by Terry Tyler
I'm just logging off in disgust when Kendall rushes in.
"Letter for you!" She thrusts an envelope at me. "Like, a real letter with handwriting on the envelope. How weird is that? What is it?"
She doesn't move, obviously waiting for me to reveal all. Because that's what we do. We're close friends. We tell each other our stuff. Not this time, though, because I recognise Andy's handwriting.
"It's just a letter from an old friend."
"Really? Who? Who knows you're here?"
I feel oddly irritated by her questions, I guess because I know how much is at stake. "It's private, Kendall."
Her eyes go wide. "Pardon me for breathing. I only asked."
She turns and walks out and I call out that I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so short, but I hear the front door bang.
Here we go, then:
'Dear Lita
I've thought. Long and hard. To be honest, I've thought about little else. I did wonder if Nick was going to be okay when I saw his Naked Truth post. I couldn't believe he'd be so rash as to write that stuff on his own blog, but, like you said in your letter, desperation can make you reckless.
I'm so sorry about Nick. I feel for you. I know how close the two of you were.
When you sent me those pills back in September I had my job with Wendells, and I was getting married, as you know. I couldn't jeopardise either; my life was on the up. Now, it's crashed. Wendells was bought out by Nu-Pharm a month later―a big shock to everyone― and my services were no longer required. I'm guessing this had something to do with my telling my boss at Nu-Pharm where he could stick his job, when I left to go and work at Wendells! Then, just before Christmas, Hayley called off our wedding. I don't know how much losing my job had to do with it, but it meant we couldn't buy the house she'd set her heart on. Then I found out she was knocking off one of my friends.
The upshot of this is that yes, for Nick, I'm your man. When you blow the whistle on these molluscs, I would like to be a part of it, and give my name as the qualified technician who ran the tests under approved laboratory conditions. I've got nothing to lose, so I may as well do the right thing, after which I'll hop on a plane to Outer Mongolia, or something, and hope Nutricorp don't catch up with me. As you can probably tell, I'm feeling pretty low right now.
Desperation is making me reckless, too. What the hell, eh?
I often think of you, Lita; I should never have called time on whatever it was that we had. It'll be good to see you again, anyway; that I do look forward to. Maybe we can spend some time together?
Keep in touch, and let me know what the plans are. Best to do so by good old snail mail, I think.
Yours, Andy.'
I read the letter twice, and my first reaction is to laugh.
Down on his luck, fiancée's given him the heave-ho―so, rather than go to the hassle of finding a replacement, he'll have another crack at the woman he dumped by text, in the hope that she'll still be up for it.
Men, eh? I like the way his ego doesn't consider for one moment that he might have been only a passing fling for me, too.
I allow myself to be amused by this for several minutes, to avoid addressing the two other emotions fighting for centre stage.
Euphoria: He said yes! We can go ahead with this. Expose the bastards!
Terror: He said yes. This is it. Now, I have no excuse not to.
I spend the evening watching old interview vids in the J'accuse office, to get a sense of how it works.
One woman had her Sickness Credit disallowed, but managed to record her interview on her phone, to prove that her answers to the questions asked were different from those claimed by Valid8's 'health care professional'. It's a bit muffled as the phone was in her pocket; Valid8 has a strict 'no recording' policy, but she considered it worth the risk.
"She had her SC reinstated after that, and Valid8 assured her that the employee was disciplined," Dennis tells me. "Whether the latter is true we don't know, of course."
We watch several claims of unfair dismissal from jobs, after failed medicals. An exposed smear campaign by a bank, against a high level executive; that one was interesting. There are several grievances against Hope Villages, one from a man now living with family. His complaint was that the standard of food was bad enough to cause malnutrition, and about the anxiety medication dished out to anyone having an off-day.
'I believe they want to keep us all sedated, so we don't complain about anything, let alone the poor standard of food. Since living at Hope, I've had severe bowel problems'.
