The Future King: Logres (30 page)

‘It looks great.’ Gwenhwyfar flicked back and forth between the
pages, comparing each picture. ‘This one’s definitely my favourite. I love the
make-up.’

They were sitting in the large square of grass by the Design Technology
rooms. In the wing behind Viola, opposite the drama studios, was their tutor
room, which overlooked both the benches and the narrow strip of grounds between
Badbury and the perimeter fence.

‘Think Bedivere will find us here?’ Viola asked, stowing her
portfolio away in her schoolbag.

‘He should do. We’ll go inside in a bit, anyway.’ Gwenhwyfar let her
gaze drift across the grounds. The bin by the steps down to the Badbury
changing rooms was overflowing, picked at by seagulls, and the hedge along the
path left little to be seen of the houses beyond, its trimmed top interrupted
by long spindles of yew. She realised that Viola had said something, and
apologised for missing it. Her friend eyed her with concern.

‘What’s wrong? You seem off.’

‘Off?’ Gwenhwyfar questioned, suddenly feeling defensive.

‘I mean distracted. You were out of it on Friday, too. Is everything
all right?’ For a moment Viola tried to figure out what to say. ‘It’s not Arthur,
is it?’

She was insulted by the assumption. ‘No, it’s not Arthur. Arthur’s
fine.’ Suddenly the words seemed to crawl up her throat, and before she knew it
they were tumbling from her lips. ‘I overheard my mam talking with my aunt on
Thursday. She thinks my father is having an affair.’

Viola was shocked. ‘She does?’ Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘Does he know?’

‘No,’ she said, angrily. ‘She doesn’t know that I know, either. So
they’re both lying to me, acting like everything’s normal when it’s
not
. This weekend was a complete
nightmare. I thought I was going to explode.’

Viola joined her on her side of the bench. ‘What did your mum say? Does
she have proof?’

Her tears were immediate. ‘She found a bank account. Apparently he’s
been using it to buy that
whore
presents.
He’s always working late and staying up in London. I’d have never thought he
was capable of such a thing, but now that she’s said it, I feel stupid. It’s
obvious.’

‘Nothing’s obvious,’ Viola contested, calmly. ‘You may’ve heard wrong.
And remember, your mum doesn’t know for sure. She thinks he’s having an affair.
She could be mistaken.’

‘She should talk to me about it, at least. I’m her
daughter
. I can’t just go on, pretending
like everything’s normal. I can’t!’ She gasped, struggling for the breath to
speak. ‘Why else would he have a hidden bank account? What else could he be
hiding?’

‘I don’t know. You can’t assume
anything.’ Viola frowned. ‘Maybe you can talk to one of them about it?’

‘Oh yeah, that’ll work,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked. ‘“Hey, Mam, Dad; is it
true Dad’s having an affair?” Right.’

‘What else can you do?’ Viola huffed, removing her supporting arm as
Gwenhwyfar sat up straight. ‘Either that or you don’t say anything: ignore
it. Push it to the back of your mind
until one of them sits you down and tells you that they’re getting divorced. Plenty
of couples stay together after affairs. Nothing may come of this.’

Gwenhwyfar sniffed up the mucus that clogged her nose, rubbed her
eyes, and nodded.

‘I know it sounds harsh, but if he
is
having an affair, and if they
do
break up, you’ll have plenty of things to worry about later.
Trust me.’

She huddled into herself to stave off a sudden chill. ‘Why did your
parents divorce? Was it because of your dad?’

‘Partly. My mum also had an affair. I only found out when she’d
already run off to Paris with her new squeeze.’ She offered her an empty smile.
‘My dad sat me down and said they’d decided I should stay with him because I
was English. She’s French, but I haven’t spoken French since I was six.’

There was a moment’s silence. Gwenhwyfar watched Viola closely.

‘I don’t blame her. I mean, I
did
,
but after learning that my dad was gay I realised that it wasn’t just on her.
He never told her. He was afraid to. It’s easier to have a wife and kids. In a
way it’s good of them to have held up the façade for so long, just for me.’

‘But they lied to you,’ Gwenhwyfar pointed out. ‘You must be angry.’

