Slated (5 page)

‘We’re just going for a walk. Why ever not?’ Amy.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea; she hasn’t been out of the house yet. What about traffic?’ Mum.

Talking about me, again.

‘I do actually know not to jump out in front of cars,’ I say when I reach the bottom step.

‘Oh bother, take her then! Just watch her very carefully.’

‘I know, Mum,’ Amy says. After Mum leaves the hall she adds, in a low voice, ‘I know better than you.’

She turns to me. ‘Kyla, come meet my friends.’

I start for the door.

‘Put some shoes on, first.’

Oh. All right. Amy finds the trainers I wore from the hospital yesterday, and waits while I struggle with the laces. We head outside.

‘This is Jazz,’ she points at the boy. ‘And Chloe and Debs. Everyone, meet Kyla.’

‘Oh, she’s cute. I wish I could trade my sister in,’ Chloe says. ‘How old is she?’

‘Talk
to her
if you want to know something,’ Amy says.

‘I’m sixteen,’ I say.

‘Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,’ Jazz starts singing as we walk up the road, and my cheeks burn.

Amy slugs him in the arm. ‘Shut up you numbskull, she’s off limits to you.’ Amy looks back; our house is just slipping out of view.

Jazz grabs her hand. ‘Sorry Miss, I was joshing. Forgive me?’

‘I suppose,’ she says, and he slips an arm around her waist. Amy is tall but he is taller; broad shouldered with an easy way of walking. Now that I’m closer I’m guessing he is not so much a boy, more like eighteen, so years older than any I’ve met in hospital. And he is different not just because of that: his smile has an edge of mischief that I’ve never seen on a Slated boy. He’s cute.

We walk through the village, back the way we came in the car yesterday. Past free-standing houses like ours, then rows of terraced cottages, a pub with ‘White Lion’ on a painted sign. Until we get to a post that points out a green way, marked ‘footpath’.

‘Fancy a ramble?’ Jazz says.

Chloe and Debs evidently do not, as they say goodbye.

Amy links one arm with mine and the other with Jazz. ‘Come on,’ she says.

The ground is soon uneven and rough, and I have to concentrate on placing my feet. There is tall hedge on one side, sloping fields covered in dead stubble of whatever was growing there on the other. The path narrows, and Amy lets go of Jazz and hangs on to my hand.

He protests.

‘Shut it, numbskull,’ she says, and he leads the way.

We climb up, higher and higher; I breathe harder. The hedge and fields give way to trees, and I drink in the riot of orange and red leaves, brown and grey trunks; some with red berries and spiky green leaves that prick if you touch them. Holly?

‘The view is this way, ladies,’ Jazz says.

We round a bend, and look across woods and fields, down over distant tiled roofs, gardens, roads.

‘Look, Kyla,’ Amy says. ‘You can see the whole village from here. That is our place. See? Second from left.’ She points and I see the tiled roof and brick walls of our house.

There is a log and we sit on it. Jazz wraps his arms around Amy from behind, with a resigned look on his face. l get the feeling they usually come here alone.

She prods him in the ribs with her elbow.

‘So, Kyla. How are you getting along with the Dragon?’ he says.

‘The Dragon?’

‘He means Mum,’ Amy says.

‘Uh…’

‘Say no more! I understand “Uh”. It means you have noticed she is not a sainted mother figure as advertised, but actually a fire breathing mythical green beast.’

I giggle.

‘That’s not fair,’ Amy says. ‘Mum’s not that bad, you have to get to know her. I used to be scared of her, and then all at once, she was all right.’

‘You know the weird thing to me is how you both straight away call her “Mum”,’ Jazz says.

‘Why is that weird?’ I ask.

‘Well you just met her, didn’t you?’

Amy shakes her head. ‘That doesn’t matter. It is what you are told at hospital, right from the beginning. That your mum and dad are coming to take you home.’

‘A pre-fab kid,’ Jazz says, then ducks when Amy twists to smack him.

‘So we’re different to everybody else,’ I say.

‘Unique,’ Amy says.

‘My special girl,’ Jazz says, and kisses her cheek.

‘There are just two of us in this village,’ Amy says. ‘That is why I’m so happy you came. I’m not the only one any more. There are a dozen or so of us at our school, though; from all over the place.’

With a look at his watch and a curse, Jazz disappears at speed down the path the way we came.

‘His parents have a farm; some days he has to help after school. We’ll walk back the long way,’ Amy says, and we set off in the other direction. ‘Seriously: how did you get on with Mum today?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t think she even likes me. Why take me if she doesn’t want me?’

‘Oh, but she does. She doesn’t show it very well. It’s complicated.’

‘Simple is hard enough. Who needs complicated?’

‘Don’t worry about it now. One thing, though. Sometimes Mum doesn’t hear things, unless you say them. Don’t be afraid to tell her what you are thinking.’

