by H M Sealey
“Is it?” I say. I’m not sure I believe that.
“Of course it is. Don’t we all look out for one another?”
I think of the fear and misery in Noor Blackwood’s face, and the desperation in her mother’s voice and I know he’s telling a lie. Nothing can replace family.
A jolt of pain and sorrow rises up again and I physically clutch myself. I want to be four again, I want my parents.
“Gran’s dead.” I say. Gran was all I had left of my family, she was all the state allowed me to keep. One old woman they thought they could control.
Only they couldn’t. They never controlled Gran. That’s almost a cheerful thought, only it doesn’t make her less dead.
“A lot of older people choose Assisted Suicide. It’s a dignified way of ending a life.”
I sniff back fresh tears. “I want Gran. I can’t carry on without her. I can’t be alone.”
Another memory hits me of that dark room, of searching for my family, screaming their names, begging them to come back to me.
But they never came. Only Gran. Gran was there and I clung to her like a limpet. She was my world.
“I know it’s hard, the death of a loved one is never easy -”
“I don’t want to be alone!” I cry. “Everyone’s gone. Even Missy and Dai. I don’t have anyone!” Grief rises up inside me, hot and bitter and too painful to bear. I’ve never really known grief before. I remember about ten years ago when Dai and Missy’s parents died, I remember how hollow and empty Dai and Missy’s faces looked for weeks afterwards, as if someone had turned a light out inside them. But it didn’t really affect me. I only saw what bereavement does on the surface. I never knew that it went right to the centre, black and hungry and so, so painful.
I open my eyes and stare at the doctor with his neat, blonde hair and little glasses perched on his nose.
“I want to do it too.” I say, knowing suddenly that this is precisely what I want.
“Do what Elsie?”
“The drugs. I want them. The ones they gave Gran. Assisted Suicide. I want to die.” Right now I don’t want to be here.
“Elsie.” The doctor gives me a gentle, patronising smile. “Your Grandmother was an old lady, at the end of her life. You’re young, and you’re grieving. You’re in no fit state to make such a drastic decision.”
“I am!” I almost scream, probably sounding every bit as irrational as he suspects me to be. “I know I don’t want to live in this horrible world any more! I hate it! I don’t have anything to live for. Everyone I love is gone! What’s the point in being alive?”
The doctor pats my arm. “Give yourself time Elsie.”
“Will time bring Gran back?” Will time reverse this whole Family Matters thing? Will time get Kit Summerday off my back? I sniff away the tears, I’m not staying here a moment longer than I have to. I don’t want to see the sun climb in the hot sky again, I don’t want see this country wither a little bit more every day that goes by without rain. I don’t want to plough through a world with no family until the day I die. I won’t do that. I won’t take seventy years to die.
“I want the Assisted Suicide drugs doctor.” I force myself to sound less hysterical. “And if you don’t help me, I’m going to sue you.”
I see him pale. Being sued is an occupational hazard for doctors. It’s a very real threat.
“I – I don’t see how you could do that Elsie.” But he doesn’t sound very sure.
“Don’t you? You’re forcing me to stay alive when I’ve expressed a preference to die. I think that’s called abuse.” I’m not sure whether it is or not, but I bet it could be construed that way by some clever lawyer. Not that I know any clever lawyers.
“I’m trapped in a world I hate by you – that’s unlawful imprisonment! You’re disrespecting my decision to die.” And disrespect is a crime all of its own. It’s usually teachers who are sued for disrespect though, I saw four lawsuits last year when colleagues said the wrong thing to the wrong child, so what the hell. A stupid law is a stupid law.
“I’m not disrespecting you Elsie.” I can see by his eyes he’s concerned that he might be. Good, let him worry. I want obviation. I want nothingness to swallow me whole. I don’t want to think or know or love any more. It’s too painful when there’s nothing left to love.
I don’t want to live in a country that takes children away from everything they know and love because of beliefs. I always hated Social Services and now I know why they make me so uneasy.
“Yes you are.” I push my argument. “You’re putting your opinion above mine. I think I have a really good case.”
Colour drains from his face and he gives a slow nod. Ha! My life will mean a whole lot less to him than his job. Do no harm? Hypocrite!
“I really think you should wait -” He says in a voice that tells me I’ve won.
“And I really think you should stop forcing your opinion on me! That’s practically rape.” It’s nothing of the sort, but Sunny Williams in year eleven had Jay Carter imprisoned for forcing His opinion on her in Science. Apparently, learning about Evolution was disrespectful to her beliefs that the human race was the result of Alien experimentation.
The doctor looks even paler.
“Are you quite certain?”
I nod as forcefully as I can. I don’t want to live on alone. I want a place where I no longer hurt inside. Or heaven. Or even Hell, Hell can’t be any worse than this.
~
Josh
In the end, River and Howard have to help hold me down as Gene slices into my arm with a scalpel.
The pain is sickening and I scream until River pushes a soft wad of cloth into my mouth.
“Bite down on that and stop being a baby.” She tells me crossly. “This is for your good. At least you can tell the idiots you’re working for that you had no choice.”
