whether he was expecting her to break down in tears. Why wasn’t the news about Tobe’s death hitting her harder? It felt like information about somebody else’s family. Sad, but not really her business.
“So, you were right saying I’ve been thinking about the Fall,” Ian said. “But not necessarily in the way you mean. I’ve been thinking about your mum, and about you. About what this means.”
Even though she hadn’t cried yet, Caitlin’s eyes were sore. “What?”
“You’re the last of a line of Charmers, a direct line from the Fall. Your mum was sure that you three were the last, after all her research into family ancestry. There are no cousins, no other branches in the family tree. It was only her and you and Tobe left. So it’s just you, now. I may have taken your mum’s surname when we married, but that hardly counts. Cait – you’re the last of the Hexts.”
Caitlin’s throat was suddenly dry. She shook her head.
No.
Her dad was wrong. She wasn’t the last Hext, not quite.
There was another.
* * *
Gerry tried to appear patient as the kid behind the reception desk whispered to a male nurse. They both looked anxious. The boy was trying to hide his mouth as he talked and the nurse glanced up at Gerry as he listened. He patted the receptionist on the shoulder, then moved to the counter.
“It’s not possible to show you around at this time,” he said. It was a formal response, carefully worded, but she detected a note of genuine apology.
Gerry smiled. “I don’t need a grand tour or anything. Just a bit of detail, so that I don’t misrepresent anything that’s going on here.”
The nurse hesitated. “This novel – what is it about? Charmers?”
When she had been speaking to the kid, Gerry had used the word ‘book’, keeping it as vague as possible. Several times over the years she had tried to access the January care home, but she had never made it beyond the lobby, resorting to interviewing any visitors in the lobby who would speak to her, then being chased out once the police were called. She ought to have considered subterfuge sooner.
“Not really,” she replied. “They’re in the background. Like they are in everyday life, I guess. But I’m a stickler. My readers expect all of the details in my books to be accurate.”
The man frowned. His long lashes and gleaming black skin made him appear full of life, despite the sterility of his surroundings. It occurred to Gerry that he was the healthiest-looking person she had seen for a long time. Did that mean he was a Charmer? Either way, she found him enormously attractive. It had been almost a year since her last romantic encounter, and two since her last proper relationship had ended. She felt a sudden surge of loneliness.
“Perhaps you could arrange a formal visit,” the nurse said. “You’d need to speak to the Department of Health, I should think.”
“No.�
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His eyes widened with amusement. “No?”
“Sorry. I mean, I’ve already spoken to them. In fact, they’re the ones who sent me here in person. It was a long journey, and I’m very tired…” She craned her neck to read his name tag. “Ayo.”
“I’m sorry, too.” It was clear that he meant it. His easy smile made Gerry dizzy.
Ayo leant over the counter to look over at the security gate, where a guard was in the process of emptying somebody’s bag. “Look, give me a second, okay? I’ll have to run it by my manager. She might want to speak to you in person. Actually, it might be more than a second. Take a seat?”
Gerry beamed. She resisted the urge to take his hand. She headed to the red sofas in the waiting area, concentrating on keeping her walk steady.
“Making you wait, are they?”
The woman perched on a nearby sofa had to be in her sixties. She wore a tweed hunting hat and a coat too thick for the season.
“I’m used to it,” Gerry replied. She watched the reception counter until Ayo disappeared from sight, then she turned her attention to the security gate. A teen girl stood on its far side, speaking to a woman wearing a doctor’s white coat. Ayo reappeared from some hidden door and spoke to the doctor, who responded with an expression of resigned frustration. After a few more exchanged words, she left. Ayo accompanied the girl away from the lobby and out of sight.
Gerry realised that the tweed-hatted woman was watching her intently. Her wrinkled nose suggested suspicion. Perhaps the girl was a relation of hers.
“We haven’t met before, have we?” the woman said.
“I doubt it. And people tend to remember me pretty well. That kind of a face.”
The woman nodded. “I can imagine. Though I find faces tend to merge no matter how striking they may be. I’m here every day – if you’re back tomorrow, you do the introductions, okay? I’m scatty enough that I might not remember you.”
Gerry forced a smile. Perhaps lonely people particularly liked hanging out with Snakeskins, who were the lowest of the low in the hierarchy of society. The fact that Skins at the January care home were a captive audience might be part of it. Then again, Gerry was the one who had been obsessed with Charmers her entire life. Momentarily, it struck her as odd that she found Snakeskins less fascinating than their originators. The difference between them was like the difference between members of a fairy-tale royal family and their subjects.
The woman pointed. “Less of a wait than you expected.”
The doctor was striding towards them. She stopped a few metres from the seating area. After a few seconds Gerry took the hint and walked to meet her, out of earshot of the other visitors.
“Gerry Chafik?”
“That’s right. And you are Dr Scaife, I presume?”
The doctor looked flustered, then she glanced down at the name tag pinned to her white jacket. “My name is neither here nor there, young woman. Yours, on the other hand— You’ll be pleased to know that your reputation precedes you.”
“So you know I was a journalist. I didn’t lie to your colleagues, I promise.”
“It’s a gross misrepresentation, passing yourself off as a harmless novelist.”
Interesting. Gerry raised an eyebrow. “So novelists are harmless, whereas journalists are—”
“Unwelcome. An unannounced journalist would be unwelcome at any official place of business, if they arrived under false pretences.”
This line of conversation wasn’t going to get her any further. “Anyway. You may remember I said ‘was’. I’m a journalist no more. So it’s not a lie. I intend to write a book, and I’m not certain yet what it’s about. Maybe it will be a novel, who knows.”
