Truth Sister

by Phil Gilvin

  ‘Just dozing. But you deserve a rest. You’ve done so well, my love. I’m very, very proud of you.’

  ‘It’s lovely to be home for a while. I miss the Academy, of course …’

  ‘I know,’ went on Sophia. ‘But you’re sixteen now – quite grown up. And when you start your apprenticeship you’ll have a steady job, too.’

  ‘Mm, yes,’ said Clara. ‘You’ve paid out a lot for my schooling, haven’t you, Mother?’

  Sophia smiled. ‘I’m sure you’re worth it, my love.’

  Clara turned away, and thought of what she’d done to Amy. ‘I hope so,’ she said.

  James gave an especially loud snore, and slipped a little further down in his chair.

  ‘Poor James,’ said Sophia, gazing at him. ‘He’s worn out.’

  Clara thought she read her mother’s expression. ‘Yes, I’m very fond of him. For a man, he’s quite sensible. And he never gives any trouble, does he?’

  ‘Trouble?’ said Sophia, turning her head sharply. ‘No, indeed. I don’t know what I’d do without him.’

  Clara looked down at her hands. The clock ticked quietly on.

  ‘I suppose you have men at the Academy?’ asked Sophia.

  Had, thought Clara sadly. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Most of the cleaners are men, and there’s the porters. They’re treated well, I think. They’re very stupid.’ She sighed. ‘I do keep thinking about the Academy,’ she said. ‘About Amy Martin.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Sophia. ‘The girl with the forged Authentication. Tell me – how did they find out? Did they do an inspection or something?’

  Clara swallowed. ‘No – er, no. Mater Hedera was asking us all if we knew about any impurity.’

  ‘She was, was she? And somebody informed on Amy?’

  Informed. What a terrible word. ‘Yes,’ said Clara, nodding. ‘Somebody did.’

  ‘What happened then? Did anyone else – was anyone else accused?’

  Clara shook her head. ‘They took Amy away, and her mother.’

  Sophia stood and began to tinker with the ornaments on the mantelpiece.

  ‘I wonder why she reverted?’ said Clara. ‘What made Amy’s mother go back to being a Natural. An ordinary woman like that. I mean–’

  Sophia turned. ‘Clara, listen. I think – that is – there’s something I’ve got to tell you.’

  Clara stared up at her mother. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Dearest, I’m afraid you’re in danger.’

  ‘Danger?’

  Another gust rattled the shutters. In the corner, James stirred, his legs jerking as he came to. ‘Mm?’ he said thickly. ‘Must’ve dozed …’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sophia. ‘We were talking too loud.’

  ‘Um,’ said James, rubbing his eyes. ‘What about? Anything interesting?’

  Clara felt uneasy. James was being too familiar again.

  ‘Naturals,’ said Sophia. ‘We were talking about Naturals.’

  James sat up, blinking hard. ‘I – I’m not sure we should.’

  Sophia looked from James to Clara, and back again. Then she said, firmly: ‘She needs to know, James.’

  James shook his head. ‘Sophie, no. This isn’t the right time.’

  Clara felt her stomach knotting. How could her mother let James be so disrespectful? ‘What?’ she demanded. ‘The right time for what?’

  ‘There never will be a right time.’ Sophia said to James. ‘And she’s in danger now. She needs to know.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Clara, getting to her feet. ‘Mother, why are you letting him speak to you like that? He’s just a servant – he’s a man. And what is it I should know? Why am I in danger?’

  ‘Clara, he’s not “just a servant”.’ Sophia looked into her daughter’s face. ‘He’s – he’s more important than that. More important to us both.’

  Clara tried to think of something else: the rising storm, the journey home, the inn at Suthick. She didn’t want to be here. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

  ‘She won’t understand, Sophie,’ James insisted.

  Clara winced.

  Sophia wagged a finger. ‘James, she has to know. And I’ve told you – we can’t leave it. There won’t be another time.’

  Clara grabbed Sophia’s shoulder. ‘Hey! Stop talking about me like I’m not here.’

  ‘Ssh!’ hissed Sophia. ‘You’ll wake Grana.’

  ‘I’ll wake the whole village if you don’t tell me what’s going on. If you’ve got something to say, then say it now. I’m not a child anymore.’

