The Grasshopper's Child (11 page)

Mrs Scott-Amberley would have been at the end of the queue for teenage company, since she had a paid companion. That's how she'd been landed with Clancy, obviously. Just as well Tanya didn't know that he wasn't trained. At his last charming school they'd taken the Sharing The Care funding, because money's money. They hadn't bothered with the actual course. No need, no parents were going to complain—

She was in the same chair, sitting exactly the way she'd been sitting on his first visit. Back straight, head up: hands in her lap, feet together on the rug. Nicely turned out, though not so expensively as Irene. A proud little crumpled white face; the picture of a dignified sweet old lady, until you hit the look in her eyes. It must be the ‘
where am I?
look' Running Girl had talked about, but
where am I ?
didn't begin to cover it, in Clancy's opinion. His old dear stared like a sleepwalker who has just woken surrounded by monsters. On the brink of a bottomless pit, no idea who she is or how she got there. He imagined the helpless despair, in her world without memory: waking like that
over and over again
. All day, every day. Horror made his voice shake.

‘Hello Mrs Scott-Amberley.' He couldn't convince himself to call her ‘Lucy', it didn't seem right. She didn't respond. She'd forgotten her own name.

‘Here I am again. It's been snowing,' he added cheerfully, sitting opposite. ‘Your garden looks very cute, like an iced cake. Do you like the snow?'

Was there a change in that awful expression? Just a flicker?

‘You're faced the wrong way. Would you like to look out of the window?'

Maybe a
slight
flicker.

‘It's kind of chilly in here. Would you like the fire on?'

The dreadful eyes seemed to look at him, with a flash of understanding.

‘
Is
it cold?' she whispered, in a precise, tiny little voice. ‘Irene would know.'

Contact! Last time she hadn't seemed to know he was in the room.

‘Would you like to see the snow in the garden?'

‘I can't go out.'

‘I bet you
can
. I bet you'd enjoy a little walk. It says on your charge sheet you have no mobility problems. Exercise is recommended. Come on, give it a go. I'll help you up. Let's see if you can walk across the room.'

It was reckless, but he was in a hurry. Soon the demon Crace would appear and he'd be back where he started. He stood in front of her, lifted her hands to his shoulders, waited til he felt her timid grip, took hold of her elbows and raised her gently until she was standing.

She looked into his face in amazement, like a baby staring at a rattle.

‘See? You're fine. I bet you do this every day,' he said. ‘I bet you do the housework. You're teasing me. Come on, look out of the window. I think I can see a robin.'

They crossed the room. He was supporting her, his arm around her and tucked firmly under her elbow: but she was bearing her weight, and that was good news. Mrs Scott-Amberley looked out at her own snowy garden.

‘
Snow
,' said the tiny voice. ‘Is it Christmas? I don't know when I last saw the garden.'

The door behind them opened. Irene came in, balancing a tray.

‘Lucy!'

The tray landed swiftly and precisely in the centre of a small table. The demon Crace crossed the room and took Clancy out with the speed of a striking snake. Mrs Scott-Amberley had resumed the position more swiftly than the eye could follow. Feet together, back straight, hands in her lap: facing front with those terrible sleepwalker eyes.

‘You made tea,' said Clancy. ‘That's great, Irene. I take milk but no sugar.'

This is not good
, he was thinking. On his first visit he'd had a bad feeling. Now he had no doubt. There are torturers who leave no marks, as Clancy well knew. There are ways of making sure the victim will never tell. He had no evidence and Irene held all the cards. But somehow, some way, Clancy was going to have to do some whistle-blowing.

‘Thanks,' he said, beaming at the demon. ‘Lovely. Any chance of a biscuit?'

9: Follow The Money

The travel warrant was delivered to Heidi's phone early on Monday morning. The text from the hospital, confirming she was allowed to visit her mother, arrived after breakfast. She took both messages to the Book Room. Tallis was there, in the draggled dressing gown, same pose as before, reading
Black Beauty
. But her lamp was a wind-up.

Heidi explained that she had no choice. The police wanted her to talk to her mum.

‘Official business again,' sneered the Old Wreck, tossing the phone down with a horrible scowl. ‘It seems you have connections. I hope this isn't going to become a habit.'

‘I'll try and make it for next Monday. That way I can catch the parcel van, get the Vital Commuter Bus from Mayle, and be back in time to cook dinner. I'll set breakfast before I go, and leave a cold lunch under covers on the sideboard.'

‘You have it all worked out, I see. Why bother asking me? Do what you like, just GET OUT OF HERE. DO NOT EVER DISTURB ME IN HERE AGAIN!'

But no shower of books chased Heidi to the door. On the whole, there was progress.

When she'd cleared lunch and washed up she went to the small greenhouse, to sort out some gardening tools. The Azalea Slope was beyond her powers, the Blue Walk would have to wait until she knew more about autumn gentians. The Rose Arbour was small, walled, and, because of the hard winter, it wasn't too late to start work.

She had a pair of secateurs she'd cleaned and oiled; a pair of cracked old heavy gloves that weren't hugely too big, and a musty wrap-around canvas apron to protect her clothes. She could start with the obvious. Dead stuff and choking tangles that should all come out. Heidi took a deep breath that was close to a happy sigh. ‘Right. Brace yourselves, Sleeping Beauties. You're about to get a proper good old tidy-up.'

