Hope

by Terry Tyler

  "They're not my prison warders either―and she's just some idiot with a 2.2 in social studies and a t-shirt with 'Jobsworth' written across the front!"

  Bag Checker laughs. "You're not wrong there."

  "Oy!"

  A shout from the other side of the fence makes us all look up.

  It's Brody.

  Bloody hell.

  There is no one in the world I would rather see right now, but at the same time I don't want him there―I want to get out of this myself, not be rescued.

  Don't rely on anyone. It's just you.

  Bag Checker walks outside, leaving the door open behind him. I follow; all I have to do now is get through the gate.

  "Who are you and what you want, mate?"

  Brody shouts into the mic on the outside. "Can you open up, please?"

  He's holding something up; it's his DSC ID.

  Bag Checker walks up to the fence. "You were here earlier, weren't you? 'Fraid you've got to be scanned again if you've been back out." He peers at Brody's ID. "Client Liaison Advisor, eh?"

  "I don't want to come in, so you don't need to. I'm an approved visitor, and I've come to collect Miss Stone so we can go out for what remains of the afternoon." He points at the gate. "So if you'll just open this, we'll be off."

  "Don't think so." Scan Monitor has joined us. "I've got an exit denial recommendation from a Client Liaison Officer, restriction order pending."

  "On what grounds?"

  "That's not your concern."

  "I think it is." Brody taps his ID card. "Says here I'm a Grade Four, which gives me authority over Client Liaison Officers. I've issued enough recommendations myself over the years; they're not binding until an RO is received."

  Scan Monitor puffs out his chest again. "Yeah, well, when it comes it'll be signed off by Doctor Kacszynski, and we're expecting it any moment."

  Brody tucks his card back into the pocket of his jeans. "I've come to take Lita out for an hour or so, that's all. You can assure Doctor Kacszynski that she'll be delivered back safely."

  Scan Monitor says, "I need to scan you."

  "No, you don't, 'cause I don't want to come in."

  "That ID could be fake."

  "Yeah, it could, but it's not. You have no legal right to detain Lita if she wants to leave. You don't have the RO yet, do you?"

  Bag Checker looks at his mate. "Is it there yet?"

  Scan Monitor checks his tablet, but doesn't answer.

  "Didn't think so," says Brody. He turns to me. "Shall we go?"

  A smile spreads over my face. "If they'll open the gate."

  He fixes his eyes on Scan Monitor. "Go and do your stuff, there's a good guard."

  "Go on," says Bag Checker. "He's right, isn't he? We can't keep her here without an RO."

  Scan Monitor just stands there, hands in pockets. "It's pending. That's good enough for me."

  "Yeah, but not for me," says Brody. "At present, it's nothing more than a recommendation from a junior member of staff who I doubt has any expertise in the field of psychiatry, and certainly has no authority. Now bugger off and do your stuff."

  Scan Monitor stands firm.

  "Fuck it. I'll do it." Bag Checker goes inside.

  A moment later, the gates open. I walk through them and fall into Brody's arms.

  I remember to turn back and thank Bag Checker.

  He grins and waves. "Have a good afternoon, love!" He jerks his thumb back towards his mate. "I'll get him one of them Jobsworth t-shirts 'n' all, shall I?"

  I'm out. And I'm never going back in.

  We're just walking off when I hear Scan Monitor shout out, "Hey! Get back here! The restriction order's just come through!"

  I hear footsteps, and a sound that I know, from a hundred and one films, is a gun being cocked ready for action.

  Brody swings round, arms outstretched. "What you going to do? Shoot us?"

  Through the fence I see Scan Monitor standing there with his rifle. His stance, and the look on his face, tell me that he's probably never shot anyone but would relish the opportunity.

  I can't resist it. "I'm out, and I'm not coming back; I am no longer a resident of Hope Village. If you use that, it's attempted murder!"

  The rifle is lowered.

  We walk on down the road.

  Brody grins at me, and chucks his ID into the wind. "Good thing they didn't scan it, seeing as my employment terminated nearly a year ago. I didn't even mean to keep it; I just hadn't thrown it away."

  I laugh too, but a wave of delayed panic hurtles through me. "Christ, if you hadn't had it―that restriction order―"

  "You'd have thought of something. I have every faith in you. The other guy was on your side, anyway."

