this stuff on the tube. Your homework!”
“Back to
Regent’s Park, then? Watch a game of hockey?”
“
Tottenham
Court Road. The British Museum . Afterwards… God only knows where!” Gary
slapped the manual onto Mike’s lap. “The real God!”
“Gary…”
“What?”
“Gary,
there’s a man from the future out in the shed. Don’t you think we should do
something about it?”
“Holy
Mackerel… nearly forgot! Go and amuse my mum in the kitchen and I’ll check on
Redfor.”
But the garden
shed was empty.
Later, en
route to the British Museum,
they discussed tactics. Gary had
been right about Mike. His friend would make an ace big time crook… if only he
weren’t so soft-hearted over people. He could imagine the boy immediately
handing everything back after a major heist because he’d feel so sorry for
those who’d been robbed… particularly if the victim happened to be a girl. He
visualised Mike adding interest to the returned goods in exchange for a first
date with her. Poor Mike! But would he be so desperate for a girlfriend if he
had even an inkling of the torment he, Gary, was suffering thinking about
Beetie the whole time? Sheer bloody hell!
Chapter 6: A Boy from the Past
They took away her blue
tracksuit. All she had to wear were those dresses and, in bed, a pink silken
nightdress with lace trimmings. Each morning and afternoon she’d be let out –
or rather, told to go out – into the garden.
This was on
the other side of the blue building away from the courtyard. When she first
went, in a yellow dress and high-heeled shoes, she stood and gawped for ages,
for she’d never imagined anything so beautiful. Plants everywhere! Some huge,
like those (trees?) of which the boy from the past had spoken, and the green
spreading expanse of lawn tempted her to run free and tumble on the grass –
only she didn’t dare. The clothes and shoes (why did the Chairman want
to make her taller with such high up heels?) restricted her like delicate bonds
and colourful chains; gorgeous, like the garden, but to tear or dirty these
would be unthinkable. Tottering, she walked with difficulty along the small
paths winding between the dappled flower beds. Sometimes she would stop and
twirl the skirt of her dress, aware of the fragrant scents of surrounding
blossoms caressing her body as she did this. Everything was wonderful… but
illusory. Her personal paradise was little more than a painted hell.
Already, those
daily injections had wiped out most of her memories of the Retreat. Her private
warden, the woman in the blue overall, often tested her:
“If only
Arthry were here, ay, girl?” She was usually addressed by the warden as simply
‘girl’.
“Who’s
Arthry?”
“Don’t you
remember?”
“No.”
“Blinker… and
others in The Retreat?”
“No idea who
you’re talking about.”
“The tunnels?
The gee-rats?”
“Yuk! What are
they? Sound horrid!”
In her cell
Beetie would receive instruction, only she was no longer ‘Beetie’. To the
Chairman she was ‘Belinda’. Belinda learned about a world beyond, in the
Terminus, even more wonderful than her garden. On her computer screen appeared
pictures of incredible buildings, palaces and fantastical creatures. Her own
food she enjoyed, but in the Terminus she was promised a daily feast of dishes
the mere sight of which made the girl’s mouth water. Each day, God-the-Chairman
would appear and tell her all manner of things. Gradually, she got used to his
face... his large, hard eyes and buck teeth. He spoke softly and sometimes read
her poetry: verses of love and what went on between a man and a woman in
private… the tenderness and the caressing. She began to look forward to his
‘lessons’ as he called those obligatory periods when she was forced to sit and
stare at the computer. He’d become her only friend.
One thing from
the past that injections could not erase from Beetie’s mind was the face of a
boy. His name had
“Back to
Regent’s Park, then? Watch a game of hockey?”
“
Tottenham
Court Road. The British Museum . Afterwards… God only knows where!” Gary
slapped the manual onto Mike’s lap. “The real God!”
“Gary…”
“What?”
“Gary,
there’s a man from the future out in the shed. Don’t you think we should do
something about it?”
“Holy
Mackerel… nearly forgot! Go and amuse my mum in the kitchen and I’ll check on
Redfor.”
But the garden
shed was empty.
Later, en
route to the British Museum,
they discussed tactics. Gary had
been right about Mike. His friend would make an ace big time crook… if only he
weren’t so soft-hearted over people. He could imagine the boy immediately
handing everything back after a major heist because he’d feel so sorry for
those who’d been robbed… particularly if the victim happened to be a girl. He
visualised Mike adding interest to the returned goods in exchange for a first
date with her. Poor Mike! But would he be so desperate for a girlfriend if he
had even an inkling of the torment he, Gary, was suffering thinking about
Beetie the whole time? Sheer bloody hell!
Chapter 6: A Boy from the Past
They took away her blue
tracksuit. All she had to wear were those dresses and, in bed, a pink silken
nightdress with lace trimmings. Each morning and afternoon she’d be let out –
or rather, told to go out – into the garden.
This was on
the other side of the blue building away from the courtyard. When she first
went, in a yellow dress and high-heeled shoes, she stood and gawped for ages,
for she’d never imagined anything so beautiful. Plants everywhere! Some huge,
like those (trees?) of which the boy from the past had spoken, and the green
spreading expanse of lawn tempted her to run free and tumble on the grass –
only she didn’t dare. The clothes and shoes (why did the Chairman want
to make her taller with such high up heels?) restricted her like delicate bonds
and colourful chains; gorgeous, like the garden, but to tear or dirty these
would be unthinkable. Tottering, she walked with difficulty along the small
paths winding between the dappled flower beds. Sometimes she would stop and
twirl the skirt of her dress, aware of the fragrant scents of surrounding
blossoms caressing her body as she did this. Everything was wonderful… but
illusory. Her personal paradise was little more than a painted hell.
Already, those
daily injections had wiped out most of her memories of the Retreat. Her private
warden, the woman in the blue overall, often tested her:
“If only
Arthry were here, ay, girl?” She was usually addressed by the warden as simply
‘girl’.
“Who’s
Arthry?”
“Don’t you
remember?”
“No.”
“Blinker… and
others in The Retreat?”
“No idea who
you’re talking about.”
“The tunnels?
The gee-rats?”
“Yuk! What are
they? Sound horrid!”
In her cell
Beetie would receive instruction, only she was no longer ‘Beetie’. To the
Chairman she was ‘Belinda’. Belinda learned about a world beyond, in the
Terminus, even more wonderful than her garden. On her computer screen appeared
pictures of incredible buildings, palaces and fantastical creatures. Her own
food she enjoyed, but in the Terminus she was promised a daily feast of dishes
the mere sight of which made the girl’s mouth water. Each day, God-the-Chairman
would appear and tell her all manner of things. Gradually, she got used to his
face... his large, hard eyes and buck teeth. He spoke softly and sometimes read
her poetry: verses of love and what went on between a man and a woman in
private… the tenderness and the caressing. She began to look forward to his
‘lessons’ as he called those obligatory periods when she was forced to sit and
stare at the computer. He’d become her only friend.
One thing from
the past that injections could not erase from Beetie’s mind was the face of a
boy. His name had
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