The Memory Keepers (7 page)

14

Once again Dolly and Alba took the long way home from Knightsbridge Academy. Veering off the path to the house that led up through Hyde Park Estate, they wandered instead through fuzzy, sun-blushed fields towards the Serpentine, the lake at the heart of the estate. Long grass tickled their legs. High above, the sun was bright and hazy, washing the world in golden light.

When they got to the sloping bank of the Serpentine, Dolly laid out a blanket under the shade of a mulberry tree. The lake spread before them in a vast pool of pure, crystalline blue, spotted in places by floating islands of algae. Insects buzzed, hidden in the green blades surrounding them. The low growl of a lawnmower sounded in the distance.

Sitting down on the blanket and stretching out her legs, Alba gazed at the grounds of the estate. Everything was touched with a silvery fire from the sunshine. She wondered if it was moments like this that people kept in their memoriums; it’s what
she’d
choose to record. A never-ending supply of peaceful moments to dip into, when the world seemed to turn with such a simple, perfect elegance, everything calm and steady and right, and all the bad things slipped away, shadows melting under the sunlight.

‘Alba,’ Dolly said suddenly. ‘I need to tell you something.’

And just like that, the shadows were back.

Alba knew something was wrong from the tone of Dolly’s voice. Despite the heat, she felt as though she’d been dunked into ice water. Every muscle in her body went taut. She turned to Dolly and saw the sadness in her eyes.

‘It’s – it’s about you going to university.’ Dolly was speaking slowly, as though the words were sticking to her tongue.

‘Don’t,’ Alba whispered.

‘Your mother –’

‘
Don’t
. Please.’

She knew immediately what Dolly was trying to tell her. She felt it like a stone dropped into her chest. It was something that had always been a possibility, but that Alba had hid from her mind for as long as she could –

Her parents had found her a suitor.

They were going to marry her off.

Dolly’s lips tightened. ‘It’s not decided yet,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’ll find a way to make her change her mind. We’ll get you out of here, Alba. I promise.’

But Alba just shook her head. A hollow feeling opened up in her stomach. She’d clung to the knowledge that in two years’ time she’d be out of here. That no matter how bad it got, however much her parents tried to keep her within their cold, gold cage, each day that passed pulled her one bit closer to freedom.

Now they’d snuffed out her one tiny flame of hope.

‘How do you know?’ she asked quietly.

‘Your mother invited a matchmaker to dine with her today at the house. Mrs Archibald, from Fulham Grove. She works for many of North’s prominent families. She has  …  found you a suitor.’

The word
suitor
shivered down Alba’s back. She’d seen girls leaving Knightsbridge Academy only to be married away to boys (or even men) from North’s most powerful bloodlines, to ensure that the future of the city lay within the hands of the North’s elite. But up till now Alba’s parents had not mentioned marriage or brought suitors round for her to meet.

She hoped that they knew how much she wanted to go to university. Her father
had
to; they’d talked about it so many times. He wouldn’t do this to her. He wouldn’t snatch away her dreams.

No, Alba realised. He would, because her mother had made him. She must have convinced him this was the best path for their daughter, and Alastair White couldn’t say no to his wife. He did everything for her.

For her. Not for me
, Alba thought, tears pricking her eyes.

Alba stared out at the lake. She wondered dimly how long it took to drown. If it hurt. She almost laughed – as if she had no experience of pain! – then put her hand over her mouth, tears blurring her vision.

She felt as though she were already sinking.

‘Your mother made all of us leave before they could discuss it properly,’ Dolly continued, ‘so I don’t know who your suitor is. I imagine it’s a good offer though. Your mother was in such a favourable mood after the meeting.’

Alba swiped at her eyes. She was furious with herself. How could she have not seen this coming?

‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ Dolly said, sounding pained.

Alba shook her head. ‘No. I’d rather find out from you.’ She snorted, though it came out as a half-choked sob. ‘I bet dear
Mother
wouldn’t have told me until the night before the wedding. Once she’d got me safely in handcuffs, of course, so I couldn’t run away.’

‘It might fall through.’ Dolly reached for her hand again, their fingers twining together. ‘We’ll try and find a way to get you out of here.’

Alba screwed her eyes shut. She felt like screaming. She knew Dolly would try – she knew Dolly would do anything for her – but she also knew her mother would never give in. This must have been what she’d planned for her all along.

In a few years’ time, Alba would be in a different kind of prison. The walls would look different but they’d still be there, black and towering and holding out the rest of the world as much as they held her in. Because, more than anything, by being married off Alba would never have the choice to define who she became. And Dolly would be taken from her and she’d be given a new handmaid, one who hadn’t brought her up like her own daughter or sister, who hadn’t held her hand and wiped her tears away and sneaked her food from the kitchens in the middle of the night, and always always always was there for her, every minute, every day.

No
.

Her parents had controlled too much of her life already. Alba would not give them her future as well.

15

The house looked the same as it had the night before when Seven arrived, just before midnight, slinking through the shadowy row of elms to the west of the building. The marble façade glittered against the darkness of the grounds.

