Toxic Treacle

by Echo Freer

  He saw her start at the news. ‘And they took away some providers’ clothes that were down there to have them tested by forensics.’ He looked from Jane to Tragic. ‘I’ve risked The Farm to find you, so the least you can do is give me some sort of explanation.’

  The fire crackled, and the distant hooting of an owl could be heard outside, but there was no other sound. Monkey looked from Tragic to Jane, waiting for one of them to speak. Finally, Tragic spoke.

  ‘I’ll be sixteen tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If we’d stayed, I’d have been having my graduation party, then that would’ve been it. I’d have been off to the Breeders’ Zone on Sunday and just sucked into the whole world of breeding and providing. That would’ve been my connection with my family gone; ended...’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Forever.’

  ‘We’ve been through this...’ Monkey began, but Tragic shook his head.

  ‘Hear me out. Mum and I didn’t want that.’ Monkey’s eyes opened wide at the word Mum. It was archaic. No one called their nurturers mum. Tragic was sounding practically prehistoric. But Monkey let him continue. ‘So, we made some enquiries and found this community of people who’ve opted out.’ He looked Monkey in the eye and shrugged apologetically. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything before. We couldn’t risk it getting out and...’

  ‘So, why’d you leave a note?’ Monkey challenged.

  Tragic shrugged. ‘I was going to send it to you, but then I changed my mind. I didn’t think you’d go to the house.’

  Jane looked anxiously at her son. ‘You wrote a note? With our whereabouts in it?’

  ‘Yeah - sorry. I didn’t think...’

  She turned to Monkey. ‘Where is it? You didn’t leave it there, did you?’

  ‘No. I took it with me.’ He noticed mother and son relax visibly. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Are you gonna tell me what’s really going on?’

  ‘It’s like I said,’ Tragic said, unconvincingly.

  Jane put her hand on her son’s knee and smiled. ‘It’s OK, I’m sure Mickey understands.’

  But Monkey far from understood. ‘So, in this “community” you’ve joined,’ he said, sarcastically, ‘how’re you gonna finish your education?’ Monkey couldn’t believe he was asking such questions. He sounded like Professor Reed - or, worse - Vivian. ‘What you gonna do for a job, Tradge? And what about...you know...’ He shot an embarrassed look in Jane’s direction. ‘...breeding and stuff?’

  Tragic cleared his throat and blushed. ‘It’ll be OK,’ he said, directing his gaze to the floor.

  Jane came to his rescue. ‘We’re pretty self-sufficient here. Don’t worry about Trevor - he’ll be fine. We grow all our own food and make our own furniture.’

  Monkey snorted, louder than he’d intended. ‘So what, you’ve turned Amish, now?’ He stood up abruptly. ‘You know what - something weird’s going on. I don’t know what it is, but maybe next time I come...’

  ‘No!’ Tragic and Jane interrupted together.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mickey, but you mustn’t come again,’ Jane said urgently. ‘It was really kind of you to find Trevor but, for everyone’s sake - yours and ours - you mustn’t come back.’ She paused, then asked anxiously, ‘Does anyone else know you’re here?’

  ‘Only...’ Monkey was going to say only Angel Ellison. Tragic knew how he felt about Angel - he’d be rapt to know that they’d got together. But he changed his mind. Better keep her out of it. ‘Only me,’ he answered. ‘No one else.’

  ‘Good. And can we rely on you to keep it that way - please?’ she implored. Monkey nodded. ‘And it would be best if you turned off your ring-cam until you’re back in town,’ Jane said.

  Monkey reluctantly did as she had asked, then held out his hand to his friend. ‘So this is it, is it - the big adios?’

  Tragic stood up and Monkey realised that he’d grown somehow in the few days since he’d seen him; not in height, but in maturity. ‘I’ll be fridge, mate. Trust me.’

