Shattered (8 page)

‘What?’ Madison demands.

The one smiling into her eyes answers. ‘At long last, Shorty. There is somebody shorter than you.’

His friends laugh, and she punches him in the arm. Straightens her shoulders as if aiming to be taller, then slips into the seat opposite his. I sit next to her.

‘Who’s that?’ I say, voice low.

‘That six-foot brat is Finley.’ She raises her voice: ‘Him and his friends are total Arses.’

He leans across. ‘We are indeed. You’re just jealous.’ I look between them, brow knotted in confusion. ‘We’re in A – R – S: the Apprentice Ranger Service,’ he explains.

‘Generally known as Arses,’ Madison adds.

‘Only you can get away with that, Shorty,’ he says, and winks. ‘Who are you?’ he asks, turning his smile on me.

‘Riley.’ I manage to get my name right. ‘I’m here for the apprentice intake.’

‘Heh: you could be an Arse, too!’ Madison says.

He shakes his head, laughing. ‘I’m sure there must be some sort of minimum height requirement.’

With that, the bus stops: we’re in Keswick.

‘Ladies first,’ Finley says, and we get off the bus.

With a wave to the boys, Madison slips her arm in mine. Shows me the building where I need to go at eight, then takes me to her work: Cora’s Cafe. We go in the back way; the lights aren’t on yet.

‘Hello,’ Madison sings out as she unlocks the back door.

A woman in a chef’s hat bustling about a cramped kitchen looks up, and scowls. ‘Glad you decided to turn up.’ Madison sticks out her tongue. ‘And who’s this, another waif that needs feeding up?’

‘Ah, sorry,’ I start to say, and back towards the door.

She laughs. ‘Kidding, kid. I’m Cora; come in.’ They put me at one of the tables in the front of the cafe, bickering all the while. Minutes later the lights come on and the doors are unlocked. Early customers flock in, and we’re soon busy tackling the most massive and delicious cooked breakfasts ever.

A bit later too much breakfast churns uneasily in my stomach as I walk up to the government building Madison pointed out earlier. The sign on the door says ‘Cumbrian Apprenticeship Scheme: Intake Seminar.’ It looks so
official
, and to me, official means Lorder. Does Aiden know what he’s doing, sending me to this? He usually does. I hesitate, watching others go past me and through the door.

‘Heh, it’s ES,’ a voice says behind me, and I turn: it’s Finley.

‘ES? What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Extra Shorty. Shouldn’t you be walking through the door instead of staring at it?’

‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m one of the good examples. Shocking, I know. Come on.’

He holds the door open. ‘Sign in there,’ he says, and points at a table with a queue of people. ‘See you later.’ He waves at someone across the room and saunters away.

I wait my turn.

‘Name?’ says a woman with an overly bright smile and hard eyes.

‘Ky—’ I cough. A fake cough to cover nearly saying Kyla.
Get a grip
. ‘Sorry. My name is Riley Kain.’

She scans a netbook. ‘You’re not on the list. Next?’

A boy steps up around me.

‘No, wait a minute. I should be on it. Can you check again? That is Kain, with a K?’

She sighs. Looks again. Smiles. ‘You’re still not on the list.’ She turns to the boy.

I start to panic. Could Aiden have messed up? No. ‘I might have been put in last minute.’

She sighs again. ‘A Late Add – why didn’t you say so?’ She touches her screen. ‘There you are. Fill this in so we can put you on the registered list.’ She hands me a handheld device with my name on the top, blanks to fill in. Starting with date of birth. When was that again?

‘Not there,’ she says. ‘You’re in the way.’ She points to the side and I scurry away, face pink.

I touch the screen and try to remember the contents of Aiden’s file. My new birth date finally comes to me: 17th September, 2036. I fill in the rest – address, hair, eyes, height – the only thing that is really true is the last one. And then, I’m stumped. Emergency contact? Aiden never gave me an address for my fake parents in Chelmsford. Finally, with no other option coming to mind, I put ‘Stella Connor, Waterfall House’, and click enter.

I approach the table. She ignores me, checking others in. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, finally.

