Fifty Fifty (12 page)

‘Um – yeah, a bit,’ Gil said.

‘She wouldn’t hurt you. She’s more likely to hurt herself,’ said Jude. ‘She’s got schizophrenia and she drinks as well. It’s not a good combination.
There’re things going on inside her head that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.’

Gil thought of Mum again. If Mum was going mad, would she end up like Sally, lying face down in the front garden with a can of lager? Was there any way he could stop it?

‘Sit here,’ said Jude, patting the armchair.

Gil sat down carefully, feeling the springs creak. The chair was covered in green velvet, but there were bald patches and cigarette burns on the arms. Jude plonked himself on the old office
chair at his desk and sat twizzling from side to side. He pulled the tobacco out of his pocket and started to roll a cigarette. Gil watched him for a minute and suddenly felt better. Why had he
wanted to run away? Jude was safe. There was nothing to worry about. He allowed himself to relax into the chair.

‘That stuff Sally was talking about – the experiments,’ Gil said. ‘That isn’t really happening to her, is it?’

‘Not in quite the way she imagines,’ said Jude. ‘But yeah, it’s happening all right. Sally’s convinced someone’s been fiddling with her DNA, trying to turn
her into an animal. But it’s not so far from the truth. You know about genetic modification, I guess?’

‘Not a lot,’ said Gil.

Jude looked down at the flimsy cigarette paper in his fingers. His voice was clear and soothing. ‘It’s a massive issue. All kinds of plants and animals that we use for food have had
their genes altered without us knowing, and nobody really knows what impact it’s going to have. Strawberries, for example – well, they’ve created a strawberry that’s got a
gene from an Arctic flounder spliced into it to make it more resistant to frost. Half-fruit, half-fish. Creepy, eh? But if you ate it you’d never know. They’ve probably got them on the
shelves over at Tesco. So Sally’s not quite as crazy as she sounds. It’s the science that’s mad. And the scientists, who think they’ve got a licence to do whatever they want
in the pursuit of knowledge and money.’

‘Like my dad, you mean,’ Gil said.

‘Yes,’ said Jude seriously. ‘Like your dad.’

‘I know it sounds stupid,’ Gil said, ‘but I never knew . . . I never knew . . .’

Gil’s throat closed up and to his complete horror he realised he was going to cry. His stomach rose, squeezing the space inside his lungs and demanding that he took a breath. But he
didn’t dare breathe. If he breathed he would sob like a baby. He couldn’t let Jude see him cry. Instead he shut his eyes and heard Jude say in the darkness, ‘You never knew what
your dad did, huh?’

Gil shook his head.

‘He never told you he worked in the labs,’ said Jude. ‘Doing all that stuff to animals.’

‘No,’ Gil managed to say.

‘And I was the one who dumped it on you without warning, wasn’t I?’

Gil opened his eyes. Jude was fiddling with his cigarette. He looked unhappy.

‘I should have considered your feelings before I laid into him,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry. It’s a shock for you, isn’t it?’

‘It would have been a shock however I found out,’ Gil said. ‘It’s not your fault.’ He found he could breathe again, as long as he did it carefully. He watched Jude
put the cigarette between his lips and light it, then inhale deeply and blow the smoke out into the room, just the way he had when Gil had first seen him in the tree.

‘The problem is . . .’ Gil went on, and then stopped, distracted. Jude had whipped the cigarette out of his mouth and was stubbing it out furiously on a corner of the desk.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ said Gil. ‘I really don’t mind if you smoke.’

‘Nah,’ said Jude. ‘I shouldn’t inflict it on you. I can wait. Go on.’

‘It’s just – I don’t know what to do now. Now I know about all the stuff in that booklet you gave me, I want to
do
something. I want to tell Dad he’s wrong,
for a start. But talking to him is . . .’ Gil shook his head. ‘It’s impossible. He’s always got an answer. I mean, yesterday I decided I’d become a vegetarian, and he
even had an answer for that.’

‘What did he say?’ asked Jude.

‘He said it was pointless being a vegetarian because things like milk and butter all lead back to meat in the end. So the only logical thing was to become a vegan and give up animal
products altogether.’

