The Fandom(49)

My fingers tremble, but I force my voice to remain strong, my words to remain true to the script. ‘And what does a Rose look like?’

He laughs. ‘Prickly.’ He crosses the remainder of the orchard and we sit side by side beneath the plum tree. I sit on my hands so they don’t fiddle, and I study his profile – so perfect he almost looks like a CGI prince from a kids’ film. I bite my lower lip and suddenly I’m very aware of the skin on my chest growing hot under my overalls.

His eyelashes beat slightly as he contemplates the stars. ‘I love the estate at night.’

‘I only really see it at night.’

He turns to face me, his skin already dewy in the rain. ‘So you sleep in the day, right?’

‘Mostly.’

A puzzled look crosses his uniform features. ‘Do you sleep at the estate, or do you catch that big old car thing back to the city?’

I laugh, playfully tapping his shoulder just like in canon. It feels kind of flirty and a bit alien, but I say my line all the same. ‘Big old car thing? You mean the bus?’

‘Is that what it’s called?’

‘You’re so privileged.’

‘I think the word you’re looking for is “ignorant”.’

We stare at each other. The strength of his gaze almost robs me of my next line. ‘I tend to sleep here at the manor. I don’t have a family to return to, and I avoid crossing the border if I can – the guards can be a bit rough.’

He touches my arm. ‘Have they ever hurt you?’

I recall the Perspex screen and the steel-grey eyes. I know I should stay on script, just reply, Not yet, like Rose did, but I feel this anger welling inside me like something dark and evil, and I can’t seem to stop it pushing up my gullet and forcing out my own words. ‘If you try to sneak into the Pastures, the guards shoot you on sight, did you know that? They just line you up and gun you down like you’re nothing.’ I can’t believe I just said this, that I would risk deviating from canon when there’s so much at stake.

He looks a little taken aback. ‘But they need to stop rogue Imps crossing the borders.’

Willow knows about the decontamination block? He knows and yet he does nothing? Just stick to canon, Violet, I think. But the anger reaches a new level, transforming to rage, and I simply can’t stop the words – hot and pleading – pouring from my mouth. ‘You know about this? You know about this and you haven’t tried to stop it?’ I know I should just get back on script, I know I should just focus on the end result of returning home, but I just can’t get that paper-doll chain out of my head – the way it crumpled to the floor like used-up broadsheet. I shake his hand from my arm.

Now it’s his turn to look angry. ‘Look, Rose, until I met you . . . I never really thought about it . . . it’s just the way it’s always been.’

‘Not always,’ I snap.

He suddenly looks very deflated. His beautiful features sag and he places the rose on his lap. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right, of course.’

I look at his soft eyes, his look of earnestness, and the anger fades. I need to get the scene back on track. So I take a deep breath, and true to canon, leap to my feet. ‘Come on, I’m sick of this bloody orchard.’

I begin to run through the trees, batting the branches with my hands as I run. In the film, Rose looked so free-spirited, but I think I just look clumsy. One of the boughs smacks me across the face. Thankfully, Willow finds this hilarious, his laughter spurring me on.

The orchard comes to an end and we burst on to a meadow, silver beneath the moon. Already, he streaks ahead, aiming for the gate at the far side. I focus on closing the gap, head down, arms and legs pumping, chest heaving. It feels so exhilarating. The ground yields, and for a brief moment I think I might slip, but I steady myself and continue to climb. I glance up to see the gap closing. I can make out the feathered point at the nape of his neck. I reach out, so close I swear I can feel the heat of his body beneath my fingertips. But he must sense me and zips forwards. My hands fall empty through the air.

We slam – laughing and panting – into the gate. The wood groans beneath our weight and tries to push us back like a springboard. He has this amazing smile.

‘You’re fast.’ I lean on to my knees to catch my breath.

‘All Gems are fast.’

I feel the cool night air against my neck as my hair falls forwards and my overalls slip back, revealing the upper nodules of my spine. Just like in the book.

His breath gradually slows as he traces each tattooed digit with a finger. A wave of tremors spread beneath my skin – concentric circles in a lake.

‘What does it mean?’ he finally asks.

I recite my line with ease. ‘The first number is the city. So the seven means I live in London. The next two numbers show which estate I work at – all of the Imps working here start with 753.’

‘And the 811?’

‘That’s my number. The eight hundred and eleventh Imp to work at the manor.’ I smile. ‘They know how to make a girl feel special.’

He presses his palm into my back, blocking out the numbers. I absorb the clammy warmth of his skin. Willow is touching my neck. I feel a bolt of excitement.

‘It’s just ink,’ he says. ‘A collection of shapes – it only means what we say it means.’