One of Us (30 page)

I wonder if perhaps she doesn't believe me. We eat in the living room.

“Can anything be done for Jeremiah?” I say.

She puts down her fork. “I'll certainly look into that.”

“And the girl, the girl they identified as me?” I hurry on. “I believed Oskar when he told me she wasn't Verity Nekton, but now I keep wondering.”

“I'll need some time,” says Tina. “About Jeremiah, especially. Are you absolutely sure that Oskar poses you no threat?”

“He wouldn't arrest me,” I say. “I think he does hate Brotherhood people. But he knows I'm not one.”

“Good. Of course, you're welcome to stay.” She stands up. “But I think it would be much better if you went back tonight. That way hopefully nobody will notice that you were away at all. There's a train in ten minutes.”

T
HE LIGHT IS
failing as I walk along the drive. The wind has sprayed oak leaves against the wire fence, crumpled brown fairy lights strung against the concrete sky. The air smells of fog.

After Mr. East lets me in I open the door, drawn in by the warmth and the smells of dinner. I hurry as fast as my cold feet will let me, through the courtyard and past the canteen. I could go in. But instead I go up to our room in the Sisters' house. When I open the door a blast of cold air hits me. I left the window wide open this morning, and the fog has drifted in with its sharp smell of sodden leaves. Even the light seems gray when I switch it on. My bed is a tangled mess, with the bottom sheet half off. I close the window and the curtains and write a message on Serafina's pink notepad, then stick it to the door for Serafina and Celestina:

Have gone to bed now, not feeling well. See you tomorrow. V

That should keep them off my back for tonight. I get into bed as I am—I'm too tired to get undressed—but then the door flies open.

“Verity?”

“Serafina?”

Serafina snaps the light on again, twitches back the duvet and looks at my clothes. “In bed, huh?”

I shrug.

She sits on her own bed. “So,” she says pleasantly. “What's up? Where have you been? First Jeremiah, then you disappear. Everyone was really worried.”

My tired brain cranks into gear, trying to think of a story. Serafina and I stare at each other. She's waiting.

“Serafina,” I say. “How . . . how good friends are we?” I'm too tired to talk properly.

“Good?” she says.

“OK,” I say. “Good enough for you to trust me, even if I don't tell you anything?”

Serafina picks up my note. “Good enough for tonight, I guess.” She stands up. “I'm worried about you, Verity,” she says, switching off the light.

“Don't be.”

She's gone. I think she must know about Greg. But I'm so tired that I just pull the duvet back up.

A submerged thought bobs up to the surface of my mind and floats there: Greg and Brer Magnus. What did Greg tell him about me? Did he report every little conversation? Did Brer Magnus tell him to help me with my Math? Was I a fool to feel that our friendship was slowly growing, like a blade of grass pushing itself up between paving stones? When did Greg stop reporting to Brer Magnus?

And the thought I can't bear: Did he ever stop?

CHAPTER 33

I
SPEND EVERY
spare minute of the next day in the Art room, printing olive green over the yellow-gold and orange on my woodcut. When I hear the ink
hiss as I pull the paper off the block, it's as if the dead sunflower has come alive. Thankfully I have the room all to myself. Greg has gone to the city for the afternoon with Celestina and Emanuel.

I put the last print into the drying rack and scrub the wood with white spirit. Outside the clay-tiled windowsill there is only swirling gray, with white rain beads spattered onto the glass. Before I leave, I cut away the bits I want to stay green. There's not much standing out on the block now.

T
HE WEEKEND COMES
and I know it'll be harder to avoid Greg now that there's just a handful of us here. Dismal light oozes around the curtains. Ten o'clock. I've missed breakfast. I think about the day ahead. Lunch in two hours, then the long, empty afternoon. I throw on some clothes: long skirt, polo-neck sweater, red-checked scarf, leggings, warm socks. I brush my hair, and I've just opened the door a crack when I hear people talking downstairs by the front door.

“I'm going to see Verity.” Greg's voice.

“You can't come in the Sisters' house!” That's Serafina. “I'll get her for you.”