“This establishment is full of busy people doing their jobs. We have no time to indulge your whims.” Dr Scaife pointed at the revolving door. “I’m certain you’re aware that there are police officers outside the building, who can be summoned at any moment. Please leave.”
Gerry nodded. She took a few steps, then swung around. “Except that’s not quite right, about my not knowing what will be in the book. One thing I do know is that it’s related to the funding arrangements for this place. Some people might think of finance as a dull subject, but me, I think it’s fascinating.”
Dr Scaife’s lips pressed together, turning white.
“You see,” Gerry continued, raising her voice. The tweed-hatted woman and a few other visitors turned to look. The more people that witnessed her bluff, the better. “The Department of Health were good enough to send me a finance breakdown. There was more detail than I expected. It’s encouraging to see the enormous amounts of citizens’ taxes the Party dedicates to keeping the population of ‘spontaneous duplicates’ fit and happy. That’s a heart-warming bestseller right there.”
The doctor folded her arms across her chest. From the look in her eyes, anybody might think she was trying to bore into Gerry’s forehead through willpower alone.
It was shocking, but it wasn’t enough. Perhaps Gerry had been following the wrong train of investigation about the finances. She looked around at the glistening windows, the shining surfaces, the obvious wealth.
She projected her voice across the still air of the lobby. “But still, you can’t blame me for being a little baffled about the discrepancy. A big hole in the budget is one thing – goodness knows we all make mistakes when it comes to submitting our tax forms – but the weird fact is that there’s so much detail about outgoings and none at all about any sources of income… Well, it’s a puzzle.”
The people around were still watching but, other than the tweed-hatted woman, they now displayed annoyance at the volume of Gerry’s voice rather than fascination with her words. If there was a tabloid story here, it was related to the unfairness of public spending on Snakeskins who would soon turn to ash anyway. But Gerry sensed a new line of investigation which, though potentially less scandalous in the eyes of the public, might lead her closer to the truth.
Her broadcast had an immediate effect on Dr Scaife. “Perhaps we can accommodate you better in my office,” she said. “For a few moments, and no more.”
As the doctor led the way, the tweed-hatted woman gave Gerry a wink.
* * *
“Please don’t disturb anything while you’re here,” Dr Scaife said.
With exaggerated care, Gerry replaced the snow globe on the doctor’s desk. The artificial snow whirled and then settled on a grand house and in the prongs of miniature evergreens.
It was a surprise that Dr Scaife’s office was so small, as if it had been designed to a different scale than the rest of the building. As the doctor had led her along the glass-walled corridor to her office and Gerry had recovered from her euphoria at passing the guarded checkpoint, she had been amazed at how far the rearmost segments of the complex extended beyond the facade. Despite Dr Scaife’s annoyance and hurry, Gerry had stopped to peep through a glass door labelled Visitors Lounge to see a vast room with a cathedral window. Inside, she saw the girl she had noticed at the security gate. On the other side of a transparent barrier sat her exact double. Gerry had shivered at the sight. Part of it was envy, she realised. She had always dreamed of what it might be like to shed, to suddenly possess a double of yourself, somebody so similar but subordinate. Even so, seeing such a young Charmer and her Skin was unnerving. She remembered her own awkwardness at that age, her inability to self-analyse and her obsession with trying to do so. She wondered what the two of them might find to talk about.
Dr Scaife exhaled impatiently. Gerry tried to clear her thoughts. She was here to learn something about the care home. She’d clearly hit a nerve when she questioned the funding sources.
“So, Miss Chafik,” Dr Scaife said, “explain to me why you’re here.”
From experience, Gerry knew to begin broadly and then home in on the real subject. “I don’t think the subject of Snakeskins is treated seriously in the press. The subject has become a fairground attraction at best, ignored at worst.
”
“I agree. Did you expect that I wouldn’t?”
“What do you think should be done about it?”
A mix of expressions passed over the doctor’s face. “I think that the public ought to bear in mind that spontaneous duplicates – Snakeskins, if you prefer the popular term – are enough like us that they should be given our respect.”
“See, that’s an interesting view, right there,” Gerry said with an encouraging smile. “Although there’s a philosophical angle. Are you saying they warrant respect only because they look like their originators, like humans? So that if instead of duplicates, Charmers’ sheddings produced cats, for example, then the rules would change?”
Dr Scaife scowled. “I’m not a cat lover, myself. I’m not a philosopher either. But it’s clear to me that duplicates are rather more complex than cats. More to the point, they can speak to us. That makes them worthy of…” She hesitated.
“Of what?”
“Of our care. Now, what is it that you actually want to ask me about?”
Gerry leant against the desk. She hadn’t been offered a seat. “Like I say, I’m only looking for some background. So, the question that interests me is how much care Skins deserve. Keeping them comfortable until they blow away on the wind, that much I understand. But this place?” She gestured towards the corridor. “It’s lavish.”
“I’m wary of expressing my response in these terms… but I only work here.” There seemed other implications to her statement: I’m not GBP. I’m not a Charmer.
“Oh, come. You run this place. Even if I hadn’t been told as much, it’d have been obvious. You’re monitoring everything. And that’s admirable. But I suspect that it also means that you have visibility of all the processes that keep January ticking over. Just how much money is funnelled into it?”
Dr Scaife’s lips tightened. “I’m sure you appreciate that I’m not about to discuss financial matters with you, Miss Chafik.”
Gerry chewed her cheek. She wasn’t sure how far she could progress with so little concrete information. The bluffs were beginning to pile up. “All right. I’ll put it in a different way. Given the huge amounts of money flooding into this place—” she held up a hand to prevent the doctor from interrupting “—and for argument’s sake, let’s assume that’s the case. So, given that amount of money, can you give me any clue what it’s actually being used for?”