Luke grunted in disgust and rolled onto his back. Those stupid Equal names seemed designed to confuse. And who really cared why the slavedays had begun, hundreds of years ago? All that mattered was that they’d never ended. Everyone in Britain except the Equals – the Skilled aristocrats – still had to give up a decade of their life. Those years were spent confined to one of the grim slavetowns that shadowed every major city, with no pay and no respite.
Movement caught his eye and he sat up, scenting distraction. A stranger had walked up the driveway and was peering through the windows of Dad’s car. This wasn’t unusual. Luke jumped up and went over.
‘Brilliant, isn’t it?’ he told the guy. ‘It’s an Austin-Healey, more than fifty years old. My dad restored it. He’s a mechanic. But I helped. It took us more than a year. I could probably do most of it myself now, he’s taught me so much.’
‘Is that right? Well, I reckon you’ll be sorry to see it go, then.’
‘See it go?’ Luke was nonplussed. ‘It’s not going anywhere.’
‘Eh? But this is the address in the advert.’
‘Can I help?’ Abi had appeared at Luke’s shoulder. She nudged him gently. ‘You get back to your revision, little bro. I’ll handle this.’
Luke was about to tell her not to bother, that the man had made a mistake, when a stampede of small girls hurtled around the house and thundered towards them.
‘Daisy!’ Abi yelled repressively. ‘You’re not to play round the front. I don’t want anyone tearing into the road and getting run over.’
Daisy trotted over to join them. She wore a large orange badge with a sparkly ‘10’ on it, and a sash across her chest bearing the words ‘Birthday Girl’.
‘Honestly.’ Daisy folded her arms. ‘It was only for a minute, Abi.’
The man who’d come about the car was looking at Daisy intently. He’d better not be some kind of pervert.
‘Birthday girl, is it?’ he said, reading the sash. ‘You’re ten? I see . . .’
His face went funny for a moment, with some expression Luke couldn’t work out. Then he looked at the three of them standing there. It wasn’t a threatening look, but it made Luke put his arm round his little sis and draw her closer.
‘Tell you what,’ the man said. ‘I’ll give your dad a call some other time. You enjoy your party, young lady. Have your fun while you can.’
He nodded at Daisy, then turned and ambled off down the driveway.
‘Weird,’ said Daisy expansively. Then she gave a war-whoop and led her pals in a prancing, cheering conga back round the rear of the house.
‘Weird’ was the word, Luke thought. In fact, the entire day had felt not quite right.
But it wasn’t until he lay awake in bed that night that it all came together. Selling the car. The fuss over Daisy’s birthday. The suspicious absence of nagging over his own exam revision.
When he heard hushed conversation floating up from the kitchen, and padded downstairs to find his parents and Abi sat at the table studying paperwork, Luke knew he was right.
‘When were you planning on telling me and Daisy?’ he said from the doorway, deriving a grim satisfaction from their confusion. ‘At least you let the poor kid blow out the candles on her cake before your big reveal. “Happy Birthday, darling. Mummy and Daddy have a surprise: they’re abandoning you to do their slavedays.”’
The three of them looked back at him in silence. On the tabletop, Dad’s hand reached for Mum’s. Parental solidarity – never a good sign.
‘So what’s the plan? That Abi’s going to look after me and Daisy? How will she do that when she’s at med school?’
‘Sit down, Luke.’
Dad was an easy-going man, but his voice was unusually firm. That was the first alarm.
Then as he stepped into the room Luke noticed the documents Abi was hastily shuffling into a pile. A suspiciously large pile. The uppermost sheet bore Daisy’s date of birth.
Understanding slid into Luke’s brain and lodged its sharp point there.
‘It’s not just you, is it?’ he croaked. ‘It’s all of us. Now that Daisy’s turned ten, it’s legal. You’re taking us with you. We’re all going to do our slavedays.’
He could hardly say the last word. It stole the breath from his chest.
In an instant, the slavedays had gone from being a dull exam question, to the next decade of Luke’s life. Ripped away from everyone and everything he knew. Sent to Manchester’s filthy, unforgiving slavetown, Millmoor.
‘You know what they say.’ Luke was unsure whether he was berating his parents or begging them. ‘“Do your slavedays too old, you’ll never get through them. Do your slavedays too young, you’ll never get over them.” What part of that don’t you understand? Nobody does days at my age, let alone Daisy’s.’
‘It’s not a decision your mother and I have taken lightly,’ Dad replied, keeping his voice steady.
‘We only want the best for you all,’ Mum said. ‘And we believe this is it. You’re too young to appreciate it now, but life is different for those who’ve done their days. It gives you opportunities – better opportunities than your father and I had.’