That’s true. I tried to run as Gene heated his scalpel in a candle flame, but Howard is pretty strong for someone so badly injured.
The pain is agonising; I stiffen and try to fight my way free of the hands that hold me.
“Keep still!” Gene snaps. “Do you want me to hit an artery?”
I make an effort to obey; I don’t want to bleed to death in this filthy shop.
Finally Gene makes a little sound of satisfaction, takes a pair of sterilised tweezers, and plunges them into the wound.
I really think I’d like to pass out now, only I don’t. The pain bursts up my arm and doesn’t abate until Gene pulls the tweezers out of my flesh with a plop.
“Got the little beauty.”
He drops something into a dish and reaches for some gauze. My arm is bleeding badly and burns, but Gene examines it without much care not to hurt me.
“I don’t think you need stitches.” He says as he winds a bandage around the gauze dressing. “But for God’s sake, keep it clean. You get an infection, the best I can do is pray for you.”
Even through the pain I’m surprised to hear someone speak about prayer as if it’s an ordinary thing to offer rather than something that can lead to an arrest.
“Cheer up.” He pats my face. “You’ll live.”
My arm throbs and the bandage starts turning red almost immediately, but River, Gene and Howard seem more interested in examining whatever it was Gene pulled out of my arm. Using a magnifying glass, Gene turns over the tiny piece of bloodied metal with his tweezers.
“Is it still working?” Howard asks.
“Oh aye. It’s almost impossible to break these things.”
“So what do we do with it?”
River’s eyes gleam. She picks up the black speck of metal and plastic with Gene’s tweezers and carries it to the toilet.
“It can have a little adventure in the sewer.” River says with a mysterious grin. “Let them go and look for it amongst the crap.”
She releases the chip and presses the flush on the chemical toilet. The powerful suction drags it away and she gives it a little wave. “Bye bye.”
“So now what?” Howard wants to know. He still looks miserable. He flops back on a plastic chair and folds his arms. “You don’t have a drink do you?”
River glowers at him. “You don’t need a drink Howie.”
“I bloody well do.” He gives a long, unhappy sigh. “Every time I close my eyes I think about Missy. I think about what might be happening to her. What’s the point? I mean what is the point?” He buries his head in his hands. “I’ve spent the last ten years doing my damnedest to help people. I always knew the sort of trouble I’d face if I got caught, but this government, this world we’ve created disgusts me. While people are being raped and murdered throughout Europe, Britain is still tougher on someone who claims incest is wrong than on anyone caught with a loaded gun. But, you know, I felt I could face anything for Missy’s sake. So when we had kids we could make a better world for them.” He gives a long, anguished snort. “Without Missy there’s just no point any more.”
“Howie, what about everyone you’ve helped?”
“I don’t care about everyone I’ve helped. I care that I can’t help Missy!” He scratches furiously at burns on his hand and the lump on his arm. “Everything hurts now. Feels like I’ve been stabbed. I don’t even remember what they did to me.”
Without warning he lurches forward and seizes Gene’s scalpel from the table.
“Howie!”
“I’m useless.” He brings it to his throat and fixes River in his big, sad eyes. “No, I’m not only useless, I’m dangerous. I let people down. I let Family Matters down. I can’t do this any more. I can’t live in this stinking, immoral cesspit of a country.”
“Howard Steele don’t you dare!” River stares at him with peculiarly cold eyes. “Don’t you dare abandon everyone because you can’t cope! If every good person gives up then nothing will ever change!”
“You lost someone huh?” Gene leans against the wall and lights another cigarette. Howard nods, keeping the blade close to his throat.
“My fiancée. Missy. It was a Wolf raid.”
Gene tuts and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” He blows out a mouthful of grey smoke. “I lost my wife and daughter.”
Howie seems to hear that and he lowers the scalpel. “To the Wolves?”
“I lost my wife to the Wolves. My daughter to the state. Kate was white you see, the Wolves only take white girls.”
“Missy’s Japanese. I mean, she can’t even speak the language, but her family came over from Tokyo originally.”
That seems to surprise Gene. “That might make it easier to track her down. You want me to put out some feelers for her?”
Howard’s pale eyes brighten, just a little. “You can do that?”
“The church can do that, aye.”
“The church? There aren’t any churches any more.”
“None that people know about, no.”
River throws a warning glance to Gene, I’m not so stupid not to recognise it.
“Hush Gene.”
Gene shrugs. “I just dug a GPS out of his arm and he’s still here. I reckon you can trust this one. Call it my gut.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“I know. You never did. It was always kinda cute.”
“How can I trust anyone when my own mother pretends I’m dead for political points? My own mother!” River rubs her eyes with a dirty hand. “Everyone betrays each-other. Everyone’s only out for what they can get. Nobody does the right thing any more. Nobody’s prepared to play the price.”
Gene’s big face isn’t unsympathetic. “River, everyone’s screwed up, this country is screwed up, nobody knows what the right thing is any more. But don’t write people off too quickly. The thousands who marched with banners declaring rights for paedophiles believed they were the inheritors of the civil rights movement, they bought into NuTru’s crap. Underneath, they marched because they wanted to do the right thing, but a couple of generations with no God and the poor sods latched onto any cause they could, however warped. They’re sheep without a shepherd River.”
