The Declaration by Gemma Malley Page A

looked right at people, unashamedly.
    ‘What?’ she asked. ‘You know, you shouldn’t look at people like that. It’s rude.’
    Peter grinned as if he didn’t really care if it was rude or not, then his face turned serious.
    ‘You really hate your parents?’ he asked her.
    Anna answered without thinking. ‘Of course I hate them. It’s all their fault.’
    ‘What is?’
    Anna sighed. Sometimes Peter could be really dim. ‘Me being here. Being responsible. Paying back Mother Nature for their Sins. Whatever you say, the Declaration was introduced for a reason and my parents abused Mother Nature’s benevolence. They make me sick.’
    ‘And you seriously believe that they’re wrong and the Authorities are right?’
    Anna nodded. ‘Of course I believe it,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s the truth. Even if you do know them, I don’t care. They deserve to go back to prison and stay there for the rest of their lives. Now just shut up about it.’
    Peter looked at her then and took her wrists firmly in his hands.
    ‘Your parents love you,’ he said in a very low voice. ‘You’re not surplus to anything, you’re Anna Covey, and you should never have been locked away here. Your Mrs Pincent is the person you should hate. She’s the one who brainwashed you, the one who beat you and starved you, just like she tried to do to me. Just like she’ll do again when she realises she hasn’t won. We need to get out of here. We need to get back to London.’
    Anna stared at him, her mouth set crossly. ‘Brainwash!’ she said contemptuously. ‘That isn’t even a word.’
    Peter smiled sarcastically. ‘Not a word they’d teach in Grange Hall, I suppose, but it is a word, Anna. It means to indoctrinate. To make you think things that aren’t true, to make you believe that you don’t deserve to live on the Outside, that you’re lucky to live in this prison.’
    Anna pulled away, her eyes stinging with tears. Usually she loved to learn new words, treating them as exciting possessions that she could employ as she chose – in her journal, in her conversation – relishing the newness and the beauty of each one. But there was nothing beautiful about the word ‘brainwash’. To clean the brain. To strip it bare.
    ‘If anyone’s brain needs washing, it’s yours,’ she said angrily. ‘You don’t know anything. You’re full of lies, Peter.’
    ‘No,’ Peter said urgently, pressing her hand. ‘I’m not the one who’s lying, Anna. You and I can get out of here. Together. There’s a whole world out there, Anna, a whole world for us to explore. And a home, waiting for us in London.’
    He was looking at Anna intently, and she felt herself weaken, felt herself wanting to believe him even if just for a moment, but then she forced his hand away. She couldn’t listen to him. Shouldn’t listen to him. Every paragraph in Surplus Shame refuted his arguments, explained in long, detailed prose, exactly why he was wrong.
    ‘I don’t want to go to London. And anyway, you’re talking rubbish,’ she said passionately. ‘My parents don’t love me. If they loved me, they’d never have had me. And Mrs Pincent’s the one who asked me to look after you so I don’t know why you hate her so much. She only beats you for your own good, to make you realise the truth . . . ’
    She felt her voice quiver with emotion and tried to steel herself, wiping her eyes irritably. ‘I wish Mrs Pincent had asked someone else to look after you,’ she said eventually, her voice soft and low.
    ‘I wish you’d just leave me alone.’
    Peter stared at her, his eyes flashing. ‘I don’t think you mean that, Anna Covey, but if you really want me to, I’ll leave you alone,’ he said bitterly. ‘You’re wrong about your parents, though, and you’re wrong about Grange Hall and Mrs Pincent. I’m going to get out of here somehow and you have to come with me. It’s not safe here.’
    Anna looked at him with contempt. ‘Of course it’s safe