The Declaration Read online

  ‘Right you are. Bye, then.’

  ‘It’s OK, you can come out,’ she said, putting the phone down. ‘Although we need to get you hidden again pretty quickly. Anna? Anna, are you all right?’

  Anna looked up. She looked awful, Julia thought worriedly.

  ‘I’m . . .’ Anna said, then looked fearfully at Peter. ‘I think I’ve lost. . . I mean, you haven’t found anything, have you?’

  Julia frowned. ‘Found anything? What do you mean?’

  Anna bit her lip and looked down at the table.

  ‘Nothing. I . . . nothing.’

  Peter frowned. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked concernedly, but his question only seemed to make Anna look worse. ‘Have you lost something? What is it?’

  Anna looked at Peter for a moment, and Julia thought she looked like she wanted to say something, like she wanted to unburden some terrible secret, but after a brief hesitation, she just nodded.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said weakly. ‘Really, I’m fine.’

  ‘Right,’ Mrs Sharpe said seriously, ‘well, if you’ve had enough food, it’s just gone nine, so I think you two need to go back to the summer house and wait there for me until it’s dark. I’ve got . . . well, I’ve got some things to do.’

  Anna nodded silently, and she and Peter stood up.

  ‘Wait just a moment,’ Mrs Sharpe said, ‘while I check the coast is clear. The garden here isn’t really overlooked, but you can never be too sure.’

  She stepped out of the back door and had a look around.

  ‘No, I think we’re OK,’ she said. ‘Walk along the fence, though, not across the grass. And be quick. Look, take this bottle of water and this food.’

  Peter took the water, and Anna smiled.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Sharpe. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how grateful we are,’ she said quietly.

  Mrs Sharpe shrugged. ‘Just you stay hidden. Otherwise we’ll all be in trouble.’

  Nodding, Anna followed Peter out of the back door. They walked stealthily along the fence bordering Mrs Sharpe’s garden, hugging the foliage until they reached the summer house. Then, silently, they slipped in, locking the door behind them and returning to their hide-out under the thick, heavy curtains that Mrs Sharpe had wanted to throw out fifty years ago.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Julia Sharpe didn’t join the search party, feigning a headache. She supplied biscuits, though, and filled two Thermoses with sweet, milky tea, which she handed over guiltily, anxiously, before watching as her friends and neighbours set off. The plan, Barbara informed her, was to walk around the perimeter of the village, thrashing through fields and checking any disused buildings. They were carrying an odd assortment of rifles, spades, tennis rackets and croquet clubs, and Barbara was naturally in the lead, talking loudly about the need to stamp out the Surplus Problem, to show the world that they meant business. The others following her betrayed only a limited interest in Barbara’s battle cry, Julia couldn’t help but notice; most were discussing subjects closer to their hearts, such as new recipes, who was using Longevity+ and what they thought of the latest energy tariffs. Their voices were excitable and shrill, though, and Julia smiled to herself sadly. For most of her neighbours the search was, she realised, nothing more than an excuse to get together, an opportunity to convince themselves that they were doing something important.

  And Julia couldn’t begrudge them that. She’d have done the same, she knew that, if the circumstances were different. Life was good for the residents of her village. Life was comfortable. But sometimes they all craved a little bit of danger, of excitement, of meaning, even if only to reinforce how very comfortable and secure their lives really were.

  Slowly, she walked back to her house, looking around as she did so. It was stupid to worry, she knew that. After all, no one would ever suspect someone like her. She was respected, well-connected, and even if someone found the Surpluses, she could always feign ignorance. But her eyes scanned the street, nonetheless, and her heart thudded in her chest, and adrenaline started to course through her veins, as she took out her keys to open her front door. Because without realising it, she had made a decision. Without allowing herself to dwell too much on the implications or the rights and wrongs of the situation, she had decided that she was going to help Anna and Peter get to London. They simply wouldn’t make it on their own, and if they got caught, well, that was more than Julia could bear to think about. So she was going to take them. And she had just one afternoon to work out how she was going to do it.

