Authors: Sheila Perry
‘The Kirk would play a part,’ the other woman admitted. By then I knew she must be one of the Neo-Puritans. You didn’t hear much of them, although I seemed to recall that they had managed to get a couple of their people elected to Parliament a few years back.
At least this mention of the Kirk shut up the Republican Socialists for the time being.
I took advantage of the temporary lull to say briskly, ‘Well, I think this would be a good time to bring in the envoys.’
That was the cue for a lot more muttering, including one almost inaudible ‘Send in the clowns’, but no open dissent, so I took it as general agreement.
There were more envoys than I expected. About half as many as there were politicians in the room. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
Will had joined them, and they seemed to have elected him as spokesman, I suppose because of his Scottish accent and unthreatening manner. Quietly and calmly, he talked us all through the purpose of the petition and the process of collecting signatures, emphasising that people hadn’t been coerced, bullied or bribed into signing. Then they announced the results. It was a bit like the Eurovision Song Contests I remembered from when I was a child, only a lot more nerve-racking. If any of the envoys were to announce ‘null points’ from his or her area, I knew the outcome would lose its legitimacy.
In fact the results made me blink, more than once.
It seemed that on this occasion, as had happened a few times in the past, the people themselves had more sense than their elected representatives. The fact that the last elections had happened long before the storm may have had something to do with that.
Will himself went first.
‘Central Highlands,’ he said. ‘Five thousand, six hundred and four. Seventy per cent agreement.’
‘Glasgow,’ said an elderly woman whose hands were shaking. ‘Ten thousand, one hundred and sixty-three. Sixty five per cent agreement.’
‘Edinburgh.’ This from a young man not much older than Jen. ‘Six thousand, seven hundred and one. Eighty-five per cent agreement.’
I watched the faces of the politicians as the envoys spoke. Janet Drummond and her colleague Frank McDonald looked carefully bland. I suppose they were envisaging the King riding over the hills at the head of an English army, taking pot-shots at grouse along the way. The Neo-Puritan woman drew into herself, head down, hands folded, as if resigned to early martyrdom. The two Eco-Nationalists maintained their expressions of scornful superiority, in contrast to the thunderous frowns worn by the Republican Socialists.
At the end of it, after Mark Sutherland and Jeff had delivered their results –from the Borders and the North of Scotland respectively, so they had covered plenty of ground between them – Frank McDonald rose to his feet.
‘It seems the people have spoken,’ he said.
‘We’ve only got their word for that!’ shouted one of the young men at the noisy side of the table.
‘You’re welcome to get an independent validator to check the results,’ said Will calmly. ‘Or we could re-do the collection of signatures. It would take a while though, and I’m not sure that the English government want to wait that long.’
‘Screw the English,’ said the same young man. ‘This is our future. We can’t work to their timetable.’
‘There’s an alternative,’ said Jeff.
‘Oh, yes, and what’s that?’ said another of the men in the Republican Socialist corner.
‘Annexation,’ said Jeff bluntly.
‘What?’
There was uproar in the room. Once it calmed very slightly, Frank McDonald spoke above the mutterings that remained.
‘What’s that supposed to mean, young man?’
‘It means our government would be forced to take over Scotland,’ said Jeff. I noticed Tanya and two of her men tensing themselves, as if to spring across the room and protect him if the need arose. ‘We can’t put up with anarchy and chaos on our borders. We don’t have the capacity to deal with that as well as rebuilding. If we annex the country, you will have none of the advantages you’ve had up to now. No separate legal system. No power to set your own taxes and provide enhanced welfare payments. No education system of your own. All that would be out the window.’
‘But that’s not fair!’ gasped Janet Drummond, and then she must have realised how childish she sounded, for she closed her mouth abruptly and didn’t say any more for some time.
‘Unfair or not, that’s the reality of it,’ said Jeff. ‘On the other hand, if we can negotiate reunion, it would be on broadly similar terms to the first treaty of union. Up to you. No pressure.’
