We turn down a narrow path we don’t remember seeing before. A short wooden sign driven into the grass reads PRIVATE. ‘It’s okay,’ Nathan says. ‘We have permission. The sign’s there to discourage intrusion. You’ll soon see why. We are on our way to The Enclave, home to the youngest resi­dents in The Village.’

  The Enclave is a part of The Village rarely referred to by the Support Workers, and only when they think we’re not listening. We’re not sure why they bother with the secrecy; everyone knows it exists.

  Teachers can be that way. Unnecessarily secretive. We once worked with a woman who kept her class timetable hidden so that the poor children never knew what to expect. It made one little boy so unbearably anxious that he stopped coming to school altogether.

  Nathan leads us past a series of low-rise glass buildings that look like greenhouses but don’t appear to contain any­thing. A small bird has somehow found its way inside one of the structures and is flying happily from beam to beam, oblivious to its confinement. Nathan talks, explaining our surroundings, but we don’t bother listening. We’ve learned not to rely on what he says.

  ‘Here we are, Laurie-Amelia,’ he announces as we arrive at a set of large steel gates set into a high wire-mesh fence, the top of which curls sharply outward.

  Benjamin-Annie’s in here?

  He enters a code into the keypad on the gate and scans his ID badge. He extends his hand. ‘I need yours too.’

  ‘Mine?’

  ‘Your ID card.’ He nods at our lanyard.

  ‘Oh.’ We take it off and pass it to him. We’ve never needed to use our card for access before. We’d forgotten that’s what it’s for.

  He scans the card, and there’s the sound of the gate unlock­ing. A soft click. It shuts smoothly and silently behind us. Through a screen of fir trees, we make out a cluster of pretty little houses, like something from a greetings card. We put our lanyard back on and follow Nathan down the shiny cob­blestone path. We glance back at the fence, its sharp edges promising pain to anyone who dares to climb it.

  We emerge onto a street lined with charming red-brick houses, each with a neatly manicured lawn and green picket fence. It’s as though we’ve stepped onto the set of a subur­ban drama, where everyone wears cheerful smiles, and dark secrets lurk behind closed doors.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Nathan says. ‘Each house is home to two Support Workers and two Combines of a similar age. It helps with the children’s recovery, you know, to feel part of a nuclear unit. There’s a very special sense of community within The Enclave. Can you imagine a child trying to adjust to their merged self in an apartment like yours? It wouldn’t be fair. They need the space, the gardens, the family dynamic.’

  We pass a Support Worker tending to a window box. They hum softly as they carefully deadhead the flowers that have gone over, too absorbed in their work to notice us. ‘Does Benjamin-Annie have a house?’ we ask.

  ‘They do indeed,’ Nathan says. ‘Though they don’t share their house with another Combine. Just Angela. They’re an anomaly, being the only adult Combine living here. And little Teddy is, of course, the only newborn.’

  Ahead of us, a toddler no older than three, with a head of dark, curly hair, walks hand in hand with a Support Worker, their little fingers pointing excitedly at our balloon. ‘Cloud,’ they say proudly.

  ‘That’s right,’ the Support Worker says. ‘A cloud. Very good, Nathaniel-Rose. There aren’t any clouds in the sky today, though.’

  The child looks up, eyes scanning the clear sky as if double-checking the truth of what they’ve been told.

  It’s so strange to see a child Combine, and yet so common for children to be put forward for the Merge. So many families have no choice. They’re like war horses, driven into battle with no say, no awareness of the life that lies ahead.

  We expect to feel some fondness for the child, something beyond sympathy and guilt, but we don’t. Our usual enthusi­asm for children must be waning as we align.

  Panic stirs. If our personality is fading, blending, are we too far along in our Merge to keep hold of our separate selves? To maintain two perspectives? We need both – we need to speak, to disagree, to see things differently.

  We need each other.

  ‘There’s a large school here,’ Nathan says, waving at Nathaniel-Rose’s Support Worker as we pass. ‘I can show it to you if you’d like. It has its own petting zoo. Are you thinking of getting back into teaching, Laurie-Amelia? Perhaps we could get you a position in the school here before you’re signed off. It’s never too soon to start getting back to your career.’

  ‘I think I’d rather continue with the videography,’ we say, surprising ourselves with the certainty of our statement. ‘Twenty-five years of teaching is enough.’

