His dad, as they took him away, was the quietest, stillest thing about the entire affair. He didn’t panic, didn’t look the boy in the eyes, and later Theo decided that was probably how he knew he was guilty.
Reluctantly, Theo and his mum tried to visit his dad, but Company Police said:
“We do not have that suspect currently within our files it is probable that he has been transferred for the expectation of his trial you must fill out form I89 for further information and there will be…”
They filled out the form.
“This form needs witnessing by an authorised signatory of the Company until you have an authorised signatory you will be…”
Eventually Mum got a signature, Theo didn’t know how, and the cops told them it was £65 a visit, and Mum said they didn’t have the cash. There was a company—this was before the company became the Company and these things were just taken for granted—but there was a company which owned a company who owned the company that Theo’s dad was alleged to have robbed, and the company that owned the company also owned a company that was invested in Budgetfood, and the rest of Budgetfood anyway was owned by this conglomerate of investors and so all things considered…
“The Corporate Community Council is not sure that we can renew your benefits,” declared the mayor, unable to meet his mum’s eyes. “Things… being what they are.”
The mayor wasn’t a bad man. But he had his pension to consider, and Budgetfood had been putting pressure on him to cut social spending anyway. It didn’t contribute to overall productivity, and his daughter had this condition that needed a lot of care; if he lost his place, if they sacked him then she’d go without the medicines and he just had to make these choices, these hard choices, these realistic…
It was £25 an hour to get an appointment with the chief investigative officer, and Theo wasn’t making much from his off-book work cleaning down the pub, and by the time he had £65 saved up the case was already being heard and the fee had gone up to £180 as his dad was considered a flight risk.
Four weeks after his dad was taken away, the boy who would be Theo went with Dani Cumali to get their GCSE results.
They had been in six of the same GCSE classes, including food distribution and logistics, business studies and graphics for marketing. There was only one school in Shawford by Budgetfood. Once a year the mayor came to judge sports day, and they’d get special guest speakers from the factory to talk about Retail Branding for Social Media or Fish Waste Product Use.
As children, Dani and the boy called Theo hated each other.
Dani couldn’t remember because it wasn’t important to her, but when she was eight she told Theo that his father was a done-out crook who was going to the patty line, and Theo had run away and concocted ten thousand schemes for revenge, and carried out a grand total of none, and Dani hadn’t realised that he was the last person in town to know his dad was a thief, or how close she’d come to having her hair set on fire.
And when he was eleven, Theo had muttered to Dani that maybe the reason she never had a proper school lunch was because her mother had left her when she was two and there wasn’t anyone at home to make a lunchbox for her, and Dani had told him that he was the stupidest, weirdest kid in class and no one liked him and he’d never be anything other than a screamer or a fader or a zero and anyway she was…
By the time they were thirteen, the injuries had begun to fade behind new outrages of puberty, and slowly, suspiciously, they’d forged a cordial neutrality.
And when they were fourteen, they had to choose what GCSEs to do, and the company sponsor had come down to the classroom to talk to all the pupils, and explain the compulsory curriculum subjects, the core recommended subjects, and the extra-curricular activities that Budgetfood would not fund should you chose to pursue them further.
Both Dani and Theo wanted to do art, but it wasn’t a sponsored subject, so they did graphics for marketing instead, and he finished with 131/160 and she had 132/160 and they both agreed that was the best possible way it could be.
Overall, she did better in every subject except maths.
“Dani Cumali!” exclaimed Mrs. Lee, deputy head of the school, pastoral care officer, domestic science teacher, head of stationery, head of junior factory recruitment, sponsorship liaison committee, chair of…
“Dani Cumali! Fancy you doing so well! Such a turnaround such a—you should apply for A levels! You should apply and I’m sure you’d get sponsorship I’m confident that…”
Dani applied for A-level funding to the Sponsorship Committee.
They replied:
It is with deep regret that we have to reject your application as this committee does not feel that the subjects you wish to study are conforming to the overall academic model of this institution; nor have you clearly defined your ten-year business objectives for study as required in article 729b of the standard educational practice document (2).
Theo also applied for A levels, having no idea what else he was meant to do. For his core subjects he chose maths, food science and agricultural studies.
Three weeks later he received the rejection letter, and no one was surprised.
That Sunday a woman knocked on the door and said, “Hello. I’m from Dover County Court. My son plays football down your husband’s club. He always seemed like such a nice man. Sometimes—the paperwork you know how it is—and it’s a corporate case so these things get—but the trial starts tomorrow. I do hope it goes well for you. Such a lovely fellow.” She giggled and waved goodbye, hand stationary and little digits flying, and scampered away like a naughty mouse. Later Theo realised that she was probably terrified, and had done something very, very brave.
They went to Dover to watch the trial, but the first five hours were spent arguing over what evidence could be admitted, and the judge got bored and the whole thing was adjourned.
They went back the next day and there was Dad, dressed in blue, sat in the prisoner’s cage as the judge exclaimed:
“This attack on our values, on society, on the property of people who thought that their investment was safe…”
It was the first time Theo had seen his father for nearly three months.
The father stared at the son, and Theo didn’t know what was in his gaze, and imagined every possibility, and looked away and couldn’t look back, because men didn’t cry.
Chapter 13
The Grand Union Canal was finished just in time for the railways to be invented.
Neila lies awake and listens to the sounds of nightmares from the cabin next to hers, and is too tired to check on her guest.
At some point in the night Theo snores.
She stifles a laugh.
He stops snoring.
She does not sleep and then
wakes late, even though she did not close the curtains, not that they make much difference against the light off the water and
the stove is nearly out, the fire down to a few embers, but she puts kindling on it, the smashed-up remains of a wooden pallet someone discarded by the towpath, broken down to splinters, which catch and curl orange so she
gets more wood a field to the left, a field to the right, a low hill rising in the distance, a train track where the trains do not come, a couple of thick sheep blasting frozen breath out of nostrils, scampering to the places beneath the overgrown hedgerows to find the last vestiges of grass, a Zeppelin flying overhead, she has no idea why, it is advertising a brand of shaving cream but there’s no one here no one to see maybe it got loose from its rope and ah yes, look up, see it go beneath the scudding clouds and