The path steepens and Amy slips in front; I have to concentrate on my feet again as we descend. I think about what she said about Mum: the Dragon, Jazz called her.

‘Is Jazz your boyfriend?’

‘Yes. Don’t tell Mum. She doesn’t like him.’

Jazz: he sang to me. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. Or, have I? If I can’t remember, does it count?

‘I was told very sternly at hospital to avoid boys at all costs. Mess up your levels.’

‘Oh, they do that!’ Amy laughs. ‘Probably best to leave them alone for a while. The secret, though, is to start with one you’re not that bothered about.’

What is the point in that?

‘Where’ve you been?’ Mum is waiting in the door, arms crossed.

‘Told you: we went for a walk,’ Amy answers as we walk in, take off our shoes.

‘Those shoes are muddy. You didn’t go up the footpath on your own, did you? I’ve told you it’s not safe.’

‘No, of course not; we weren’t alone,’ Amy says, and with her back to Mum rolls her eyes.

‘Kyla? Is that true?’ Mum turns to me with a full dragon glare.

‘Yes,’ I say. And it was: Jazz went up with us. He didn’t come back with us, but that isn’t what she asked.

‘Listen to me, both of you. You know it isn’t safe for you on your own. You can’t protect yourselves.’

Amy nods and I remember lessons on
personal safety
at the hospital. It is part of being Slated. You can’t defend yourself any more than you can attack someone, so you have to be extra careful.

But what is up the footpath, but trees and more trees?

‘You’ve been ages. I was worried. And you’ve almost missed Dad,’ Mum says, and I notice she is standing next to a suitcase in the hall.

Her arms are crossed and I see now that Mum’s skin has a strange tinge: slightly dragon-green. I can imagine scales in the light criss-cross of lines about her forehead, by her eyes. Is there a bit of smoke coming from her nostrils?

‘What is so funny, miss?’ she says to me.

I wipe the smile off my face. ‘Nothing. Sorry.’

‘Leave the poor girl alone,’ a voice says from the lounge room: Dad.

Amy crosses the room and kisses him on the cheek. I stand uncertain in the doorway.

‘Come in, Kyla. Have a seat. Tell me about your day, and I’ll tell you about mine.’

So we swap stories. And he seems as interested in me cutting my hand, Nurse Penny’s visit and going for a walk, as I am in his.

Dad works with computers. He travels a lot, installing and testing new systems, and is about to leave and won’t be back until Saturday. Five whole days from now. And then he tells me about family stuff. Like he has two sisters, one visiting with her son on Saturday so I can meet them. The other lives far away in Scotland and we might visit her next summer. And that Mum is an only child; her parents died many years ago in a motorway accident. She was just fifteen.

Later that night when Amy and I go up to sleep, I fish out today’s drawing from where I hid it under the others.

‘Amy, this—’ I hold up my afternoon’s work, ‘—is Dr Lysander. Why were you surprised I know her?’

Amy takes the sheet from my hand.

‘She looks scary!’

I shrug. ‘She can be. But sometimes she’s all right.’

‘I’d love to work with her when I’m a nurse; she’s amazing.’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t you know? She started it all: Slating. She invented it. We learnt about it in science at school.’

I look at the picture in my hands, at her hooded eyes that stare back at mine. I didn’t know that. Or did I? Everyone always deferred to Dr Lysander; got out of her way in a hurry. All Slateds have a main doctor assigned to them at the hospital, and she was mine. But now that I think about it, there was never anyone besides me in her waiting room. No one else I knew saw her. If she is so important, why would she bother with me?

They taught us the basics about Slating in the hospital school. We were all criminals, sentenced to Slating – wiping our memories and personalities – so we could start over again. With the Levo in place to make sure it all works, until it is removed the year we turn twenty-one on the anniversary of our Slating. So Slating is a second chance, for which we should be grateful: it kept us out of jail, or off the chair.

But at least if you were in jail, you’d know who you are. Not for long on the chair, though, if you’d done something bad enough to warrant that.

I bite my lip. ‘Don’t you ever want to know?’

‘What?’

‘Why you were Slated.’

‘No. If the past is unbearable, why choose to bear it?’

I shrug.
Because it is mine.

‘Anyhow, that solves the mystery of what happened to your drawings.’

‘It does?’

‘Security must have taken them before you left the hospital. They wouldn’t want anyone to know what Dr Lysander or anyone else who works there looks like, or where things are in the hospital. It’s too dangerous.’

Whispers overheard mix together in my mind; snippets, rumours and distant loud noises at night. Guards and towers. Burnt out buildings.

‘Terrorists?’

‘Exactly.’

Amy switches out the light. Soon her even breathing says she sleeps. Sebastian curls along my side.

So. Dr Lysander is important, and they stole my drawings to keep her face hidden from the world. And now, I’ve drawn her, again. Maybe, I should hide it better? This likeness of her is the best I’ve ever done.