The Declaration

felt something close to disappointment because that meant he wouldn’t have seen how forcefully she’d been ignoring him. Sighing with irritation that even by being absent Peter seemed able to annoy her, Anna finished her porridge and got up to go.
    But just as she was about to clear away her breakfast bowl and plastic cup, Peter appeared in the doorway, flanked by Mrs Pincent, his gaunt frame towering over the House Matron’s. Mrs Pincent found Anna’s eyes and nodded for her to come over.
    ‘I want you to look after Peter,’ she said matter-of-factly, as soon as Anna had walked over. ‘He has come to us late, and seems to be finding it hard to fit in. I want you to show him the ropes, help him learn. And make sure he has an extra blanket on his bed. Now, Peter, I expect you’ll be hungry. Anna, can you make sure Peter has some porridge before training starts this morning?’
    Anna’s heart sank, but she didn’t react, except to nod silently. An extra blanket was unheard of, except for Prefects, and Mrs Pincent’s almost familial language – ‘show him the ropes, help him learn’ – was unfamiliar and strange. But Anna knew better than to say anything. Not while Mrs Pincent was standing so close, anyway.
    Once she was gone, that was a different matter. As Mrs Pincent disappeared down the corridor, Anna turned to Peter.
    ‘I don’t know what you’ve done, but Mrs Pincent certainly seems to like you now. Still think she’s evil?’ she said haughtily.
    Peter shrugged, and shivered involuntarily, making Anna soften slightly.
    ‘I’ll get you some breakfast,’ she said cautiously, ‘and I’ll show you the ropes. But no more stories. No more sneaking around late at night. I’m a Prefect, and if I’m going to help you you’re going to have to Learn Your Place.’
    Peter nodded sagely. ‘Thank you,’ he said under his breath. ‘Thank you, Anna Covey.’
    Anna sighed irritably. This was going to be a long day.

Chapter Six
    Peter proved to be a fast learner. He quickly learnt the layout of Grange Hall and when Anna tested him on the daily schedule she was impressed to find that he’d managed to learn it off by heart within a day. She couldn’t be sure whether he was concentrating in the boys-only training sessions, but in the sessions she shared with him, he was well behaved and polite. If it wasn’t for his insistence on calling her Anna Covey, he’d be like any other Surplus. He’d even sat through a Science and Nature class without saying anything, although afterwards, when he and Anna had been alone, he had erupted.
    ‘It’s all lies. Lies!’ he’d muttered, his eyes darting around to check that no one was listening. ‘Anna, you have to believe me. This is not what Mother Nature wanted . . .’
    Anna had shaken her head. ‘You only think that because your parents wanted to have their cake and eat it,’ she said firmly. ‘You shouldn’t be angry with Mr Sargent – be angry with your parents. They’re the ones who broke the Declaration. They’re the ones who put you here.’
    He’d disagreed, of course. He always did. In the corridors, in Central Feeding, whenever they could speak without being overheard, he railed against Grange Hall, against the Instructors, against everything, as far as Anna could tell. Mostly, she told him to be quiet and to show more respect for Mother Nature and the Authorities, but sometimes her curiosity got the better of her and she found herself furtively asking questions about his life before Grange Hall, pretending as she did so that she wasn’t really that interested. The truth was that Peter was a window through which Anna could glimpse the world outside, and the temptation to keep looking was quite overwhelming.
    Peter lived in London, he told her, in a house in Bloomsbury, a place where famous writers used to live many years ago. That had interested Anna, who was still hiding in Female Bathroom 2 as often as she could to scribble in her journal, relishing those moments in which she tried to make sense of her world and vented her frustrations. The house where Peter had grown up had an underground apartment, which was where he had spent most of his time when he was little. He’d been taught to read, write, use a computer, and to ‘question things’. He had read books and newspapers and been encouraged to ‘form opinions’. The very idea of being allowed to read stories that weren’t at all to do with making you more Useful seemed