‘Jesus fucking H Christ!’
‘Hello, Mrs Mendelssohn,’ said Dog.
‘Get that fucking freak away from my daughter, Jeff, what the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
‘Mum, he’s fine, he’s not a freak.’
‘Have you seen his face?’
‘He’s like me, and Dog.’
Lily Mendelssohn glared at her husband, then turned her gaze on Dog, who looked away.
‘Delia. With me.’
‘We were playing.’
‘Now.’
The woman turned on her heel and clicked from the room. Dog threw Delia a towel which she hung round her shoulders, then she hurried after her mother.
Chapter 19
Yates
‘Mr Mortimer has not gone to the office today,’ said Lament. ‘He is still at his house.’
‘Jesus, you could put the heating on in this bloody car.’ Yates pulled up his collar and hugged himself. The snow was no longer falling, but a white blanket covered everything, rounding the edges and making the Manchester street look almost pretty.
‘The temperature, DS Yates, is sufficient to maintain life.’
‘Are you taking the mickey?’ said Yates. ‘It’s fucking freezing in here. Look.’ He pointed to the cloud of condensation coming out of his mouth as he spoke. Then wondered why he bothered.
‘How could I possibly be taking the mickey, when I’m just a machine?’
‘Fine. Whatever. Just put the fucking heating on.’
Lament was silent for a moment, and there was no sound of the heating going on. ‘I’m not sure I like your language.’
Yates closed his eyes. His ears were so cold they felt as if they were going to drop off. ‘All right, Lament. I wonder if you could do me the honour, please, of switching the heating on in the car.’
After a slight hesitation, the sound of the heating started up. Yates could feel the warm air blowing against his skin. He felt better almost immediately.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Yates glared at the screen. ‘You were saying about Mortimer.’
‘Yes, it seems he hasn’t gone to work today.’
Yates made a derisive noise and looked out the window again. ‘I wouldn’t go to work in this either.’
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t go to work for lots of reasons, including a generously padded forensic scientist,’ said Lament.
‘How the hell do you know about her?’ Yates rubbed his hands together, attempting to restore circulation.
The expression of Lament on the screen did not change. ‘Everybody knows.’
‘Seriously?’
‘The odds on her kicking you into touch are much shorter than getting a ring on your finger.’
‘Shut up, right now. That’s my bloody private life.’
‘I take an interest. After all, I don’t get to have one.’
It was impossible to tell if the wirehead was being sarcastic.
‘Anyway,’ said Lament. ‘The forecast says this snow is probably setting in for winter. Time to break out the tyre chains.’
‘All right, so let’s go visit Mr Mortimer at his place. I’ll rattle his cage and we’ll see if anything new drops out.’
The sound of the heating died in the car.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’
‘Saving energy.’
‘We’re going to see Mortimer.’
‘I can’t put tyre chains on.’
‘Somebody can do it when you get the car back to the station.’
‘Safety protocols forbid me to drive the car in these conditions without chains.’
The door and the car boot popped open.
‘Fuck you.’
Under Lament’s guidance the police car drove north without incident along the roads of compacted snow into Cheetham Hill. The houses in this area were large, but still built as semi-detached.
Lament had briefed him on the family. Mortimer lived with his parents, two sisters, their husbands and a large number of children. They occupied both halves of a semi. When the computers crashed, all the land ownership records went with them. People just found places to live. Even now records weren’t complete. It wasn’t a priority.
With his hands jammed into his coat pockets and his collar up, Yates walked up to the front door of the left of the two conjoined houses. The path for this one had been cleared of snow, though a light dusting already whitened the interlocking pattern of bricks.
The brass knocker was polished. As was the letterbox, even though house-to-house delivery was no longer a service provided by what remained of the post office. All the paintwork was clean and recently repainted. It was an odd sort of place. Most people just didn’t care that much about appearances anymore. Why waste all that energy on the outside when it was hard enough just surviving?
He gave three clear knocks and could hear them echoing through the interior.
The sound of children’s feet depressed him. He did not like small children. They made a lot of irrelevant fuss. The woman who opened the door, barely out of her teens as far as he could tell, was not unattractive and wore a simple dress, probably homemade. And, at first glance, it looked like she wasn’t wearing a bra.
‘Can I help you?’
She did not seem to be concerned that an unknown person was at the door. Very relaxed in fact, just curious.
He flashed his warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Yates. Manchester Constabulary. Is Mr Mortimer at home?’
‘Which one?’
‘Which what?’
‘My dad, or grandad?’
‘The one who works at Biotech.’
She stayed facing him and shouted ‘Dad!’ then ‘You better come in.’
‘Thanks.’
She shut the door behind him after he had stamped the snow off on the porch and given his soles a good clean on the doormat. He was almost surprised that it didn’t have ‘Welcome’ written across it.
The hallway was tiled and spacious. The stairs up had wide steps of polished wood, though here you could see the wear from unnumbered pairs of feet. Doors led off both sides and two more past where the stairs ended.