‘Why? They both love me, and they both loved each other once; that
was real. At least if it happens for you, you’ll be prepared. I’m sorry though.
I know it sucks.’

‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault my father’s a sleazebag.’ Gwenhwyfar
laughed slightly, but it was false laughter and only made her feel worse. She
bent her head to dry her eyes on her woollen gloves. Viola stood up.

‘We should go. Bedivere’s obviously missed us.’

Sniffing, Gwenhwyfar nodded and followed Viola back into Badbury,
fanning her face in the hope that she could blow away all evidence of her tears.

No one seemed to notice that anything was wrong during registration,
and when Gwenhwyfar and Bedivere came to their History room they found that
Marvin was already sitting at his desk, letting his students wander in as they
pleased. As they passed Gavin and Tom’s empty seats Bedivere frowned, and looked
back to the door.

‘Marvin’s raring to go,’ Arthur remarked as they joined him. ‘He’s got
us set for a lesson on the Tudors.’

‘Makes a change from the World Wars,’ Bedivere murmured. He leant
towards the middle of their two tables anxiously. ‘Is Gavin in today?’

‘I think so,’ Gwenhwyfar said. ‘Why?’

‘I need to ask him something. About Marvin’s club.’

‘What about it?’

‘Marvin’s said we can invite one person each,’ interrupted Arthur. He
looked at her expectantly. ‘I was going to invite you.’

‘Oh.’ He’d caught her off guard. ‘So I don’t have to ask Marvin if I
can join, after all?’

‘No. He’s fine with it. I can pick you up, if you like.’

‘Couldn’t you have asked him earlier?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, if you really wanted me there you could have just asked him
in the first place. It’s not like he would’ve said no.’

‘He did say no, actually,’ Arthur frowned. ‘I asked him two weeks ago
but he was worried about expanding too quickly.’

‘And before?’

‘I told you; it was by invitation only. He only invited me, Bedivere
and Morgan.’

She wasn’t in the mood for something like this. Shrugging, she turned
to Morgan, annoyed that it was her who had been chosen first. ‘Who are you
inviting?’

‘Lance, but I haven’t asked him yet.’

That surprised her. Thrown, Gwenhwyfar looked to Arthur.

‘I still can’t believe you’re choosing him,’ he grumbled darkly.
Morgan rolled her eyes and returned to her work. He set his brown eyes on
Gwenhwyfar. ‘So are you coming?’

‘I’ll think about it. After all, I’m sure it’s just looking at stuffy
prose, right? Completely boring.’

‘He was only being cautious,’ Arthur said. ‘He wasn’t suggesting that
you wouldn’t find it interesting—’

She felt a flare of irritation. ‘That’s what he
said
, Arthur.’

‘You know he didn’t mean it like that. Once you’re in the club it’ll
be different. He knows you’ll find it interesting—I told him.’

Reluctant to give in when she had been excluded for so long, Gwenhwyfar
glanced at their teacher. ‘I don’t know. Fridays are difficult for me,’ she
lied. ‘Look, if you’re sure he wants me there, I’ll come. I just thought it was
a bit
exclusive
. When is it?’

‘Friday, at quarter to six,’ Arthur said, clearly wounded.

She thought for a moment. Perhaps it would be good to get out of the
house. ‘I’ll see if I’m free.’

‘It’s only an hour,’ Bedivere pleaded. ‘You have to come, if only to help
keep Lance in check.’

‘Will you stop talking about him like he’s some unwanted mongrel?’
Morgan snapped, her face flushing pink with anger.

‘But he
is
unwanted,’
Arthur remarked with a smirk.

Morgan wheeled on him. ‘What, afraid he’ll knock you off your perch? That
you won’t be Marvin’s favourite anymore?’

‘It’s not about that,’ Arthur objected, abashed.

‘No—? Then what is it? You’re behaving like a spoilt child.’

‘Why is everyone suddenly having a go at me?’ Arthur exclaimed. ‘I’m
not the one who wants to bring the village idiot to the table.’