  "What would they have done, though? Physically restrained me?"

  He laughs. "They wouldn't have had a chance. You'd have run off and vaulted over the fence, wouldn't you?"

  "Yes, barbed wire lacerations and all! You're right. I'd have made a run for it."

  "There, you see. All I did was stop you tearing yourself to ribbons; you'd have got out."

  I would. I would.

  This must be what release from prison feels like. My elation is so heady that I forget everything else: the loss of Nick, Kendall's baby, and the fact that Brody loves another.

  I've never felt so joyous. Ever.

  I turn to him, grinning my head off. "Let's run!"

  The air is cold on my face and I feel weighed down with my bag and all the clothes I'm wearing, but I don't care. I whoop and stretch my arms out, zig-zagging, hearing Brody shouting behind me to slow down.

  As we turn out of the entrance road and onwards into the quiet peace of the crisp, golden, late afternoon sunshine, we collapse against a hedge, out of breath and laughing, and I feel so free I could fly.

  I never have to go back there. It's gone, finished, over. My life, however hard it may be from now on, is my own again.

  "No Kendall, then."

  "She wouldn't come." I shake my head, panting. "I'll tell you about it later. But I can't leave her there―"

  The panic again; Brody touches my arm.

  "Tomorrow. We'll think about that tomorrow."

  All of a sudden I feel awkward with him, and I can't talk. I don't know if he feels the same; maybe he does, what with all that's been left unsaid on his part. We walk in silence for a few minutes, then turn down a dirt track, and I see his car.

  Oh.

  There's someone sitting in the passenger seat.

  "Who's that?"

  "Just a mate. Will; I'm giving him a lift back from visiting family near here."

  I'm beyond disappointed. There's so much I want to tell him, and I can't say any of it if there's a stranger in the car.

  "So he lives at this place too, then?"

  "He does."

  "And there are forty of you?"

  "Forty-one, with you. Forty-three with Kendall and her baby."

  I glance at him. "I can count, you know. So CJ's cousin owns the place?"

  "That's right. She's the boss, and everyone respects that it's her show, but she's not a boss-boss; she organises it, but nobody's in charge of anyone else."

  Then Will sees us approaching, opens his door, and Brody makes the introductions. I stand there looking dithery so he'll get the message, and he shuts it again.

  "You said Cumbria?" I ask. "Is that far?"

  "Northern Cumbria, yes. Miles from anywhere. You're going to love it. Couple of hours' drive; enough time for you to tell me what happened to Nick." He touches my arm. "And I'll explain everything to you. So you know the score."

  I swallow hard. I already know it, mate. "Okay. So this cousin of CJ's. What's her name?"

  I've guessed already, of course.

  "Jaffa. Her name is Jaffa."

  "Lita Stone's gone. Her babysitter failed to understand the meaning of 'on no account allow her to leave the premises'. I was waiting for her in Post Mortem, little knowing that she was already on her way out
. Apparently Brody Carroll came back, flashing his out of date ID."

  "Pity you gave the babysitter job to an idiot. Her name?"

  "Grey. Rebecca Grey. Chosen because she already knew Freer and Stone. And, to be honest, there's not a lot to choose between any of them."

  "No matter, now. Keep your eye on her. In case we need her testimony."

  "Of course." Doctor Jakub Kacszynski sighs. "The whole thing was what I believe you would call a 'clusterfuck' from start to finish; those one-celled organisms on the gate didn't even think to check Carroll's ID. On the plus side, Stone has no proof about Freer and, as he failed to provide back-up for his allegations, I'd wager nothing physical exists. She has no story, and she's far from stupid; she knows this. And she's frightened."

  "Scared will keep her quiet."

  "Yes; there was some hysterical ranting shortly after Freer was dealt with, but nothing anyone would have taken seriously. Her shadow at the funeral heard her putting pressure on the mother, but Erica Freer didn't want to know. I'm fairly sure she was about to say something to Carroll on the phone, but as I said, she's not stupid; she checked herself."

  Caleb Bettencourt drums his fingers on his desk. "You'll send me a copy of her psychiatric report."