  Sophia’s eyes flickered towards James, who had sunk his head in his hands. ‘Clara, dear,’ said Sophia, taking her hand, ‘you know all this talk of Naturals is nonsense, don’t you?’

  Rain began to patter on the shutters. ‘Nonsense?’ said Clara. ‘How do you mean? They took Amy away. I saw it.’

  ‘Yes, love,’ said Sophia. ‘But I mean, what people say about Naturals is nonsense. It doesn’t matter whether you’re Clone or Natural. People were Naturals for thousands of years, weren’t they? They still are, in lots of places. It’s only here in Anglia where you need a licence.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s the point,’ said Clara, trying to recall her lessons. ‘We’re leading the world. Cloning’s better.’

  ‘It isn’t. And what’s more, they can’t keep on with cloning. There isn’t the technology. Three-quarters of what’s left of the world is starving, and they’ve no power, no energy. All the old labs are breaking down, and no-one knows how to fix them.’

  ‘But that’s what the Knowledge Project is about–’

  Sophia shook her head. ‘The government’s just clinging to a myth. The labs are going to fail. Cloning will end, and we’ll have to go back to the old ways.’

  ‘You mean–’ Clara suppressed a shudder ‘–you think, when I’m older, I’ll have to go Natural? I’ll have to mate?’

  ‘Tchah!’ said Sophia. ‘We’ve been through this. There’s nothing wrong with being a Natural. Everyone was a Natural till a hundred years ago. It’s Clones that aren’t normal.’

  Clara felt her eyes pricking. ‘Mother, what are you saying? Are you calling me abnormal or something?’

  Gently, Sophia took Clara by the shoulders, and looked into her eyes. ‘No, love. There’s nothing odd about you. You’re a normal, healthy girl, and we love you very much.’

  Clara’s eyes widened.

  A squall of rain sneaked down the chimney, splashing soot in the grate. Clara could feel Sophia and James staring at her. She shrugged Sophia’s hands off her shoulders, and her voice trembled. ‘You’re saying I’m a Natural?’

  ‘Love, calm down,’ said Sophia. ‘It’s a privilege–’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ Clara was screaming now. ‘Aren’t you?’

  Sophia raised her hands. ‘Hush, Clara. Please–’

  James was on his feet too. ‘Please, Clara. For all our sakes – please don’t wake Grana …’

  Clara knew the wind had been listening, knew that it was on her side. A tremendous gust rocked the house and the shutters thudded against their bolts. Then, from the kitchen, came the sound of breaking crockery. James and Sophia looked at each other, then James bounded out of the room.

  A minute later, he was back. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, though his brows were still drawn. ‘The flour crock, fallen off the table. Bit of a mess. Must’ve been the wind.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ said Sophia.

  ‘I’d have noticed if anyone was there.’

  Clara had curled herself into a ball on one of the chairs, arms covering her wet face. ‘It’s not true,’ came her muffled voice between sobs. ‘It’s not true, it’s not true. Not me.’

  Sophia reached out to touch her, but Clara shook her off. In the brief silence, the clock ticked and ticked, and Clara hated it. For a few minutes, its only accompaniments were the insistent rain and her own wet sniffs.

  James crouched down and looked over the arm of the chair at Clara’s hea
d. ‘Clara,’ he said, gently. ‘You remember once – you said you trusted me?’

  Clara turned further away.

  ‘I know you’re a brave girl. I’m asking you to trust me once more.’

  ‘You’re my – my father, aren’t you?’ she said into the cushions.

  James swallowed, and reached out to stroke her hair. ‘Yes, I am. And proud to be.’

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ she shrieked, knocking his arm away.

  Shaking his head, James stood up. Sophia drew him aside. ‘I should’ve listened to you,’ she said. ‘I thought she’d understand.’

  ‘That’s the Academy,’ said James. ‘They’ve really got into her head. Maybe we can talk it through. Give her time, she may come round …’

  Clara jumped out of the chair. ‘Never. Never!’ she spat. ‘I hate you, I hate you both.’ A part of her registered the look of pain and horror on their faces, the way their hands sought each other’s. But she was too angry to care.

  ‘Please,’ said Sophia. ‘Not so loud.’

  Clara was busy glaring around the room, hating everything. But then she said, ‘Ah! Aunt Grana doesn’t know, does she? You haven’t told her …’

  ‘Of course not,’ moaned Sophia. ‘It’s not her secret.’