  Anna watched as Peter stared at Mrs Sharpe uncertainly, from his vantage point under the curtains in the summer house, his eyes narrow and untrusting. It was late afternoon, just getting dark, and her former employer was looking at them expectantly, having explained that she wanted to help them get away.

  ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why would you?’

  Anna looked from Peter to Mrs Sharpe nervously.

  Mrs Sharpe bit her lip. ‘To tell the truth, I’m not sure,’ she said quietly. ‘All I know is that it’s not your fault you’re Surpluses. And that as soon as you take one step into the village, someone will see you. You’re so . . .’ She frowned, looking for the right word, then she shrugged. ‘So young. So slender.’

  ‘But you’ll get in trouble,’ Anna said quickly, anxiously. ‘Won’t you?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me. We’ll have to be careful, but they’re not going to be searching every car, are they? And they’re certainly not going to search the car of Mrs Anthony Sharpe, I can tell you that for nothing.’ Mrs Sharpe smiled, but Anna could see from the lines around her eyes and the way she kept picking at her clothes that she was scared too.

  Peter looked at the ground, frowning intently. Then he looked back at Mrs Sharpe. ‘The Underground Movement will be very grateful,’ he said stiffly. ‘If you can help.’

  Mrs Sharpe raised an eyebrow. ‘Underground Movement?’ she asked archly. ‘If you say so. But I want to make it very clear that I’m not doing this for any Movement. I’m doing this because you’re too young to . . . to . . .’

  She looked at Anna, then looked away again. ‘Well, anyway,’ she continued briskly, ‘I’m going back to the house now in case anyone decides to pop in. They’re . . . well, they’re searching the village for you at the moment. The tricky thing is going to be getting you into the car with Catchers snooping around everywhere, but there’s a petrol station not far from here – you can walk there from the back of the garden, once it’s completely dark, hide there, and I’ll meet you there with the car. I’ve got a friend in London, and there’s no reason why I shouldn’t pay her a visit this evening. What with everything going on . . .’

  She ran through the details of her plan with them, then left the summer house again, and Anna turned to Peter. ‘If they’re searching the village, do you think they’ll come back here?’ she asked nervously.

  Peter shook his head. ‘No,’ he said firmly, but Anna noticed that his brow was furrowed.

  ‘Are . . . are you OK?’ Anna asked tentatively. She didn’t know how to talk to Peter at the moment; felt awkward saying the most straightforward thing.

  ‘Yes,’ Peter said abruptly. ‘I’m fine. I just . . .’ He sighed. ‘I don’t like depending on other people,’ he said after a pause.

  Anna nodded silently and crept back under the curtains.

  They set off at 7 p.m., as soon as it had got properly dark and once Mrs Sharpe had discovered that the search party were safely back at Barbara’s drinking sherry. She had bulked Anna and Peter up with jumpers so they didn’t look so obviously thin, and had given them each a cap of her husband’s to wear, pulled down over their faces. They skulked across the fields at the back of her garden and Anna had to force herself to walk silently next to Peter because the fresh air was intoxicating and the crunching sound of their feet on the frosty ground made her heart leap with exhilaration, even if it was also clenched with fear.

  Finally, having sidled around the perimeter
of an empty building site because of the bright lights shining everywhere, they arrived at the garage. They ducked down behind a wall and peered out on to the forecourt.

  Mrs Sharpe’s estate car was already there.

  ‘Stay here,’ Peter whispered, and inched around the wall, then he came back.

  ‘She’s seen us,’ he said softly.

  Anna heard an engine start, and a few moments later, she heard Mrs Sharpe’s voice.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she was saying to someone. ‘I’m just getting some air for my tyres.’

  Anna waited for another agonising minute, and then Mrs Sharpe spoke again, this time to her and Peter.

  ‘OK,’ she said quietly. ‘No one’s looking. I’m going to open the boot and I want you to get in quickly and cover yourselves with the blankets. It might smell of dog, I’m afraid. I used the car to drive a friend’s Labrador to the vet the other day.’ Her voice was shrill, Anna noticed, as though she was trying to sound normal, but couldn’t, because this wasn’t normal, not at all.

