The Father's House by Larche Davies

again, and he’d told her she might make a good infiltrator one day. They were always looking for people to train.
    Sometimes he gave her a sweet, and she would hide behind a shrub to eat it, for the sweet things in life were forbidden. Lucy knew that when she was sixteen, less than two years from now, she would have to marry some unknown father she had never met before. She would rather marry someone like Thomas.
    After waiting a good ten minutes she scrambled to her feet. He’d have turned up by now if he was going to come. When she entered the kitchen Aunt Sarah was sitting with Paul on her lap playing ‘round and round the garden’ on the palm of his hand, and they were both laughing. Lucy couldn’t remember when she last saw Aunt Sarah laugh. Paul reached up and fingered the gold circle that hung from a chain round Sarah’s neck.
    â€œPretty,” he said. “It’s got flowers in the middle.”
    â€œThree daffodils. My mother put it round my neck when I was taken from her, just your age. The Holy Leaders were kind and let me keep it.”
    Lucy hung up her coat and went to her room to change out of her school clothes. When she returned to the kitchen Paul was standing in the open doorway looking out into the back garden and chanting, “Holy Leaders, Holy Leaders,” over and over again to himself. Aunt Sarah was briskly setting out the tea table.
    Lucy fetched some mugs.
    â€œJohn’s died,” she said.
    Aunt Sarah’s face softened. “Yes, I heard,” she said sadly. “Aunt Martha told me. Poor little fellow!” She looked at Lucy’s stricken face and touched her hand. “It’s the purpose. We must try not to grieve. He’s probably sitting at the Magnifico’s right hand at this moment, and is happier than he ever was in this sad world.”
    Paul clambered up into his high chair with Lucy shoving him from behind, and Sarah put a fish paste sandwich on his plate. “Now come along and eat up both of you. We’re running late as it is, and I’ve got the upstairs suppers to cook yet.”
    â€œWhere’s my mother?” asked Paul with his mouth full.
    â€œYou were taken from her just after you were born.”
    Sarah sighed. Already she could see the questions in Lucy’s eyes. “Some fathers think it’s cruel to let children remember their mothers, so they let the mothers name them and nurse them for a month, and then they’re put with the foster aunts till they’re two or three, same as you were, except you were lucky. You didn’t have to go to a commune. It was the same for Lucy too.”
    She took down a saucepan from the shelf above the sink and started laying out supper ingredients onto a wooden board. “Mind you, it’s not cruel for everyone. I’m glad I can remember my mother. I’ll know her when I see her.”
    Lucy couldn’t stop herself. “Where is she?”
    â€œShe’s in Paradise,” said Aunt Sarah, “waiting for me.” Her face lit up with a flash of pure joy. “And when I get there she’ll hold me close.”

It was April, and today was adult achievement day at the school. An atmosphere of suppressed excitement filled the hall. Lucy’s class sat near the front and she had to crane her head up to look at the stage. In the centre, seated on a splendidly carved chair, was a Holy Leader, one of the Magnifico’s worldwide body of priests. He stroked the wispy beard that straggled over his black robes, and his small hooded eyes darted back and forth over the rows of children, penetrating their souls and prising out their sins. To his right stood the headmaster, head thrown back, eyes closed behind little round glasses, and the palms of his hands held up to the ceiling. His pink chins quivered and shook and the little tuft of white hair on his head stood upright pointing towards Paradise. No-one would have guessed he was