Luke knew what she meant. You weren’t a full citizen until you’d completed your slavedays, and only citizens could hold certain jobs, own a house, or travel abroad. But jobs and houses were unimaginably far off, and ten years of servitude in exchange for a few weeks of foreign holidays didn’t seem much of a trade.
His parents’ reasonableness knifed Luke with betrayal. This wasn’t something his parents just got to choose, like new curtains for the living room. This was Luke’s life. About which they’d made a huge decision without consulting him.
Though they had, apparently, consulted Abi.
‘As she’s eighteen,’ Dad said, following Luke’s gaze, ‘Abigail is of age to make up her own mind. And obviously your mum and I are delighted that she’s decided to come with us. In fact, she’s done rather more than that.’
Dad put his arm round Abi’s shoulders and squeezed proudly. What had the girl wonder done now?
‘Are you serious?’ Luke asked his sister. ‘You’ve been offered places at three different medical schools, and you’re turning them down to spend the next decade saying nin hao every five minutes in Millmoor’s Bank of China call centre? Or maybe they’ll put you in the textiles factory. Or the meat-packing plant.’
‘Cool it, little bro,’ Abi said. ‘I’ve deferred my offers. And I’m not going to Millmoor. None of us are. Do what Dad says: sit down, and I’ll explain.’
Still furious, but desperate to know how you could do days without going to Millmoor, Luke complied. And he listened with a mixture of admiration and horror as Abi told him what she’d done.
It was insane. It was terrifying.
It was still slavedays, and because he was under eighteen it wasn’t like Luke had a choice one way or the other. His parents could take him wherever they wanted.
But at least they weren’t taking him to the hellhole that was Millmoor.
Mum and Dad told Daisy the next morning, and she accepted the news with a stoicism that made Luke ashamed. For the first time he allowed himself to think that maybe his parents’ plan was the right one, and that they’d all get through their days just fine, as a family.
A few days later, once it had all sunk in, he told his best friend, Simon. Si let out a low whistle at the big reveal.
‘There’s a department within the Labour Allocation Bureau called Estates Services, where the Equals go for their house-slaves,’ Luke said. ‘Abi made an application for us there. We’re being sent south to Kyneston.’
‘Even I’ve heard of Kyneston.’ Si was incredulous. ‘That’s the Jardines. The top of the lot. Lord Jardine is the scary dude who was Chancellor when we were little. What on earth do they want you for?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Luke admitted.
The paperwork had detailed roles for Mum, Dad and Abi: as the estate nurse, Kyneston’s vehicle mechanic, and something secretarial. But no assignment was specified for Luke or Daisy – presumably because they were minors, Abi explained. They might not have a particular job, but simply be required to do tasks on an as-needed basis.
Luke had caught himself imagining what those things could be. Scrubbing the mansion’s gold-plated toilets, perhaps? Or how about waiting on the Equals at dinner, hair combed and white gloves on, spooning peas from a silver tureen? None of it appealed.
‘And Daisy,’ Si continued. ‘What use do the Jardines have for a kid that little? What use have they got for a nurse, come to that? I thought the Equals used their Skill to heal themselves.’
Luke thought the same, but Abi, ever willing to clarify and correct, pointed out that nobody really knew what the Equals could do with their Skill, which was why it was particularly exciting to be going to an estate. Daisy had nodded so hard in agreement it was a wonder her head hadn’t fallen off. Luke doubted even the Equals could fix that.
The summer crawled by. Some time mid-July, Luke thumped downstairs to find an estate agent showing prospective tenants around the house. Soon after, the hallway filled up with boxes so their possessions could be taken to storage.
Early August, he went into town with a few friends from the school soccer team and broke the not-so-happy news. There’d been shock, sympathy, and the suggestion of a valedictory visit to a pub where the barman was known to be a poor judge of age. But in the end, they’d just had a kick-around in the park.
They hadn’t made any plans to meet up again.
With twelve days to go, the bloke who’d turned up asking about the car came back. Luke watched his father hand over the keys and had to turn away, blinking. He was not going to start crying over a car, of all things.
But he knew it wasn’t the vehicle he was mourning, so much as what it represented. Bye-bye, driving lessons in the autumn. So long, independence. Won’t be seeing you in a hurry, best years of my life.