‘He’s right, actually,’ said Jude. ‘Clever git.’

‘So are
you
a vegan?’

‘Yep.’

Gil didn’t know what to say. He’d been a vegetarian for less than twenty-four hours and already it felt difficult. How did anyone have the willpower to be a vegan? What on earth did
you eat if you weren’t allowed cheese or butter or eggs?

‘Giving up meat is a fantastic start,’ said Jude, gently. ‘Meat production is almost as sickening as the stuff your dad’s involved in. Don’t give yourself too hard
a time if you can’t do everything at once.’

‘So what else can I do?’

‘Well, don’t argue with your dad, for one thing. It’s a waste of time and it’ll wear you down. You’ll never convince him. It’s like trying to convince a dog
not to eat its own sick – it’ll just keep going back to it once your back is turned. Your dad’s whole reputation is built on animal experiments. He won’t give it up just
like that. But you can talk to other people – your friends at school, people on the streets – tell them about the reality of animal experiments. People don’t know half of
what’s going on, and they need to know. I can give you leaflets to hand out if you like. You can boycott products that are tested on animals. You can write to shops and manufacturers and tell
them you’ll stop buying their goods unless they change their policy on animal testing.’

‘Is that what you do?’

‘Amongst other things, yes.’

Gil saw Jude glance up at the photo above his desk, and then immediately look away as if he’d been caught spying.

‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ Gil said.

‘Yeah,’ said Jude.

‘What were you doing, in that picture?’

‘Liberating a dog that was used in experiments.’

‘Where from?’

‘Can’t tell you. Sorry,’ said Jude.

‘If I wanted to do that too, would you let me help you?’

Jude shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous, Gil. If I got caught I’d go to prison. I can’t drag you into that.’

‘So are you planning to shut down the labs where my dad works?’ asked Gil.

Jude nodded.

‘How?’

‘I can’t tell you that either.’

‘But you’re really going to do it?’

‘If we can work out a strategy,’ said Jude quietly. ‘It’s a tough one. The place is probably as well-defended as Buckingham Palace, for one thing.’ He grinned
suddenly. ‘I reckon you’ve got a bit of a revolutionary streak, haven’t you? Just like your namesake.’

‘Who’s my namesake?’ Gil didn’t have a clue what Jude was talking about.

‘Gil Scott-Heron. When you first told me you were called Gil I thought you might be named after him.’

‘Who is he?’

‘
The revolution will not be televised
,’ said Jude, in a really bad American accent. He leapt up, pulled a CD off the bookshelf, and slid it into a tiny music system.
‘Listen.’

Gil listened. It was like a rap poem, but it was full of names he didn’t recognise and he only understood bits of it. He looked at the face on the CD cover, a black man with big afro hair
and a beard, bellowing into a microphone. You could see the veins in his head and neck standing out with the effort.

‘You will not be able to stay home, brother.

You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out . . .

Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner,

Because the revolution will not be televised, brother . . .

There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock news . . .’

Jude bounced around in his office chair in time to the beat, and then joined in with the words.

‘The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,

will not be televised, will not be televised.

The revolution will be no re-run, brothers.

The revolution will be LIVE.’

Gil tried to imagine Dad at the desk in his study, chanting along to Gil Scott-Heron. It wasn’t easy, even when he remembered what Dad had told him about being arrested and nearly sent to
prison.

‘I don’t think I was named after him,’ Gil said, as Jude flicked a switch on the music system.

‘Jude?’ Sally was calling from outside the door. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Jude. ‘I promised her breakfast in exchange for the cans.’

‘I’d better go anyway,’ said Gil. ‘I need to get back to school. They think I’m at the dentist.’

‘Will you be OK?’

From the way Jude looked at him Gil knew he meant more than, ‘Will you be OK getting back to school?’ It was eleven o’clock in the morning and already Gil was worn out.
Jude’s room was safe, but it could only be a temporary hiding place. Gil knew that he had to venture back out into the world again, and that later he would have to face Dad and decide what
part he was going to act.

‘I think I’m OK, yes.’

