‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ James says. ‘I imagine their enforcement will involve revealing your big secret more publicly.’
He’s right, of course. But she’s not going to tell him that. She’s cold and tired. She’s been subjected to a memory that she thought she’d done a good job of keeping locked up in a little box – and she’s had to share it with these strangers, just to rub salt in the wound. They might be tolerating her now, but there’s no doubt they think she’s a monster. James’s memory feed was pretty nasty, as was Tiggy’s. From what little they saw of Brenda’s, there was some serious heartache linked to that. But Lucy’s wins in the evil-bitch stakes, hands down. Is it any wonder her moods flit back and forth like they do? Every single day, she has to find some way to live with herself.
‘Whatever.’ She turns back to the fake rock and starts to pull out the metal box. She tries, but it’s too heavy and it slips out of her hands.
‘Here, let me.’ James leans in and grips the box with both hands, then slowly pulls it out. He lays it on the floor and looks over at Lucy, who’s moved out of the way. His eyes are saying, ‘Shall I open it?’
‘Go ahead.’
He unclips the two metal clasps at each end, twisting them downwards. The lid pops up and he lifts it off. Lucy peers over his shoulder as he starts to unpack it, laying the contents on the floor. Four bottles of a pale yellow drink. Four shiny red apples. Four packets of crisps. Then something wrapped in waxed paper, which he unfolds to reveal a chocolate cake, pre-cut into four equal segments.
‘Christ. This is like reality TV show bingo. We’ve gone from Big Brother to that celebrity jungle one, with our little “reward”. Scott . . .’ Lucy calls over her shoulder. ‘Your dinner’s here.’ She lifts one of the bottles and inspects it. ‘He’s been moaning about being starving for hours. It’s weird, though, because I’m not hungry at all.’
‘Me neither,’ Amelia says. ‘James?’
He shakes his head. ‘Well . . . it’s not so much that I’m not hungry, it’s just that I’m a bit wary of eating anything here. They put those cereal bars and things in our bags, and there were the nibbles at the tiki hut, but I just didn’t want to risk it.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Lucy places the bottle back in the box. ‘They’ve drugged everything else they’ve given us. Maybe this will be all-out poison.’ She takes an apple instead. ‘This is so shiny it doesn’t look real. This whole picnic thing reminds me of The Famous Five – I can’t tell what’s in the bottles yet, but it doesn’t look like “lashings of ginger beer”.’
‘Who are the Famous Five?’ Scott chips in. ‘Were they the guys who blew up your Parliament with gunpowder?’
Lucy laughs. ‘No, idiot. Think Nancy Drew, but with five annoying kids instead of one . . . or was one of them a dog?’ She shakes her head. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘If we’re going for kids’ stories, I’d say this apple is more like the one that poisoned Snow White,’ Scott says, lifting out an apple, inspecting it, then putting it back. ‘Do they really think we’re going to eat fruit that we found in a box disguised as a rock? Who knows how long it’s been here.’
James smiles. ‘It’s interesting you mention The Famous Five. I’ve been thinking the same all day. This whole island thing. What did they say the name of this place was?’
‘Nirrik,’ Scott says. ‘Now, do not ask me how I remembered that. It just stuck in my head for some reason.’
‘Did you say Nirrik?’ Amelia says. She has gone very pale. She spells out the letters one by one. ‘That’s Kirrin, backwards—’
‘Wait,’ Lucy says. ‘What? How did you happen to click to that?’
Amelia shrugs. ‘My mind just works that way. Puzzles, word games.’
Lucy frowns, unsure where she’s going with this. ‘O . . . K . . .’
‘Kirrin was the island the Famous Five went to.’
‘Oh, of course,’ says Lucy. ‘Where they met George.’
Amelia looks away. ‘Yes. It’s where they met George.’
Amelia
Amelia needs to get away. Things are moving too close to the truth, but she doesn’t want to reveal what she knows. Not yet. She steps outside and raises a palm upwards. ‘I think the rain has finally stopped.’ She walks further into the fresh air, takes a deep breath. ‘It’s called petrichor, that scent. Did you know that?’ She turns to face James, who has followed her out. He shakes his head. ‘The smell of the air after the rain – following a dry spell. You could tell it hadn’t rained here for a while. The ground was so hard-packed.’
James just nods.
Lucy and Scott come out behind him.
‘How come there were only four portions of food?’ Lucy asks. ‘If Brenda hadn’t taken out her tracker—’
‘They’re manipulating us,’ Scott says. ‘They probably whispered something in her ear. Or maybe they just knew she wasn’t going to last much longer, even if she hadn’t tried to brain herself pulling out the tracker. They’re watching us, remember?’
‘Well, the four of us are OK now, aren’t we?’ Amelia says, forcing a smile. ‘Even Scott’s ankle seems to be holding up.’
‘It’s fine,’ he mutters. ‘Stopped hurting long ago.’
‘Thanks to your little bag of tricks, eh?’ James nods towards his pocket, where he’s stashed his diminishing bag of mixed drugs.
Scott shrugs. ‘I’m kinda thinking I might not take these anymore. I mean, I need to stay on them today, make sure I keep the pain in my ankle at bay until we get back home. But after that, I’m done. I’m gonna get help. Watching your memory feed made me feel sick. I thought . . . I guess I thought I could shift responsibility onto the user. That’s what I’ve been telling myself for long enough. But seeing it like that? I took advantage. I’m responsible for that.’
James nods. ‘Yeah. You are. But we’re all taking responsibility now, aren’t we? I mean, we didn’t see much of Brenda’s, and I don’t even want to think what might’ve been going on there – I mean, it looked like she was giving her child away . . . And you didn’t hear about Lucy’s.’
‘But what about Amelia?’ Lucy butts in. ‘She doesn’t have this tracker. We saw what happened with Brenda – as soon as she pulled it off, the feed stopped. We’re not going to see what Amelia’s got to hide, are we?’
‘It could still be projected out of my wrist-tracker,’ Amelia says, hoping she’s wrong.
Lucy taps the side of her head, just above her earpiece. ‘Not attached to your neurons, is it?’
‘Do we have to know?’ James turns to Amelia. ‘I think we get the picture.’ He shrugs. ‘We all did terrible things. We’ve all been brought here to be held accountable. I’m sure Amelia doesn’t have to have hers projected for her to know she needs to deal with it?’
‘Well, that’s hardly fair,’ Lucy snaps. ‘Maybe Amelia should just tell us anyway.’