They waited for a few awkward minutes. Most people would have taken a few steps away, just to allow personal space, but she stood facing him, so close he could have touched her inappropriately. She definitely wasn’t wearing a bra, and he was surprised at himself for feeling embarrassed.
The sound of young children shouting and arguing got louder until two—he wasn’t sure if they were boys or girls—appeared in the doorway to the left. The stopped making a noise and stared at him, as if he were some alien.
‘Who is it, Becky?’ Kieran Mortimer emerged through the door that probably led to the kitchen. He was wiping his hands dry. ‘Oh.’
Back in familiar territory, Yates smiled. ‘Mr Mortimer, do you mind if we have a few words?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He hesitated, then decided. ‘Do you want to come through?’ He indicated the door to his left. ‘Make sure we aren’t disturbed, Becky, especially by the twins.’
The backroom was a sitting room with glass doors—firmly closed—that led out to a conservatory. Beyond that was a huge garden. The layer of snow did not disguise the ridges, cloches and extensive greenhouses. Even now he could see three people, wearing big coats, hunched over tools working out there.
It made sense, with the number of people they had here they could work the land to supplement what they could buy, as well as pool their income. It made them less dependent.
They were the opposite of what the Purity wanted: complete dependence and control. These people were not under control. Even to a policeman that was a little worrying.
He turned abruptly as the door closed. Mortimer stood there, his back to the corner, like an animal at bay.
‘Why don’t we sit down?’ said Yates.
Mortimer took reluctant steps, as if he expected the policeman to pull out his gun
and shoot him.
Yates had a thought. ‘How many children do you have, Mr Mortimer?’ The fear that had been in the man’s eyes back at Biotech was there again.
‘Children?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘It’s not a hard question, is it?’
‘Becky is my only child.’
‘What about the other two—the twins, was it?’
‘They belong to Mary and John.’
‘I thought I heard a baby too.’
‘There are a lot of children in the house,’ said Mortimer. ‘I lose track myself.’ Yates was impressed when Mortimer managed to force a grin on to his face.
‘I’m sure,’ said Yates. ‘I don’t really like kids that much, but I have nothing against them. I was wondering, though, how many of the children in this house don’t have riffies?’
Bingo. Mortimer went white.
‘Please...’ His plea faded as it started.
Yates smiled. ‘Let’s talk about fake riffy devices, shall we? And we’ll see how forgetful I can be.’
Mortimer nodded.
‘You made parts for a fake riffy.’
‘Yes.’ Mortimer’s voice was so hoarse he barely made a sound.
‘And who did you sell those parts to?’
‘He didn’t give me his name.’
Yates glanced out of the window at the people working the plot out back.
‘It would be a shame to break up such a close and loving family.’
‘He didn’t give me his name!’
Yates smiled. ‘But you know who it was.’
Mortimer’s head drooped as he nodded once more. ‘I recognised him.’
‘So who was it?’
‘They could have me killed and my family locked up.’
‘I can do that too,’ said Yates. ‘And I’m right here.’
Mortimer still hesitated.
‘Give me the name and I won’t say anything about your family.’
Mortimer nodded and, after a long moment, said the name.
Yates grinned.
Chapter 20
Delia
They ended up in the library. It had the advantage of absorbing noise and having a single door, perfect for a heart-to-heart. Delia’s heart sank, this was not going to be enjoyable.
While her mother sat in the armchair Delia stayed standing near the door. There was something about her mother that made her feel like she wanted to escape.
‘What’s going on with that boy?’
Seriously?
‘Nothing’s going on.’
‘Don’t try to kid a kidder, Delia. You’re always making cow eyes at the Dog.’
‘How would you know? You’re never here.’
‘Who would want to be locked up in a place like this?’
‘I don’t get a choice, do I?’
‘You can’t go out.’
Delia closed her eyes. Conversations with her mother always turned out like this. Aimless. It was as if this woman who claimed to have borne her just came round to stake her claim. Remind the child that she was the one to whom life was owed.
‘So what’s going on with him?’
‘I said.’
‘Have you kissed him?’
‘No.’ Not that I’d tell you.
‘Do you want to?’
‘Of course not.’
‘What about the freak?’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s new.’
‘Dad picked him up a few days ago.’
‘He’s an ugly fucker.’
What am I supposed to say to that? ‘You get used to it.’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘Why are you here, Mum?’ Why aren’t you somewhere else, sleeping with someone who isn’t your husband? Why are you bothering me and upsetting Dad?
‘Can’t I visit my darling girl?’
‘Whatever.’ You’ve visited, I’m still alive, why don’t you just bugger off back to wherever you’ve been for the last few months.
Delia shivered. Her cream was drying out.
‘Look, if there isn’t anything else, I need to get my cream on.’
‘Oh you poor love, do you want me to do it for you?’
‘No, Mum, I can do it myself.’
‘Everywhere?’
