The Declaration

did, of course.
    There’re five hundred of us here at Grange Hall. I’m one of the eldest and I’ve been here the longest too. I’ve lived here since I was two and a half – that’s how old I was when they found me. I was being kept in an attic – can you believe that? The neighbours heard me crying, apparently. They knew there weren’t meant to be any children in the house and called the Authorities. I owe those neighbours a great deal, Mrs Pincent says. Children have a way of knowing the truth, she says, and I was probably crying because I wanted to be found. What else was I going to do – spend my life in an attic?
    I can’t remember anything about the attic or my parents. I used to, I think – but I’m not really sure. It could have been dreams I was remembering. Why would anyone break the Declaration and have a baby just to keep it in an attic? It’s just plain stupid.
    I can’t remember much about arriving at Grange Hall either, but that’s hardly surprising – I mean, who remembers being two and a half? I remember feeling cold, remember screaming out for my parents until my throat was hoarse because back then I didn’t realise how selfish and stupid they were. I also remember getting into trouble no matter what I did. But that’s all, really.
    I don’t get into trouble any more. I’ve learnt about responsibility, Mrs Pincent says, and am set to be a Valuable Asset.
    Valuable Asset Anna. I like that a lot more than Surplus.
    The reason I’m set to be a Valuable Asset is that I’m a fast learner. I can cook fifty dishes to top standard, and another forty to satisfactory. I’m not as good with fish as I am with meat. But I’m a good seamstress and am going to make someone a very solid housekeeper according to my last appraisal. If my attention to detail improves, I’ll get an even better report next time. Which means that in six months, when I leave Grange Hall, I might go to one of the better houses. In six months it’s my fifteenth birthday. It’ll be time to fend for myself then, Mrs Pincent says. I’m lucky to have had such good training because I Know My Place, and people in the nicest houses like that.
    I don’t know how I feel about leaving Grange Hall. Excited, I think, but scared too. The furthest I’ve ever been is to a house in the village, where I did an internship for three weeks when the owner’s own housekeeper was ill. Mrs Kean, the Cooking Instructor, walked me down there one Friday night and then she brought me back when it was over. Both times it was dark so I didn’t see much of the village at all.
    The house I was working in was beautiful, though. It was nothing like Grange Hall – the rooms were painted in bright, warm colours, with thick carpet on the floor that you could kneel on without it killing your knees, and huge big sofas that made you want to curl up and sleep for ever.
    It had a big garden that you could see out of all the windows, and it was filled with beautiful flowers. At the back of the garden was something called an Allotment where Mrs Sharpe grew vegetables sometimes, although there weren’t any growing when I was there. She said that flowers were an Indulgence and frowned upon by the Authorities. Now that food couldn’t be flown around the world, everyone had to grow their own. She said she thought that flowers were important too, but that the Authorities didn’t agree. I think she’s right – I think flowers can be just as important as food, sometimes. I think it depends what you’re hungry for.
    In the house, Mrs Sharpe had her radiators on sometimes, so it was never cold. And she was the nicest, kindest woman – once when I was cleaning her bedroom she offered to let me try on some lipstick. I said no, because I thought she might tell Mrs Pincent, but I regretted it later. Mrs Sharpe talked to me almost like I wasn’t a Surplus. She said it was nice to have a young face about the place again.
    I loved working there – mainly because of Mrs Sharpe being so nice, but also because I loved looking at the photos she had all over her walls of incredible-looking places. In each photo, there was Mrs Sharpe, smiling, holding a drink or standing in front of a beautiful building or monument. She said that the photographs were mementos of each of her holidays. She went on an international holiday three times a year at least, she told me. She said that she used to go by aeroplane but now energy tariffs meant that she had to go by boat or