Morgan’s cheeks brightened to beetroot, and whether it was pain that flashed
in her eyes or anger, Gwenhwyfar couldn’t tell.

‘Fine!’ she hissed. ‘Ridicule him if you want. I’m asking him, and
that’s that. If you’ve got a problem with it, don’t turn up.’

Gwenhwyfar had never seen Morgan lose her temper before, but was glad
of it. Suddenly the other girl seemed more human. ‘He probably won’t want to
come anyway,’ she said with confidence. ‘If Arthur’s going, and Marvin’s there,
he’ll keep as far away as possible.’

‘Right,’ Bedivere agreed, looking at his friend. ‘You’re probably
worrying over nothing.’

Morgan caught his eye sharply, but held her tongue, and buckled low
over her exercise book to scrawl in the margins. Gavin and Tom arrived late,
and soon Marvin was on his feet again, lecturing them on the triumphs and
tragedies of the house of Tudor.

‘Did you hear about the Mobilisation Centres?’

They were sitting in the canteen, enjoying the rarity of a nearly
empty hall. The door at the end of the cafeteria was open, refreshing the building
with a clean autumn breeze warmed by golden sunlight. Gavin crouched closer to
the table. ‘Someone’s blown the whistle. They’re not as great as the New
Nationals make out.’

Tom and Lancelot were in the practice rooms, working on their music
with The Oxymorons. Gwenhwyfar frowned.

‘You mean those reintegration centres where they send the homeless?’ she
asked quietly. Gavin nodded. ‘What have you heard?’

‘That the residents are being systematically abused,’ Gavin explained
in an undertone. ‘Some have even disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’ Gwenhwyfar echoed. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means vanished: gone. People recorded in one register but omitted
from the next. Old records amended to erase their existence completely.
Families asking about loved ones sent away with lies about them reintegrating
into society. It’s the people with physical disabilities that go first.’

‘What’s this?’ Bedivere arrived at their table with a dinner tray in
his hands; his usual serving of mashed potato, gravy and peas piled high.

‘Mobilisation Centres. They’re basically hard labour camps. I’ve seen
the documents… pictures.’ Gavin’s mouth distorted with revulsion at the memory.
‘The government knows.’

‘I haven’t seen anything about this in the news,’ Viola commented.

‘Of course not. The main broadcasters won’t cover this. It’s just
been released on the Dark Net. If anyone does try to report it—’

‘They’ll get
corrected
?’

Gavin looked at Bedivere curiously. ‘Right.’

‘Corrected?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.

‘The article is amended, or deleted. The sites that published have
already been taken down. The guy who blew the whistle,
Meerkat6791
,
has gone
into hiding. He published the official documents: it’s all in there. The people
who go into these centres don’t come out. Think about it, when have they ever?
We’ve all seen the homeless disappear off our streets, but do we ever ask where
they end up?’

‘This can’t be true,’ Gwenhwyfar said. Her voice seemed separated
from her own body. ‘People wouldn’t stand for it.’

‘People either don’t know, or don’t want to know. The New Nationals won’t
admit to anything. “It’s just one centre. We’ve launched an investigation.” I
can hear it now. I’m thinking about getting in contact with the people who
helped
Meerkat
publish.’

‘Gavin,’ Viola warned, suddenly afraid. ‘You shouldn’t.’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Because it’s dangerous?’

‘Viola’s right,’ Gwenhwyfar urged. ‘If this is true, getting involved
is the last thing you want to do.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes,’ he retorted. ‘I’m not stupid, Vi.’

‘And neither am I!’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘I know that you want to
help people, but sticking your neck through the guillotine—?’

‘So you’d rather me sit back and do nothing?’ he hissed, his voice
rising.

‘We don’t know yet—’

‘We do—!’

‘I haven’t read anything.’

‘Look it up, then,’ Gavin exclaimed.

‘It’s bad enough that you hide your activities from the New
Nationals,’ Viola argued, ‘but to get involved in something like this? In a
world of open doors, it’s the locked ones that get picked. As far as the New
Nationals are concerned wish to conceal will be taken as guilt enough.
Involving yourself with activists will only give them more reason to monitor
you.’