‘No pressure?’ said one of the young men in the Republican Socialist camp. ‘Ha! We’d invade England before we let that happen.’
Jeff paused before he spoke. He must have known his words would be incendiary, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
‘Oh yes? You and whose army?’
GAVIN
‘If we’re going to get the petition delivered, we’ll have to work fast,’ said Jeff, who by all accounts had escaped the wrath of the politicians by the skin of his teeth. We were on the road to Spittal of Glenshee by then, having hired a horse and cart at one of the farms to speed our journey. Declan claimed there was still a rebel stronghold there, of sorts, or at least a way to get food and rudimentary medical care.
‘How are we going to do that?’ said Dan. I wondered what he thought of the idea of presenting a petition to the English. Although he had worked against the Scottish authorities in the past, I didn’t know if that was just because he didn’t like the way they were going about things, or whether there was something deeper, such as a distaste for all authority.
Jeff smiled. ‘We go to where the English government is, and hand it in to them… We could send it electronically if the infrastructure still existed. But it’s all so flaky right now that carrier pigeon would be more reliable. Delivering it in person is the best bet.’
‘What are the chances of the English accepting reunion?’ said Emma suddenly. She had been unnaturally quiet up to now, so I suppose any sign of interest must be positive. ‘After all, Scotland’s in ruins. I doubt if we even have enough grazing land left to sustain sheep production, and the oil and fish stocks ran out a good while ago. What have they got to gain by going into another partnership with us?’
‘Don’t tell anyone I told you this, right?’ said Jeff. ‘But England’s a bit of a ruin too. I reckon we need to put our resources together to get through this… Look on the bright side – we’re better off than the Netherlands. And Denmark.’
‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘How do you think this is going to work?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Jeff with a shrug. ‘That’s not my problem. I’ve only been sent here to encourage you to take the first steps. We can’t possibly predict what’ll happen next.’
We stayed the night with the remains of Declan’s rebel group at Spittal of Glenshee. I could tell these were the diehards, who wouldn’t want to fall in with the residual Scottish government but who would quite likely fight hard to keep our independence, such as it was. They were just resistant to any kind of authority. We didn’t even bother trying to collect more audio-signatures there. But it was a pleasant enough break in the journey.
I wasn’t surprised either when Declan and Fiona told us they were staying put. These were their people, after all. They had friends here, and they could develop a common purpose, even if it was only to grumble about the terms of reunion or the expected influx of English settlers.
‘How about you, Dan?’ I enquired as we were about to leave. I had my heart in my mouth but I was desperately trying to appear nonchalant.
‘I thought I might tag along with you for a while,’ he said, equally casually.
‘Thank goodness for that!’ said Emma, giving him a quick hug which he of course resisted. ‘Are you coming too, Jen?’
For some reason she glanced at Jeff, who was on the outskirts of our little group, having tactfully withdrawn himself from the family discussion.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said at last. ‘What else would I do? There’s nowhere to go.’
I remembered her university application, all those months ago. When would she get the chance at a higher education again? On the other hand, if we did go for reunion with the rest of Britain, maybe new doors would open for her – maybe to places that weren’t so picky about letting in people who happened to have been born in England.
‘We’ll find somewhere,’ I promised her.
‘Hey,’ Dan protested. ‘This is getting sloppy again. I’m only coming with you to make sure you don’t do anything really stupid.’
‘When have you ever been able to stop me before?’ I said to him.
At least it sharpened up the mood a little. I expect Jeff was grateful.
‘I wish you’d stay here,’ I said to Emma.
‘Well, I’m not going to, so that’s too bad,’ she said, much as I had expected her to say. ‘Jeff came to fetch me because he thought I could help. The least I can do is to give it a go.’
Jeff looked at us standing there in a row. The dysfunctionally happy family. He smiled.
