‘Well, we’re the butterfly,’ Nate says. ‘Flapping our wings, changing everything just by breathing.’
‘Only we’re not,’ I say. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The canon keeps dragging us back. It wants the story to complete as it should.’
‘All the same,’ Nate says, ‘we should stick to canon as much as we can. Avoid taking any risks.’
Nate and I nod. Even Alice nods.
But Katie looks unconvinced. ‘I don’t know guys, do you really think it will be that easy? You stick to the script and everything will just slot into place?’
‘Yes,’ Alice and Nate say in unison.
‘What other choice do we have?’ Nate says.
Stick to the script. This comes as a huge relief – I like plans, I like schedules, I like predictability. And in this crazy, dirty, mental universe, having a script in my head, a perfect plot structure, makes me feel safe again.
‘So remind me again what it is we’re sticking to . . .’ Katie says.
Nate slaps his hands to his head. ‘Jesus, Katie, you really need to watch the film.’
‘Well I don’t see a twatting DVD player anywhere, do you?’ she replies.
I pick up the story where Alice left off. It’s the only thing keeping me sane right now. ‘So after Willow was captured by the rebels, the rebels raided an Imp brothel—’
‘A brothel?’ Katie wails. ‘I thought this was a kids’ book.’
‘Young Adult actually,’ Alice says.
‘The rebels raided an Imp brothel,’ I say, ‘and the lovebirds used this as a distraction so they could escape.’
‘So Willow just forgave Rose for not telling him about the whole being a rebel thing?’ Katie asks.
I nod. ‘Yeah, because he knew she’d tried to protect him in the end.’
‘So then what happened?’ Katie says, leaning forward, unable to hide her interest, and for a lovely second, it feels like I’m back in Miss Thompson’s class doing that presentation again. Life as normal. Home.
I smile. ‘Rose and Willow dropped into the disused sewers, got kind of lost, but eventually emerged to find an old Humvee. They drove to the river and tried to cross to No-man’s-land in a boat.’
‘No-man’s-land?’ Katie says.
‘Yeah, these abandoned stretches of city and countryside where there aren’t any Imps or Gems. But they never made it. The Gem authorities tracked them down and lifted them from their little boat.’
‘You see,’ Katie says. ‘It’s like I said at Comic-Con, the government’s always the baddie in dystopian fiction, it’s so predictable.’
‘Katie, focus,’ Nate says.
I rush to the end, avoiding the dreaded hanging word. ‘Then Willow declares his love for Rose at the Gallows Dance. The crowd turn, they pull down the gallows, a revolution is sparked.’
‘How long until the next Gallows Dance?’ Katie asks.
‘One week from now,’ Nate answers.
‘One week?’ Katie says incredulously. ‘This all happens in one week?’
We nod. Katie’s got a point. It sounds so ridiculous, and I suddenly feel completely inadequate. How can I possibly make all this happen? How can I possibly be like Rose?
Katie shakes her head in disbelief. ‘People fall in love quickly in dystopian chick lit.’
‘It’s a dystopian love story,’ Alice says.
Nate nods vigorously in agreement.
Alice sighs. ‘It’s so romantic. Like when Rose leaves an actual rose on Willow’s windowsill instead of telling him her name.’
‘And when she waitresses at his coming-of-age ball,’ Nate says. ‘And they wait till all the guests have gone and they . . .’
‘Dance to no music,’ they chorus together.
‘For God’s sake,’ I say. ‘You’re both still acting like it’s just a book or a film. But it’s not any more. This shit just got real.’
We fall silent, my words seeming to echo around the ochre room.
‘So after all this, can we go home?’ Katie finally asks, her voice filled with a yearning quality which breaks my heart.
I nod. ‘So long as I complete the story, just like King wrote it, so the gallows get ripped to the ground and a revolution is sparked.’
Nate scrunches up his face. ‘And you’re sure the universe will release us when you hang? Otherwise, you’re just going to hang, you know that?’
‘Will everyone please stop using the word hang?’ I realize I’ve started gripping my neck. ‘From now on it’s banned. Got it?’
They nod in turn.
‘So you fix the canon,’ Alice says. ‘You always did want to be Rose.’ She chews on her bottom lip which, totally devoid of lip gloss, looks thinner than normal.
‘I can’t be Rose,’ I whisper. ‘She’s so . . . awesome.’
Katie rests a hand on my knee. ‘What’s in a name?’
‘Eh?’ Alice says.
Katie blinks in disbelief. ‘A Rose by any other name . . .’
‘You’re seriously quoting Shakespeare at a time like this?’ Alice says.
‘Sorry, One Direction just didn’t cut it. Maybe I should quote some Bieber instead.’
‘Both of you – stop,’ I say.
Alice rubs my arm. ‘Sorry, Vi. Come on, think positively. You get to be Rose . . . You get to . . .’ She wiggles her eyebrows.
My muscles tense. ‘I thought I said not to mention the H word.’
She just laughs. ‘No, you miserable cow, you get to kiss Willow.’
I exhale suddenly and get a slightly giddy feeling, like the first time I rode the carousel – wind on my face, hair streaming, knuckles white as they gripped the metal pole. I remember begging Mum to make it stop, but in the same breath, wishing the wooden horse would go faster and faster. That’s how I feel now, terrified and yet exhilarated – I can’t stop this massive grin spreading across my face. I’d been so focused on the dying part, I’d completely forgotten the kissing part.
Alice smiles. ‘And think how much fitter Ash is in this universe. Just imagine how hot Willow is going to be – he’s going to burn out your eyes. I kind of hate you right now.’ She laughs, but I can’t work out if it’s the bare walls or a lack of humour that makes it sound so hollow.
The next morning, Matthew leads Nate and me into a small vestry house. The air inside smells stale and damp, like it hasn’t been disturbed in a long time. I know what’s about to happen – we’re going to get slave tattoos, just like Rose did. Our story threads are twisting together again, becoming one, which can only be a good thing – the more this happens, the more likely we are to go home.
Saskia perches on a tatty chaise longue, needle in one hand, pot of ink in the other. ‘I need to get to your neck.’ She doesn’t even raise her eyes, as though we’re not worth looking at. Tit-turnip, I think to myself, and smile.
I yank my tunic over my head, determined to appear brave. I stand in my leggings and vest top, the damp air chilling my arms, just waiting for the needle to pierce my skin. It looked pretty unhygienic and painful in the film, but I’m surprisingly calm about it all; it kind of pales in comparison to the whole noose thing.
Saskia cackles. ‘So which design would madame like? The dragon or the flaming eagle?’ She dips the needle into the ink.