The Merge, page 28
We bite the inside of our cheek and taste blood.
‘When I first visited Benjamin-Annie after they’d given birth to Teddy, they tried to attack me. They truly believed I’d taken Ben and intended to steal Teddy. It was terribly sad.’ He shakes his head slowly. ‘What’s important to remember is that Benjamin-Annie recovered once before, and they will recover again. Their distress and confusion is simply the result of a traumatic birth. Imagine it, Laurie-Amelia. Imagine giving birth as a Combine. It must have been dreadful experiencing all that pain, going through childbirth in a body that isn’t entirely your own.’
We struggle to keep our voice steady, forcing down the rising anger. ‘If their birth was so terrible, then why is it being celebrated as a success? And why was Benjamin-Annie paraded in front of all those people, all those cameras? If they were unwell, you should never have allowed it.’
‘It wasn’t my doing.’
‘I didn’t hear you voicing any concern. Did you tell them not to do it?’
His expression confirms what we already know. He didn’t. And now we’re stuck here, too.
Eliza comes to our apartment that morning. When we open the door, her eyes dart past us, checking for Nathan. Before we can say a word, she pulls us into a tight embrace, her breath warm against our ear as she whispers. ‘Please, don’t say a word to Nathan. I’ll explain everything.’
In the lounge, we sit together. Nathan, Eliza, and us.
Eliza’s voice is calm as she tells us she witnessed what happened with Benjamin-Annie, as if we didn’t already know she’d been there. ‘You know there’s no truth to it, don’t you?’ she says. ‘No one wants to steal Teddy from his parent.’
‘Laurie-Amelia understands,’ Nathan assures her. ‘They know what Benjamin-Annie’s been through… I’ve told them everything.’
Eliza smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Good. I just wanted to make sure.’ She touches our arm gently. ‘Can I make anyone a cup of tea?’
We take this as our cue, forcing a smile. ‘I’d love one, thank you, Eliza. I’ll help you.’
But Nathan follows us into the kitchen and leans against the counter with his arms folded as we get the mugs from the cupboard. Eliza fills the kettle. ‘Oh, Nathan,’ she says, ‘Mike wanted you to give him a call. Something about house-arrest regulations.’
Nathan frowns, checking his watch. ‘He hasn’t contacted me.’
‘He caught me on my way here. I told him I was coming over.’
Nathan hesitates, then pulls his phone from his pocket. Eliza puts the kettle on. We listen to the low rumble of water as it starts to heat.
Nathan dials. We glance at Eliza. If this is a bluff, she’s about to be found out. But she looks calm, relaxed, her face serene as she waits for the kettle to boil.
‘Mike?’ Nathan says. ‘Eliza said you wanted to speak to me? Something about house-arrest regulations?’ He looks at us briefly, frowns. ‘Yes, they are.’ He nods, grunts, then holds up a finger, mouthing, One moment.
We hold our breath as he steps out of the room.
The moment the door closes, we rush to Eliza. ‘You were with Albie,’ we whisper. ‘I saw you with him. You were whispering—’
‘I can’t explain now. There’s no time,’ she says quickly. ‘But he wants you to know he hasn’t given up, and that he won’t give up. He told me to tell you to keep going, and that he’s in touch with Lara-Jay’s family. They’re doing okay. I promised I’d get you through, and out of here. He’ll be waiting.’
We glance at the door. Nathan’s already wrapping up his call. ‘Take me to Benjamin-Annie, Eliza. Let me check on them.’
‘I’m working on getting you outside, Laurie-Amelia. That’s what the phone—’
Nathan steps back into the kitchen. We move apart, the kettle whistling softly. Eliza pours the boiling water into the mugs, her hands remarkably steady, unlike ours. Our whole body is trembling.
‘What was it about?’ she asks. ‘Is everything okay?’
Nathan nods, though his brow is furrowed. He guides Eliza aside, lowering his voice, trying and failing to keep us from hearing. ‘He was updating me on the lockdown. It’s been scrapped. He says keeping Laurie-Amelia inside could be detrimental to their mental well-being, that it’s important they get fresh air, that their morale remains boosted for the remainder of their time here.’
