The Resistance

‘It’s fine,’ she said, ‘I knew you’d be OK. Where were you?’
    Peter shrugged. He’d been telling himself all the way home that he would sit Anna down the moment he got to the house; would tell her what he’d discovered. But now, looking at her worried face, her wide, trusting eyes, somehow he couldn’t do it, couldn’t find the words to tell her what he’d discovered. So instead, he pushed past and made his way to the kitchen.
    ‘Ben’s asleep, and I made shepherd’s pie,’ Anna said, eyeing him cautiously. ‘It’ll be cold now but I can reheat it. So, you’ve been drinking?’
    ‘Shepherd’s pie,’ Peter said, sitting down heavily and noticing that the room was spinning. ‘Great.’
    ‘Were you with the Underground?’
    Peter looked up briefly to see that Anna was looking at him hopefully; as he met her eyes, her voice trailed off. Then he remembered something and started to rummage through the pile of papers on the side of the table. Eventually he found what he was looking for.
    ‘Our Declarations,’ he said seriously, his voice slurring slightly. Anna nodded, and didn’t say anything.
    Peter blinked several times to try to force his eyes to focus. He began to read his again, managing the first few lines, then giving up when he realised he was seeing double.
    Anna tentatively put a plate full of steaming hot shepherd’s pie in front of him.
    ‘You know everyone signs the Declaration, don’t you?’ Peter said, picking up his fork, then putting it down again. ‘You know all that stuff Pip told us is bullshit?’
    ‘No, it isn’t,’ Anna said lightly.
    Peter raised an eyebrow. He didn’t mean to go on the offensive, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. ‘Even your parents signed it.’
    Anna blanched. ‘They didn’t know what they were doing. They were young. They wished they hadn’t.’
    ‘They still signed.’
    ‘What’s the matter, Peter? Why are you talking like this? It’s like you’re . . .’
    ‘Like I’m a Pincent? Well, I am. I’m Richard Pincent’s grandson. Albert Fern’s great-grandson. My family invented Longevity, Anna. Maybe it’s in my blood.’
    Anna’s eyes widened in shock. ‘It’s not in your blood. You hate the Pincents. We’re going to Opt Out, Peter. You know we are.’
    He was being cruel. He hated himself for it. He took a mouthful of shepherd’s pie. ‘And achieve what? Die young, before we can make a difference? Why should we? Why shouldn’t we stay around like everyone else?’
    ‘Because we have to make room for new people,’ Anna gasped. ‘We’re going to create a New Generation. You know that. What’s wrong with you?’
    ‘What’s so great about new people?’ Peter interrupted. ‘And what if we can’t . . . I mean, what if there is no new generation? What then?’
    ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Anna said, her face setting into the expression Peter remembered from Grange Hall – part stubborn, part afraid.
    ‘Of course you don’t. How could you?’ Peter replied, his anger turning into bitterness, and self-loathing because he knew he was taking his anger out on the one person who was entirely blameless. ‘You know nothing. You’re too naive, that’s your problem. You believe whatever you’ve been told. What your parents told you. What Mrs Pincent told you. What I told you. But it’s all rubbish, Anna. I can’t believe you can’t see that.’
    Anna swallowed and he could see the pinprick of tears in her eyes.
    ‘It’s not rubbish,’ she said, her voice cracking just slightly. ‘And I’m not naive. You’ve been drinking and you don’t know what you’re saying and I wish you’d shut up.’
    ‘Maybe I should,’ Peter said, standing up, refusing to meet her eyes. ‘That’s what Pip wants me to do, I’m sure. Just shut up and do what I’m told and not ask any difficult questions.’
    ‘Pip? But he’s on our side. He’s helping us . . .’
    ‘Right,’ Peter said sarcastically. ‘Do you think he’ll help us if we sign the Declaration? Do you think he’ll be on our side then?’
    ‘No!’ Anna was standing up now, fire in her eyes that Peter hadn’t seen for a long time. ‘No, he won’t. Because it won’t happen. Don’t talk like this, Peter. You’re scaring me. We won’t sign. We’ll never sign. We’re going to have children, and they won’t be Surpluses. They’ll never be Surpluses.’
    Peter stared at her, trying to put into words all the thoughts and feelings that