The Fandom(37)

Katie shakes her head in disbelief. ‘People fall in love quickly in dystopian chick lit.’

‘It’s a dystopian love story,’ Alice says.

Nate nods vigorously in agreement.

Alice sighs. ‘It’s so romantic. Like when Rose leaves an actual rose on Willow’s windowsill instead of telling him her name.’

‘And when she waitresses at his coming-of-age ball,’ Nate says. ‘And they wait till all the guests have gone and they . . .’

‘Dance to no music,’ they chorus together.

‘For God’s sake,’ I say. ‘You’re both still acting like it’s just a book or a film. But it’s not any more. This shit just got real.’

We fall silent, my words seeming to echo around the ochre room.

‘So after all this, can we go home?’ Katie finally asks, her voice filled with a yearning quality which breaks my heart.

I nod. ‘So long as I complete the story, just like King wrote it, so the gallows get ripped to the ground and a revolution is sparked.’

Nate scrunches up his face. ‘And you’re sure the universe will release us when you hang? Otherwise, you’re just going to hang, you know that?’

‘Will everyone please stop using the word hang?’ I realize I’ve started gripping my neck. ‘From now on it’s banned. Got it?’

They nod in turn.

‘So you fix the canon,’ Alice says. ‘You always did want to be Rose.’ She chews on her bottom lip which, totally devoid of lip gloss, looks thinner than normal.

‘I can’t be Rose,’ I whisper. ‘She’s so . . . awesome.’

Katie rests a hand on my knee. ‘What’s in a name?’

‘Eh?’ Alice says.

Katie blinks in disbelief. ‘A Rose by any other name . . .’

‘You’re seriously quoting Shakespeare at a time like this?’ Alice says.

‘Sorry, One Direction just didn’t cut it. Maybe I should quote some Bieber instead.’

‘Both of you – stop,’ I say.

Alice rubs my arm. ‘Sorry, Vi. Come on, think positively. You get to be Rose . . . You get to . . .’ She wiggles her eyebrows.

My muscles tense. ‘I thought I said not to mention the H word.’

She just laughs. ‘No, you miserable cow, you get to kiss Willow.’

I exhale suddenly and get a slightly giddy feeling, like the first time I rode the carousel – wind on my face, hair streaming, knuckles white as they gripped the metal pole. I remember begging Mum to make it stop, but in the same breath, wishing the wooden horse would go faster and faster. That’s how I feel now, terrified and yet exhilarated – I can’t stop this massive grin spreading across my face. I’d been so focused on the dying part, I’d completely forgotten the kissing part.

Alice smiles. ‘And think how much fitter Ash is in this universe. Just imagine how hot Willow is going to be – he’s going to burn out your eyes. I kind of hate you right now.’ She laughs, but I can’t work out if it’s the bare walls or a lack of humour that makes it sound so hollow.

The next morning, Matthew leads Nate and me into a small vestry house. The air inside smells stale and damp, like it hasn’t been disturbed in a long time. I know what’s about to happen – we’re going to get slave tattoos, just like Rose did. Our story threads are twisting together again, becoming one, which can only be a good thing – the more this happens, the more likely we are to go home.

Saskia perches on a tatty chaise longue, needle in one hand, pot of ink in the other. ‘I need to get to your neck.’ She doesn’t even raise her eyes, as though we’re not worth looking at. Tit-turnip, I think to myself, and smile.

I yank my tunic over my head, determined to appear brave. I stand in my leggings and vest top, the damp air chilling my arms, just waiting for the needle to pierce my skin. It looked pretty unhygienic and painful in the film, but I’m surprisingly calm about it all; it kind of pales in comparison to the whole noose thing.

Saskia cackles. ‘So which design would madame like? The dragon or the flaming eagle?’ She dips the needle into the ink.

Matthew gently pulls my hair over my shoulder. ‘Now keep still, if it looks fake, the guards’ll shoot you.’

Saskia repeatedly pricks the skin on the back of my neck, returning to dip the needle in the ink every so often. My eyes water and I can’t help but whimper as the needle passes over a nodule in my spine.

‘Dammit, Violet,’ she spits. ‘You’re making the five wobbly.’

She finishes and lays a damp piece of gauze over the wound. ‘This stops infection and speeds up healing. We nicked ’em from the Pastures.’

It also numbs the pain, for which I feel hugely grateful.

Nate is next. He remains completely still; only his fingers betray him as they dig into his thighs.

Saskia admires her handiwork. ‘You should fool the guards.’

I glance at Nate as a knot forms in my stomach. ‘Should fool the guards?’

She shrugs and gathers up her kit. Rose crossed the border with only a minor run-in with a guard. But she was lucky, and she didn’t have a wonky five. I try not to think about it, focusing on the Pastures . . . on Willow.

We pull on some regulation overalls. The material itches and rubs whenever I move, as if it’s objecting to the fact it covers me and not Rose. I watch Nate scratching his arms through his sleeves, and I feel enormous responsibility pressing into my windpipe. But I also feel like I’m back on that carousel, the wind on my face and the rattle of a metal pole beneath my hands. I’m going to meet Willow. Not Russell Jones, but the Willow.