‘I need all of you,’ he said, but didn’t elaborate. I guessed he was afraid of getting sucked down in the excess of sentiment that seemed to be in the air.
We had borrowed a horse and cart again for Emma – and, to be honest, for some of the rest of us. I wasn’t getting any younger, after all.
Will accompanied us down towards Perth for a while. We were hoping Declan’s friend with the fishing boat was still waiting. We planned to try for a few more signatures in Perth, or the higher-lying parts of it anyway, and then to set off southwards. Jeff warned us there might be pirates or other hazards along the way, and that we would probably find chaos when we got there, but it still seemed worth a try. After all, I felt as if we had been through the worst that an independent Scotland had to offer. Linking ourselves back to the rest of the British Isles might even improve our chances, if we were lucky.
I wasn’t completely over the moon in my enthusiasm for reunion, obviously. I would leave all that side of it to Emma. My task, as I saw it, was to look after the family as we headed south, and to back her up in whatever she wanted to do. As ever.
JENNIFER
I was pleased we were going with Jeff, even though I hadn’t wanted to sound as if I was jumping at the chance.
My life really wasn’t turning out the way I had expected it to at all. This time last year I had been worrying about my exam grades, and whether I would get into the university I wanted, and maybe a bit about whether Mum and Dad were all right and what Dan was up to. Then there were the people at school and whether they liked me or not, and if I had worn the right kind of jeans that time when we went on the class trip to the wave power station at Cockburnspath.
Now there were big things to worry about, like whether we would get to England all right and what the government there would think about our pathetic little efforts to gather petition signatures, and whether we would all end up living in shacks and scratching a living from a little patch of infertile ground as our ancestors had probably done.
Oddly enough, I thought my father would probably survive better in a shack than anybody else in the family. I remembered again the way he had found the potatoes at Ravernie, and smiled to myself.
‘What were you thinking about then?’ said Jeff, who had been walking along beside me while the long-suffering horse pulled Mum and Dad along in the cart. ‘Happy memories?’
‘Sort of,’ I said. ‘It was when Dad and I went up to the hills together – before the storm – and found some left-over potatoes in the ground.’
‘So what were you doing in the hills?’
I told him the story of how we were hounded out of our home in Cramond and forced to go on the run. His eyebrows rose higher and higher as I went on.
‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully once I had finished, ‘I would never have imagined you leading such an exciting life.’
‘Neither would I,’ I said. ‘I was supposed to be the normal one of the family, who went through school without a murmur and then straight on to university to study the subject of my dreams. Once it all went wrong, though, it went totally wrong. I was just wondering what would happen next when I remembered about the potatoes.’
‘Your ancestors probably lived on potatoes,’ said Dad from where he lounged above us on the cart.
‘What about you?’ I asked Jeff. ‘Had you led an interesting life before you came up here and got shot?’
‘Hmm. I suppose so. I hadn’t been shot before – that was a first. I was with the Embassy in Washington before the first lot of floods came. Then they brought me back home to re-train. As a spy,’ he added in a whisper just for my ears. I was about to squeak something silly when he put one finger to his lips. ‘Need to know,’ he warned me.
There was something intensely annoying about his manner. He was treating me like a four-year-old. I wanted to stamp my foot and run off into the distance, but I was too scared of what I might encounter round the next corner.
There were lots more corners before we got to the spot on the River Tay just outside what was left of Perth where apparently Dad, Mark and Dan had last seen Declan’s friend’s fishing-boat. Dad was over-excited about it being still there.
‘I’d never have thought he’d wait for us,’ he said when we spotted it, not exactly hidden but camouflaged a bit by trees along the river bank. It must have been difficult to navigate even with the river waters so high, because none of the previously existing harbours were any use, being way under water of course.
It was late afternoon by then. We had made good time. Of course nobody on board the boat knew we were coming, and I was surprised they were still there. But maybe, like us, they had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. Did they spend all their time now ferrying people like us about, finding new routes and working out where the safe mooring-places were?