Another exposes a supposedly 'green' toiletries and cosmetics company for non-eco-friendly processes. The company is owned by Nu-Pharm, though retains its own name; Brody tells me that the woman who made the complaint, a former employee, had to disappear, as I will.
All are but ripples in a vast ocean compared with what I am about to do.
"I'm so scared," I say, and rest my head on Brody's shoulder.
"I know." He kisses my forehead. "You can still walk away, you know."
But I think of Doctor Kacszynski, waiting for me behind that grey door, issuing the restriction order to stop me leaving. Nick's funeral. The Mistoprol in Kendall's bloodstream. All those men, taking their 'vitamin' tablets. The 'fit for work' requirements that result in thousands being herded into complexes where the ordinary working man and woman is to be phased out, because they have been replaced by technology and those in power have no further use for them.
Knowing all this, can I still walk away? I take Brody's hand.
"Not going to happen."
I go back to our cabin to change the next morning, and Kendall accosts me, in my bedroom.
"You're up to something, aren't you?"
I hate this. I want to tell her. "Yes. But I can't say what."
She grins. "Go on. I won't tell anyone. Is it about Hope?"
I feel bad, then, because of what she doesn't know about her miscarriage. I remember what Jaffa said about her being stronger than I think, but maybe this would be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Meanwhile, I rifle through my drawer for a jumper, to give myself time to think about my answer.
"It is. And other stuff. But please don't ask me anything else. I can't tell you. Sorry for the cliché, but you're better off not knowing." I force a smile. Forced because I hate having to keep her in the dark, not because I don't want to smile at her.
"It's okay. I understand." She raises her eyebrows, expectantly. "You'll tell me when you're ready, won't you?"
"Yes." Liar. "What I mean is, you'll find out when what's going to happen, happens."
"Sounds exciting!"
"I don't know if exciting is the right word but―well, yeah. You'll know."
She looks down, and picks up my hairbrush, fiddling with it. "I'm okay, you know. About the baby. I mean, I'm dead sad and all that, but I'll be okay. I'm happy here."
"I know. I'm glad."
She plonks herself down on my bed. "D'you know what, Lita? I reckon they gave me something. At Hope. You know, to make me have a miscarriage. 'Cause when I was pregnant before, someone told me about those abortion pills that you can get, and last week I went to Jaffa's office and looked them up on one of those medical sites. What happened to me, it was exactly like it said―and I remember, the night before I left, and in the morning, the nurse was dead forceful about seeing me take my antenatal vits. Like, she stood there, and checked my mouth afterwards to make sure I'd taken them." She shrugs her shoulders. "I wouldn't put it past them, that's all."
I must tread carefully.
"It's possible. I wouldn't put it past them, either."
"I think you're right about Nick, too. Sometimes stuff makes more sense when a bit of time's gone past, doesn't it? The more I think about it, the more I see what bastards they were there. And they tried to make out you were a mental case―they asked me to give a statement about you. To say that you were, like, unstable. I didn't want to tell you, before. In case it upset you."
Jaffa w
as so, so right about her.
"I wouldn't say anything to them, you know that, don't you? I said there was nothing wrong with you, you were just unhappy 'cause of Nick." Her face breaks into a big smile. "And I might have another baby one day, who knows?"
She's okay. She really is. "Yes, well, you've got plenty of time. Don't rush into anything. A child needs two parents and stability, ideally. I wouldn't have a kid unless I could do that for them."
"Yeah, but look how you grew up. You turned out alright."
"Maybe. But if I did, it was in spite of, not because of it."
She stares at me for a moment, as if she's thinking about this. Then she throws my brush up in the air, catches it, and says, "Well, anyway, I just wanted you to know that you don't have to worry about me any more. If you and Brody want to live together in this cabin, I'm cool about moving into another one. Honestly, you don't have to look out for me all the time. I'm fine."