  Nathan nods. ‘Quite understandable. Well, we can certainly get you filming again soon. Perhaps you could document little Teddy’s Naming Ceremony.’ We pass a front garden where two young Combines run and laugh. Nathan notices us watching and misreads the tension in our expression as admiration. ‘It’s lovely to witness, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘Combine children are incredibly resilient compared to adults. They bounce back so quickly. They’ve fewer memories, you see, so less conflict.’

  ‘What about the children who merge with adults? Do they live here, too?’

  ‘Yes, they do. Although they share the mind of an elder, they remain very much a child in their life stage and are treated as such. It works the same both ways. You may well be sharing an apartment block with a Combine whose Transfer was a child. Though that’s rarer, of course. Most people merge in… the other direction.’

  Nathan stops outside the house we assume belongs to Benjamin-Annie. It’s red brick, framed by a green picket fence. Identical to the others. ‘Now,’ he says, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘There’s something you need to know before we go inside.’ He licks his lips, rocking back on his heels. ‘Benjamin-Annie doesn’t know about Lara-Jay.’

  We blink at him, taken aback. ‘What?’

  ‘They gave birth just a couple of hours after Lara-Jay died. They haven’t had it easy, Laurie-Amelia, as I’m sure they’ll tell you. Becoming a parent has been a huge adjustment for them. So, Angela made the executive decision that they shouldn’t be told. Not until they’re ready.’

  We tilt our head, our eyes lingering on the picket fence. We can’t begin to imagine what they’ve been through. Perhaps it’s sensible to spare them from more grief, to allow them to navigate these fragile first weeks without added strain. But what happens when they find out? When they realise every­one knew and chose to keep them in the dark?

  Mum?

  Nothing comes.

  ‘Just be there for them,’ Nathan says. ‘Show them love, sup­port and understanding. Keep conversations light and focus on Teddy. Trust that Angela has their best interests at heart. When the time is right, they’ll know about everything that has been happening. Until then, we do our best to support them and protect their new family. Okay?’

  We nod. ‘Okay.’

  Nathan knocks loudly on the door.

  We fidget with the string of the balloon. This is it. Our reunion with Benjamin-Annie. The first time we’ll meet their son. They’ll open the door, Teddy cradled in their arms, his little face wide-eyed and innocent. Benjamin-Annie will smile, or maybe they’ll hesitate, taking us in, getting used to our presence before deciding to let us inside.

  But the door remains closed. No soft footsteps, no mur­murs from inside, not even the faintest cry of a baby disturbed by the knock. We glance at Nathan, who’s chewing his lip. ‘They probably need a minute,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry.’

  I have a bad feeling. Do you? I don’t think they’re here. And Nathan will say they’ve popped out, that we can come back tomorrow. But then we’ll come back tomorrow and—

  The door opens, and there they are.

  Benjamin-Annie.

  We release a breath of relief and step forward to embrace them, holding them so tightly they let out a soft laugh. They’re okay. They’re here, and in this moment they seem happy. We eventually loosen our hold on them and pass them the balloon. ‘Here,’ we say. ‘Congratulations. I can’t believe it. You’re a parent now. You did it, Benjamin-Annie. You’ve started your family.’

  They take the balloon, their smile warm but distant, their eyes lifting to the cloud-shaped message floating above. ‘So happy,’ they say, their head tilting slightly, as if contemplating the statement. Their red curls are longer than they were last time we saw them, but just as wild. Something about them is different, though, something subtle. It’s their makeup, the lack of it. We nod. That’s what it is. The rosy blush that used to tint their cheeks is gone. Perhaps that’s Ben’s influence. Perhaps he isn’t comfortable wearing makeup.

  ‘Congratulations,’ we say again, though our voice falters this time, thickened by the sudden undeniable awareness of Ben standing before us, seeing us through Annie’s eyes. ‘It’s so good to see you, Benjamin-Annie. I’ve been so worried. How are you?’

  Angela appears behind them. She hurries past Benjamin- Annie to embrace us, kissing us twice on both cheeks. ‘Oh, Laurie-Amelia,’ she says. ‘It’s so lovely to see you. You look so well.’

  ‘You do,’ Benjamin-Annie says. ‘You look beautiful.’

