by Teri Terry
He nods and winks, and we slip under the windows along the back of the house.
He looks back at me following. ‘Hmmm…wait here a second,’ he says. He retraces our steps and moments later comes back, holding my wellies in one hand.
I roll my eyes.
‘Put them on, Lucy. One less thing to get yelled at over.’ He winks again. I struggle out of my hated pink shoes, already a bit dirty from the great garden escape, and am about to toss them behind the bushes when Daddy grabs them and carefully places them on a window sill.
‘They’ll be able to follow our trail,’ I warn.
He shrugs. ‘I’m pretty sure she’ll know where we’ve gone, anyhow.’
‘So why be sneaky?’
‘We’re spies, remember?’
‘But I’m not dressed like a spy.’ I frown and hold out the ridiculous pink skirt that sticks out under my coat, and do a spin in my camo wellies.
He laughs, and bows down low. ‘You are, indeed, the perfect picture of a demented princess spy, your majesty. Come on; your official birthday spying chariot awaits.’ We start to walk towards the lake and the kayaks.
But then a door bangs above. A voice calls out: ‘Get back in here at once; your grandmother is here.’
‘Busted,’ I say.
‘Better go back, Lucy.’
‘Why?’
‘She just wants to say happy birthday. Go on.’
I sigh, and start trudging back to the house, feet like lead. When I reach the window with my waiting shoes, I turn around: Daddy is gone. A distant splash says my spy chariot has launched without me.
In the back door I take off my wellies and slip on the pink satin shoes. They’re better for spying in, anyhow. Still in the game, I creep without a whisper of sound: not down the main hall, no. Spies go careful, quiet, down secret ways. I slip through Mummy’s study and out the door hidden behind the curtains. Down the tiny hall that goes around the sitting room where I know they’ll be.
One more step, then another…
Their voices change from a murmur into words I can hear, then wish I hadn’t.
CHAPTER NINE
* * *
Meow? Meoooow.
Hmmph? I open one eye. It’s still dark, and Pounce is scratching at my bedroom door. I get up and open it for her. She disappears down the stairs.
I squint at my watch: 5:20. Thanks for the early wake-up call, cat. I yawn and stretch, shivering as I shrug my robe on and pull it close. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep now.
That dream was so weird, yet somehow I know in my guts it was real. It happened. Was it that horrible pink dress that brought it back?
It was happy at first, off on an adventure with Dad; then…what? I overheard something between Stella and her mother. Something upsetting. What was it?
I head down the stairs and along the hall for a drink. As I go, motion detector lights momentarily blind my eyes, illuminating patches of darkness, then go out just as the next takes over. I start down the wrong hall, uncertain of the way, and double back to find the reception area from yesterday with its tea things.
While the kettle boils, I turn the lights off again and wander to the windows that overlook the lake, but it is lost in inky darkness. A spy kayak: are they still there? I smile to myself, then frown. Dad went off without me, left me to go back and face them alone. Never there for the hard bits, isn’t that what Stella said? No. That isn’t fair. Trying to rescue me from Nico was a very hard bit. Failing was the hardest of them all.
The room is suddenly cast in bright illumination. A girl yawns in the doorway, then jumps when she sees me: Madison.
‘You don’t strike me as the early-morning type,’ I say.
‘Who, me? No, to be honest. But it is a seven o’clock start at the cafe to take care of all the early breakfast-eaters of Keswick. How about you?’ she says, both of us heading for the kettle.
‘The CAS thing starts at eight.’
‘Lucky. Couldn’t sleep?’ I shake my head. ‘Nervous?’
I look at her quickly, then realise she means what I am officially here for: CAS. I’ve been so caught up in Stella and my missing past that I haven’t thought about it at all. Another new place, new people, more not knowing what to do or say while trying to remember to answer to Riley Kain, and not to say anything she wouldn’t. Suddenly it is all way too worrying. I sigh.
‘Tell you what. Come with me on the 6:30 bus, and I’ll show you where you’ve got to go, then I’ll make you an amazing breakfast at the cafe. My treat.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure.’ She holds up her cup of tea. ‘Here’s to firsts: jobs, I mean,’ she says and winks in a way that suggests she was thinking of something else entirely. She clinks her cup against mine, then winces. ‘That was loud. Meet me back here in an hour.’
An hour and a shower and change later, we’re heading for the door. Madison pauses at a table, flips open a folder with pages of columns, writes her name and the time in the out column, writes ‘work’ in description. Hands me the pen.
‘What’s this?’
‘Haven’t you read your rules yet? That probably breaks one of them.’ She grins. ‘This is rule twelve: always sign out when you leave, and in when you get back.’
I bend to print Riley – CAS, and realise that it is the first time I’ve written my new name.
We step outside into the dark morning.
‘I hate this time of year. It’s like midnight,’ Madison says.
‘I like the darkness,’ I admit. I like how it covers and hides, and the chill as well. The ground is frozen, crunches under our feet as we take a path up behind the house through silent trees to the road above.
‘No bus stop?’ I say.
‘No. You just hail them. Comes every thirty minutes or so.’
Soon a bus appears in the distance. Madison waves and it pulls in and stops.
