over the next few weeks, we should get to know each other. “Is it far to the mess? Only I need the toilet.”
“Down the corridor, on the left,” said Eddie. “We’ll wait here for you.”
As the door closed I heard Eddie speak.
“She’ll be alright,” he said. “She’s got balls.”
I smiled.
I FOUND THE toilet, used it, washed my hands, looked at myself in the mirror. The face that looked back wasn’t the face of someone who would be heading off into another world in the morning. It wasn’t the face of a heroic daughter, off to rescue her mother. All I saw was a thin, rather frightened young woman with greasy hair. I wondered if there would be a shower later on. A shower with hot water, that would be a luxury.
I picked up my backpack. It was well made, packed with clean, new clothes. Her Majesty’s Government seemed to want to look after me. I thought about Francis. I was pleased that Francis would be accompanying me. Not because he was so good-looking – don’t think I’m that shallow – but more because he seemed so steady, so competent. Better than that, he seemed like a good man, not like some of the pigs I’d known in the past. I remembered Captain James Wedderburn, who’d stayed at our house just before the end of Dream London. It all came back then. Captain Wedderburn, Mr Monagan the orange half man/half frog. Shaqeel, my father’s gay lover… Where was my father? Why was only my mother mentioned in the fortune?
I made my way back down the corridor, placed my hand on the door, paused as I heard my name mentioned.
“… I’d fuck her…”
That was the voice of Joe, the quartermaster. I paused, waiting for Francis to defend me. But instead, Eddie spoke up.
“You’re a lucky bastard, escorting that bird into France. I’d give her one, too.”
“You wouldn’t have to try too hard. She’s gagging for it, according to her fortune scroll. And only seventeen, too. Nice tight pussy.”
Joe again. I’d like to say I couldn’t believe what he’d said, but that wouldn’t be true. I’d heard the boys at school speaking in much the same way.
“Come on, she’s young enough to be your daughter!”
“Hey, you know what they say, Eddie. If they’re old enough to bleed, they’re old enough to breed.”
Now I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Not the words. I’d heard stupid words like that before, stupid unthinking words spoken by stupid little boys too young to know any better. Stupid little boys trying to impress their friends. No, it’s not the words that upset me, it was who had spoken them.
Francis.
Francis, who I had thought so sensible and mature. Francis, my so called bodyguard, due to accompany me to Dream Paris.
I pushed open the door, walked into the room.
Francis looked up, smooth and in control.
“Ah, here she is. Are you ready for your cocoa, Anna?”
I gazed at him.
“Actually, you were right. It is an early start tomorrow. I’d like to go to bed, please.”
Did Francis and Eddie exchange glances at that? More schoolboy humour? I didn’t care.
“If you like,” said Francis. He led me across the camp to the barrack room where I was quartered. He chatted away, I answered his questions in sullen monosyllables. In the end he got fed up with it and we walked in silence. I gazed at his big, powerful body. Suddenly, I didn’t find him attractive in the slightest.
Coming, again and again… I thought. Not bloody likely .
DEPARTURE
S OMEONE WAS GENTLY shaking me awake.
“Mother…” I’d been dreaming of her, remembering a time from before the changes. She’d been drinking coffee in the kitchen, getting ready to head off to work. I was telling her about my homework, she was only half-listening, most of her attention focussed on her newspaper.
“I brought you a cup of tea.”
That wasn’t my mother. And then I remembered. I was the sole occupant of a barrack room, somewhere in the middle of a devastated London. I was being
“Down the corridor, on the left,” said Eddie. “We’ll wait here for you.”
As the door closed I heard Eddie speak.
“She’ll be alright,” he said. “She’s got balls.”
I smiled.
I FOUND THE toilet, used it, washed my hands, looked at myself in the mirror. The face that looked back wasn’t the face of someone who would be heading off into another world in the morning. It wasn’t the face of a heroic daughter, off to rescue her mother. All I saw was a thin, rather frightened young woman with greasy hair. I wondered if there would be a shower later on. A shower with hot water, that would be a luxury.
I picked up my backpack. It was well made, packed with clean, new clothes. Her Majesty’s Government seemed to want to look after me. I thought about Francis. I was pleased that Francis would be accompanying me. Not because he was so good-looking – don’t think I’m that shallow – but more because he seemed so steady, so competent. Better than that, he seemed like a good man, not like some of the pigs I’d known in the past. I remembered Captain James Wedderburn, who’d stayed at our house just before the end of Dream London. It all came back then. Captain Wedderburn, Mr Monagan the orange half man/half frog. Shaqeel, my father’s gay lover… Where was my father? Why was only my mother mentioned in the fortune?
I made my way back down the corridor, placed my hand on the door, paused as I heard my name mentioned.
“… I’d fuck her…”
That was the voice of Joe, the quartermaster. I paused, waiting for Francis to defend me. But instead, Eddie spoke up.
“You’re a lucky bastard, escorting that bird into France. I’d give her one, too.”
“You wouldn’t have to try too hard. She’s gagging for it, according to her fortune scroll. And only seventeen, too. Nice tight pussy.”
Joe again. I’d like to say I couldn’t believe what he’d said, but that wouldn’t be true. I’d heard the boys at school speaking in much the same way.
“Come on, she’s young enough to be your daughter!”
“Hey, you know what they say, Eddie. If they’re old enough to bleed, they’re old enough to breed.”
Now I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Not the words. I’d heard stupid words like that before, stupid unthinking words spoken by stupid little boys too young to know any better. Stupid little boys trying to impress their friends. No, it’s not the words that upset me, it was who had spoken them.
Francis.
Francis, who I had thought so sensible and mature. Francis, my so called bodyguard, due to accompany me to Dream Paris.
I pushed open the door, walked into the room.
Francis looked up, smooth and in control.
“Ah, here she is. Are you ready for your cocoa, Anna?”
I gazed at him.
“Actually, you were right. It is an early start tomorrow. I’d like to go to bed, please.”
Did Francis and Eddie exchange glances at that? More schoolboy humour? I didn’t care.
“If you like,” said Francis. He led me across the camp to the barrack room where I was quartered. He chatted away, I answered his questions in sullen monosyllables. In the end he got fed up with it and we walked in silence. I gazed at his big, powerful body. Suddenly, I didn’t find him attractive in the slightest.
Coming, again and again… I thought. Not bloody likely .
DEPARTURE
S OMEONE WAS GENTLY shaking me awake.
“Mother…” I’d been dreaming of her, remembering a time from before the changes. She’d been drinking coffee in the kitchen, getting ready to head off to work. I was telling her about my homework, she was only half-listening, most of her attention focussed on her newspaper.
“I brought you a cup of tea.”
That wasn’t my mother. And then I remembered. I was the sole occupant of a barrack room, somewhere in the middle of a devastated London. I was being
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