The Declaration

alone?’
    ‘Tell me why this Surplus was found with my ring. Tell me how some Surplus dirt came to have the Pincent ring with him. Did they dig up my child? Did they rob our son’s grave? Tell me, Stephen. Who are his parents? I want them dead. I want them found, and . . . My son, Stephen. My . . .’
    She started to weep. ‘He knew, Stephen. Our son knew his fate before he was even born. He refused to turn, refused to let the midwife deliver him. He didn’t want to be born, Stephen. And why would he, when the world no longer wanted him. When you no longer —’
    ‘Pull yourself together, Margaret,’ Stephen said angrily. ‘This happened years ago. It’s over.’
    Feeling her chest constricting and her breaths shorten, Mrs Pincent wrapped her arms around her stomach, her eyes searching for the truth in her ex-husband’s face.
    ‘If someone has ransacked my son’s grave, I will search them down and kill them. My son was denied legality and then life, and he will not be denied his heirloom.’ She stared into Stephen’s eyes. ‘The Surplus boy, Stephen. Why did he have my ring? And where is it now? What happened to it?’
    ‘Margaret, you’re hysterical,’ Stephen said, the tension showing in his voice. ‘And I have no idea where the ring is. I can barely remember it.’
    ‘The boy was found with a ring. My ring. And his file is classified. I want to know why, Stephen.’ Mrs Pincent had moved to the front of her desk now, and was leaning forwards menacingly.
    ‘I won’t listen to this any more,’ Stephen said, standing up hurriedly. ‘I won’t put up with this from you of all people. You are nothing, Margaret. You will not talk to me like that. What I did with our son or your ring is no longer your business. And if you tell a single soul, I will have you committed to a mental institution. Now, open this door, or I’ll knock it down myself.’
    ‘Tell me where my ring is,’ Mrs Pincent said.
    ‘I’ll tell you nothing,’ Stephen said bitterly and moved towards her. ‘Now give me the key.’
    Immediately, as if by reflex, Mrs Pincent opened her desk draw, took something out of it. ‘Tell me, Stephen,’ she screamed. ‘You will tell me!’
    Stephen’s eyes widened and the look of irritation on his face was suddenly replaced with something much closer to fear.
    ‘What are you doing, Margaret?’ he asked incredulously, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. ‘What on earth are you doing with that?’
    ‘Just tell me.’ Mrs Pincent’s voice was raw now. In her hands, aimed directly at Stephen’s face, was a revolver. A revolver that she’d kept in her desk from her very first day at Grange Hall. Just in case it all got too much.
    ‘You’re insane,’ Stephen stammered, but he sat back down.
    ‘Just tell me what happened,’ Mrs Pincent said, ‘or I swear to you I’ll pull the trigger.’
    Anna was alone in the cellar, and she was making a plan. Peter had been called up to the house to help write some coded messages for her parents’ Underground friends. She’d been given the Small – Ben – to look after until they were ready to leave.
    Protectively, she held him to her, and smiled at him, feeling an incredible spark of love and exhilaration when he smiled back at her. He was the most perfect thing in the whole world, she thought. How could he be Surplus? Why would Mother Nature make something so beautiful if She didn’t need it and want it? It didn’t make any sense.
    Having a plan made her feel better, like she was back in charge. Anna’s plan was to get caught and sent back to Grange Hall. If she was caught, she reasoned, the Catchers wouldn’t worry about chasing the others. The Authorities had only had Peter in Grange Hall for a few weeks, so they’d barely miss him, whereas she was going to be a Valuable Asset. If she went back, Peter would be safe. Ben would be safe.
    She’d die before letting the Catchers take her brother away. She’d never known you could feel anything but disdain for Smalls, but now all she wanted was for Ben to grow up surrounded by love and affection, not the grey walls and discipline of Grange Hall.
    As she tenderly stroked Ben’s head, she heard the trapdoor open and saw Peter’s face appear at it. He climbed down the ladder into the cellar, followed by her mother.
    ‘This is for you,’ he said proudly, offering her a yellow flower. ‘It’s a daffodil,’ he continued, then leant down to whisper in her ear. ‘When we’re in