‘Awright, then,’ Si said. ‘I’ll be off. You have a quick ten years.’
Luke watched him go, the last part of his old life, walking away round the corner and out of sight.
Then, because there was nothing else left to do, he went and joined his sisters, stretching out on the lawn in the sun. Daisy lolled against him, her head resting heavily on his ribs as he breathed in and out. He closed his eyes and listened to the noise of the TV from the house on the other side; the rumble of traffic from the main road; birdsong; Mum telling Dad that she wasn’t sure whether she’d packed enough sandwiches for the five-hour journey to Kyneston.
Something small crawled out of the grass and crept across his neck until he swatted it. Luke wondered if he could sleep away the next ten years, like someone in a fairy tale, and wake to find that his days were over and done with.
Then Dad’s voice, officious, and Mum saying, ‘Get up, kids. It’s time.’
The Jardines hadn’t sent a chauffeur-driven Rolls for them, of course. Just a plain old silver-grey saloon car. Dad was showing their papers to its driver, a woman whose sweater was embroidered with ‘LAB’, the Labour Allocation Bureau’s initials.
‘Five of you?’ the lady was saying, frowning at the documents. ‘I’ve only got four names here.’
Mum stepped forward, wearing her most reassuring face.
‘Well, our youngest, Daisy, wasn’t quite ten when we did the paperwork, but she is now, which is probably—’
‘Daisy? Nope, I’ve got her down.’ The woman read from the top sheet on her clipboard. ‘HADLEY, Steven, Jacqueline, Abigail and Daisy. Collection: 11 a.m. from 28 Hawthornden Road, Manchester. Destination: Kyneston Estate, Hampshire.’
‘What?’
Mum snatched the clipboard, Abi craning over her shoulder to look at it.
Anxiety and a mad kind of hope knotted their fingers in Luke’s guts and pulled in opposite directions. The paperwork had been botched up. He had a reprieve. Maybe he wouldn’t have to do his days at all.
Another vehicle turned into the street, a bulky black minivan with an insignia blazoned across the bonnet. They all knew that symbol, and the words curled underneath: ‘Labore et honore’. Millmoor’s town motto.
‘Ah, my colleagues,’ said the woman, visibly relieved. ‘I’m sure they’ll be able to clarify.’
‘Look,’ hissed Abi, pointing to something in the papers.
The van pulled up in front of the house and a thickset man, hair buzzed almost to his scalp, got out. He wasn’t wearing the LAB outfit, but something that looked more like a police uniform. A truncheon hung from his utility belt and knocked against his leg as he walked over.
‘Luke Hadley?’ he said, stopping in front of Luke. ‘Guess that’s you, sonny. Grab your bag, we’ve got another four to pick up.’
‘What does this mean?’ Abi asked the LAB woman, thrusting the clipboard under her face.
Several sheets were curled back and Luke recognized the face in the photo now uppermost as his own. The page was scored by a thick red line, with two words stamped across it.
‘What does it mean?’ The woman laughed nervously. ‘Well, “Surplus: reassign” explains itself, surely? Kyneston Estate has been unable to find any useful activity for your brother, so his file was returned to us for reassignment. As an unqualified solo male, there’s really only one option.’
Anxiety had won the tug-of-war, and was hauling Luke’s guts out length by length, helped along by fear. He wasn’t needed at Kyneston. They were taking him to Millmoor.
‘No,’ he said, backing away. ‘No, there’s been a mistake. We’re a family.’
Dad stepped protectively in front of him.
‘My son comes with us.’
‘The paperwork says otherwise,’ the LAB woman piped up.
‘Stuff your paperwork,’ Mum snarled.
And then it all happened horribly quickly. When the uniformed guy from Millmoor reached round Dad to grab Luke’s arm, Dad swung a fist at his face. It connected with the man’s jaw and he swore, stumbling backwards, his hands scrabbling at his belt.
They all saw the truncheon come down and Daisy screamed. The baton whacked Dad round the side of the head and he fell to his knees on the driveway, groaning. Blood trickled from his temple, reddening the little patch where his hair was going grey. Mum gasped and knelt beside him, checking the injury.
‘You animal,’ she yelled. ‘Blunt-force trauma can kill if the brain swells.’
Daisy burst into tears. Luke wrapped his arms round her, pressing her face against his side and holding her tight.