The Declaration

managed to shake her head and look surprised. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said firmly. ‘Go back to bed.’
    ‘If you’re not going to find Peter, then where are you going?’
    Anna stared at Sheila, then stepped closer and put her hands on her shoulders.
    ‘Sheila, you are to go back to bed now, do you hear me? If you don’t, I’m going to make sure you go to Solitary tomorrow, do you understand?’
    She stared at Sheila and narrowed her eyes. ‘Do you understand?’ she repeated.
    Sheila nodded miserably.
    ‘I’ll go back to bed. But if you and Peter go anywhere, you have to take me with you,’ she said, her voice trembling with emotion. ‘Please, Anna.’
    ‘To bed,’ Anna ordered, her voice firm, but she squeezed Sheila’s shoulder as she spoke. ‘And don’t get caught,’ she whispered, then turned around and continued on her path, listening as Sheila padded despondently back to the dormitory.
    Peter was wide awake when she finally arrived in the dank confines of Solitary. As soon as she scratched on the door and whispered his name, she heard him jump up and come to the door.
    ‘Anna!’ he said, his voice sounding so excited she felt a huge rush of happiness surge through her. She’d never known anyone sound so pleased to hear her voice, anyone speak her name with such elation.
    ‘I knew you’d come,’ Peter continued. ‘I just knew it.’
    Anna smiled, and put her hand against the door.
    ‘Peter, you were right,’ she whispered urgently when she’d composed herself. ‘About Mrs Pincent. She . . . she wants to get rid of you. You’re not safe here. You need to escape.’
    ‘Of course I need to escape,’ Peter said immediately. ‘But you’ve got to come with me.’
    Anna bit her lip. ‘I can’t,’ she said softly. ‘I belong here. I’m not like you.’
    ‘You are like me,’ Peter said, his voice choking slightly. ‘Anna, you don’t belong here. You belong with your parents. With me. You have to come with me.’
    ‘I don’t know my parents,’ Anna said, swallowing furiously as tears began to prick at her eyes. ‘How can I belong with people I don’t even know? How do I even know they want me?’
    ‘They want you back more than anything,’ Peter said, his voice suddenly sad and serious. ‘I’ll tell you about them. Anna, your parents are really nice people. They took me in and . . .’
    He paused.
    ‘They want to see you, Anna,’ Peter said gently. ‘They love you, more than anything in the world.’
    ‘No one loves me,’ Anna said, in a small voice. ‘No one. I’m just a Surplus.’
    ‘No,’ Peter said fiercely, ‘you’re not. And when we escape, you’ll realise that. You’ll see all the amazing things in the world and you’ll realise that Grange Hall isn’t real. It isn’t the world, Anna. It’s wrong. Everything about it is wrong.’
    Anna said nothing.
    ‘You had a room, Anna. A room full of toys,’ Peter said suddenly. ‘And so many books to read . . .’
    Anna felt a tear pricking at her eye and wiped it away.
    ‘And your parents thought you were the best thing in the whole wide world. They risked everything just to have you, just to give you everything you wanted.’
    He paused again, and then Peter began to tell Anna all about them, about the people who seemed to want her back so desperately, about the life that could have been hers – should have been hers, he said. And as he talked, she felt as though she was being lifted up, as if all the pain and treachery of the day was evaporating beneath her. Wrapping herself in her blanket, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine the things that he described. It felt almost as if she was following him up a beautiful mountain; with each word, he was showing her the wonderful views, and the higher they climbed, the more beautiful it became and the fresher the air felt. Cautiously at first, she allowed herself to follow him, but with every step she felt a great fear taking hold. Fear of heights, fear of the unknown, fear that when she finally got to the top and saw for herself how incredible it was, she would find that she was standing on a cliff face and would lose her grip and fall.
    But was falling such a bad thing, she wondered. Was it, perhaps, better to see the top of the mountain, even if only for a moment, than never to even try? Or was it as Mrs Pincent would have it – that the higher you allow yourself to climb, the further you have to come crashing