‘Take some leaflets.’ Jude took a big stack out of a box under his desk. ‘Phone me any time, if you need to. And do what you can, Gil. Just do what you can.’

Gil dawdled as much as he dared on the way back to school but still got there too early, more than half an hour before the end of morning lessons. Even after he’d spent
five minutes explaining to the secretary on the front desk exactly why his visit to the dentist had taken so long, he still couldn’t avoid joining the tail end of the science lesson.

He sneaked quietly into a room full of chatter, with everyone clustered in small groups around microscopes. Gil reckoned he had a good chance of blending in without being noticed, until he saw
Louis look up from the other side of the room and beckon him over enthusiastically.

Crap,
thought Gil. Why did Louis always notice him? Did he beam out some kind of radio signal that went straight to Louis’ brain? And Ben was with him again. Reluctantly Gil began
to make his way across the room.

‘You’ve got to help us,’ said Louis loudly. ‘We can’t do this stupid thing. Look.’

Louis pushed Ben away from the microscope. Ben shoved him back, hard, and the microscope wobbled.

‘Ask Mr Montague,’ said Gil. ‘I haven’t been here, have I? I don’t have a clue what you’re trying to do.’

‘We’re supposed to be drawing a cell, dummy,’ said Ben. ‘But we can’t even
see
it.’

‘So?’ Gil shrugged. ‘Not my problem, guys.’

‘Oh, stuff this,’ said Ben, pushing the microscope away roughly. ‘You’re no help, are you, Jillian?’

‘What did you say?’ said Gil, faking a smile.

‘I said,
Jillian
, that you’re no bloody help. Have you got a problem with that?’

Gil stared at Ben’s face. Maybe he should just punch Ben hard, right between his stupid piggy eyes. Or kick him right between his stupid fat legs. But it would get him a week of detentions
at least. It probably wasn’t worth it. As Gil stood considering, he became aware of Louis leaning closer to him.

‘Where have you been?’ said Louis suspiciously.

‘At the dentist,’ said Gil. ‘Where do you think?’

Louis sniffed. ‘You smell of cigarettes. And you’ve been gone ages.’

‘Yeah, well, it took ages.’

‘So why do you smell of cigarettes? Dentists don’t smoke. Not at work, anyway. Did you sneak out of school to smoke or something?’

‘Jillian wouldn’t try a cigarette,’ sneered Ben. ‘Might get into trouble with Daddy.’

Gil turned away so he couldn’t see Ben’s face.

‘I probably stood next to someone smoking at the bus stop, that’s all,’ Gil said.

‘What, you went on the bus?’ Louis frowned.

‘Yes. So what?’

‘I thought you were supposed to be grounded. If your dad won’t even let you come to school by yourself, how come he let you go to the dentist by yourself?’

‘So you don’t believe me?’

‘Not really,’ said Louis.

‘That’s your problem, then, isn’t it?’

‘If you’ve been to the dentist, what did you have done?’

‘A filling,’ said Gil. ‘A big one.’

‘Show me.’

‘Oh, yeah!’ said Ben enthusiastically. ‘Let’s see! Did it make you cry, Jillian?’

Gil walked away, right over to Mr Montague’s desk, and as soon as the bell rang he headed straight for the door. Louis managed to catch him up in the corridor on the way to the
canteen.

‘Are you hacked off with me or something?’ he puffed.

‘Yeah,’ said Gil. ‘For hanging out with Ben again.’

‘I wasn’t hanging out with him. You weren’t there, remember? Mr Montague put me with him. I didn’t have much choice. God, I hate science.’

‘So do I,’ said Gil. He thought of Jude’s booklet, and the pile of leaflets in his bag. ‘The whole thing’s sick.’

‘But you’re
good
at it,’ said Louis, looking puzzled.

‘That doesn’t mean I like it, does it?’

They had reached the canteen. Hardly anybody else was there yet, and Gil headed straight for the usual counter. So it would be sausages, chips and beans again. Gil picked up a sausage with a
pair of tongs and then remembered with a jolt that he wasn’t supposed to be eating meat any more. What was he meant to have for lunch at school if he didn’t eat meat?