Emily rummaged through the pile of school books and grabbed the English text that she was currently reading. The Handmaid’s Tale. When she first started the book she had thought it unbelievable that so many of the girls would go along with being handmaids, and she had told her English teacher so. No way, she had said, would a girl who knew her own mind just go along with that. She would fight back. She wouldn’t let it happen. Her teacher had tried to convince her that they were trying to save their own lives. That they were trying to be strong in their own way. That they would do whatever it took to survive. She had never understood how cooperation could be somebody’s only means to fight, or how the bravest fight could be born of silence. She threw the book in the bag. She grabbed a selection of jewellery, all cheap and worthless. Not good for trading, but she was too young to think ahead. She didn’t like the diamond earrings anyway. Why would she take them? There was a copy of Cosmo lying next to the bed, so she snatched that up and shoved it in the bag.
“Emily,” her father shouted, his voice angrier, as scratchy as nails on a blackboard. “Come on, get a move on. It’s time.”
“Anthony, please. Stop shouting,” she heard her mother reply, her voice stretched as if every fear was hanging from the end of it. “You’re scaring her.”
Emily grabbed the drawstring of the back pack and fastened the buckle on top. She held her wrist up and checked her watch. 8:15 AM. She thought about Amanda sitting next to an empty desk wondering why Emily was late. She picked up her mobile, dragged her finger across the screen to check for any new text messages. Her prayers remained unanswered. There was no stroke of luck that Amanda had sent her a message to say that she was ill and hadn’t made it to school. No last minute holiday somewhere far away. There was nothing from Amanda. But of course there was nothing. Amanda’s family didn’t know anything about what was happening. They had no reason to run or hide.
Emily had considered betraying her father’s trust and telling Amanda. She had played out the conversation over and over in her head. But what choices did Amanda’s family have? Where would they have gone if they knew? There was no underground bunker waiting for them. No man in a suit to pack their car. The last time Emily saw Amanda she had smiled and hugged her, and Amanda had told her that she had decided to go on the date with Richard Curtis from the year above. They had both known what that really meant. Emily had told her to have fun on that Monday night, and as Amanda skipped away laughing, Emily knew that she had lost her chance to do the right thing. She had decided that telling her the truth could end up making things worse. She threw the phone back onto the bed. There was no need for it now. She reached into the nearest drawer and pulled out the T-shirt with PEACE on it and pulled it over her white school blouse. She pulled her arms into the sleeves of her blazer and picked up the bag looking something like a 1970s punk. She allowed herself one last look at the phone. It was too late to do anything. She told herself again that it was better that they didn’t know. Who wants to know they are going to die?
“That’s it, Emily, come on.” Her father was standing at the bottom of the stairs waving his arms in giant circles of encouragement. “Go sit in the car.” His feet were tapping, and her mother was turning around in small circles behind him. She looked like a jewellery box ballerina that had become detached and lost its way.
“Oh, Anthony, stop it,” Mother begged again.
“Helena, she has to understand that we have no choice,” he said, not once taking his eyes from Emily. “Everything is packed, Emily. Go and wait in the car.”
“Not everything is packed,” Emily said, her bottom lip sticking out, her jaw clenched shut. She fiddled with her braid for a distraction. Her hair was soft like golden leaf, and when it hung loose the breeze caught the ends and tousled them like embers blown from a bonfire. Rapunzel, her mother called her.
“Emily, darling. Your father is right. Please hurry.” Helena Grayson turned to Anthony as she edged her daughter towards the door. “This is all your fault, you know that? You are responsible for everything.”
“Helena, not now,” he barked. “Go on, Emily, we are right behind you.” Emily arrived at the front door and slipped her hand into the pocket of her school blazer. She stopped when she found the pocket empty and swung back towards the stairs. Her father snatched at her arm to stop her. “Where do you think you’re going?” he said, as the tartan rucksack slid down to her wrist, swinging like a pendulum between them.
“I forgot something. I have to go back.”
“Emily, no!” he shouted, but she had wriggled her wrist free, snapping it back like a catapult released. “Get back down here now,” he said, charging up the stairs behind her, almost tripping on the rucksack which had dropped to the ground. She stood at the door to her bedroom with her hands on the doorframe, her father bellowing behind her, her mother still whimpering. “Emily, hurry up,” he said, followed by something inaudible from her mother. But Emily wasn’t listening.
She raced into her bedroom and grabbed the iPod from her nightstand. She breathed a sigh of relief as she wound the earphones around the old click wheel device before she stuffed it into her pocket. She couldn’t believe that she had nearly forgotten it. She turned to leave the room, but as she did she saw her pin board facing her. “Emily Grayson, if you are not down here………” She heard her father’s voice resonating up the stairs, followed by footsteps on the marble staircase. His words were disappearing into the reality that she could feel slipping away from her, a place she could no longer reach. Her eyes surrendered to the pin board in front of her and as they travelled across the mementoes from her past, they settled on a strip of images taken in a photo booth. In one, Amanda was sticking her tongue out, in another she was cross-eyed. That day they had been to the cinema, a forgettable movie about a loser boyfriend and a stupid girl who always took him back. They had laughed together as they promised themselves that they would never be like that. They would always have each other. They promised that they would never let each other down. Emily knew that she had failed to keep her promise. She could have told Amanda yesterday. She could have warned her in time for her to do something, to hide, to run, to try. But instead she did as her father instructed her to do and said nothing. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. She was no better than he was.
Emily pulled the photograph from the board and folded it in two just as her father arrived at the door. He didn’t say anything but instead he snatched at her wrist and began pulling her downstairs. Emily ran to keep up with him but her footing was unsteady.
“Dad! Dad, you’re hurting me!” she said, sliding the folded images into her skirt pocket. His fingers gripped her arm like the sharp claws of an eagle and she could feel his skin rubbing against hers as if it was sandpaper. His skin was red hot, his face as brilliant as the brightest flare, and he didn’t loosen his grip until she was in the back of the waiting car. Her mother was already sitting on the back seat trying not to cry. Emily rubbed at her sore arm, her skin marked by four finger shaped welts. She turned to her mother, her common alliance when her father got too rough. Her mother’s instinctive reaction was always to stand in Emily’s corner, an unflinching buttress of support. Her parents would trade insults, and Emily would cocoon herself in her bedroom until the shouting diminished to a distant moan, like the call of the whales from the ocean. But today nobody seemed to notice what had happened. If they did, they didn’t care.
On the way through the streets Emily was surprised at how normal everything appeared. There were people eating breakfast in cafes which made her empty stomach grumble, queues for coffee served in takeaway cups that snaked out of shop doorways as people hurried to work. They passed a school and it was full of children playing in the courtyard without a care in the world. There were girls skipping, and another group was playing hopscotch. Emily imagined them in flames, charred and burnt like a movie she had once seen. Emily knew she didn’t belong here anymore, her place in this life sacrificed by her secrecy, her right to mourn relinquished by her choices. These people were not like her. They didn’t know what was coming. Not even those she loved. She looked down at her T-shirt and suddenly felt like a fraud, taunted by the CND sign as it pulled on the strings of her guilt. She wrapped her blazer closed and held herself in her own embrace.