The survivor is the one who adapts to changing circumstances, instead of resisting them. Maybe Kendall never needed me as much as I thought.
Or as much as I needed her.
It's weird seeing Andy again. On a superficial note, I wonder how I ever fancied him, but maybe I never did, not really; he was just there when I was lonely, as was I for him. He's big, solid and fair, running slightly to fat, and quite loud, talkative. Not my type at all. He gives me a huge hug, too tight and for too long, and kisses me on the cheek, which I don't want.
I introduce him to Brody, to kill any flirtation right from the off. Andy's face shows a shadow of disappointment, but he covers it, immediately. I doubt he's that bothered, anyway.
It's hardly what we're here for.
"You'll appear in silhouette," Jaffa tells us. "Whether or not you want to reveal your real names is your own affair."
"It'll give it more cred if we do," Andy says. "Fuck 'em. I won't be intimidated."
"That's admirable, but I'd counsel against bravado."
I realise, then, that I want to give out my name, too. Because people knew who I was; standing up as Lita Stone will give the story more weight. I was known for being authentic, honest―I need to do this.
"Fair enough, it's your decision," Jaffa says. "We won't go live until you've gone, anyway."
We spend the evening rehearsing with her, Dennis and Yasmin.
In the morning, I wake up to a bright sky; it seems prophetic.
Today I'm going to change my life, all over again, and hopefully change others for the better, too.
And put myself in serious, deadly danger.
I'm ready.
38
Whistleblower
Excerpts from the transcript of J'accuse interviews with Lita Stone and Andy Reynolds:
'My name is Lita Stone. I used to be a successful blogger with a wide readership, and shared a flat with my friend, journalist Nick Freer. I've named Nick because he died during our stay in Hope Village number 37, and I know he would want me to do so.
Due to a variety of circumstances that I won't go into because they are irrelevant to this interview, we moved into Hope 37 in October 2029. I want to let the world know what we discovered when we were there.'
'...in the whole year we lived in Hope 37, no babies were born. There were nearly two thousand people living there, some of them in family units, but never any pregnancies. I know of a few women who were pregnant on arrival, but they all miscarried. A friend who I will call Jane started a relationship with another resident, and they were trying for a baby. She'd been pregnant before, and he had two children. Despite a concerted effort over several months, using a reliable app that alerts the user to ovulation dates, she failed to conceive. I knew of other couples who were trying to become pregnant; none were successful.'
'...monthly medicals are mandatory in Hope. Pills for anxiety and depression are given out like sweets, but, more importantly, almost all the men were told that they were deficient in certain vitamins, and instructed to take supplements.
'...later, 'Jane' had a brief liaison with a Hope Village employee, during which she became pregnant immediately. As an employee rather than a resident, her partner was not prescribed anti-anxiety medication or given vitamin supplements. Nick Freer and I were aware of theories that the men in Hope Villages were being sterilised, but had dismissed them; now, we began to wonder if the medication and vitamins given to the men was affecting their fertility.'
'...Nick began to investigate the Hope families splashed across the media―Mandy, Khalid, Joley and Brandon and their new babies, and others. He became convinced that they were fake images created by a Populus type program; I will outline his reasons later in this interview. At this point, I got in touch with our friend Andy Reynolds, who worked as a laboratory technician for a small pharmaceutical company, and asked him to test samples of the medication and vitamin pills given to Nick.'
Andy:
'My name is Andy Reynolds. I have a degree in biochemistry, and have worked within the pharmaceutical industry for eight years. When Lita approached me, I used the facilities at the laboratories where I worked to test the content of the samples she'd given me, and compare them to those available to the general public. I would like to make clear that my employer was not in any way involved with this testing, and had no knowledge of what I was doing. I asked a colleague to confirm the results I found, before sending them back to Lita, but, again, I did not reveal to that colleague the purpose of my tests.'