Seven stopped beneath the tree closest to the house. He looked out, imagining the girl inside her room, waiting for the clock to tick midnight to slip from her bed and come outside.

‘As if she has the balls,’ he murmured with a snort. Because of course she didn’t.

The White girl was rich and pampered. She’d never had a reason to be brave. Not like him. Seven had had to fight, claw, scrape for every single thing in his life. When had she ever needed to work for anything herself?

He was so sure the girl wasn’t going to show that when he saw the servants’ side door opening and her slipping out of the house, that cascade of thick red hair unmistakable in the bright starlight, he didn’t let himself believe it.

Then –

‘Crap,’ Seven said, scowling.

He hated being proved wrong.

16

She’d waited until the house was dark and silent before getting out of bed. She had dressed in an emerald-green sweater Dolly had given her for her sixteenth birthday, plain black trousers that hugged her legs, and a pair of old plimsolls. After making sure she had the key to the servants’ door tucked safely in the pocket of her trousers – Dolly had given Alba a copy years ago to allow her to slip in and out of the house quietly – she’d left her room and headed down the hidden staircase.

When she pushed open the door and went out into the grounds, Alba felt as though she were stepping into another world.

It was a cool night, a fresh breeze stirring the grass and filling the air with a papery rustling. Wind-teased strands of hair danced round her face. She brushed them aside, squinting into the darkness, her eyes roaming the shadows below the line of Dutch elms just beyond this side of the house across the flat, silver-tipped lawn. Moonlight made everything look icy, crystallised.

Alba’s entire body felt alive and alert. She wanted to laugh, or cry, or run across the estate with her hands spread at her sides until she was going so fast she could have lifted off the earth and danced into the air.

Everything she’d been feeling that day had fallen away as soon as she left the house. Gone was the image of her mother’s sly smile over dinner; Oxana hadn’t mentioned the visit from the matchmaker, though Alba saw the secret brightening her eyes. All Alba felt now was exhilaration at the small act of rebellion she was about to make.

She breathed in deeply, savouring the green scent of the grounds, the freshness of the midnight air. Her stomach gave an excited swoop as she spotted the boy from last night, hiding under the elms. He motioned for her to join him. There was only the slightest second of hesitation before she nodded to herself (
He won’t hurt you – he’s too afraid of what Father would do
) and went over to him.

‘Hello,’ Alba said, avoiding his eyes.

She hugged her arms across her chest, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Just like last night, everywhere the boy looked at her made her skin feel hot, as though his gaze were a touch, soft fingers brushing her body and face.

‘Hey.’

His voice was husky. He was leaning against the tree, wearing the same blue trousers, work boots and grey shirt as yesterday. Reaching up an arm to scratch the back of his neck, he flashed a wide, lopsided grin.

‘Almost didn’t recognise you with so many clothes on.’

Alba blushed furiously. She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, are we going to go, or not?’

The boy laughed. ‘Right this way, Princess.’ He stepped aside, bowing and twirling out an arm. Teasing eyes glittered from under his flop of dark hair. ‘Unless her majesty would like to use me as her steed?’

‘No,’ Alba snapped, stalking past him. ‘Her majesty most certainly would
not
.’

The boy, who was called Seven (Alba only just managed to remember her manners, stopping herself from asking why he had such a strange name), led her to the edge of the estate. The five-metre wrought-iron fence loomed dark against the row of houses opposite.

‘Over?’ Alba whispered in disbelief, wrinkling her nose. Wary of the estate guards, she kept her voice low. ‘You want me to go
over
it?’ She clutched the hem of her jumper and tugged it down, cheeks flushing as she imagined her bottom wobbling in Seven’s face.

It was obvious he didn’t like her. She didn’t need to give him any more bait for snide remarks.

Seven smirked. ‘You’re welcome to dig your way under it if you’d prefer.’ When Alba only glared at him in reply, he shrugged and headed up to the fence. ‘Come on. It’s not that hard. Anyway, it’s the only way past the guards.’

After fumbling around in the darkness at the base of the railing, he stepped back, pulling a rope that tightened as he moved away, revealing its end tied round the tree on the other side. One if its branches skimmed the top of the fence.

Seven held out the rope. ‘You go first. So I can make sure you get over OK.’

Steeling herself, Alba took the rope. She tugged on it until it was pulled tight, then braced herself against the fence, one foot pressed against the iron columns, the other still on the ground. She drew a deep breath. Then, clinging to the rope so tightly her fingers already felt numb, she pushed off the ground and placed a second foot on the fence.

Her plimsolls slipped. Before she could slide back down, Alba pulled harder on the rope and took another step. Then another. It was hard going, the painted metal of the railings slippery beneath her weight, but she kept climbing, determined to make it, despite the stinging bite of the rope against her palms and the pain screaming in her injured wrist.

Besides, Alba could feel Seven’s eyes on her as he waited below. More than anything, she wanted to quickly get up and over the fence so he’d
please
stop staring at her bottom.

17

He had to admit, he was a little disappointed when the girl finally reached the top. He’d been kind of enjoying the view.