We scan our ID as we get on, start down the aisle; Madison aims for a seat near the back.
‘Oh my Lord. Is it possible?’ a voice says to the side. Male.
Madison pauses, turns. ‘Is what possible?’ she asks.
‘Don’t sit down yet, I need to be sure,’ he says, and Madison holds onto his seat as the bus starts up the windy road. He smiles, and something passes between them in the cold air. Is he her boyfriend? Even sitting down he is taller than she is; a rugged, outdoorsy type. Tanned even in January.
He looks between Madison and me, then glances at a few friends sitting in front. ‘Wow. It really IS true,’ one of them says.
‘What?’ Madison demands.
The one smiling into her eyes answers. ‘At long last, Shorty. There is somebody shorter than you.’
His friends laugh, and she punches him in the arm. Straightens her shoulders as if aiming to be taller, then slips into the seat opposite his. I sit next to her.
‘Who’s that?’ I say, voice low.
‘That six-foot brat is Finley.’ She raises her voice: ‘Him and his friends are total Arses.’
He leans across. ‘We are indeed. You’re just jealous.’ I look between them, brow knotted in confusion. ‘We’re in A – R – S: the Apprentice Ranger Service,’ he explains.
‘Generally known as Arses,’ Madison adds.
‘Only you can get away with that, Shorty,’ he says, and winks. ‘Who are you?’ he asks, turning his smile on me.
‘Riley.’ I manage to get my name right. ‘I’m here for the apprentice intake.’
‘Heh: you could be an Arse, too!’ Madison says.
He shakes his head, laughing. ‘I’m sure there must be some sort of minimum height requirement.’
With that, the bus stops: we’re in Keswick.
‘Ladies first,’ Finley says, and we get off the bus.<
br />
With a wave to the boys, Madison slips her arm in mine. Shows me the building where I need to go at eight, then takes me to her work: Cora’s Cafe. We go in the back way; the lights aren’t on yet.
‘Hello,’ Madison sings out as she unlocks the back door.
A woman in a chef’s hat bustling about a cramped kitchen looks up, and scowls. ‘Glad you decided to turn up.’ Madison sticks out her tongue. ‘And who’s this, another waif that needs feeding up?’
‘Ah, sorry,’ I start to say, and back towards the door.
She laughs. ‘Kidding, kid. I’m Cora; come in.’ They put me at one of the tables in the front of the cafe, bickering all the while. Minutes later the lights come on and the doors are unlocked. Early customers flock in, and we’re soon busy tackling the most massive and delicious cooked breakfasts ever.
A bit later too much breakfast churns uneasily in my stomach as I walk up to the government building Madison pointed out earlier. The sign on the door says ‘Cumbrian Apprenticeship Scheme: Intake Seminar.’ It looks so official, and to me, official means Lorder. Does Aiden know what he’s doing, sending me to this? He usually does. I hesitate, watching others go past me and through the door.
‘Heh, it’s ES,’ a voice says behind me, and I turn: it’s Finley.
‘ES? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Extra Shorty. Shouldn’t you be walking through the door instead of staring at it?’
‘Why are you here?’
‘I’m one of the good examples. Shocking, I know. Come on.’
He holds the door open. ‘Sign in there,’ he says, and points at a table with a queue of people. ‘See you later.’ He waves at someone across the room and saunters away.
I wait my turn.
‘Name?’ says a woman with an overly bright smile and hard eyes.
‘Ky—’ I cough. A fake cough to cover nearly saying Kyla. Get a grip. ‘Sorry. My name is Riley Kain.’
She scans a netbook. ‘You’re not on the list. Next?’
A boy steps up around me.
‘No, wait a minute. I should be on it. Can you check again? That is Kain, with a K?’
She sighs. Looks again. Smiles. ‘You’re still not on the list.’ She turns to the boy.
I start to panic. Could Aiden have messed up? No. ‘I might have been put in last minute.’
She sighs again. ‘A Late Add – why didn’t you say so?’ She touches her screen. ‘There you are. Fill this in so we can put you on the registered list.’ She hands me a handheld device with my name on the top, blanks to fill in. Starting with date of birth. When was that again?
‘Not there,’ she says. ‘You’re in the way.’ She points to the side and I scurry away, face pink.
I touch the screen and try to remember the contents of Aiden’s file. My new birth date finally comes to me: 17th September, 2036. I fill in the rest – address, hair, eyes, height – the only thing that is really true is the last one. And then, I’m stumped. Emergency contact? Aiden never gave me an address for my fake parents in Chelmsford. Finally, with no other option coming to mind, I put ‘Stella Connor, Waterfall House’, and click enter.
I approach the table. She ignores me, checking others in. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, finally.
‘About time,’ she says, takes the device, and updates her netbook. ‘You’re all registered now. Here you go.’ She hands me a folder. ‘Take a seat, Riley.’
I sit down near the back. There are about fifty of us now, a few empty seats here and there still. Everyone else is chatting, seems to know each other. Are they all local? A few glances are cast my way and I try to smile, but they aren’t particularly friendly glances; after a while, I give up and ignore the looks. Finley is off to the side, standing with some others. My eyes seek his, and he winks.