'...I will now give an explanation of the substances I found in the samples given to Nick Freer by the medical staff at Hope Village, as opposed to the same vitamin tablets made by Nu-Pharm and available for general purchase, and the anti-anxiety medication available on prescription only.'
Lita:
'Against my advice, Nick wrote a post on his blog, Naked Truth, exposing our discoveries. The post did not give proof of our analysis of the pills, or detail Nick's investigation into the fake families, but was damning, nonetheless. On the evening of the day he posted it, it disappeared from his blog site. An hour or so later, he was asked by a staff member at Hope 37 to start work three hours early, the next morning. Nick worked in the laundry; his early start meant that for at least two hours he would be there alone. Such a request had never been made before; the reason given was that the machines were to be serviced later on that day. This was on a Monday, the busiest day of the week in the laundry, which I thought odd in itself.
At some time during six-thirty and eight-thirty a.m. that day, 23rd September 2030, Nick died. His body was found by another Hope resident called Rexy, when he arrived at the laundry to start work. The coroner's report cited sudden death syndrome as the cause, and I have no proof that it was anything else. I have researched this syndrome and discovered that it is possible, though unusual, for it to occur even when the subject has previously been in good health. He was cremated only three days afterwards. I believe Nick was murdered, but this is only my belief; as I said, I have no proof, but I feel sure that the circumstances are too coincidental.'
'....it is my strong belief that miscarriages are engineered, by giving the drug Mistoprol to pregnant women without them knowing, but for personal reasons I cannot give further information about this.'
'....I took the death of my friend Nick Freer very badly; I have no family and he was the closest person in the world to me. I was constantly being offered medication to 'calm me down', and it was suggested that a stay in Fenton Hall, a local psychiatric hospital, might be of benefit. Only two days after Nick's death, I heard Doctor Kacszynski say, 'If she doesn't calm the fuck down soon, we'll ship her off to Fenton Hall'. I wasn't mentally ill, I was grieving for my friend.'
'...when I left Hope 37, attempts were made to stop me, using a 'restriction order' on the grounds that I was mentally unstable. I believe this was an attempt to prevent me from leaving, and revealing what goes on in Hope 37; Nick and I were always together, so the authorities must have known that I had access to the information he'd uncovered.'
<
br /> '...the food is poor enough to ensure that most people become malnourished. From a friend, Brody Carroll, who used to work at a fairly senior level in the Hope Villages, I have heard reliable reports of dangerously unhygienic practices in the kitchens.'
'...despite the success stories in the media, I did not, in my whole year in Hope 37, know of one person who found work and their way back to independent living. In Hope, you have few rights, and next to no privacy. Your phone calls, texts, emails and post are monitored. If you use social media, any negative comment about the Village has your access terminated.'
'...it's my belief that the brutal benefit sanctions that have come into effect over the past twelve or so years are not just about the health of the economy. I think their secondary―or maybe primary―purpose is to render a now superfluous workforce homeless, so they may be pushed into Hope Villages, where mass sterilisation can take place. In fifty or sixty years' time, the non-working class of the UK will no longer exist, which I believe is the long-term plan. This is just my opinion; you can draw your own conclusions.'
We agreed not to reveal details about Doctor Harriman, and Kendall's miscarriage. Her safety is more important than another kick in the nuts for Nutricorp.
After we've made our statements, Dennis spends the rest of the day and evening editing the film, and the next morning we are invited to watch it back. I feel sick all the way through.
"May your names be cheered in the streets, long and loud," says Jaffa, as she switches off the monitor. "Now, the practicalities."
First, we are photographed as we are, then Yasmin produces packs of hair dye; blonde for me, dark brown for Brody. I sit quietly and patiently while she gives me a full head of platinum highlights, after which it is cut short; arty-looking, messy and spiky. I'm not sure about it, but Brody loves it.
"I don't feel like me," I say, twisting and turning my head in the mirror.
"That's the idea," says Yasmin.