‘I see where he’s coming from,’ Eliza says, her voice equally low. ‘We only need to look at Lara-Jay to understand what a depressive episode can do to a Combine. Keeping Laurie- Amelia happy is the right call, isn’t it?’
‘But it’s so soon,’ Nathan mutters. ‘They’ve only just experienced—’
‘I need a purpose,’ we blurt out, louder than intended, the words spilling out in a rush. It’s just like when we were a child, always giving ourselves away too easily.
Nathan’s eyes widen.
‘Sorry,’ we say quickly, forcing a calmer tone. ‘It’s just, after seeing Benjamin-Annie yesterday, and knowing everything they’ve been through. I don’t want to end up like them.’
Nathan’s expression softens. ‘You won’t, Laurie-Amelia. I promise. That’s not something you need to worry about.’
‘But I am worried,’ we press. ‘I think I need something to focus on, something to occupy my mind. I see Noah-Lucas doing so well and I can’t help but think it’s because they have school to keep them busy.’
Eliza is watching us closely.
‘You can’t go to school, Laurie-Amelia,’ Nathan says.
‘Not to be a student, no. But I could teach. It’s like you’re always saying. I need to keep my options open. I’m not sure I’m up for taking on a class of my own, but maybe I could help out as a teaching assistant. I think that could be really good for me.’
There’s silence. Nathan leans on the counter, his fingers tapping lightly as he considers our proposal. ‘I suppose you could go in with Noah-Lucas,’ he says eventually. ‘You could assist in their class.’
Eliza removes the tea bags from the mugs and drops them in the bin. She moves casually, unhurried, but her eyes meet ours for a moment. A silent confirmation. She’s with us. She understands.
‘Isn’t it primary school that you teach?’ she asks, her voice conversational. ‘I have a friend who works at the primary school here. I can get in touch, see if they need a hand in The Enclave.’
We nod eagerly. ‘Yes please. Spending time with the little ones will keep me sane. I’m sure of it.’
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ Eliza says, turning to Nathan. ‘We don’t want Laurie-Amelia stuck inside, overthinking everything. It’s like you always say, a busy mind is a healthy mind.’
‘Yes,’ Nathan says slowly. ‘I suppose it is. Good for you, Laurie-Amelia.’
We turn away, hiding our smile.
Two days later, Nathan has a meeting and leaves us in Eliza’s care. ‘She’s kindly arranged to take you to The Enclave to meet her friend who teaches at the school. You’ll be given a tour and, if all goes well, we can get you signed up to work as an assistant.’
The waiting has been tortuous. We’ve tried to occupy ourselves, spending hours on thousand-piece puzzles and art therapy, but our thoughts remain trapped in an unrelenting loop, imagining the consequences Benjamin-Annie might face for their outburst, worrying about Teddy’s well-being, and replaying the memory of Eliza and Albie, wondering why they were together, what they’re planning, and why we’re still being kept in the dark.
As we walk, Eliza talks, her voice low. She quietly instructs us on how to slip out of the school and find Benjamin-Annie’s house. She’ll stay behind in the school office, keeping her friend occupied. ‘When you’ve been there, when you’ve seen them, you’ll have a lot of questions. I’ll answer them all. I’ll tell you everything I know. But you need to see them first – for your own state of mind.’ She touches our hand lightly. ‘Stay hidden, Laurie-Amelia, and be quick.’
We nod, our stomach churning.
At the school, Eliza signs us in. The rather severe-looking middle-aged woman at the office informs us that her friend isn’t working today. ‘Teacher Abioye is in Monday to Wednesday. They don’t work on Fridays.’
Our stomach drops, but Eliza doesn’t seem concerned. She smiles warmly, apologising for the mix-up and, after a brief conversation, smoothly arranges for us to visit a different class instead.
The school feels strangely quiet. There are no signs of the children beyond the sound of soft, cheerful singing coming faintly from a distant classroom. ‘If you’re happy and you know it, stomp your feet.’
We’re anxious and can’t concentrate properly. The woman at the office mistakes our obvious nervousness for fear of teaching. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she says, filling the kettle and opening a biscuit tin. ‘We’re a good-natured bunch. You’ll do well here. I can feel it. I’m Marnie, by the way. Is it tea or coffee to begin the day?’
