The silence was predictable, and horrible.
But it was quiet enough for a different voice to enter Jack’s head: one he had not heard in its physical form since he was twelve.
Jack, said a voice in his mind that reminded him of his mother, if that had truly been what she had sounded like. It’s because they rely on you. Don’t you get it? You’re valuedhere, and sometimes being valued is hard.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut. It made little difference to his vision, but it helped him to focus the chaos in his head.
There’s no easy way of living, is there? Thought Jack’s own voice.
No, came the answer. If you’re lonely it’s hard. If people depend on you it’s hard. That’s the truth of it, and I wish it were easier.
‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ Jack said, before the voice in his mind could say anything else. Somewhere in the silence, Jack was sure he heard a whisper.
‘OK?’ it said.
At first Jack thought he had invented the noise himself. Simon had never spoken to him with words before.
‘I’ll be alright, Simon. I’m sorry I got frustrated. It’s been a long night. What did you want me for?’
There was a pause, and Simon’s whisper came again.
‘OK?’
‘Yes, I’m sure I’m fine. What can I do for you?’
‘…OK?’
The penny dropped. If that was the right phrase. Jack looked in the direction of the whisper.
‘Is that what you came here for, Simon? To ask me if I was OK?’
‘Ye…’
Jack was overcome with a whole different range of emotions. It was a wonderful compliment, but it came with searing guilt. Simon had come to check up on his friend, and been ranted at in return – by a friend who almost never ranted at anyone.
But beyond the emotional struggle, it was an opportunity Jack did not get very often: someone offering to listen to how he felt rather than ask for his advice. And it was an opportunity worth taking.
‘Well, I guess my secrets are safe with you,’ Jack said, swinging his legs off the bed and switching on his torch. A moment later, he realised how the sentence had sounded.
‘Wait,’ he blurted, ‘I didn’t mean because of you not talking much. It’s because I know I can trust you. Sorry if it… well, anyway…’
Simon sat on the bed at his side, and patted him on the shoulder. Jack pretended not to hate it. Simon was being his own kind of supportive, and discouraging a selective mute from nonverbal communication would be a dreadful idea.
‘Simon,’ Jack said, ‘I think I’ve just worked out why I’m still alive.’
He shone the torchlight vaguely towards Simon: enough to see the confusion on his face.
‘I don’t know if you know this, but I tried to kill myself a couple of times. Back in the old world. I’ve not tried since Takeover Day. Never even come close. And tonight, just now, I think I’ve worked out why. It’s because people depend on me.’
Jack thought he could feel another tear, but he had stopped being bothered about them.
‘I mean, I started crying when I collapsed on this bed. And when you think about it, that was the moment nobody needed me to be OK. A whole night of looking for a house in the dead of night and I was fine. Ten seconds of everyone being OK and I fell apart. You know what that means, Simon?’
Simon huffed. Jack could not decipher what kind of huff it was.
‘It means I value the rest of you more than I value myself. So I keep myself alive and well for you all. And alright, yeah, it’s a crap reason to keep yourself going. But if it works it works, right?’
Simon huffed again, and even Jack could tell it was a huff of despondence.
‘I’ll be OK, Simon. You don’t need to worry about me.’
Jack wasn’t sure how true that was, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Simon patted him on the shoulder again, and Jack forced himself not to flinch in case it hurt Simon’s feelings. They were much more important than his, after all.
‘Thanks for the chat, Simon,’ Jack said. ‘At least someone asked if I was alright.’
Simon smiled in the torchlight, and rose to his feet. The conversation ended there and then as Simon walked out of the door and left Jack to his own devices. Jack lay himself flat on the bed, without getting undressed or even covering himself with the duvet. It took him several hours of inactivity, but he eventually fell asleep from exhaustion.
He awoke in daylight, with his watch telling him he had slept until mid-morning. But a whole night’s sleep had not rid the conversation with Simon from his mind.
As he looked out of his bedroom window at the unfamiliar street, his thoughts turned to Ewan and the others. In a sense, they were keeping themselves alive for other people too, so maybe Jack was nothing special after all. He just hoped that by the time it struck midnight that evening and it became May 20th, his friends in New London would still have lives to keep.
*
Ewan was impressed with himself, which wasn’t a feeling he experienced often. He hadn’t thought he could spend a whole day walking around Oakenfold surrounded by clones without a single emotion appearing on his face.
Then again, most of his life had been spent masking his feelings for the convenience of others. Sixteen years of practice had led to him putting on a stellar performance that day.
Ignoring the sensory assault of his navy blue clone uniform, he took the last box of papers from the makeshift shelf and handed it to Alex, who stood beside him, equally emotionless. Alex had been given a few funny looks from clones who were not yet familiar with the new clone model, but nobody had made a fuss or even bothered to question his scar. Even Ewan’s appearance had not been questioned: perhaps they assumed him to be one of the reinforcement models from New Reading.
It was late afternoon, the day’s brightness showing warning signs of fading through the windows, and their job was nearly done.
‘This is the last of them, right?’ Alex whispered, as faintly as he could and after double-checking that they were alone.
‘Shh,’ Ewan replied anyway.
‘But it is, right?’
Ewan rolled his eyes and nodded. Thanks to Raj’s efforts in the library, there had been less paperwork to carry to the transports. He walked towards the sports hall’s exit, Alex close behind with the box in both hands.
‘We’ve spent the whole day helping the enemy, you know.’
Ewan grew impatient enough to whisper back.
‘The sooner we’re finished packing, the sooner they start the journey to New London. Besides, we’ll be burning all this stuff once it reaches the paper archive anyway.’
‘Why am I carrying the last box?’
‘Because you were daft enough to take it from me.’
‘Ewan, if I had a free hand, guess what I’d be doing with my middle finger?’
‘Picking your nose. Now shut up.’
Ewan and Alex walked out of the school entrance towards the convoy of transport vehicles in the car park. For what must have been the twentieth time that day, they walked past Raj.
His headless body had been horrifying enough the previous night, without the details being revealed in broad daylight. Of all the reasons for Ewan to struggle with keeping a straight face, the repeated sight of his friend’s exploded body was by far the most challenging.