Chapter Five
Mandrake was in his parents’ loft checking on the chain-gang still repairing damage from the storm. The prisoners chosen to restore the village were deemed a low escape risk and had no points left to lose should they fall from the roof or the ladders. They were forbidden to speak to citizens and escorted by two taskmasters and a political commissar dressed all in white. Out of school hours, he was followed through the village by a group of awestruck children, the sort who went armband spotting.
There was often a warning of their arrival but today’s visit was completely unexpected. The Party used its charitable arm to search for subversive behaviour and Nabulus had just spoken to Jeremiah in no uncertain terms after a tip-off from the roofer.
‘Hand me down those books and magazines for the paper fair,’ said Jeremiah, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
‘What about the other junk in the attic?’ Mandrake asked of the bric-a-brac.
Hoarding was frowned upon as it denied others the chance to utilise what had been put aside for the rainy day that never came. Nabulus poked his head atop the loft ladders.
‘For the third hand shop,’ he shouted. ‘Along with your mother’s extra clothes. She’s broken the Rule of Three but I’ll let it go this time.’
Mandrake handed Jeremiah a desserts book with Nabulus standing over the old man’s shoulder and tutting.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘Let me see what the other good citizens have been hiding,’ and he grabbed the pile of Eliza’s clothes.
Technically it was illegal activity worthy of a point’s loss, but it was a minor offence and Nabulus was prepared to let it go for the old-timers’ sake.
Jeremiah was helping Mandrake take the magazines downstairs when Eliza returned from her tealeaf reading with June. Her head was swimming more than the leaves, for June had read her own cup and refused to barter with any more medicines.
‘Let me take a look at those before you put them in the wheelbarrow,’ said Eliza of the cookery books piled in the downstairs hall upon the red tiled floor.
‘They’re not worth keeping and we could never take them to Scotland, they’re banned,’ said Jeremiah.
The world needed food for all, not fabulous food for the few.
‘You daft clot, I know that,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to remember some of the past before the memories fade away, like us.’
Jeremiah hugged her.
‘Then let’s remember these,’ he said of the old travel brochures.
‘We never went to any of those places,’ said Eliza.
‘I know, but it was fun dreaming. And look, here’s one on Scotland, at least we get to go on one holiday.’
‘I thought you were meant to come back from holidays,’ she said, before kissing him on the forehead.
‘Let me get you a chair and us both a cup of black tea,’ he said.
Nabulus had long gone with June’s clothes for the third hand shop when Bastian arrived. The flock were grazing on Jambit’s land and he was happy to keep an eye on them, it gave him an excuse to avoid the paper fair.
‘A society that recycles magazines will one day recycle people,’ he had said.
They wheeled their barrow to the fair with Mandrake and Bastian holding one handle each and their parents bringing up the rear. The STP had arranged a recycling cart for the event and there was bunting around the village green, with a free glass of white wine fermented from the church grapes.
‘Sorry, Dad, I want to say hello to someone.’
‘Don’t apologise, Bastian, I’d be worried if you didn’t want to speak to that pretty girl, you being single and all.’
Bastian walked over to May, and June, not wishing to get in their way, went to speak to an old friend.
‘Care for a stroll?’ he asked.
May was wearing a low-cut floral dress, the hem above the knees.
‘With a handsome young policeman on my arm, why not?’ she replied, smiling.
She tucked her long black hair behind one ear. They could hear the cheers behind them as another pile of coffee table magazines hit the back of the cart, ready to be shredded and put to good use.
‘How come you’re still single?’ she asked.
‘Life doesn’t need rushing along, it ends quickly enough as it is,’ he replied.
‘Did you volunteer for the police or did the Party recruit you?’
‘I was recruited, of course. Isn’t it the same in teaching?’
‘Yes. I was surprised when they asked, though.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want to adopt.’
Teachers were encouraged to raise children and not just school them. And those that did were promoted above those that didn’t, no matter the length of service.
‘What do you teach?’ asked Bastian.
‘Home remedies.’
There were no science lessons apart from domestic science. The syllabus included nature classes, crop farming, animal studies, recent history or RH, and personal development. The latter consumed all of Friday and obedient pupils learnt how to spot subversion in the village or home, and engaged in the government drugs programme called ‘Just Say Yes.’
May picked a blackberry from the hedgerow and balanced it between her lips before biting it in half.
‘What did you make of that strange old guy in church?’ she asked. ‘Everyone is saying he came from the shipwreck.’
‘He did, but that’s all that I know.’
‘They’ll hush it up, they always do,’ she said of the Party. ‘You know I often lay awake at night wondering what they’re hiding from us.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much, May. We’re young, alive, and bask in the sunshine every day.’
A group of camel riders approached and they changed the subject from Party matters to discuss the weather.
‘The STP will never change human nature,’ said May as the riders disappeared over a sand-dune.
‘You mean selfishness?’ Bastian asked.
‘I mean kiss me.’
He didn’t need a second invitation and it looked like their friendship had made the best possible of starts.
May was holding a wildflower and pulling the petals off one by one.
‘You’re not a sweet-talker, Bastian.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’ he asked.
‘On the contrary, it’s wonderful. It means you haven’t
