The Fandom(71)

‘Of course I’m an Imp. I’m five foot bloody four!’

‘We leave on the next bus. Now gather your things.’ She storms from the hut, slamming the door so hard it groans on its hinges and dislodges the dust and muck from the beams.

‘What things?’ Nate gestures to our empty bunks, his voice sarcastic, full of bravado, but he leaves his hand on my shoulder like I’m some sort of crutch.

Matthew disappears behind a cloth divider. I hear him roll on to a bunk. ‘The next bus isn’t till dawn, better get some sleep. We’ve got some walking ahead.’

Even though I’ve hardly slept, I don’t feel tired. I can still feel the remnants of the adrenalin, and my body’s forgotten whether it’s night or day. Eventually, I move to the kitchenette. Nate follows, and we begin stuffing bread in our pockets, filling bottles with cloudy water.

‘How could she do this?’ I whisper over the rumble of the taps.

‘What? Alice? Do something completely selfish? Shag the man of her dreams? It’s a mystery.’

‘Nate, language.’

He laughs. ‘Shag doesn’t count.’ He screws the lid on to one of the bottles, his knuckles blanching, and when he looks up, he looks serious. ‘She clearly wants to stay.’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘You talked to her?’

‘More like yelled.’

He nods in approval. ‘Did you remind her about Katie?’

‘Yeah. She’s hell-bent on ruining the canon so she can stay.’ I think about the paper chain, the glinting scythe, the Dupes suspended in fluid. ‘How could she want to be one of them?’

Nate sighs. ‘It’s like those Zimbardo experiments Dad told us about.’

I shake my head, slightly irritated by the tangent.

‘You know, they took a bunch of students and made half of them prisoners and half of them guards. Within days, they were acting like it was real.’

I smile. ‘How do you remember this shit? You’re only fourteen.’

‘Because I clear my brain of all other clutter, like where I live and what my name is.’

For a moment, it feels normal again – just me and Nate carrying on. But it quickly fades. I sigh. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Baba will know.’

‘She didn’t know this.’

He doesn’t reply.

We leave the estate on the first bus that morning, the four of us shivering in the dew-soaked air. I stare at the battered headrest in front of me, letting the fibres pixelate before my tired eyes, and I don’t risk glancing out of the window until the Harper estate lies far behind – a world spun from sugar. Beautiful, sweet, and yet painfully brittle.

I’d tried to find Ash, but he’d done his vanishing act again. I never got the chance to tell him goodbye, or even part of the truth. Now, he will always think I wanted Willow. I swallow back the tears.

The hypnotic rhythm of the bus eventually rocks me into a world of dreams. Alice, Katie and I stand on the school stage – the one in the sports hall which never gets used because it’s too small and manky. Alice wears this amazing Elizabethan gown, all silvers and greens, like she’s the Queen of Slytherin. She really does look like an hourglass – the fullness of the skirt narrowing into her tiny waist, only to flare out into an elaborate, white lace collar. Katie and I look more like wenches, dressed in dour black smocks and aprons, our dirty hair tucked into equally dirty mop hats.

‘Come now, servants,’ Alice says, addressing us in a regal tone. ‘Do not keep the audience waiting.’

I notice for the first time that spectators fill the hall, each one of them gawping at us. It’s my line. I know it’s my line, but I can’t for the life of me remember what I’m supposed to say.

‘Vi,’ Katie hisses. ‘Vi, come on, I’m depending on you.’

The crowd begins to whisper, but they’re quickly drowned out by the pounding of my heart. I prise open my jaw, force down some air, beg the words to form in my brain and migrate to my tongue. But it’s like my mind has been stripped down, left bare.

The crowd begins to laugh. That’s when I spot Mum, standing in the midst of the audience. She shakes her head like she’s disappointed, that same shake she did when I came home drunk and puked on the sofa. Then, her lips begin to move. And even though she’s thirty-odd feet away, it’s as if she whispers straight into my ear. Come on, sweetheart. Say something. For me. Please just say something and wake up.

I wake with a start, Nate beside me.

‘You OK?’ he asks.

‘Yeah.’ My hand settles on my overalls, just above the place where Katie’s letter should nestle. I left it at the Imp-hut, stuffed down the back of a crumbling sideboard. I was worried the guards would find it when we crossed the borders. It would rouse suspicion and put us in the firing line, a supposedly illiterate Imp carrying a letter. But it seems those words sunk through my skin and into my veins, like my blood would flow ink-black if you cut me open. I feel like crying. All the world’s a stage, and I am the shittest actor ever.

Leaving the Pastures proves a lot easier than entering. There’s no decontamination process, because you can’t contaminate a city already filled with disease and raw sewage. Just a quick pat down from some apathetic squaddies, who throw my bread in the bin and laugh when my stomach snarls.