The Legacy

wrong path and caused a great deal of suffering and that I’m ready to take responsibility for my actions and make amends. I acted alone in contaminating the Longevity supply; I betrayed and let down my own Underground supporters, who never condoned such an at ack. The Underground deserved bet er leaders, leaders who stayed true to the cause. It now has such leaders. Man was not supposed to live forever, but I had no right to curtail the lives of Legal people, I realise that now.’
    The image faded and was replaced with the news reporter, Pip at her side.
    ‘And what’s happening now? What’s going to happen to Pip?’ a voice asked.
    ‘What indeed, Sandra,’ the reporter said. ‘Wel , the police and Hil ary Wright are both on their way here, along with Richard Pincent. What Pip’s fate wil be, only they wil know. But one thing we can be certain of is that justice wil be done. Pip is a terrorist, and he must pay the price for that.’
    ‘Thank you. That was Vanessa Hedgecoe reporting from the Newsfeed central office in London, where just hours ago the leader of the Underground, a man who refers to himself as Pip, handed himself in to officials and asked to make a statement . . .’
    Jude turned the volume off then turned round to Sam and Sheila, who were both looking at him in shock. ‘Let’s pack,’ he said, his throat constricting as he spoke.
    ‘Let’s get out of here.’
    It hurt to walk. Hurt so badly Margaret winced with the pain. But she had to keep going, had to keep shuffling down the corridor towards the canteen. She had been there perhaps once in her time in prison and she despised the place, felt only contempt for those who ate there. Some desperate, some aggressive, some defeated – al were reminders of what she’d become, who she was now.
    But contempt was no longer an excuse; revulsion did not mat er and nor did her pride. She had to find the woman who had taken the let ers. It had been chance that brought them together. Her toilet – a ‘luxury’ offered to those whose sentences were terminal, whose Longevity drugs were being withheld or reduced – had become blocked and Margaret, suffering from an upset stomach, underwent the humiliation of having to use the communal facility along the corridor while it was cleared. It had been in that horrible place, after throwing up bile, that she had been approached by Gail. And the approach had not been friendly – Gail had accosted her, pinned her against the wal , told her that she was evil incarnate for manning a Surplus Hal , for taking in stolen children and subjecting them to years of abuse. Margaret hadn’t had the energy to fight back and that had given Gail confidence. The words poured out.
    She was a proud Underground supporter. She was a fighter, and there were more like her. Margaret’s father would be revealed eventual y as the terrible blight on humanity that he truly was. ‘Your son,’ she had said, eyes flashing, ‘your son wil bring Richard Pincent to his knees.’
    And so when Margaret had writ en her first let er to Peter, it had been Gail that she had sought out, Gail that she had persuaded to give the let er to someone who could forward it. It had taken some time, some tears, some threats and some promises of money, but eventual y Gail had agreed.
    Now Margaret needed something else from her. She needed Gail to warn that man. Pip. The man who had looked after her son. She needed to warn him that her father was on his way to Scotland. She had to make sure that Pip knew, that he could protect him, that he could do what Margaret herself couldn’t – what she had never been able to do – look after Peter.
    Pausing briefly to regain what remained of her breath, Margaret took the last few steps into the canteen. It was a sea of people, of colour, of noise; she felt dizzy and put her hand to the wal to steady herself. People were looking at her but she didn’t care. Slowly, deliberately, she began to move forward again, scanning the room.
    Was she here? Please let her be here. Then suddenly she saw her with a cluster of women, queuing. She rushed forward, nearly fal ing. ‘Gail.’ Her voice was hoarse, a whisper. ‘Gail, I . . .’ But Gail wasn’t listening, didn’t even notice her. She was staring at the screen on the wal . ‘Shhhh,’ someone shouted. ‘Shut up!’ someone else cal ed out. People stopped talking. Silence descended like a wave.
    And then she heard it. The newsfeed. Pip, the hope of the