A few more shuffle in, and then – abrupt silence.
A man in a rumpled brown suit walks to the front. He gazes at the assembled faces, moving across them so every one is acknowledged. His eyes pass over mine with a slight pause.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ he says at last. ‘I’m pleased to see so many familiar faces have come in for the Cumbrian Apprenticeship Scheme this morning, and a few unfamiliar ones, as well.’ His eyes touch mine again, and then another’s: a boy, near the front. ‘For those who don’t know me, I’m Councillor Watson. On behalf of the Central Coalition I’d like to welcome you to this opportunity, the gateway to your futures. The Jobs For All policy of the Coalition is in its twentieth successful year, and the apprenticeship schemes are a vital part of its success. I’m going to hand things over now to your local apprenticeships coordinator.’
There is a polite scattering of applause, and another speaker approaches the front. Out of the corner of my eye Watson exits the hall at the back, and everyone visibly relaxes.
Over an hour the scheme is explained in detail. Representatives and apprentices are here from each Section today, and we can speak to them and ask any questions. The Sections seeking new apprentices are Administration, Hospitality, National Parks, Transportation, Education, Enforcement, Communication, and Sanitation. Tomorrow we must come in and sign on the dotted line to commit to CAS for five years. We can ask any questions, pick our favourites, and then we do aptitude tests.
On Monday we find out which four we get to trial. Then follow week-long placements with each, and finally a section is chosen for each candidate. He doesn’t say who does the final choosing, and I’m guessing, not us.
So, without any guarantee where we’ll end up, we must first commit to five years? That sounds forever.
When he’s finished, doors are opened to an adjacent room, with areas set aside for each Section. Everyone spills out and seems more interested in getting a cup of tea than speaking to the representatives and apprentices. Then I notice waves and hellos exchanged here and there. Do they already know what they want to pick? More, do they think this is just a formality: has everyone already worked out who will go where?
A woman at the nearest table – Education – catches my eye and smiles, and there is something about her that makes me smile back. I walk across.
‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Have you thought about working in schools?’
‘No,’ I answer truthfully.
‘Honesty! An excellent trait.’ She looks at me quizzically. ‘I never forget a face, and there is something familiar about you, but I’m stumped. You’re not local?’
I shake my head, careful to hide alarm: could she see Lucy in me despite the changed hair and eyes, after so many years? ‘I’m from Chelmsford.’
‘I didn’t think I recognised you, and every child in Keswick goes to my school. But that doesn’t matter to me, and it shouldn’t to anyone because place of origin is not admissible criteria.’
‘Really? I was thinking I was heading for Sanitation, for sure.’
She laughs. ‘Well, in case you’d like another option, we’re looking for three apprentices in Keswick Primary School. You start as a teaching assistant, and if all goes well can move on to teacher training after a year.’ She starts enthusing about inspiring young minds, and I think of the smiling boy on the train, taken off by Lorders.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asks.
I start. Am I that transparent? ‘I’m not sure about Education; I haven’t been around little kids much, and—’
‘Well, that is the whole point of this scheme. If you pick Education, you get to spend a week with us in the school, and we’ll both soon know if it is for you.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, and it isn’t just for what she has said, but the warm way she has said it.
She seems to know what I mean, and smiles again. ‘Go on, talk to everyone else: none of us bite!’ She leans in closer, and lowers her voice. ‘Except maybe Enforcement.’
I straighten my shoulde
rs and start at one end of the room, visiting each section in turn, but skip Enforcement. The latter aren’t Lorders; they are the local force that deal with parking and minor matters, but anything that says authority says keep away to me, and besides: they’d work with Lorders, wouldn’t they?
It soon becomes apparent by foot traffic that there are two main points of competition: Hospitality and National Parks.
At the latter there is now a small crowd. An unfriendly crowd, as I find when I try to inch my way into it.
‘Heh, it’s ES,’ Finley says, tall enough to see over everyone that I’m there and not making progress.
Finley grabs me to the front and soon I’m face to face with his boss, who looks at me and raises an eyebrow. ‘Considering a career with the National Parks Authority?’
‘Of course.’
He sighs. ‘It isn’t all mountain trails in holiday sunshine.’
I bristle at his tone. ‘Of course not. It’s conservation, public access, education and safety.’ I’d been lurking at the edges long enough to already hear the spiel.
‘Do you have any relevant skills?’
‘I can read maps, I know how to use a compass. I’m a runner and experienced walker, so I’m fit. I love the outdoors in all weather.’
‘Really?’ His voice is still sceptical, and even though I had no idea what National Parks did until five minutes ago, something about his tone has my back up.
I straighten and meet his eye. ‘Try me and you’ll see.’ A challenge thrown down.
‘Well, well. You never know.’
I walk off to hostile glances from many of the other hopefuls; Finley follows.
‘You handled him well.’
‘Did I?’
‘But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. They’ll trial ten and take five this year. But most of the others have been volunteering with National Parks all through school and have staked their claims; even if you make it into the ten, it’s a tough competition.’
So much for place of origin being inadmissible criteria.
CHAPTER TEN