  We smile, but it isn’t true. Our hair, once thick and shiny, is now brittle and thinning, and no matter how hard we try, we can’t seem to put any weight on. Our clothes hang loosely on our too-thin frame. But it’s a kind thing for them to say. And it’s such a relief to hear them speak. To see them standing here, so healthy and strong.

  ‘Come on in,’ Angela says. ‘Come and meet our delightful little man.’

  We step inside and bend to take off our shoes. ‘No, no,’ Angela says. ‘Don’t worry about that. Keep them on.’

  We look at Nathan, who nods reassuringly. Benjamin- Annie’s house is immaculate. It feels wrong to be wearing our shoes, like spoiling fresh snow with our footprints. The place seems to gleam with cleanliness; every surface freshly polished, appearing untouched, as though no one lives here at all, especially not a newborn.

  Our mind begins to race. Is this truly Benjamin-Annie’s home, or just the place Nathan wants us to believe they’ve been all this time? We replay the wait at the door, the way the minutes dragged. Why did it take so long for Benjamin-Annie to answer?

  A new, unsettling thought takes hold. We picture Angela ushering them in moments before we arrived, scrambling to pull them from their real home – a space cluttered with toys, baby bottles, nappies and piles of tiny clothes – and placing them here, in this sterile environment, just in time to put on a convincing show. The idea of The Enclave being nothing more than a set, and this house nothing more than a carefully curated prop, creeps back.

  ‘Your house is beautiful,’ we say.

  Benjamin-Annie smiles, leading us to the nursery. The balloon trails behind them, bouncing from the ceiling. So Happy! ‘Thank you,’ they say.

  ‘It’s very tidy.’

  They nod. ‘Cleaning helps me.’

  ‘Helps you?’

  We pass rows of photos in matching silver frames, per­fectly straight and evenly spaced along the walls. Images of Ben and Annie, of their pregnancy shoot, of their friends and family. There’s a shot of them at their Commitment Ceremony, hand in hand in their purple robes. We stop in front of the image, staring at it, straining for a memory to surface, but nothing comes. We touch the frame. ‘Do you remember that day, Benjamin-Annie? Do you remember Committing?’

  They turn and see us touching their photograph. Their eyes widen, and they let go of the balloon. ‘Don’t touch,’ they say, hurrying over and using their sleeve to wipe the frame where our fingers have been.

  ‘Sorry,’ we say. ‘I shouldn’t have touched it. I’m sorry, Benjamin-Annie.’

  They don’t respond. They’re frantically wiping the frame.

  The freed balloon floats up the stairwell and vanishes into the shadows above.

  We look at Nathan. ‘It’s okay, Laurie-Amelia,’ Angela says gently. ‘Benjamin-Annie can be rather – particular. That’s all. It’s nothing personal. Come on through to the nursery. We’ll let Benjamin-Annie get things sorted, and you can meet dar­ling little Teddy. He’s just delightful.’

  We follow her, casting a backwards glance as Benjamin- Annie carefully removes the photo frame from the wall.

  ‘Here we are,’ Angela says.

  We stare, frowning at the nursery. Am I going mad, or… is this room identical to the nursery at their apartment? ‘The walls,’ we say. ‘They’re pink and orange. It looks just like…’

  Angela nods, smiling. ‘I had their old nursery replicated. Everything’s the same, right down to the rug.’ She walks over to the crib. We follow slowly, taking in our surroundings. There’s the wicker toybox, the low chest of drawers, the white-laced crib. The sight transports us back to the origi­nal nursery, to the time we were there, standing by the crib, convinced we were pregnant.

  Feeling that level of confusion doesn’t seem possible now.

  How far we’ve come.

  A faint whimper rises from the crib. We hold back, clos­ing our eyes, bracing ourselves for the sight of the child Ben and Annie so desperately wanted, the child they’ve risked everything to bring into this world. We’ve been longing for this moment since we first heard about him, but now that it’s here it’s almost too much to bear.

  ‘Come on, Laurie-Amelia,’ Angela says gently. ‘Come and meet Teddy.’

  We take a deep breath before opening our eyes. We approach the crib slowly, waiting until we’re right up close before allow­ing ourselves to look. We gasp. Teddy is so tiny, wrapped in a green woollen blanket and wearing a cotton hat embroidered with the Combine mandala. His tiny hands are covered in green mittens, and his tiny chest rises and falls with each breath.

  A miracle.