  Jane walked Monkey to the edge of the village, making sure that he and Tragic had no time alone together. She stood in the road watching as he walked out into the night and back towards the loco track. The visit had left him with even more questions than when he’d arrived. None of it made sense. Was he seriously expected to believe that Tragic was willing to drop out of society, give up on his education, his career, his breeding rights, to live on homemade soup for the rest of his life - with his nurturer? He knew Tragic was tragic, but he wasn’t a head case.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Monkey switched on his ring-cam again.

  ‘Time?’ he whispered. It was almost midnight. His limbs felt like lead and his eyes struggled to stay open. The hope that had sustained him on his way out to the village was gone; replaced by a sense of despair that he would never see his friend again. It weighed on him as heavily as a bereavement, and unfamiliar tears pricked his eyes. He blinked them back furiously as he trudged the long lane back to the main road.

  And then he heard it: a noise he’d only previously heard emanating from the snug in town or from the sports ground behind the fence of the Providers’ Zone. It was the sound of male laughter; deep and throaty and it resonated across the countryside. Monkey looked round. There was a five-barred gate leading to a field and there, not thirty metres from him, walking across the bare earth, was a group of three providers, their silhouettes barely visible against the black of the night as he peered through the gate. He slipped off the road and ducked down into the hedge, watching the men coming towards him. As they got closer, he could see that they each carried tools, sledgehammers, slung on their shoulders, and one had a coil of wire looped over the other arm. Their jovial camaraderie was obvious even from where Monkey was hiding. This was what he yearned for - that raw masculinity of the providers. Tragic was mad to have given up the prospect.

  The men tossed their sledgehammers over the gate onto the grass verge, then released the catch, opened the gate and stepped out onto the lane. They couldn’t have been more than four metres from him. Who were they? he wondered. Prisoners from The Farm? Although Angel’s research said that Combe Magna had been rejected as a site for a Farm development. Maybe they were working for The Assembly? After all, the food couldn’t all come from The Farms, could it? There must be other arable sites that grew crops for the nurturers and their families. He’d never really thought about it before.

  ‘I’ll get Laura to drop some more fence posts off at the north end in the morning, then this is secure,’ said one of the providers.

  ‘Yeah, give this hedge a couple of years and it’ll thicken up nicely. Won’t need to be fencing it. I had enough fencing for a lifetime when I was on The Farm.’ The voice behind the laughter sounded much younger than the first provider and, Monkey thought, vaguely familiar.

  ‘Come on, then,’ said the first man. ‘Let’s get this lot back and pick up those seed potatoes. Try and get all the early crop in before morning, shall we?’

  ‘I’d like to get finished a bit early if I can,’ said a third as they picked up their tools and headed back towards the village. ‘Big day tomorrow.’

  ‘Aye. We’ll have to get him down the snug for his first keg - well, legal keg, anyway,’ laughed the first voice and the others joined in the laughter as they disappeared into the night.

  Monkey crept out of the hedge bottom and stood in the middle of the lane staring into the inky blackness as though he could still see the men. He didn’t know who they were, or why they were there, or even if they had anything to do with Tragic’s sudden liking for vegetable soup and primitive carpentry. What he did know was that, whether Jane liked it or not, he was coming back - and, next time, he wanted answers.

  Uninvited Guests

  The following day was Saturday and Monkey slept late. By the time his ring-cam penetrated his consciousness, it was already early afternoon. He flicked it on, realised it wa
s Angel, so immediately turned down the visuals. No way did he want her seeing him looking like an extra from some monster horror-vid.

  Her disembodied voice came from the blank screen, ‘I’ve been ringing you all morning. How d’you get on last night?’

  Monkey hesitated; torn between hope for his future breeding with her, and suspicion that she might, in some way, be setting him up with The Assembly. He gave her a skeleton account of the previous night, as he rubbed his eyes and combed his hair, making himself presentable for the ring-cam: he preferred speaking with eye contact; you got an insight into a person’s sincerity. He leant out of bed so that he could check his reflection in the mirror over his desk, then pressed the button for visuals.

  ‘That’s better,’ Angel remarked. ‘So, what’s your next move?’

  Monkey sighed. He didn’t know what his next move was - and if he did, should he tell her? ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ he said before he’d realised that his thoughts had formulated into words.

