Divided Kingdom by Rupert Thomson

that informed so many of our thoughts and actions, and be ourselves.
    I sometimes wonder if we weren’t bound together after all.
    One evening, while I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework, Victor appeared in the doorway. He needed to have a word with me, he said. I put down my pen and followed him upstairs. The sky was already dark, and Marie had gone out with friends. A cushioned silence filled the house.
    In Victor’s bedroom I took a seat next to his workstation, its surface hidden beneath the usual clutter of drawings, letters, documents and maps. The TV was on, with the sound turned down. Michael Song was addressing the nation. I was always struck by how polished he looked, almost literally
polished
, and how convivial too, like some worldly uncle you wished you saw more often. I watched as Victor switched the TV off, then lowered himself pensively on to the edge of his divan. We sat in silence for a moment or two. A slightly blurred circle of lamplight trembled on the carpet, but the rest of the room lay in deep shadow, mysterious yet open to conjecture, like the prairie beyond a camp-fire. The muted lighting seemed to invite confidences, confessions even, an effect that may well have been intentional.
    â€˜They’re saying he’s going to be re-elected,’ Victor said, ‘which is no great surprise really, is it?’ He looked steadily into my face, gauging my reaction, then his gaze dropped to his hands. ‘I’ve heard rumours, Thomas. Children being taken into families and then reporting to the authorities. Members of those families being imprisoned as a result.’ There was another long pause. ‘I suppose what I want to ask you is this,’ he said eventually. ‘Did the authorities tell you to spy on us?’
    The question didn’t surprise me particularly or make me nervous. At some deep level, perhaps, I had known that it would come.
    â€˜Not exactly,’ I said.
    Victor’s pale eyes seemed to blacken. ‘What do you mean, “not exactly”?’
    I repeated what Mr Reek had said in his study on that bright spring afternoon, and then told Victor about my visit to the Ministry and the unexpected reappearance of Miss Groves. It came as a relief to be able to rid myself of all this information. Until that moment I hadn’t realised quite how burdened I was.
    â€˜I thought so,’ Victor said. ‘My God.’ His left hand closed into a fist, and he wrapped his other hand around it and held it tightly. His great bald forehead gleamed. ‘So have you said anything? Have you reported us?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜And would you?’
    I hesitated. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    This time I paused for longer. I wanted to express what it was that I had felt within a day or two of arriving at the house – what I still felt, in fact – but it was difficult. I had never thought to put the feeling into words before, not even in my head. Then, suddenly, I had it – or something that seemed close enough.
    â€˜Because I want you to be happy,’ I said.
    Victor rose to his feet and walked over to his wall of books. He stood with his back to me, touching the spines of certain volumes with fingers that seemed unsure of themselves. Finally he turned to face me again. His eyes had a silvery quality that hadn’t been there before. ‘You’re a good boy, Thomas, and we’re glad to have you here. You know that, don’t you?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜We haven’t talked a great deal,’ he went on. ‘That’s my fault entirely. I’ve had other things on my mind, I’m afraid. Also, to be honest, I didn’t trust you. I was sorry for you, of course, being taken from your family like that, and I felt responsible for you in some strange way, but I didn’t trust you.’ He looked at me. ‘That sounds dreadful, I know.’
    I shook my head. ‘I