I grab my bag and put on my coat and shoes. Then I fling the window open.

Just as I'd suspected back in the spring, it's easy to drop down onto the roof of the back porch and then down the drainpipe. I land with a
thud
in the back garden, with its straggling autumn lawn that spreads down to the willow tree and the woods.

“Verity,” says Greg.

I jump. He's standing beside the porch. For a moment we both freeze, like cats meeting on uncertain territory.

Then Greg shrugs. “Why use a door when there's a window?” he says. “Or stairs when you've got a drainpipe?”

Is he angry? Is he trying to be funny? I'm not sure what to say. He's so close that I could reach out and touch his face.

But Greg speaks again. “Why talk when you can run away?” He thinks I'm a coward.

Suddenly I just can't do this anymore. “Why not leave me alone?” It's not a pretend shout. It's a real, angry shout, coming up through my feet and out through my face. “Why not get lost? Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

I see the surprised look on his face, the recognition of genuine feeling. Then I run past him, and I don't stop running until I reach the lodge.

“I'm going for a walk,” I say to Mr. East.

“Want to take Raymond?”

“When I get back,” I promise.

I'
M HOT AND
tired now, but I keep walking quickly. I don't want to stop. The morning mist is beginning to drip off the trees that line the drive. Some of them have bark that has turned black with damp.

I jump on the first bus into town and get off at the station. I'm going to buy some boots at the New
City shopping center—warm boots with laces that tie snugly around the ankles. But as I look across at the door into the center, I realize that the old building next door is a swimming pool. I go in, up some curving concrete stairs. The reception desk has goggles and swimsuits hanging for sale behind it. I buy a plain black swimsuit and rent a towel.

Beside the pool, the air smells of chlorine, and there's a booming soft echo to all the splashes. It's busy, with lots of children, because it's the weekend.

I ignore the stares as I go into a cubicle. I guess it's not every day that a Brotherhood girl goes swimming in public. After all this time being covered up, it feels strange to come out wearing only a swimsuit. But as soon as I slide into the deep water, I feel I've come home. As my hands cut into the blue water, I can't stop thinking of the things I want: Greg. My name back. Not to have to pretend. Grandma's voice comes sharply into my mind:
“I want, can't have!”

I plow up and down until I'm tired. When I'm dressed again I decide to skip the shopping center after all and buy some boots in an army shop instead. I put them straight on. The laces and hooks hug my ankles. They're stiff, but they feel good. I cross the bridge and walk down to the canal, along the service road next to the Meeting Hall. They've taken the scaffolding down from the front and now they're working on the side. I stand looking into the canal basin. There's no wall by the water's edge, just a strip of grass. Was I right to tell Tina? Maybe she can't help, but I don't think she would hurt me. I think I can trust her. I watch the rushing
water of the dam, so smooth and black for the moment it hangs suspended over the drop, and then so angry and broken into white tumult when it falls. A heron is frozen on the wooden bridge to the houseboats.

I
T
'
S SUNSET BY
the time I get off the bus at the Institute. The light is blue, the sky glowing pink and gold behind the firs.

I become aware of eyes fixed on me. Raymond is watching me from behind the gate, tail wagging slowly and hopefully. I promised him a walk, and it'll be good to talk to him and listen to his silent wise dog replies.

As I walk through the gate Raymond trots happily beside me, sniffing from left to right. “He looks with his nose,” I say to Mr. East when I reach the lodge.

“Of course he does.” He grunts. “He used to be a police sniffer dog.”

“Shall I take him for a walk?”

“Just in the grounds now it's dark.” He goes inside to fetch the ball.

Raymond trots beside me to the middle of the playing field.

“Raymond,” I say. “Do you think I'm some kind of criminal now? For pretending to be someone else? What do you think? You're a police dog. Is that a crime?”

Raymond looks up at me briefly.

When he's finished following scent trails we play fetch. I bring him back before the light goes. A cold flurry of wind skitters leaves along Mr. East's path and Raymond makes a sudden puppy dash for them.

“He's a clever dog,” I say as Mr. East opens the lodge door to let Raymond in.