Eliza calls Nathan to let him know we’ve arrived safely. ‘We’re just signing in,’ she tells him. She passes the phone to Marnie. ‘Sorry,’ she says quietly. ‘It’s Laurie-Amelia’s Support Worker. He just wants to confirm their whereabouts.’
Marnie takes the phone with a reassuring smile. We watch tensely as she cradles it between her shoulder and cheek as she pours boiling water over the tea bags. ‘Yes, yes,’ she says. ‘A little trepidatious but that’s to be expected. Don’t worry, we’ll look after them.’
We can’t finish our tea, but we manage a biscuit. It’s dry and sticks to the roof of our mouth, making speaking difficult. We nod or shake our head when Marnie asks us a question.
‘You needn’t be shy around me, pet,’ she says. ‘I’m not one to judge or criticise. I’m in awe of all of you Combines. I really am.’ She smiles warmly. ‘Let’s get going, shall we?’
We leave Eliza at the front office. She settles into an armchair by the window, unfolding a newspaper and smoothing out its creases. ‘Take your time,’ she says. ‘I’m in no rush to get back.’
We smile and nod, offering a small smile. She turns her attention to the paper.
Marnie leads us down a quiet corridor to a classroom at the back of the school, beyond the boundary of the privet hedge. Through the windows, a lush green field slopes away into the distance. We imagine it at playtime, full of laughter and chatter, children racing each other, sprinting up and down the hill, their energy uncontainable. Teachers supervising, advising the children to not run so fast. It’s wet, they say, you might slip and hurt yourself.
‘Laurie-Amelia, meet Teacher Pilkington,’ Marnie says. ‘They’re happy to have you join their class this morning. You enjoy yourself. If you need me, I’ll be in the office. I’m happy to lend an ear whenever required.’ She winks before leaving the classroom.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Laurie-Amelia. I’m Philippa- Thomas. Teacher Pilkington to the children. And to Marnie, apparently.’ They smile. A calm, gentle Combine, beanpole thin, with long limbs and receding hair. The children clearly adore them; their little hands shoot up with every question Teacher Pilkington asks.
They’re sweet children. All ten in the class have a Host age of six, but it’s easy to spot the ones who have merged with older Transfers. They tell us stories of their past lives.
‘I jumped out of a plane once,’ a little Combine called Erica-Alice says as they colour in, their pink crayon straying well beyond the lines. ‘With a golden parachute. I did it when I was in Australia. Did you know there are kangaroos in Australia? They carry their babies in a pouch in their tummy and they bounce like this.’ Erica-Alice abandons their colouring and starts hopping around the classroom.
The children are adorably innocent. It’s disconcerting whenever we catch sight of their mandala tattoos peeking out from under their collars. There’s a great deal of laughter and play, and slowly, we find ourselves relaxing. For a moment, we forget this is only a tour, that we have no real intention of taking the role.
Perhaps we should go back into teaching when we leave here. What do you think? I’m really enjoying myself, are you?
Nothing.
‘Come and see my pine-cone family, Assistant Anderson.’ We’re pulled by the hand to Polly-Connor’s table. They have a mop of chestnut hair and, when they smile, we notice they’re missing one of their front teeth.
On the table, a row of pine cones is neatly arranged by size. ‘This is the daddy pine cone,’ they explain, pointing at the largest. ‘And this is the mummy. And these are all of their babies. There are too many babies so they’re merging. Then they can have more money for holidays.’ They begin flicking the smallest pine cones onto the floor, one by one. ‘Now there are only two babies.’ They grin, proudly showing off their gap-toothed smile. ‘That’s better because of the embiro-ment.’
We smile faintly, running a hand over their unruly hair. ‘How old was Polly?’
‘A baby,’ they say happily.
We nod. It would be the easier choice.
A loud cry erupts from the corner of the room. A little Combine screams, distraught as another takes the train they were playing with. Teacher Pilkington is distracted, hurrying over to mediate.
We seize the opportunity.
We slip out of the room and hurry down the corridor, its fluorescent lights casting a harsh, sterile glow on the pale walls. The echoes of children’s chatter and laughter fade behind us.