  Angel looked surprised. ‘You don’t.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘I came in on this because you asked me to. I’ll back off if that’s what you want?’

  Monkey pondered her response; she’d sounded genuine and her eyes hadn’t flickered when she’d spoken. He sighed. ‘I think whatever Tragic’s got into, he’s in too deep,’ he said simply. ‘There’s Security and The Assembly - they’re all involved. And I think Criminal Justice might have some interest, too. This is big league. And...’ he paused. ‘Your nurturer is a solicitor. We need to be careful: she’s establishment.’

  ‘Listen, Monkey...’ There was something about the way she used his tag; he loved it. ‘...Sal’s...’ she paused, choosing her words carefully, ‘...well, let’s just say that not all nurturers are pro-Assembly. Sal doesn’t like this regime any more than the providers do...’

  ‘Whoa!’ Monkey had been lying back in bed but he sat up abruptly. ‘What d’you mean regime? And what are you going on about; any more than the providers do? Is Sal a provider? I don’t think so! How does she know what they like and don’t like?’

  He didn’t know why he’d reacted so fiercely, but there was something about the way she’d had a sly dig at the system that had annoyed him. He noticed her expression on his ring-cam as she blinked, clearly nonplussed by his response.

  ‘Meet me by the loco bridge in an hour,’ she said. ‘We need to talk.’

  Five minutes later, she rang back. ‘Come disguised as a nurturer - and bring Vivian’s bike.’ Then she added with a nervous laugh, ‘And don’t forget to shave your legs.’

  ***

  This had better not be a fit-up, Monkey railed inwardly as he pedalled towards the bridge on his nurturer’s bike. He was doing his best to emulate the sedate cycling style of a female more than twice his age. The wind whipped up the plaid skirt that he’d sneaked out of his nurturer’s wardrobe while she and Penny were in town and Grand-mov was dozing in her chair. He pushed it down again with one hand to try and protect his knees - and other parts - and swore under his breath: shiltz - it was cold! And the stupidly thin hose that nurturers wore did nothing to protect his privates! A fine drizzle penetrated the cardigan he’d pulled over the top of his T-shirt and flattened the silky strands of Penny’s dressing-up wig to his face. He was just grateful that it was a Saturday and most people would be in the municipal leisure centre or just cruising the streets round The Plaza. He prayed that none of the hood was lingering on home turf and caught sight of him.

  When he arrived, she was already waiting. A wide grin spread across her face as she eyed him up and down. ‘Good job breeders can’t say no,’ she teased.

  ‘Lose it!’ he snapped, embarrassed. ‘This had better be worth it.’

  ‘Come on.’ She got onto her own bike and indicated for him to follow her. ‘We’ll talk as we ride.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Combe Magna.’

  Monkey stopped. ‘No way! In broad daylight? Are you insane?’

  Angel eyed him and sighed. ‘We are two nurturers out for a cycle. Who’s going to question us?’ She grinned again. ‘Although Security might be interested in that hair - it is criminally bad.’

  Monkey feigned laughter; then his face set. ‘I’m serious, Angel; this is ranged.’

  ‘What was it that the old mov said - “Jane just up and left with her sister”?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Only, you said that there is no sister.’

  ‘Your point?’

  ‘Haven’t you worked out who it was yet?

  Monkey narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re not going to tell me it was Tragic?’

  Angel shrugged. ‘That would be my guess, but we can ask him ourselves later. Come on.’ And, once more, she set off on her bike.

  On the ride out into the rurals, Angel told Monkey the information she had gleaned about an underground organisation, P.A.R.E.N.T. - Partners Advocating Rearing, Educating and Nurturing Together. They were dissatisfied with the current system whereby nurturers were solely responsible for the child-rearing, and wanted providers also to have a say in the upbringing of their offspring.

  Monkey snorted. ‘Who the hell are these people? I mean, Who on Earth wants that?’

  ‘You’d be surprised. They’re from across the board - providers who want to know their children and see them grow up, some nurturers who really liked the person they bred with and want to work in partnership with them and other nurturers who just want to share the responsibility.’

