The Declaration

ground, and turned his body away from her slightly in embarrassment.
    Anna frowned, deep in thought, then she took his hand tentatively, thinking as she did so about the boy who had come to rescue her, the orphan boy who had imagined their friendship before they’d even met. And she thought about his fighting Charlie, fighting the Instructors, fighting everyone and everything, for her, for her parents, for a chance to be loved, or liked, or just to be. And then she thought about all the time she’d spent at Grange Hall, trying to please Mrs Pincent, trying to be the best Surplus, the most Valuable Asset, just so that Mrs Pincent would like her and tell her that she wasn’t completely unwanted after all. And she realised that she and Peter were the same, really. That without each other they were so alone it hurt. That they needed each other like flowers needed the sun. And she knew that she would follow him anywhere, that stories about angry roses and two-headed children didn’t scare her any more, but that losing Peter did, more than anything.
    ‘Peter, you didn’t even know about my journal,’ she said, her voice breaking slightly. ‘And as a matter of fact, I owe you everything. More than everything, actually.’
    She cleared her throat awkwardly and looked up at Peter. ‘If it wasn’t for you, I’d just be Surplus Anna. I’d be nothing. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have even known what it’s like to have a friend . . .’
    She trailed off, unable to express what she felt so strongly inside, unable to explain that her feelings for Peter had made her angry with the world because it had allowed him to grow up without love, made her angry with Longevity because no one deserved to live more than him.
    So instead, she just looked at him unblinkingly, and allowed his eyes to sear through hers, to see her thoughts, her fears, her hopes.
    They looked at each other for long, silent seconds until Anna’s head was pounding because she’d never looked at anyone like that before, had never seen into someone’s soul. And as she stared at him, Anna realised just why Surpluses were trained to keep their eyes cast downwards at all times, because she felt at that moment as if she knew everything there was to know.
    Then, just as she was about to look away, Peter opened his mouth to speak.
    ‘I love you, Anna Covey,’ he said, his voice barely audible. And slowly, clumsily, he leant forward, and his lips found hers, and as Anna felt him kiss her awkwardly, she knew that she wasn’t a Surplus any more. And nor was Peter.
    Surplus meant unnecessary. Not required.
    You couldn’t be a Surplus if you were needed by someone else. You couldn’t be a Surplus if you were loved.

Chapter Twenty-four
    Stephen looked as awful as he ever had, Margaret Pincent noted with some satisfaction. His flesh filled his shirt completely, and his trousers dug in to his belly painfully. His skin was red and blotchy, and his eyes were watery, as if swimming with the copious amounts of alcohol he consumed on a daily basis. She shuddered to think she was ever married to him.
    ‘So, you have some information for us?’ he said briskly. ‘You know, it’s very inconvenient for me to have to trek all the way out here. Couldn’t you have come to London?’
    Mrs Pincent stared at him.
    ‘Sit down, Stephen,’ she said calmly, closing the door behind him and locking it, just for good measure. She did not want any interruptions. Not today.
    ‘I see your office is still a dump,’ he was saying. ‘Can’t you get those Surpluses to clean it for you, maybe even give it a lick of paint?’
    ‘I prefer it like this,’ Mrs Pincent said, still staring at him, and sitting down at her desk, her seat of power. ‘It creates an environment of fear. Fresh paint can be too . . . welcoming.’
    Stephen shrugged.
    ‘So, the information,’ he continued, ‘I assume it’s about these missing Surpluses?’
    Mrs Pincent nodded.
    ‘And you couldn’t tell the Catchers direct? Margaret, I run a big Department, you know. I don’t usually get involved in this level of detail.’
    ‘Don’t you?’ Mrs Pincent’s tone was sarcastic and Stephen looked at her curiously.
    ‘You know I don’t. I run the police force, the Catchers, immigration, the prisons . . . I don’t have time for anything.’
    ‘Really?’ Mrs Pincent’s eyes narrowed, and Stephen looked at her blankly. ‘How very interesting.’
    ‘Margaret, whatever it is, just tell me, and