Peter didn’t go home immediately. He couldn’t face Anna, couldn’t face telling her what he’d just learnt, not when it was so new to him, not when he hadn’t been able to process the information, or even to establish how to react. So, instead, he walked the streets of South London; found a bar that allowed its customers to bypass its identi-card scanner and bought a drink – a vodka and orange juice – then another one. The bar was full – evidently, Peter wasn’t the only person who had had his fill of life that day. Old-looking men and women sat hunched over tables, nursing drinks, muttering to each other, to themselves.
The barman looked at him curiously, but didn’t say anything. He simply took Peter’s money and gave him his drink. Peter downed it straight away and ordered another.
‘Drinking a bit quickly, aren’t you?’
Peter turned to see that a man had joined him at the bar. His face was red, bloated; his eyes bulged out of their sockets as though straining to be free.
‘What’s it to you?’ Peter emptied the glass into his mouth and ordered another. Yet another adult telling him what to do. Yet another adult thinking he knew better, thinking he knew it all.
‘Nothing, I s’pose. What you drinking anyway?’
Peter looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Vodka,’ he said.
The man peered at him. ‘How old are you?’
Peter took a gulp of his drink, ignoring the man, who was getting on his nerves. He wanted to be left alone to think, to brood, to tame the anger welling up inside him, to turn it into something manageable. But instead of allowing him to drink in peace, the man repeated his question, forcing Peter to turn back to him. ‘Does it matter?’ he asked tightly.
The man thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Nah. Don’t suppose it does.’
He appeared to lose interest in Peter then; Peter took another gulp of his drink, then stared down into it. In the reflection in the glass he could see his face, distorted, twisted, like a strange freak of nature, like an idiot. Had he been an idiot? Did the Underground know about the sterilisation programme? No, they couldn’t. They just couldn’t. Pip wouldn’t have been so keen for Peter to Opt Out if he knew there was no point. If he couldn’t have children anyway.
‘Haven’t seen you in here before, have I?’
Reluctantly, Peter turned back to the man still standing next to him. ‘I’m sorry?’ His tone wasn’t so irritable this time. The alcohol was warming his stomach, making his head fuzzy.
‘Haven’t seen you before,’ the man repeated.
‘No,’ Peter said vaguely. ‘No, you haven’t.’
His grandfather had said that the Underground wanted him to throw his life away for their cause. Was he right? Why hadn’t Pip Opted Out? Why was it one rule for him and another for his followers?
‘I thought as much,’ the man said, nodding seriously. ‘I don’t remember seeing you before and my memory isn’t too bad. Not usually.’
‘Right,’ Peter said. He felt angry with Pip suddenly. He should have known about the Surplus Sterilisation Programme. He should have told him.
The man grimaced. ‘How old did you say you were?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t,’ Peter said. ‘Is it really so important?’
The man shook his head. ‘Not usually. Not for most folks. You, though, you’re different, aren’t you? You’re that Surplus that was in the papers.’
Peter sighed. ‘So then you know how old I am,’ he said.
‘Hmmm,’ the man said, nodding slowly to himself. ‘So young. So new.’ He put his hand on Peter’s. ‘You wait a few years, then you’ll see,’ he said lugubriously.
‘Thanks,’ Peter said tightly. ‘Thanks for the tip.’ He drained his glass, looked at his watch, thought about Anna, thought about leaving. Then he shrugged and ordered another. What did it matter anyway? What did anything matter now?
The man laughed. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, pretending to doff his cap. ‘You’re welcome, I’m sure.’
Peter opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Pip wanted him and Anna to Opt Out. To cut their lives short – for what? To make a point? Was that all his life was worth in Pip’s opinion? Angrily, he slammed his glass down on the counter. Pip had betrayed him; the Underground had. And they’d betrayed Anna too. They’d pretended to care, and all the time . . .
‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ the man next to him said conversationally. ‘Whatever it is you’re vexed about, can’t be that bad.’
‘Can’t it?’ Peter swung round and stared at the man. He could feel himself sway, noticed that his words were slurring slightly. ‘And you’d know, would you?’
The man smiled and shrugged. ‘Nothing matters, you see. What goes around comes around and what doesn’t come around . . . well, that goes around too.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Peter said, his voice low and angry. ‘Everything matters. I matter. Anna matters. Our lives matter.’
‘If you say so,’ the man said.
‘I do say so,’ Peter said forcefully, almost forgetting that he was talking to a stranger. ‘If you think nothing matters, then it’s OK to use people. And it’s OK to believe in people who let you down. But it isn’t.’ He rocked forward slightly and pulled himself back just in time to avoid falling off the stool.