  "Consider it done. Complete with opinion from Rebecca Grey about her state of mind on the last day. The good news is that the pregnant friend―Kendall Clarke―remained here. She's as dense as Stone is bright; she'll be persuaded to give a statement about her friend's emotional condition, as well. Should Stone become talkative, she'll be completely discredited."

  "Good. Good. And does Clarke show any signs of itchy feet?"

  "No, no, she's integrated well." Doctor Kacszynski pauses. "Actually, Jensen wondered if it might be an idea to have her keep the baby. To quell any fall-out from Freer's claims."

  "Forget that. Paul would never allow it."

  "But the PR bonus―imagine what we could do with it. TV exposure, no claims about computerised images, a face to face with Mona―"

  Caleb stands, and walks over to his window. He looks out at the cars moving along the busy, congested roads below. From this spot, up high, he sees that even on this ordinary Monday morning the traffic is hardly moving, and the streets are packed with people. Thousands of ants, scurrying about their pointless lives. He looks up at the sky; a flock of birds flutters past, hundreds of them, in perfect synchrony. On the way to a warmer and better place.

  He turns back towards the speaker on his desk. "Stop and think, Jake. What is the purpose of Operation Galton?"

  "To maintain a sustainable population."

  "Okay, now think on: in fifty years' time, Kendall Clarke's unchecked pregnancy could mean not one, but ten, fifteen, twenty more bodies that need housing, food, fuel, clothes, medicine, all from the same low intellect gene pool, with little or nothing to contribute to our society. We must keep the agenda clear in our minds, at all times. You're aware that Sweden started their programme five years before us?"

  "I am."

  "Then you'll know that it's been rolled out with next to no trouble. Conspiracy theorists are shouting into the wind; the people don't care. Those unaffected by Phase II accept the new order, as will the UK on the whole, when they realise they have no choice and will, in fact, be better off. Ditto Phase III, when it's introduced; Galton was designed as a long game to which the masses will become acclimatised, over a period of years. Decades. As for the PR opportunities you mentioned, the immediate advantages are simply not worth the long-term cost."

  "You're right, of course." Doctor Kacszynski coughs. "I'd, er, appreciate it if you'd forget I made that suggestion―"

  "What suggestion?" Caleb laughs. "Okay, so what are your plans for Clarke?"

  "Mistoprol. We'd considered allowing her to go full term; subjects for the NPU programme are so hard to find―"

  "No, get it finished. Sooner rather than later. That she became pregnant at all is a win; your residents are chattering about it on social media, nicely securing the final nail in Freer's coffin." He laughs again. "So to speak."

  He presses a button to end the call, leaving Doctor Jakub Kacszynski uttering his end-of-conversation social niceties into thin air.

  Part Three

  Off The Grid

  33

  Jaffa

  "I realised I couldn't go on working for an organisation I found abhorrent on so many levels," Brody says. "When I took the job, I believed the bullshit. Later, I kidded myself that I could still do some good. In the end, though, I felt disgusted with myself for training the Beckys and Duncans to deliver lies to the poor bastards who've been led to believe that Hope Village is a real solution. I couldn't be a part of something I knew was inherently wrong."

  This is Brody and me catching up, like I wanted, but the presence of Will means that he's talking to me like I'm an ex-work colleague.

  Will seems like a nice enough guy; I just wish he'd evaporate into thin air. I want to tell Brody about Nick, but I don't want a stranger hearing my private thoughts.

  He offered me the passenger seat but I declined, so now I'm lounging in the back, enjoying the views across the Pennines in the fading afternoon light, and listening to the back of Brody's head.

  "When did you leave, then?" I ask.

  "Oh, not long after―" He trails off. "November last year. I just emailed my boss and said I was done. Didn't work my notice or anything. I was a bit confused about a lot of stuff at the time, you know?" He tries to catch my eye in the mirror, but this isn't a conversation we can have with Will in the car, either, so I look away.

  "Did you go straight to Jaffa's?" It's the first time I've said her name out loud. It sucks.