‘Of course, everywhere.’
‘I used to do it for you, you know, every day, three times a day.’
As if you’d let me forget. ‘I know, Mum, but I’m a big girl now.’
Her mother grinned. ‘You certainly are.’
Delia pulled a face to cover her disgust and pulled the towel tighter across her chest. ‘Seriously? God, you really didn’t just say that!’
‘It’s not something to be embarrassed about, sweetie, it’s something you can use when the time comes.’
‘When what time comes?’
‘When you want to catch a man, like I did your dad.’
Delia lacked a response to her mother’s gross suggestions, but that didn’t seem to concern the woman.
‘Anyway, you don’t seem bothered showing off your tits to those boys.’
‘We were having a game of badminton. That’s all!’
‘Protesting a bit hard, sweetie. You’re just like me.’
‘I’m nothing like you! When I find someone—’ somehow, find someone, stuck here in this house day and night ‘—it’ll because I love them and they love me.’
Her mother barked a laugh and then became serious. ‘No such thing, sweetie. You use them before they use you. That’s all there is.’
Delia took a deep breath. ‘Is that it? Is that the only thing you wanted to tell me? There’s no such thing as love? Well, fine, in your life I have no doubt that’s the truth. You’re incapable of it.’
She turned away and pulled the door open before her mother could see the tears.
She slammed it behind her and ran upstairs.
‘Bitch,’ she hissed as she leaned her back against her bedroom door. ‘Fucking bitch.’
Her back was itching as she stripped off her clothes. It always started there. It was always so hard to get the cream rubbed into the middle of her back.
‘I hate her.’
Chapter 21
Chloe
Early on there had been some excitement when she heard a vehicle in the distance. It gave her a vague impression of the houses outside. It stopped, as far as she could tell, near the hospital she had seen on the map. Indistinct voices talked and there was some arguing. Probably something to do with the trouble the previous night.
But the rest of the day crawled by. She had tried to drag it out by searching the house thoroughly but that had not taken much more than an hour. Part of the problem was that clicking her fingers let her see through almost any hiding place. A clap of the hands showed her everything.
There were two more of the sealed bags of clothes and fabrics. There was a shoulder bag which would have to replace her lost backpack. She rolled up a blanket as tight as she could and shoved it into the bottom. There were two thin jumpers that were a bit small for her and pressed the lumps of her back flat. But her mother always said that layers were the key in cold weather. She took them anyway. There was a pair of unused black leather gloves, still linked by a loop of plastic. She could not imagine why anyone would leave them behind but she was glad they had.
Moving to the kitchen there were some odds and ends that had been left behind. A chipped mug with a picture of a kitten clinging to a branch with the words ‘Hang in there’. She smiled and put that in the bag. Finally there was an apple or potato peeler. Not exactly a lethal weapon, but maybe it could fool someone if it was held to their throat.
The water was still running in the place and the toilet still flushed, which was a gift. And at least she had fresh water to drink, but still nothing more to eat.
The bag could not hold much so she decided to leave it at that. By mid-afternoon she was starving again. As the sky dar
kened she had had enough. She needed to get out and find some food.
Although it was cold she stripped off in the bathroom—the only room apart from the kitchen that did not have mouldering carpets—and checked her back in the full-length mirror.
The lumps were getting on for eight inches long, and from a tight joint where they emerged from her upper back they spread out. Delacroix was right; if she closed the fingers of her hand and pretended it was all covered with skin, that’s what it would look like.
One of them twitched which meant it must have muscles attached. She focused and tried to make it happen. The muscle in her right arm tightened. She frowned and tried to isolate the muscle in her back. A muscle she had not even had a few weeks ago.
The left one—no, the right, it’s a mirror—jerked. It was a victory but somehow she did not feel happy about it. She did it again and it responded. Concentrating, she went for a slow tightening of the muscle and it moved slowly to an upright position.
Her stomach intervened before she could try the other one. The hunger was starting to drive her again. She needed to get dressed and get out of here.
She put her layers back on. Pressing the lumps—no, she couldn’t keep calling them that, they weren’t just lumps anymore—they were limbs, or hands, maybe complete arms.
‘Extras,’ she said to the mirror. ‘From now on, you’ll be my extras.’
Unfortunately the clothes forced her extras to lie flat and they weren’t comfortable like that.
Too bad.
With the bag slung over her shoulder, hat on her head and her new leather gloves on her hands, she went back into the attic room and jumped easily to the skylight. She swung out through the gap and went up to the ridge. There was a light breeze that blew freezing air into her face. A pair of goggles would have been useful.
The buildings matched her memory of the sound image. One street over, the lights of the hospital lit the area. She could hear voices clearly now. Too many. Perhaps they were scared of a repeat of the trouble the previous night. She could also hear chickens but there was no way she was going to risk it.
To her right was the blackness of what had been the golf course. She couldn’t see anything over there, nor hear. The city murmured a little and there were people in the houses behind her.
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