‘About time,’ she says, takes the device, and updates her netbook. ‘You’re all registered now. Here you go.’ She hands me a folder. ‘Take a seat, Riley.’

I sit down near the back. There are about fifty of us now, a few empty seats here and there still. Everyone else is chatting, seems to know each other. Are they all local? A few glances are cast my way and I try to smile, but they aren’t particularly friendly glances; after a while, I give up and ignore the looks. Finley is off to the side, standing with some others. My eyes seek his, and he winks.

A few more shuffle in, and then – abrupt silence.

A man in a rumpled brown suit walks to the front. He gazes at the assembled faces, moving across them so every one is acknowledged. His eyes pass over mine with a slight pause.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ he says at last. ‘I’m pleased to see so many familiar faces have come in for the Cumbrian Apprenticeship Scheme this morning, and a few unfamiliar ones, as well.’ His eyes touch mine again, and then another’s: a boy, near the front. ‘For those who don’t know me, I’m Councillor Watson. On behalf of the Central Coalition I’d like to welcome you to this opportunity, the gateway to your futures. The Jobs For All policy of the Coalition is in its twentieth successful year, and the apprenticeship schemes are a vital part of its success. I’m going to hand things over now to your local apprenticeships coordinator.’

There is a polite scattering of applause, and another speaker approaches the front. Out of the corner of my eye Watson exits the hall at the back, and everyone visibly relaxes.

Over an hour the scheme is explained in detail. Representatives and apprentices are here from each Section today, and we can speak to them and ask any questions. The Sections seeking new apprentices are Administration, Hospitality, National Parks, Transportation, Education, Enforcement, Communication, and Sanitation. Tomorrow we must come in and sign on the dotted line to commit to CAS for five years. We can ask any questions, pick our favourites, and then we do aptitude tests.

On Monday we find out which four we get to trial. Then follow week-long placements with each, and finally a section is chosen for each candidate. He doesn’t say who does the final choosing, and I’m guessing, not us.

So, without any guarantee where we’ll end up, we must first commit to
five years?
That sounds forever.

When he’s finished, doors are opened to an adjacent room, with areas set aside for each Section. Everyone spills out and seems more interested in getting a cup of tea than speaking to the representatives and apprentices. Then I notice waves and hellos exchanged here and there. Do they already know what they want to pick? More, do they think this is just a formality: has everyone already worked out who will go where?

A woman at the nearest table – Education – catches my eye and smiles, and there is something about her that makes me smile back. I walk across.

‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Have you thought about working in schools?’

‘No,’ I answer truthfully.

‘Honesty! An excellent trait.’ She looks at me quizzically. ‘I never forget a face, and there is something familiar about you, but I’m stumped. You’re not local?’

I shake my head, careful to hide alarm: could she see Lucy in me despite the changed hair and eyes, after so many years? ‘I’m from Chelmsford.’

‘I didn’t think I recognised you, and every child in Keswick goes to my school. But that doesn’t matter to me, and it shouldn’t to anyone because place of origin is not admissible criteria.’

‘Really? I was thinking I was heading for Sanitation, for sure.’

She laughs. ‘Well, in case you’d like another option, we’re looking for three apprentices in Keswick Primary School. You start as a teaching assistant, and if all goes well can move on to teacher training after a year.’ She starts enthusing about inspiring young minds, and I think of the smiling boy on the train, taken off by Lorders.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asks.

I start. Am I that transparent? ‘I’m not sure about Education; I haven’t been around little kids much, and—’

‘Well, that is the whole point of this scheme. If you pick Education, you get to spend a week with us in the school, and we’ll both soon know if it is for you.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, and it isn’t just for what she has said, but the warm way she has said it.

She seems to know what I mean, and smiles again. ‘Go on, talk to everyone else: none of us bite!’ She leans in closer, and lowers her voice. ‘Except maybe Enforcement.’

I straighten my shoulders and start at one end of the room, visiting each section in turn, but skip Enforcement. The latter aren’t Lorders; they are the local force that deal with parking and minor matters, but anything that says
authority
says
keep away
to me, and besides: they’d work with Lorders, wouldn’t they?

It soon becomes apparent by foot traffic that there are two main points of competition: Hospitality and National Parks.