  ‘So? They can meet up with them in town. There are mixed snugs, aren’t there?’

  ‘Yes - for networking and business deals; but not for socialising.’

  Monkey shook his head. ‘But why would any self-respecting provider want to be part of a nurturing unit anyway?’

  ‘It’s not necessarily about being part of a nurturing unit: it’s about taking responsibility for the children you’ve created.’ Angel sounded terse.

  ‘Responsibility!’ Monkey sneered. ‘That’s a nurturer’s job!’

  Angel skidded to a halt and Monkey almost went over the handlebars as he slammed on the brakes of Vivian’s bike. She looked him in the eye. ‘You’re telling me that you’d be happy to breed and just walk away? That it would never cross your mind what your bub looked like? And you wouldn’t be interested in its education or health or future career - or even if it was alive or dead?’

  Monkey shrugged. ‘I’ve never thought about it.’

  ‘So you’ve never wondered what your provider’s like?’ Angel sounded shocked.

  Monkey thought for a moment. ‘I remember Grand-mov telling me he was a law student or something. It was when I was little and Vivian got into a right frenz about it. Said she wasn’t allowed to talk about him again...’

  The reality of what Angel was saying began to make sense: if Angel selected him for breeding, once she’d had two bubs - or three at most - he’d be moved up to the Providers’ Zone, never to see either her or his offspring again. He had never questioned the scenario before but, now, the enormity of the situation dawned on him. That would be the end of his friendship with her. His contribution to the National Maintenance Fund would be deducted at source, dependent upon his salary, and that would be his only input into her life and theirs. That was, of course, provided that Angel did select him and no one else, such as Moni Morrison, chose him first. He felt a sudden contraction in his gut, as though he was going to be sick. Suddenly, the lifestyle that had, only recently, appeared so attractive, was beginning to look significantly less so.

  ‘How come you know all this rebel stuff anyway?’ he challenged.

  ‘Since Monday, when you took me to Tragic’s, I’ve made it my business to find out what’s going on. What do you think I’ve been doing all week?’

  Monkey shook his head. ‘At first, I thought
you’d been scared off and didn’t want anything to do with me. Then, when you came up with the map, I thought you’d just been trying to crack our code...’

  Angel raised her eyes upwards and smiled at the irony. ‘Your code was hardly Enigma!’ she laughed. ‘I cracked it in no time.’ Her tone became serious. ‘Last week, I kept my distance because I didn’t want to arouse suspicion. I’ve been doing research; eavesdropping, keeping my eyes and ears open - learning everything I can about The Assembly. And I don’t like what I’ve discovered.’ She leant forward, intently. ‘Monkey, in a few weeks, you’ll go off to the Breeders’ Zone, breed a few times and that’ll be your job done. But, for me,’ she shook her head, pleading with him to understand the full connotations of her future, ‘my job will just be beginning. For the next twenty years, it’ll be my responsibility to bring up my offs - on my own.’

  ‘But that’s what nurturers wanted, isn’t it?’ he queried. ‘Wasn’t that the whole point of the revolution?’

  ‘Revolutions always happen for a reason but I wasn’t there, I don’t know what the point of it was: only what they tell us in T.R.E.A.C.L.E.,’ she said, ‘And I’m starting to think that that’s not the whole truth.’

  Monkey looked round, anxiously checking that there was no one around to overhear them - this was dangerous talk. ‘Stop it,’ he said quickly. ‘What’s got into you?’ This wasn’t turning out the way he’d planned when he’d first invited her along to find Tragic. He was the bad boy; she was the angelic Angel. He was supposed to impress her but she was taking over. He turned on her, defensively. ‘Nurturers and providers both get what they want. ‘ He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. ‘You get to raise the bubs your way, and we get to live our lives our way: it’s a win:win situation.’ Angel shook her head. ‘Who’s winning, Monkey? Open your eyes!’

  Monkey shivered and straightened the wig that had worked its way forward. The conversation was becoming uncomfortable. ‘Let’s get going.’