by Phil Gilvin
Clara shook her head. ‘Mater Hedera said the army and the Guard would be back, after the flood. It was all planned. And who knows that she was the one who ordered it? Only us.’
‘And who’ll believe us?’ said Shavila. ‘Yes, maybe you’re right. The Republic gets away with it again.’ She sighed. ‘But I still say it’d be best to get out of London. Here, take this,’ she said, throwing something.
Clara caught it. ‘A key?’
Shavila pointed up the road. ‘There’s a Guard lock-up, over on Battersea Park Road. Cross through the park that way, and keep going a bit. It’s not much, but there’s a stove to dry your things, and a kettle. They’re supposed to have a stock of food, too – biscuits and that, tins, stuff that’ll keep.’
‘What if someone’s there? What if there’s someone in the cells?’
‘Then don’t stay. But it’s unlikely. Bolt the doors once you get in. Get some sleep, then clear out tomorrow. Early, if you can.’ She pointed inland. ‘Go east, then south from there. Avoid Wansoff. Head towards Croydon – there’s higher ground that way.’
Clara looked at Shavila’s face, a face without creases yet, but troubled for all that. ‘You’re setting me free?’
Shavila smiled; a rare thing. ‘Why not? You’ve done the same for me.’
They watched her push the boat back into the water, start the engine, and turn it. Then with a wave she was off, picking her way amongst the flotsam.
Jack had slumped down on the steps, shivering under his blanket. ‘I’d never have believed it, never. The bloody Guards turning nice, and my own people telling me to sod off. Bastards!’ He was growling now, teeth clenched. ‘Acker I can take, he’s always been a nutter. But the Don? And Ma? How could they do that to me?’
Clara sat down next to him. ‘Most of their friends died in that ambush. People they’d known for years. People they’d helped, people they’d shared food with. Shot dead before their eyes, and blood all around them. That can do things to you, I suppose.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Jack.
More boats were plying the water now, trying to pull people out. In the west a pale glow touched the undersides of the clouds.
Clara glanced down at her tunic, stained and sodden, smelling of horse and river. ‘Have you still got that knife?’ she asked.
Jack searched in his pocket. ‘Here. What d’you want it for?’
Clara squinted down her nose. ‘Because,’ she said, sticking her tongue out as she tried to concentrate, ‘I’ve got to take this off.’ She eased the blade under the stitches that held her Truth Sister badge, then tried cutting. The steel kept slipping on the wet cloth, and after several tries she’d only got one corner up. ‘Sod this,’ she growled, and, gripping the corner, tore the whole thing off. It left holes in her tunic, and a white patch of unstained cloth. She got up, walked to the water’s edge, and threw the badge in, watching it swirl away amid the ruin of London.
She sat again, as Jack nodded approval.
She said, ‘D’you think it’ll all be good, one day?’
Jack spoke through his teeth. ‘Dunno. I reckon there’s always troubles. Sometimes more than others.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Troubles. But you know what gets you through troubles?’
‘No, what?’
‘Friends.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jack, looking away. ‘If you’ve got any.’
‘Come on,’ said Clara, ‘let’s go and find that lock-up. We need to get you warm.’
‘And what then? Where you off to tomorrow? You gonna do what Shavila said?’
‘Yes. Then I need to find Mother, find what they’ve done with her. I couldn’t save James – Father – but maybe I can save her. I just want her to know that I don’t blame her any more. I’m on her side now.’
Jack still stared out across the river. Beyond the north bank, beyond the floods, something was burning. ‘A Natural, eh?’
‘Mm-mm. And proud of it.’
‘Well there’s a turnaround. At least you’re not talking about purity no more. Oi!’ He dodged a slap, but Clara was grinning. ‘So how will you know where to start?’
‘Shavila said the Isle of Wight. And Mater Hedera did say that Mother was in prison.’
Jack looked up. ‘You been talking to the All Mother?’
‘Yes. I expect she’s dead now.’
‘Dead? You’ve never gone and killed her!’
‘No, not me. Like Shavila said, they had a spot of trouble with a mob. Come on, let’s move. I’ll tell you all about it on the way.’
Still Jack didn’t budge. ‘You won’t want me along.’
‘Yes I do. You’re all the friends I’ve got, Jack Pike.’ She held out a hand.
Jack pulled a face, shrugged and took the hand. ‘Reckon I am a bit cold,’ he muttered.
They began to pick their way inland, skirting around the flood-lakes, the dead bodies and the crumbling buildings.
‘D’you know how far the Isle o’ Wight is?’ asked Jack.
‘No idea,’ said Clara, smiling.
‘Good job I’m with yer then. Do you even know what direction it’s in?’
‘Nope.’
Jack twisted his mouth. ‘I always said you was mad,’ he grunted. ‘And that’s the truth.’
Acknowledgements
A lot of people have helped me bring Truth Sister into the light of day. I’d like to give special mention to: my lovely family Liz, Ellie, Tim and Gemma for their unstinting encouragement and support over the years; James Stanton, for patiently reading too many of my drafts; my various tutors including Marie O’Regan and Judith Cranswick; and my writing group colleagues in Highworth Scribblers and Swindon Writers for their conversation, coffee and critique. I must also thank Matt Holland and the team at Lower Shaw Farm, an oasis of calm and culture in West Swindon, who every year succeed in making the Swindon Festival of Literature an event that inspires and entertains, and who are therefore responsible for giving me my first “push”. Finally I would like to thank Julian, Rachel and their colleagues at Impress Books, for spotting Clara’s story and for helping me to tell it.
Copyright
First published 2018
by Impress Books Ltd
Innovation Centre, Rennes Drive, University of Exeter Campus, Exeter EX4 4RN
© Phil Gilvin
The right of the author to be identified as the originator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 9781911293187 (pbk)
ISBN: 9781911293194 (ebk)
Typeset in Sabon
by Swales and Willis Ltd, Exeter, Devon
Printed and bound in England
by Short Run Press Ltd, Exeter, Devon