The parcel van passed through Mehilhoc once a week, very early on a Monday morning. It carried a few passengers, along with the parcels it picked up and delivered. You had to book, but Heidi's booking had been made for her. The van took her to Mayle, the town where she'd arrived with Verruca by rail. Her warrant didn't cover trains, but she was in good time for the Vital Commuter bus. It was barely light when they left. The bus was half-empty and she had a seat up front.

The driver's radio poured out the Chinese Empire's Encouraging Anthems, interspersed with local music hits, news snippets and neighbourhood announcements, as the bus slipped from one WiMax cell to another around the grey lanes; the pastures, sheep-walks and woodland all blanketed in snow; the mycel-tunnels for Local Food Production huddled outside every village. Heidi wondered about the people who stood waiting, bundled up against the cold. Were they all Vital, or were some of them on emergency travel warrants, like Heidi? You couldn't tell from their faces. Everybody looked the same. Cold, tired, and could do with another breakfast—

Go Without!

Go Hungry!

Go Nowhere!

—sang Fiorinda, once a leader of the English “Rock and Roll Revolution”; nowadays better known as probably the most famous female singer in the world. And the massed Chinese School Choirs came in, with the unbelievably stupid chorus of The Three Gos.

We are weeeeeening

We are weeeeening

We are weeening!

Some people said Fiorinda was a sell-out. She'd been such a national legend, such a total heroine, and now all she did was make propaganda music for the Chinese. Singing about ‘going nowhere' and ‘going hungry', while swanning around in futuristic luxury, best buddies with Emperor Li Xifeng. Shame on her. Heidi didn't see it that way. Wasn't everyone working for the Chinese these days? Why shouldn't Fiorinda do what she did best?

And you might not like the Empire much, the rationing and the restrictions and the
stupid
encouraging anthems. But as Clancy said, it was a whole lot better than the alternative.

Heidi had lied to Clancy. She'd been too young to know what was happening in the Occupation, but not too young to have felt Mum and Dad's fear. Not too young to remember what it was like to be walking down your own street, knowing some of your neighbours really thought you should be dead, and you didn't know which ones.

It was all the grasshoppers' fault. The human grasshoppers, who had swarmed like greedy locusts, gobbling, grabbing and laying waste. Taking no notice of the disasters all around them: until they brought on the terrible years of the Crisis. And at first it had been okay. It had been scary but
fun
, so Mum and Dad said, because of Ax and Sage, and Fiorinda and their crew. Everybody pulling together: the free concerts and wonderful music.

But nothing good ever lasts, and there was something rotten at the heart of England that even the music couldn't cure. When the Sacrificers got going, nobody could stop them. Unemployed, Immigrant; On Benefits. Homeless; Travellers, Disabled; Mental Health Issues, Learning Difficulties, Rights Activist. If you ticked any of those boxes, you were unfit and you had to be sacrificed. The weaklings had to go, the way the Ancient Britons used to do it, when times were hard—

Nobody had talked about it, it was never on the news, but everyone had known street kids were disappearing; and the homeless: anyone vulnerable, and anyone who tried to defend them. Mum and Dad had never let Heidi know, but later on she'd found out about the fake Pagan sacrifices: cruel and bloody, but just a training ground for the real plan, which was to fix the Crisis by getting rid of
billions
of people, all over the world. In England that time was still called
The Occupation
. People were ashamed to admit that the Sacrificers had been English: and practically no one stood up to them. Only the Chinese Invasion had stopped the horror. The Chinese called them
the enemy without a face
. That was their trademark, you never knew. And they were still around, some places—

My
enemy hasn't got a body Heidi thought, swaying in the aisle, and thinking of the face at her door. The bus had filled up and reached the high speed part of its route, but she didn't mind standing, although the speed was making her feel a bit sick. She liked being in a crowd again. It felt safer than being alone in the depths of the country.

But the long journey passed too quickly. All too soon she had to start thinking about what would happen at the hospital.
I need to talk to Mum, to find out what really happened
. She'd been so pleased with herself for thinking up that line, so over-joyed to get the travel warrant, she hadn't given a thought to
what Mum might say
.

What happened Mum? You were there, nobody else. Who did it?

By the time they reached the Outer London Terminus her heart was like a cannonball, churning inside her. She saw her dad's name on the front page of a free-sheet and grabbed a copy, terrified that Mum had been arrested. But it was okay. Her so-called Uncle Jerez, Dad's step-brother, had tried to ‘sell his story', and been caught out, that was all. What a jerk. Heidi had never liked him. She dumped the paper in a recycling bin.

At the Hospital Shuttles stand the sign was blank except for the message
limited service
. She asked the lone fat man in the shelter how long he'd been waiting.

‘'Bout an hour.' His flab drooped over the sides of the narrow bench, as if he was melting. ‘There was one up there for a while. It got to be four minutes away and it vanished. I've been on a bus that's vanished, before now. They get behind schedule, an' blow out the bus station.'

‘Are they allowed to do that?

‘No, but they do. There's no excuse. There's no traffic jams, is there?'

The shuttle turned up in the end. The Mental Health Unit where Mum had been taken was not her usual hospital. This had made Heidi afraid it would be horrible, bars on the windows and big nasty wardens with Tasers and jangling chains of keys, but it looked all right. The buildings were fairly new. There were trees, and big clean windows.