  "No, I wanted to get some cash in the bank first, so Jenny―you know, from CJ's house―she got me a fundraising gig for the charity she works for, for vulnerable teenagers, but I was disillusioned all over again within a fortnight. Too large a proportion of the funds is used on admin and column space on news sites, and―get this―a large sum is donated to Hope, which they actively support. I walked out one lunchtime and never went back. Which meant that Jenny was seriously pissed off with me, and the mood in the house was not good. So I set off for Lake Lodge." That look in the mirror again. "You're going to love it."

  "Tell me more." But not too much. Like, not the bits about you and Jaffa exchanging body fluids.

  He stares at me for a moment then, when I meet his eyes, he looks away, back to the road. "Jaffa's turned the family home―by which I mean the house bought by her grandfather, that she inherited from her father―into a community. Lake Lodge is its original name." He's doing that thing again. Talking to me like we hardly know each other. "She didn't want to call it something whimsical like Serendipity or Serenity, like some off-grids; there's nothing whimsical about it."

  "I second that," says Will. "It's knackering!"

  "You're not kidding." They grin at each other. "It's two miles west of a village called Ireston, which is the jumping off point for Lastwater, the smallest and least visited lake in the Lake District, and it's as remote as you can get. Twelve live in the house itself, and twenty-eight more in log cabins. We have our own wells, generate our own power―which is what 'off the grid' actually means, of course."

  Is he reading to me from the brochure?

  "There is internet access, but smartphones aren't allowed; Jaffa will explain all this. Her idea is that yes, we want to be self-sufficient, but we live in the 21st Century, and it's unrealistic to be totally out of touch. Our days are taken up with the business of living; food production, maintenance, sanitation." His eyes meet mine in the mirror again. "Basically, if you want to keep up with social media, you're coming to the wrong place."

  "Yeah, it doesn't always work out," Will puts in. "Everyone comes via personal recommendation, and Jaffa vets people very carefully, but we can still get it wrong. Summer last year, this couple joined us. Jaffa gave them the long interview about how they saw their lives from that day onwards, they said all
the right stuff and fitted in well; we liked them. But within a month they'd sneaked in smartphones and started posting pictures on fucking Imagio." He and Brody both laugh. "Some find they need to be connected to the outside world more than they realise."

  "That was my worry about you," Brody says, looking at me again. He pauses. "You and Nick, I mean. The pair of you lived online, didn't you? 'Cause it's a lifestyle choice, it really is. It's not just somewhere to go 'cause you've got nowhere else. Like these two exhausted city types who'd lost their jobs―Ned and Seb―they thought they'd done their bit by writing cheques for solar panels and tractors, but didn't want to get up at six to dig fields. Jaffa would rather someone turned up with nothing, but is willing to work damn hard and learn new skills. So, yeah, I wondered about Kendall for this reason, too." He smiles. "I remembered you saying that if she could pay someone to go to the khazi for her, she would! And I knew you three wouldn't split up."

  "Yeah, you're probably right." You three. I shut my eyes; the pain of losing Nick hits me, like an arrow in my chest. "We wouldn't have been ready, back then."

  Jaffa sounds awesome indeed. No wonder he's fallen for her. She's generous enough to invite his former lover into her home, too; a greater woman than I can ever be, for sure. I am but a feckless wisp of cyberspace waffle in comparison. I can't fault him for all he's done for me, though. He's always had a big heart, but clearly it has blossomed within their relationship.

  I am, like, so-oo not worthy.

  (But he kissed me today. On the mouth. Out of pity, or does he still fancy me?)

  When is he going to come clean about his relationship with this wonder woman? Why doesn't Will go and run behind the car, or travel on the roof, so we can get it over with?

  Oh well. At least I'm out of Hope.

  My friend is still there, though. "If I do get Kendall to come, what about doctors?"

  "There's a good GP in Ireston; it won't be a problem. It just depends if she wants to bring up her child at Lake Lodge; Jaffa's fine with it."

  Good old Jaffa.

  "I've got a feeling she won't have a child to bring up, if I don't get her out of Hope." I shut my eyes again. I'm too tired to think about Kendall. I stare out of the window at the rolling countryside in the fading twilight. Soon, I will be in a quiet place where I can shut the door and sleep in private. The prospect of such joy even makes Brody and Jaffa fade away. I hope there is a little log cabin going begging, just big enough for one. I never want to sleep in a room filled with other people again, for as long as I live.