  ‘Well, if Aunt isn’t part of this, then at least she’ll be my friend. I’m going to tell her everything. Right now!’

  Sophia stood in the way. ‘Clara–’

  ‘Yes, I’ll tell her, and – and I’ll report you. You’re wicked, wicked – and – oh, how could you do this to me?’ She fought back the tears again, her breath coming in gasps. ‘I’ll report you,’ she squeaked. ‘I will.’

  Sophia took a step towards her. ‘Love, you can’t–’

  ‘Get away from me,’ Clara growled.

  ‘Listen,’ said James, ‘your mother’s right. You can’t report us.’

  ‘Why not? What’s to stop me? It’s my duty. You can’t keep me here.’

  ‘Of course there’s nothing to stop you. If you report us, they’ll take us away, I suppose. But, Clara – you know what the government thinks about unlicensed Naturals, don’t you?’

  Clara stared. Outside, the rain was falling fast. ‘Oh, by the Teacher!’ she said. ‘You had to forge my Authentication, didn’t you? And if I report you – what will they do to me? They’ll take me away too!’ She put a hand over her eyes. All she could see was Amy Martin, her shocked red face and fat arms, and the office door closing behind Medea Carrow.

  ‘Oh, my love,’ whispered Sophia.

  ‘I hate you,’ said Clara through her teeth.

  Sophia and James looked at each other.

  ‘And you’re trying to tell me that men aren’t all bad?’ She pointed at James. ‘This is his fault, isn’t it? He’s a man – he raped you, didn’t he? And you tried to cover it up.’

  Sophia swung round and, gripping Clara by the shoulders, brought her face to within an inch of her daughter’s. ‘No.’ she snapped. ‘How dare you? Never, never let me hear you say that again. What do you know, Clara? Nothing. What have they taught you at that school? Nothing.’

  Clara swallowed. Her heart was thumping.

  Sophia took a breath. ‘You’re so wrong, Clara. This man here – your father – I love him. It’s like he’s a part of me, and it kills me, Clara, to have to treat him like a servant.’ Clara thought she heard James sniff. ‘Being a Natural,’ Sophia went on, ‘is glorious, Clara. And you should be proud.’

  Clara glanced at her mother’s hands, still on her shoulders. ‘Let go of me.’

  The clock still ticked, the rain drummed on the cottage roof, and the distant thunder rumbled.

  ‘Come on,’ said James. ‘This has got to stop. Clara, you have to decide what you’re going to do.’

  Clara wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. ‘What do you mean?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Listen,’ said James, ‘none of us wants to be taken away, do we? Well, do we?’

  ‘So?’ said Clara.

  ‘So you have to see – it’s not in any of our interests to let this go any further.’

  ‘I’ll tell Aunt Grana …’

  ‘No. It’s better if you tell no-one. If you say nothing, and we say nothing, who’s to know the difference? You’re still the same person, you can go on and be a Truth Sister, have your career. You know we won’t spill the beans on you.’

  ‘I can’t trust you – you’re a man.’

  ‘Clara!’ said Sophia.

  James spread his hands. ‘You’ll have to, Clara. Maybe it’s time you learned. Now listen to me. We’ve told you the truth. We needn’t have, but it would have been wrong to keep it from you. You’d have thought the worse of us if you’d found out later, and now that you know, you can tread more carefully. We’ve done the right thing by you. But what we want to know is this: can we trust you?’

  ‘Trust me? How dare you! What do you mean?’

  ‘Clara,’ said Sophia, ‘you have our word we won’t report you for a Natural. I’m sorry you’ve taken it like this, but you must see – you have to be silent, too. Have we your word?’

  Clara blinked. ‘I’ll never be able to live with myself. You’ve ruined my life. I feel so … so dirty.’ She shook her head, but found that it didn’t change things. ‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’ she muttered. ‘I can’t report you …’

  ‘You’re right,’ said James. ‘This has to be between the three of us. For ever.’

  ‘Do you swear?’ said Sophia.

  ‘All right,’ said Clara at last. ‘If I can trust you, you can trust me. But I’m not staying in this house a moment longer.’

  Sophia’s jaw dropped. ‘But Clara, we love you. You can’t just walk out on us.’