‘They let you down, you let them down, then they’re your best friend, until next time,’ the man said, the words almost sounding poetic as they came out of his mouth, like a rhyme, or a folk song. He looked at Peter for a few seconds, then he shrugged. ‘It all just goes round and round, you see,’ he muttered. ‘You’ll find out. Can’t make a bad choice, can’t make a good one.’
‘You’re talking rubbish,’ Peter said, abruptly pulling himself upright and starting when the room began to spin violently. ‘Of course you can make a bad choice. You can choose to trust the wrong people. You can choose to believe them . . .’ he trailed off, fighting the tears that were pricking at his eyes.
The man leant closer and Peter gagged slightly at the smell of alcohol on his breath.
‘Trust who you want. Right and wrong, they’re just the same.’ He stared at Peter, his bulbous eyes focused on Peter’s with an intensity that made him uncomfortable, then he erupted into rasping laughter. ‘So, you going to make better choices? That why you’re in here?’
Peter pulled himself off the stool and put some money down on the counter. ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly, swaying, his vision now blurred, his heart heavy in his chest. ‘I don’t know what the right choice is. I don’t know if I even have one any more.’
‘None of us does,’ the man said sagely, downing his drink. ‘We thinks we do, but we don’t. Not really. Best thing to do is just sit still and it’ll all happen to you anyway.’ He winked. ‘Don’t want to rush things, after all.’
‘Whatever,’ Peter said dismissively. ‘You don’t have to rush things. You’ve got for ever to make bad choices, haven’t you?’
The man guffawed, his mouth opening wide and his face getting even redder than before. Then he leant in close so that his rasping voice resonated in Peter’s ear, making it itch. ‘You talk about choices,’ he said, his tone conspiratorial. ‘But there’s only one choice I want to make, and I can’t make it, see? I don’t want to die. I just can’t see the point in living either.’ He rolled his eyes and laughed, then slammed his empty glass down on the bar. ‘Another of your finest,’ he said to the barman, who duly filled the glass.
Peter looked at him for a moment, then he pushed back his stool. ‘Maybe you can’t,’ he said angrily, ‘but I can. And I’m going to.’
He stood up straight, his hands
catching the bar to maintain his balance. As he did so, his eyes
were drawn briefly to the ring on his finger with its engraved
flower. The flower had always represented something important to
him – not just his beginnings, but life itself. The Coveys had told
him again and again about the natural cycle of life – flowers
growing, blooming, spreading their pollen via butterflies, bees and
other insects in order to create their young before they died,
their work done. They’d given him books on natural history, on
natural selection, on the development of a species through the
cycle of life, reproduction and death. But Peter could see the ring
was out of date now. The cycle had been broken; it wasn’t relevant
any more. Natural selection had been replaced by something else,
something different, and there was no going back. It was still
about survival of the fittest, though, and Peter was determined to
survive, whatever it took. Without looking back at the man, Peter
stumbled out of the bar. He needed to talk to Anna. He needed to
know she’d survive with him.
‘Peter!’ Anna greeted him like a war hero, in spite of the fact that it was nearly midnight; in spite of the fact that he stank of alcohol, that he was swaying from side to side. It made him feel guilty, uncomfortable; he’d have preferred her to be angry with him.
‘Hi,’ he said, stumbling slightly. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
Anna smiled cautiously. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, ‘I knew you’d be OK. Where were you?’
Peter shrugged. He’d been telling himself all the way home that he would sit Anna down the moment he got to the house; would tell her what he’d discovered. But now, looking at her worried face, her wide, trusting eyes, somehow he couldn’t do it, couldn’t find the words to tell her what he’d discovered. So instead, he pushed past and made his way to the kitchen.
‘Ben’s asleep, and I made shepherd’s pie,’ Anna said, eyeing him cautiously. ‘It’ll be cold now but I can reheat it. So, you’ve been drinking?’
‘Shepherd’s pie,’ Peter said, sitting down heavily and noticing that the room was spinning. ‘Great.’
‘Were you with the Underground?’
Peter looked up briefly to see that Anna was looking at him hopefully; as he met her eyes, her voice trailed off. Then he remembered something and started to rummage through the pile of papers on the side of the table. Eventually he found what he was looking for.
‘Our Declarations,’ he said seriously, his voice slurring slightly. Anna nodded, and didn’t say anything.
Peter blinked several times to try to force his eyes to focus. He began to read his again, managing the first few lines, then giving up when he realised he was seeing double.