At the end of the corridor, we find the door Eliza told us about, painted a dull grey, with a push-bar for easy exit. Glancing around to ensure no one is watching, we press down on the bar. It makes a satisfying click, and the door swings open, letting in a rush of crisp, fresh air.
We step outside and walk quickly away from the building, our head lowered. We pass the school gardener, crouched over an ancient lawnmower. He spots us and smiles.
‘I’m always tinkering with her, keeping her going,’ he says. ‘She was a real beauty in her day. They keep offering me a new one, but I’m too old for that. We get along well enough, don’t we.’ He pats the mower affectionately, like it’s an old dog.
We smile politely, murmuring a vague response before strolling away, as if we have all the time in the world. The moment we’re out of his sight, we break into a run. By the time we reach the path lined with red-brick houses, we’re sprinting.
It takes us less than five minutes to reach Benjamin-Annie’s house. We pause at the gate, catching our breath, glancing over our shoulder, scanning for any sign of being followed.
We hurry through the front garden, our breath shallow and quick, and slip round to the back of the house.
At the first window, we crouch low, keeping out of sight as we peer inside. Angela is in the kitchen, singing along to the radio while she dices potatoes, the thud of her knife rhythmic against the chopping board.
There’s no sign of Benjamin-Annie.
We move to the next window. The curtains are drawn, but a narrow gap offers just enough space for us to catch a glimpse inside. Holding our breath, we lean closer, straining to see what lies behind the curtains.
It’s the nursery.
Benjamin-Annie sits slumped in a rocking chair, their head lolling to one side. They’re in pyjamas, their hair unkempt, their bright-red curls spiralling in unruly tangles.
We gently tap on the window, but there’s no response. They don’t even flinch.
We scan the room, searching for Teddy. The crib is tucked just out of view.
But then we spot him – small and still, fast asleep in Benjamin-Annie’s lap.
We tap again, louder this time, hoping to stir some reaction. The only answer is the low hum of white noise from a machine and the slow creak of the rocking chair.
They remain motionless.
We knock harder, the window frame rattling.
What’s wrong with them? Why aren’t they moving?
They seem more than just asleep, as if they’ve slipped into a state where no amount of noise could rouse them. An uneasy weight settles in the pit of our stomach.
Angela enters the nursery, a blanket draped over her arm. We quickly duck below the window, pressing ourselves against the wall, our heart pounding. We grip the window ledge and slowly inch upwards, peering cautiously over the edge as Angela moves towards Benjamin-Annie.
She picks up Teddy with one hand, tucks him neatly under her arm, then drapes the blanket across Benjamin-Annie’s lap. Gently, she places Teddy back on their lap, nestling him against their chest. He remains quiet, completely still.
‘There, there,’ Angela mutters, her voice soft as she strokes Benjamin-Annie’s forehead.
We hold our breath, waiting for something. Anything. A flicker of movement from Benjamin-Annie, another word from Angela, a cry from Teddy.
Nothing.
We inch closer, craning our neck to get a better look at Teddy. His skin is so smooth it looks almost artificial. His blue eyes stare ahead, unblinking, fixed in a vacant gaze. His face is expressionless, unnervingly still.
And we realise.
It’s not Teddy. It’s a doll.
We turn cold, our breath catching in our throat. We clutch the windowsill, our hands trembling, and scan the room. Where is he? Where’s Teddy?
Then we hear it – a voice.
Faint but unmistakable, coming from somewhere behind the drawn curtains.
‘I remember when I was a kid and I’d wait all week to go to the corner shop…’
We edge forward, straining to catch the rest.
‘…I’d save up. I got ten pence a day for making my bed. Then on Sunday, I’d spend it all. I’d pick the penny sweets, so I could get the most. Cola bottles were my favourite…’
We let go of the windowsill. The voice doesn’t belong to Annie or Angela.
It’s a man’s voice, low and familiar.
Ben.
‘…I’d like to start the tradition with my child when they’re old enough. We could ride our bikes to the corner shop on a Sunday. I’ll get the paper, and my child can get the sweets…’ The voice fades, and is replaced by the familiar hiss of white noise. It rises and falls like the sea.