  James put a hand on Sophia’s arm. ‘We should let her go. She’s done enough. I do trust her, and it’s best if she gets on with forgetting us straight away.’

  ‘Forgetting us? No, James – not our little girl.’

  James looked down into Sophia’s face. ‘I’m afraid that’s right, love. She’s not our little girl anymore. She’s – she’s somebody else.’

  Sophia hugged James to her.

  ‘Clara,’ said James, ‘can you set off for your apprenticeship straight away? Tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ said Clara.

  ‘Grana’s knows a few people at the Ministry,’ said Sophia, ‘and she’s off to town in the morning. I’ll ask her if she can pull a few strings.’

  ‘I thought you said I’m not supposed to tell her?

  ‘You don’t have to,’ said James. ‘We can say you couldn’t wait to start, you’re bored here – that sort of thing.’

  ‘Grana’s travelling post,’ said Sophia. ‘If you go with her tomorrow, we’ll send your things on later.’

  There was a silence. There seemed no more to say, but Clara couldn’t let it rest. ‘Why did you send me to the Academy, then?’ she said.

  James sighed, and fidgeted with his fingers. ‘Why indeed? The fact is – well, we thought …’

  ‘We wanted the best for you, love,’ put in Sophia. ‘It shouldn’t matter whether you’re Pureclone or Natural. We had thought you’d get a good education.’

  ‘And you’re saying I haven’t had one?’ Clara could feel her fists clenching.

  James held up a hand. ‘This won’t do any good. Go on to bed, Clara. Early start in the morning.’

  Clara swallowed. ‘And that’s it, is it?’ she said in a small voice. ‘Just as if nothing’s happened?’

  Sophia took a step towards her, then stopped.

  ‘We have a plan,’ said James, staring out at the rain. ‘We’ve got to stick to it. And,’ he added, turning to look into Clara’s eyes, ‘we must trust each other.’

  Clara went to bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She heard the chink of dishes, heard the clatter of cutlery being washed, the spilt flour being swept up. She heard the screech of a fox. She heard voices, a high and a low; and she heard crying, and her own tears rolling down her fa
ce.

  James hefted the suitcases out of the cart and carried them to the waiting post-carriage. A woman in a dusty blue uniform wrote something in her notebook, and waved him to where a sinewy, sweaty-faced man was sorting the luggage. As James turned back for the last bags, Clara saw that his shoulders were stooped and his head low. His shirt was stained with damp.

  When everything was loaded, James came over to where Clara and her aunt stood in the shade of a veranda. The inn was busy, and the sounds of conversation floated through the open shutters. ‘That’s the lot, then, Ma’am,’ he said to Grana. ‘When d’you want me to come and collect you?’ Only briefly did he look up.

  ‘Thank you, James,’ said Grana. ‘You’d better make it Wednesday. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get Clara sorted.’

  ‘All right then, Ma’am.’ James scuttled back across the road, jiggled the reins, and was gone. A small cloud of dust was all that remained.

  ‘Kennington Post, ten minutes,’ shouted the woman in blue. ‘Kennington ten minutes, please!’

  Clara realised, with a pang that she was ashamed to feel, that James had not said goodbye.

  Post coaches were built to last. They certainly weren’t built to be comfortable. The bodywork and the seats were of hard yellow wood; for one boudick you could rent a cushion to sit on, but you hadn’t much choice if you wanted your legs to work when you got to your destination. Clara squeezed her cushion into a corner opposite Grana. The other four passengers took up plenty of room. The woman beside Clara had huge arms and smelt of goat, while next to Grana, a better-dressed woman in a HealthCo tunic clutched a cloth bag on her knees. Everyone was dusty. Clara pulled out her purse and looked in it again: a hundred and fifty boudicks, in rolled notes. Sophia had thrust it upon her when she was leaving. ‘Our savings,’ she’d said. ‘You’ll need it. We won’t.’ Our. We. She’d meant James, as well as herself.

  For an eternity the coach juddered along, jolting its passengers up and down as the heat of the day built. The events of last night still spun in Clara’s head, but even so, she couldn’t help overhearing the travellers’ gossip. The rule of law was breaking down, said the goaty woman. There were robbers and rapists everywhere, and the Scrapers had been at work again. ‘If they catch yer,’ she said with relish, ‘they’ll scrape yer skin off!’