At the latter there is now a small crowd. An unfriendly crowd, as I find when I try to inch my way into it.

‘Heh, it’s ES,’ Finley says, tall enough to see over everyone that I’m there and not making progress.

Finley grabs me to the front and soon I’m face to face with his boss, who looks at me and raises an eyebrow. ‘Considering a career with the National Parks Authority?’

‘Of course.’

He sighs. ‘It isn’t all mountain trails in holiday sunshine.’

I bristle at his tone. ‘Of course not. It’s conservation, public access, education and safety.’ I’d been lurking at the edges long enough to already hear the spiel.

‘Do you have any relevant skills?’

‘I can read maps, I know how to use a compass. I’m a runner and experienced walker, so I’m fit. I love the outdoors in all weather.’

‘Really?’ His voice is still sceptical, and even though I had no idea what National Parks did until five minutes ago, something about his tone has my back up.

I straighten and meet his eye. ‘Try me and you’ll see.’ A challenge thrown down.

‘Well, well. You never know.’

I walk off to hostile glances from many of the other hopefuls; Finley follows.

‘You handled him well.’

‘Did I?’

‘But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. They’ll trial ten and take five this year. But most of the others have been volunteering with National Parks all through school and have staked their claims; even if you make it into the ten, it’s a tough competition.’

So much for place of origin being inadmissible criteria.

CHAPTER TEN

The afternoon is free: should I go back to the house? Probably. Most likely everyone will be at work, and Stella and I could talk some more, and isn’t that what I’m here for?

But the sun is shining. It’s lunchtime, but after the Breakfast of Giants this morning I’m good, and the sun sparkling on the snow-dusted fells above is calling, making my feet restless.

I wander about Keswick to start with, paying no attention to where I am going, and after a while find myself outside Keswick Primary School. That teacher said every child in Keswick goes to this school: it would have been my school. It must be their lunchtime; there are children running and playing all over the grounds. It looks a happy place, without the undercurrents at the secondary I was at until recently. Do they get visits from Lorders here, too? Do Lorders stand to one side during school assemblies, and drag off troublemakers, never to be seen again? No. That’d be ridiculous. It’s a
primary
school, not full of potentially dangerous teenagers. I stare a moment at the white buildings, but nothing feels familiar.

But all the while the fells are calling me. I want
up
, to climb into the sky and touch the sun. I start to follow a footpath sign that leads out of town, taking whichever way goes up and out. Then I stumble across another sign that points the way to Castlerigg Stone Circle. I almost stop breathing when I read the words: is this the stone circle from my dream, the one with Dad? Counting the stones together: the Mountains’ Children.

I’m walking faster and it isn’t fast enough, so I start to run. It’s uphill on uneven ground and the cold air catches in my throat, but it feels good to be running. I told that National Parks rep that I was a runner, but how much have I done of it lately? I’ve barely even jogged: it reminds me so much of Ben that it hurts. But now my mind is full of Castlerigg, of getting there as soon as my feet can take me.

I slow to a walk when I finally see a gate in the distance. It is
the
gate; I’m sure of it. I pull my coat in tight around; despite running and the sun, the temperature seems to have dropped, and has a prickle of expectation about it. Snow? Distant clouds are moving closer.

Leaning up against the gate I can finally see it. A wide field with the stone circle at its centre; the mountains, standing guard, are an amphitheatre all around. I open the gate and step through, then stand there, staring, something stirring and shifting inside. Not just a dream, I’m sure of it. I
remember
, and the joy of memory makes me laugh out loud. I’ve been
here
, many times before, in all weather: picnics on sunny summer days, walks in blustery autumn rains and snow-covered magic, searching for bright dots of spring wildflowers. It was our place, mine and Dad’s: our special place we came again and again.

I walk to the stones, but don’t start counting yet. I have to start in the right place: where some of the stones reach into the circle. We start here so we don’t lose track.

Close up some of the stones are huge, but not so much as in my memory when they were giants; now, some are even shorter than me. I reach the first one, press my hands against it, then lean into the cold stone: hands extended, face turned so my cheek is against it as well. I close my eyes. Number one.