It took longer than usual to get to Chelsea Harbour because Alba kept stopping on the way, gasping at every little thing. It was as though she’d never seen the city before. Or maybe it was just the city at night, Seven thought, with its starlit streets, everything brushed in the soft glow of the streetlights. There
was
a kind of magic to it. He didn’t think a stuck-up North princess like her would have cared, but maybe there were certain kinds of magic in this world that everyone couldn’t help but notice.

‘Isn’t it beautiful!’ the girl whispered, gazing round at the North streets as they headed for the river.

Seven smirked and muttered under his breath, ‘Just wait till you see South.’

He didn’t tell her how they were going to cross the border until they arrived at the harbour. They perched at the end of one of the jetties overlooking the Thames. The river glittered under sparkling riverside lights, water-taxis and sleek, modern cruisers bobbing at their moorings in the harbour. Along the jetty-front behind them the restaurants and bars were still busy, the chinks of glasses and bursts of laughter filling the area with noise.

Alba bent down and peered into the shadows of the tunnel entrance to the old sewer carved into the side of the jetty. This particular part of the sewer system had been disused for years, but it still carried the smell of stagnant water and rotting things. River-water splashed up over its lip.

‘This takes us under the Thames?’ she asked, her voice stuffy-sounding.

Seven guessed she was holding her nose. He snorted.
Effing hell. How is she gonna manage when we get to
South
?

‘Yup,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

Before she could protest, he grabbed the rim of the entrance and ducked, swinging his legs inside. A few moments later the rusted metal beneath his feet clanged as the girl came in after him, landing heavily.

‘The
smell
!’ she moaned. There was a pause. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘Well, don’t. It smells bad enough without you adding to it.’

Moving forward in a crouch, Seven found the lamp he’d hidden. He fumbled with a match. A moment later the lamp’s flame flickered into life, casting amber light on the curving walls of the tunnel. Holding it out before him, he led Alba deeper into the shadows, their shoes squelching in the stagnant water.

There was a yelp behind him. Seven smirked. The girl must have spotted the rotting fox corpse half-buried under the mucky brown water.

She groaned. ‘I almost wish you’d left us in the dark.’

An hour later, they arrived at his flat in Vauxhall. Since South residents worked all hours, its streets were not nearly as quiet as most of North’s had been, even at this time of night. Seven had to take a longer route home to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. Not only was Alba a girl – and a stupidly pretty one at that, a fact which still very much annoyed him – but her clothes gave her away as a Norther. She may as well walk through the streets with a flashing light on top of her head, shouting, ‘Here I am, boys! I’m rich. Come and get me!’

Seven couldn’t risk Alba being seen. The boys in his block of flats had already proven that if it came down to a fight, he would most certainly
not
be on the winning side.

To be honest, Seven didn’t really know why he cared. If the girl was taken from him it was unlikely she’d ever be found (alive, that is). The knowledge that he’d broken into her house to steal a memory would die with her. He’d be safe.

But actually, Seven didn’t like to think of Alba dying. He didn’t like to think of what a bunch of rough South boys would do to her. For some inexplicable reason, he felt a strange pressure to protect her from harm. Maybe it had something to do with how pale her skin was, like a clean, unbroken canvas, or the sky just before sunrise. It seemed criminal to spoil it.

Though wasn’t that what he was? A criminal?

‘Well.’ Seven waved a hand at the door to his flat. ‘Here it is. Chez Seven.’

He took in its familiar red paint, faded and peeling, the broken number plate. A pile of rubbish had been dumped outside. A straggly cat with mangy fur slunk up to them, and when Alba went to stroke it the animal hissed and darted away.

Seven laughed humourlessly. ‘Welcome to South.’

Now they were here, embarrassment knotted his stomach. He remembered the clean, musty smell of the Whites’ house. How everything shone and glittered. He cringed.

There was a long beat of tense silence. Then Alba broke it, a cheerful smile on her face.

‘It’s  …  lovely,’ she said.

Seven looked sideways at her, eyebrows raised. A second later they burst into laughter. Even though he didn’t like to admit it, it felt weirdly nice to be laughing with her.

He was so used to laughing alone.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alba said, clasping a hand to her chest. She forced down her smile. ‘I don’t mean to be laughing at your home.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, come on. It’s a complete dump. And you haven’t even seen inside yet.’ He laughed again, but the girl didn’t join in.

‘Have you lived here all your life?’ she asked quietly, her cheeks flushed (man, was she pretty when she blushed).

‘Nah. Just seven years.’

‘With your parents?’

He shook his head, voice turning bitter. ‘Don’t have any. They abandoned me when I was just a kid.’

The words were out before he could stop them. Now it was Seven’s turn to flush red. Only Carpenter knew Seven’s history; that he’d been abandoned as a child and had grown up on the streets. Seven hadn’t planned to tell Alba, but somehow her questions had caught him off-guard. And when she looked at him like that, all soft pink cheeks and glittering eyes, he felt himself opening, unfurling towards her, the lies that usually lay on his tongue falling away to let the truth rise gently up.

Seven coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Anyway, I like it. I get to live by my rules. No parents telling me what to do.’

There was a pause.

‘You’re lucky,’ Alba said quietly, and it was the first time anyone had ever spoken those words to Seven.