  Anna followed Peter silently into the boot of Mrs Sharpe’s car, as Mrs Sharpe walked up towards the garage shop. A few minutes later, she returned to the car.

  ‘No one even mentioned the escape,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to worry about at all.’

  Anna wasn’t sure whether she was talking to them or to herself. The whole car seemed to be filled with tension and fear, and even the engine sounded uncertain as it started up.

  ‘You can put your head on my shoulder if you want,’ Peter said softly.

  Anna bit her lip, unsure what to say. She longed to put her head on his shoulder, to feel the warmth and security of having his arms around her. But she didn’t think she deserved it. Ever since she’d discovered that her journal was no longer in her overall pocket, she had barely been able to look at Peter, hadn’t been able to cope with his inevitable disappointment and anger.

  Peter shrugged. ‘It’s just that there isn’t much room,’ he said casually, his eyes barely meeting hers. ‘So it might be easier . . .’

  Grateful for the logical argument, Anna nodded, and soon found herself happily nestling into his chest, wondering why it had suddenly got so hot in the car. And wrapped together like that, under the blankets, Peter’s head resting on top of hers, his heartbeat the only sound in her ears, they continued their journey to London.

  Eventually, the car came to a halt, and Mrs Sharpe turned round.

  ‘There’s something up ahead,’ she said frowning. ‘I think it’s just a traffic jam.’ Her voice was incredulous – traffic jams were unheard of now that energy coupons allowed only essential travel. Trams and coaches filled the roads and only the rich or well-connected could afford to drive on a regular basis.

  Anna could hear Peter’s heart beating loudly, and it both comforted and worried her. The car didn’t move for ten or so minutes, and eventually, Mrs Sharpe opened her door.

  ‘I’m going to see what’s happening,’ she said. ‘Don’t move.’

  Neither of them dared say a word. Peter’s arms encircled Anna slightly tighter, and she bit her lip so hard that she drew blood, but other than that, they lay absolutely still.

  Eventually, Mrs Sharpe returned.

  ‘They’re searching lorries,’ she said, her voice slightly tense. ‘It’s causing a big jam, I’m afraid.’

  Peter lifted the blankets slightly. ‘Searching for us?’ he asked.

  There was a pause. ‘Yes, I believe so. Honestly, all this fuss is so unnecessary,’ Mrs Sharpe said lightly, but Anna could sense the worry in her voice.

  ‘Are they searching cars too?’ Peter asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Mrs Sharpe said. ‘At least, the man I spoke to didn’t say anything about cars.’

  ‘I think we should get out,’ Peter said. ‘I think we should go the rest of the way by foot.’

  Anna’s eyes widened.

  Mrs Sharpe sighed. ‘It’s still such a long way. Ten miles at least,’ she said, but she didn’t sound like she was disagreeing with Peter.

  ‘It’ll be safer on foot,’ Peter said firmly. ‘For all of us.’

  There was another pause. ‘Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Mrs Sharpe said eventually. Her voice sounded defeated, disappointed. ‘We’re due east of London here,’ she continued. ‘This road takes you right into the centre. I don’t suggest you walk along it, but the general direction is right. Are you . . . are you sure about this?’

  ‘Yes,’ Peter said tensely. ‘How are we going to get out, though?’

  ‘I’ll turn off the road,’ Mrs Sharpe said. There’s an exit just ahead. I’ll drop you around the corner and then I’ll come back the way I came.’

  Anna felt the car begin to move, and she clenched her fists and thought about her Decorum classes, about being brave and Focusing On The Task At Hand.

  The car stopped again, and Mrs Sharpe got out and the door of the boot opened. Anna and Peter got out awkwardly, their limbs not working so well after being cramped up for so long.

  And then it was time to say goodbye, but they had to be quick, Mrs Sharpe said, they had to get themselves hidden. So Anna reached out her hand and took Mrs Sharpe’s and she squeezed it, and she found that she had tears in her eyes, because Mrs Sharpe didn’t have to help them at all, and Anna was sure that she didn’t deserve such kindness. And then Peter pulled her away and into the shadows, and Mrs Sharpe pretended to be looking at her tyres.