There was no sign of life on board. Maybe the members of the crew were asleep, making the most of a quiet spell before they had to spring into action again.
Dad tried to scramble down from the cart while it was still moving, but Jeff stopped him. It was just as well as my father wasn’t the most agile of men and would quite likely have fallen flat on his face on the road at some stage during the operation.
‘Wait a minute,’ Jeff told him. ‘We’d better check this out – let me do that. You can pick up the pieces if anything goes pear-shaped.’
I shuddered.
‘You’d better get on the cart with them,’ he said to me. ‘For a quick getaway.’
If he thought we were going to make a getaway and leave him lying injured again, he was fooling himself. I still had a vivid mental image of him on the hillside above Balmoral, apparently dying in front of me.
Jeff advanced towards the boat.
‘Take care,’ I called at the last moment.
Unfortunately, it was as he half-turned to me that somebody appeared on deck.
It was an elderly woman, armed with a lethal-looking weapon which she pointed straight at him.
‘Mrs Swan,’ my father breathed, beside me. ‘Get down.’
‘Who’s Mrs Swan when she’s at home?’ said my mother in her clearest, most carrying voice.
‘Sssh!’ said the rest of us.
‘That’ll be me,’ said the woman with a harsh laugh.
‘Mrs Swan?’ said Jeff, apparently puzzled.
‘Irene Swan. Employee of the real Scottish government. Licensed to kill, and so on.’
‘Really?’ he said.
‘Don’t test me,’ she warned him.
Behind me on the cart, something was stirring. Dan! I didn’t dare turn round to see what he was up to. Instead I kept very still. I would have hoped he didn’t do anything silly, but years of living with him had taught me just to hope instead that he didn’t get hurt. Unfortunately he had got away with too much over the past couple of years, and tended to think he was invincible.
‘Don’t you start anything, Daniel Hepburn.’ Mrs Swan barely raised her voice. ‘Just because everybody else is pretending they can’t see what you’re up to, doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you in your tracks if you do something stupid.’
I risked a glance round. Mum had grabbed Dan by the arm and was holding him back.
‘What do you want from us?’ she said to the other woman.
‘I want to get rid of you before you pose a real threat,’ said Mrs Swan casually. ‘They were meant to keep you at Balmoral. Waiting for trial. But I think the interests of Scotland would be better served by exterminating the lot of you.’
‘You could start a war with England by doing this,’ said Jeff.
She laughed again. ‘I don’t think the disappearance of one little English agent is going to make any difference in the scheme of things. Anyway, they’ve got their own problems. I’m afraid your death won’t cause more than a ripple in the great river of time.’
It was the way she laughed that made me think she was mad. But the part about the river of time wasn’t very reassuring either.
‘Where did she come from?’ I whispered to Dad.
‘She was in our group in the Pentlands for a while,’ he muttered, ‘but then she held me up on the boat.’
‘Enough talking amongst yourselves!’ said Mrs Swan, waving the weapon vaguely in our direction. ‘You can all get down off that cart right away.’
‘I’m not sure if I can walk,’ said Mum.
‘Oh, I think you can,’ said Mrs Swan unpleasantly. ‘Given the chance.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Dad in an undertone as we got clumsily down from the cart. ‘She’s well outnumbered.’
Yes, but she had the gun, or whatever it was. Mrs Swan chose that moment to demonstrate what sort of weapon it was by blasting a hole in a tree. The thing operated soundlessly, which was if anything more unnerving than if it had made a huge bang.
It was a sign of how we had adapted to the events we had lived through so far that none of us jumped out of our skins at that point.
Instead Mark Sutherland, who had crept round to the side while the woman was focussing on us, calmly jumped aboard the boat and tackled Mrs Swan to the deck. The weapon went off again, but she fired straight up in the air this time. There was a sort of disturbance somewhere above us, but that was it.