Anna tentatively put a plate full of steaming hot shepherd’s pie in front of him.
‘You know everyone signs the Declaration, don’t you?’ Peter said, picking up his fork, then putting it down again. ‘You know all that stuff Pip told us is bullshit?’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Anna said lightly.
Peter raised an eyebrow. He didn’t mean to go on the offensive, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. ‘Even your parents signed it.’
Anna blanched. ‘They didn’t know what they were doing. They were young. They wished they hadn’t.’
‘They still signed.’
‘What’s the matter, Peter? Why are you talking like this? It’s like you’re . . .’
‘Like I’m a Pincent? Well, I am. I’m Richard Pincent’s grandson. Albert Fern’s great-grandson. My family invented Longevity, Anna. Maybe it’s in my blood.’
Anna’s eyes widened in shock. ‘It’s not in your blood. You hate the Pincents. We’re going to Opt Out, Peter. You know we are.’
He was being cruel. He hated himself for it. He took a mouthful of shepherd’s pie. ‘And achieve what? Die young, before we can make a difference? Why should we? Why shouldn’t we stay around like everyone else?’
‘Because we have to make room for new people,’ Anna gasped. ‘We’re going to create a New Generation. You know that. What’s wrong with you?’
‘What’s so great about new people?’ Peter interrupted. ‘And what if we can’t . . . I mean, what if there is no new generation? What then?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Anna said, her face setting into the expression Peter remembered from Grange Hall – part stubborn, part afraid.
‘Of course you don’t. How could you?’ Peter replied, his anger turning into bitterness, and self-loathing because he knew he was taking his anger out on the one person who was entirely blameless. ‘You know nothing. You’re too naive, that’s your problem. You believe whatever you’ve been told. What your parents told you. What Mrs Pincent told you. What I told you. But it’s all rubbish, Anna. I can’t believe you can’t see that.’
Anna swallowed and he could see the pinprick of tears in her eyes.
‘It’s not rubbish,’ she said, her voice cracking just slightly. ‘And I’m not naive. You’ve been drinking and you don’t know what you’re saying and I wish you’d shut up.’
‘Maybe I should,’ Peter said, standing up, refusing to meet her eyes. ‘That’s what Pip wants me to do, I’m sure. Just shut up and do what I’m told and not ask any difficult questions.’
‘Pip? But he’s on our side. He’s helping us . . .’
‘Right,’ Peter said sarcastically. ‘Do you think he’ll help us if we sign the Declaration? Do you think he’ll be on our side then?’
‘No!’ Anna was standing up now, fire in her eyes that Peter hadn’t seen for a long time. ‘No, he won’t. Because it won’t happen. Don’t talk like this, Peter. You’re scaring me. We won’t sign. We’ll never sign. We’re going to have children, and they won’t be Surpluses. They’ll never be Surpluses.’
Peter stared at her, trying to put into words all the thoughts and feelings that crowded his head. He knew the truth. There would be no children. There would only ever be the two of them and Ben. There was no reason not to sign any more, no reason to die. But he couldn’t tell her. Not yet.
‘If you loved me, you’d sign.’ He flung the words at her, kicking his chair and storming out of the kitchen.
‘Peter . . .’ Anna called after him, but he barely heard her as he stomped off to the sitting room, collapsed on the sofa and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
‘Peter?’
Peter looked up, disoriented. He squinted at the face in front of him, at the familiar eyes staring down at him.
‘Pip?’
‘Anna called me. She said you’d been drinking. She sounded very worried about you.’
‘She called you?’ Peter pulled himself up and looked at Pip incredulously. ‘And you came here? What about code names? What about security?’
‘An emergency is an emergency. And don’t worry, I was careful,’ Pip said. Music was playing; Peter looked around and saw that the radio was on. Of course it was, he thought to himself bitterly. Pip never missed a trick. ‘Anna said you were confused,’ Pip continued. ‘I’d like to help.’
‘Well she’s wrong,’ Peter said angrily, moving his head and realising that he was still intoxicated. ‘I’m not confused about anything. I told her we were going to sign the Declaration. Anyway, what are you doing here out in the open? I thought you only hung around darkened rooms, feeling important.’
‘You want to sign the Declaration?’ Pip’s voice was steady, flat, and it drove Peter into a rage.
‘You want to give me one reason why I shouldn’t?’ he asked bitterly, standing up suddenly, then gripping the side of the sofa to keep his balance. ‘You want to tell me that the Surplus Sterilisation Programme never happened? You want to tell Anna that after all the crap you’ve been feeding us about “being the revolution” and “parenting the future children of the world” she’s never going to have a child? That she can’t because her insides have been ripped out or put to sleep or turned off, or whatever it is they’ve done to her? Because I can’t.’