  ‘You look after yourself, Anna,’ she whispered softly, staring intently at her car.

  Anna didn’t say anything, but stood very still with Peter, watching silently as Mrs Sharpe got back into her car and drove slowly off into the darkness.

  ‘Right, we need to walk this way,’ Peter said eventually, pointing up a grass verge when he’d made sure that they couldn’t be seen by anyone. Then he looked over at Anna.

  ‘Do you . . . do you want to hold my hand?’ Peter asked, his voice and demeanour bashful and hesitant.

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ Anna replied, and, slipping her hand into his, they started to walk.

  Chapter Twenty

  Julia Sharpe was humming to the radio when she pulled into her driveway later that evening. She felt alive, she realised, more alive than she’d felt for years. She didn’t know if the Surpluses would make it, of course, or what kind of life they’d be able to carve out for themselves even if they did. But for the first time in far too long, Julia hadn’t felt like a spectator, hadn’t felt detached and impotent as though she were watching her own life from the sidelines, never fully taking part.

  As she switched off her engine, though, she frowned. Something wasn’t quite right. The light in the kitchen – she hadn’t left that on, had she? She never left lights on; no one did.

  Taking the key out of the ignition, she turned to open her car door, but before she could do so, it opened for her. Surprised, she looked up, and then her face went white when she saw who it was.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Sharpe. Back from a drive, I see. Identicard, please.’

  Julia silently dug her identity card out of her handbag and watched as it was scanned.

  Then the man smiled icily. ‘And would you mind telling me where it is you’ve been?’

  It felt like they had walked all night.

  They hadn’t, though, Anna realised, looking at her wrist and discovering that it was only a quarter past midnight. It felt much later. And there was so much adrenaline pumping around her body that she felt vaguely unreal, as though it wasn’t her hiding in the shadows, but someone else completely.

  Every corner they turned could have a Catcher behind it. Every time someone looked at them, she was convinced that it was all over. Several times they thought they were being followed and had to duck into alleyways, or down steps into basements, not knowing if they would be cornered and captured, and even when there was no one there at all, Anna kept imagining that there was.

  And all the while they didn’t dare speak because they didn’t want
to draw attention to themselves and, anyway, there was nothing to say. Instead, Anna watched Peter in silent admiration as he worked out their direction of travel, choosing routes that enabled them to stay hidden, as invisible to the Legals walking around as Surpluses were expected to be in their employers’ homes.

  As they walked, Peter’s eyes darted around madly, reminding Anna of the first time she’d seen him, back at Grange Hall a few weeks ago. It felt like months ago, years even.

  Every so often, he would stop and check a road sign or some other pointer, would think for a moment, and then nod, as if agreeing with himself on something important, before motioning the way they would go and charging off. Anna could only follow, abandoning any desire for control, for knowledge, for security, and doing all she could to ignore her pounding head and aching feet as they traversed the outskirts of London.

  As the city lights grew brighter and the roads more populated, they found a small area of green with bushes and trees, and hid for a couple of hours until once again the streets were almost deserted and they started to walk again, hugging closely to walls, heads cast downwards, like shadows, like the walking dead.

  Then suddenly, when Anna had stopped even caring about her feet feeling like they were going to fall off, Peter stopped and turned to her.

  ‘We’re here.’

  Anna looked up in shock. She’d been so deep in thought she’d barely noticed the last hour of walking, hadn’t noticed Peter’s pace picking up and his chin lifting as he realised how close to home they were.

  Quickly, he pulled Anna into the shadows and she watched as he knocked on a window just below their feet. He knocked once, twice, then waited a few seconds and knocked again. Immediately a face appeared, then another, and then a door opened at the bottom of a flight of stone steps, similar to the ones they’d been ducking into on the way across London. In a matter of seconds, Anna found herself being bundled through it into a kitchen and arms closing around her. She could hear muffled cries of ‘My baby, my baby!’ and someone sobbing, and she could barely breathe, and it was all she could do to say Peter’s name before her head rocked back and everything went suddenly black.