Gently, Gene places a dark hand on River’s shoulder and speaks to her very gently. River nods, swallowing a sob.
Gene catches me in his coal-black gaze and I feel myself shrink. “I still have a bit of faith in the human race.” He tells me. “That’s why my church is thriving.”
“Your church?” I try not to sound accusatory.
“My church. I’m senior Pastor. This shop, it’s my cover. My day job. Nobody questions me. Join us tonight, we’ll find you beds,” then he transfers that steady, unafraid gaze to Howie. “And we’ll see what we can do about finding your fiancée.”
Howie gives a half smile. “Thank you.”
Gene draws River into his arms and hugs her. “You have faith too River.”
“I – I try. I’m not as forgiving as you. If my daughter had given me up to the authorities for running a church, I don’t think I’d ever talk to her again.”
Gene shrugs. “She was doing what her teachers told her was right.”
“But ten years in prison?”
“I would spend my life in prison rather than deny God.”
I’m impressed with this man, although he makes me realise what a coward I am.
“And see now, I still have my church, let the authorities try to pull it down, they contend against the Almighty Himself.”
River regards Gene with obvious affection but also a smirk. “Or they contend against a delusional old man who only gets away with what he gets away with because he’s black.”
Gene seems to find that funny, I don’t. She’s so blunt, but he doesn’t show any offence at all. Is it right or wrong to show offence on his behalf I wonder? People always seem to get offended on behalf of others. I always thought it seemed rather patronising. I look up at this man, he must be at least six foot four. I think he’s big enough to fight his own battles.
“Ah, River, you know as well as I that NuTru ranks people from the worthy to the unworthy. Christians are at the bottom of this chart, and ethnic minorities,” he mimes raising his finger along the wall, as if this chart is real, “are far closer to the top. An ethnic minority who is also a Christian cannot be so easily labelled, so they don’t know what to do with me.” Gene laughs, a deep, happy laugh of a man who I now realise, recognises no fear whatsoever. I also think he’s joking, joking without thought of being reprimanded for his words. There isn’t really a chart. At least. I hope there isn’t. It’s been so long since I heard humour, I’ve forgotten how to understand it.
I find myself scrutinising this peculiar, jovial man. I’ve never met someone who radiated such peace before. Not unless they were on drugs.
“Why are you happy?” The question comes out more bluntly than I’d meant. “I mean, everything’s horrible. There’s no water, there’s no money, you’re running an illegal church that could get you arrested. What is there to be happy about?”
Gene turns and claps me on the back with a heavy hand. “I’m happy because I don’t belong to this wretched world, but to the Kingdom of God.” He tells me, raising his eyes to the roof, which could mean he’s looking up to heaven, or just examining the ceiling. “The drought is God’s curse on this land, because a country was once built on respect for His ways has rejected Him so thoroughly. There will be no rain until this government repents or falls.” His thick lips curve into a smile. “I pray that they would repent. River here, she would prefer to see them fall.”
River just gives a snort, but I think that means she agrees with him.
“Now,” Gene says, beaming around at us. “You need a hot meal and a decent sleep and that I can supply.”
River pulls away and shakes her head. “Take Howie, try to help him. He needs rest and his wounds need cleaning. Josh and I have work to do.”
I glance at her. I like the idea of food and beds and a safe place. I really don’t want to carry on tramping across the country.
“What work?” I ask.
River�
�s cool gaze stares right through me. “I told you. I’m going to bury my mother.”
~
~ Twelve ~
Josh
We leave Howie with Gene and head out, into the dark. I’m almost too tired to think straight.
“River, wait!” I call. “Can’t we take up Gene’s offer of a bed at least. You look exhausted.” She looks like I feel, I’m dead on my feet here, I just want to curl up in a cosy corner somewhere and go to sleep.
She shakes her head and keeps a steady pace. We have ordinary clothes now, thanks to Gene, but, even with scarves tied around our heads we look odd, conspicuous. How long will it be before someone reports us to the authorities?
“You can.” River tells me. “I have too much to do.”
“You want to find your mother?”
“No. I want to destroy my mother.”
“How will that help anybody?”
“It’ll help a lot of people. Thousands.”
“How? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you too.”
I sigh and plod on, wishing I could snuggle down in a safe bed and close my eyes.
We pass into a dilapidated area of ancient terrace houses, borded up and falling into disrepair. There’s a smaller population than there ever used to be and it’s getting smaller. Old Britain won’t exist soon. Not that I want the country we’ve become to exist. Good riddance.
“Where are we going River?”
“To see my mother.”
“River, Government Ministers live on Anglesey. Where it’s safe. None of them would ever come this close to the Border.”
River pauses. “All the ministers have homes in The Border Josh.”
“That’s impossible.”
She half turns and gives me a scathing look. “It’s not impossible, it’s just you don’t know what the Border is.”
I still follow, confused.
“Our only problem is getting into the Border, we don’t have any papers or ID.”
“I don’t want to cross the Border.”