Pip was looking at him strangely. ‘The programme. It’s really true? It happened? How do you know? How did you find out?’
Peter didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Even through his anger he’d harboured some small hope that there might be an explanation, that Pip might not have known. ‘I saw the report,’ he said eventually, his voice low and bitter. ‘Saw our names on the list.’ He looked at Pip in disgust. ‘You knew,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I thought you must know; you say you know everything. But then I thought no, you couldn’t know, because if you even suspected something, you’d have told us. You wouldn’t have allowed us to Opt Out of the Declaration, to build our whole lives around having children, when you knew full well we couldn’t have any. I thought you weren’t that much of a bastard. But I’m guessing I was wrong. Maybe you’re the one who’s outlived his usefulness, Pip. Ever thought about that?’
He could see Pip’s eyes widen slightly, even in the darkness of the sitting room, lit only by a glimmer of moonlight through the window. Guilt, Peter thought to himself. Or perhaps just the shock of being found out.
‘Peter, you must listen. There was talk of such a programme but we understood that it had been abandoned. But even if this tragedy came to pass, there’s still reason to Opt Out. To make a statement. You, of all people. Eternal life was never the destiny of mankind, Peter. We must fight the dogma that death is wrong, that nature’s cycle can be ignored.’
‘Like you, you mean?’ Peter asked, his eyes flashing. ‘Oh, no. That’s right. You signed the Declaration, didn’t you? Living for ever isn’t something you were prepared to sacrifice, is it? Just me. Just Peter Pincent.’
Pip frowned uneasily. ‘Peter, you know very well that I have no interest in prolonging my own life, in watching all this misery unfold; but my role in the resistance meant I had to sign the Declaration to ensure that the movement could develop. I couldn’t risk it dying out. I live for the cause, that is all.’
‘You mean you couldn’t risk leaving it to the next generation to run the Underground in case they rejected your ideas,’ Peter spat. ‘You’re as bad as the Authorities. All you care about is your own self-interest. Well, screw you. I’ve had enough. You never do anything anyway. As far as I can see, Pincent Pharma isn’t exactly afraid of you.’
Pip’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sorry you feel this way. I have never sought to be important, only to protect mankind from the terrible temptation of eternal life, only to fight for the new, for the young. I was going to contact you tomorrow anyway, Peter, because I have information about Pincent Pharma that I wanted you to investigate. A Unit X on the sixth floor. We are very concerned about what’s happening there.’
‘Unit X?’ Peter put his hands in his pockets. ‘You tell me nothing for weeks and now that I’ve finally seen through you, you tell me about a Unit X? I’m not an idiot, Pip. I’ve had enough. I think you should go.’
He opened the sitting room door to leave; Pip stood up.
‘Peter, don’t walk away from me. You’re making a mistake. For Anna as much as yourself.’
Peter turned back, his eyes flashing. ‘Don’t you talk to me about Anna,’ he said, his voice low and hoarse. ‘Not after this. And don’t you even think about contacting her again. We’re going to sign, and we’re going to be happy. You make one move and I’m telling the Authorities everything about you. I want you to leave us alone, Pip, do you understand? Just leave us alone.’
‘I understand.’ Pip’s voice was gentle; sad rather than angry. ‘But I am here for you, Peter. I will always be here.’
‘Whatever,’ Peter said, pushing past him and making his way up the stairs towards the bedroom. ‘You can see yourself out.’
Then, remembering something, he turned back. ‘I got your message, by the way. File 23b, wasn’t it?’ Casually, he pulled it out from under his waistband and threw it down the stairs.
‘Message?’ Pip had followed Peter from the sitting room into the hallway. ‘What message?’
‘Consider it my last job for the Underground. Consider us quits.’
‘Wait, Peter. I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t ask you for a file . . .’ Pip called after him, but Peter had already reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner. And as he crept slowly towards the bedroom, his anger turned to desperation. The tears that had tried so hard to fall earlier began to stream from his eyes, as he did his best to fight them back.
‘I’m sorry,’ he begged, as he got into bed and pulled Anna towards him. ‘I don’t deserve you. I’m sorry.’
‘Of course you deserve me,’ Anna whispered, turning and wrapping her arms around him. ‘Everything’s going to be OK.’ And Peter squeezed her back tightly, tighter than ever before, because he knew it wouldn’t, because he knew that things would never be OK again.