  ‘He’s pretty amazing, isn’t he?’

  We turn, our eyes watering. Benjamin-Annie is standing by the doorway, smiling. ‘Hold him,’ they say. ‘Please. He’s in need of some love.’

  Angela tucks one hand gently under Teddy’s back, the other under his head, and scoops him up. ‘Teddy,’ she says. ‘Meet Laurie-Amelia.’ She places him in our arms. His warmth sinks into us. We trace his cheek with a trembling finger, and our tears fall. It’s been so long since we felt the delicate soft­ness of newborn skin. We’d almost forgotten how impossibly small and fragile a baby can feel. He blinks sleepily up at us, his lips twitching. We kiss his tiny nose, overwhelmed by the love we feel for him.

  Our love for babies is still here. We’re still here.

  ‘He’s absolutely perfect, Benjamin-Annie,’ we say. ‘You’ve done so well.’

  We rock Teddy to sleep as Benjamin-Annie fills us in on what’s been happening with them. They sit cross-legged on the rug, their curls falling around their face as they absent-mindedly smooth out the rug’s wrinkles and creases. ‘I was finding everything okay in the beginning,’ they say. ‘I was excited. Being surrounded by all the children felt like the perfect preparation. But then I started to get all panicky. I was worrying about the challenges of doing this alone, of raising a baby with one body as opposed to two.’ They clear their throat, smoothing down the rug’s pile so that it all goes in the same direction. ‘I’d thought about it before, of course I had. But it suddenly seemed overwhelming. I put it down to the hormones and told myself I’d feel calmer once the baby arrived. But when Teddy came, I had this episode…’

  They look at Angela, who’s leaning against the wall by the crib. She stands beside Nathan. Both have their arms folded. Nathan looks especially uncomfortable.

  ‘Can I tell Laurie-Amelia what happened?’

  ‘Of course you can, Benjamin-Annie,’ Angela says. ‘You can tell Laurie-Amelia whatever you please, so long as you feel up to it.’

  Benjamin-Annie begins smoothing the rug again, their fingers creating small paths. It’s a while before they look at us through the curtain of curls. ‘I went mad, Laurie-Amelia. I lost my mind. I screamed at poor Angela whenever she came near Teddy. I kept accusing her of wanting to steal him. I believed it, too. I really believed she was going to take him from me. I only recently came to my senses. It’s terrifying when you realise you’ve gone insane.’

  ‘You were never insane, Benjamin-Annie,’ Angela says. ‘You were suffering from post-partum psychosis. That’s noth­ing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘Oh, Benjamin-Annie,’ we say, our voice soft with regret. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t around to help you through that.’

  They shake their head, their eyes on Teddy. A tiny yawn escapes his mouth, as if to assure them that nothing has troub­led him. He’s still perfectly content. ‘I’m really pleased you didn’t see me in that state. I’d probably have accused you of wanting Teddy for yourself, too.’

  ‘Do you want him back?’ we ask, suddenly aware of how long he’s been in our arms.

  They shake their head again, returning their attention to the rug. ‘I don’t hold him anymore.’

  We look at Angela and Nathan, both wearing the same sad expression.

  ‘I don’t trust myself,’ Benjamin-Annie whispers. ‘Having two parents in one body isn’t right, isn’t natural, it’s too much, too strong, too… I’m scared I love him too much and that, if I hold him, I’ll squeeze him too tightly and suffocate him.’ They shuffle backwards, retreating from the intensity of their own affection. ‘It’s better this way. It means he’ll be safe.’

  Oh, god. I can’t stand it.

  ‘He’ll be safe with you, Benjamin-Annie. I’m sure of it.’

  They smile weakly. ‘That’s kind of you to say, but if you’d seen me… Did you feel crazy after you gave birth? Did you ever worry you’d hurt Amelia?’

  We pause, trying to sift through the jumble in our head. The worry in their eyes makes us want to give them something to hold on to. Our gaze wanders, searching the air as if the answer might be floating around, waiting to be caught. We feel the strain of the effort, like reaching into a fog. ‘I felt delirious with love,’ we say. ‘I’d spend the nights watching her, guarding her as she slept. I was terrified, just as you are. I had this need to protect her from everything. Even when Mitchell, her father, would hold her, I couldn’t properly relax. The only time I felt I could breathe easily was when she was in my arms.’

 

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