Poster Boy, page 21
As hard as she tried, she couldn’t make them see. To the oafs, Proctor wasn’t a great and noble hero of literature. He was an attention-seeking cry baby.
They didn’t understand. But I did. And never more so than when I sat and watched the farce that was my edited interview.
Sometimes it isn’t death that destroys a person.
They spun me, cut me and left me reeling. I can’t describe how I felt. Words like anger, betrayal and despair would best suit, I suppose. But I can’t feel that now, in retrospect. All I feel is stupid and ashamed. That old sadist, hindsight, flagellates me, until it feels like my fault. Ignorance is no defence, they say, so perhaps neither is naïveté? Dad certainly didn’t think so.
I looked to him, with my world and all I held dear in tatters all around me, as the one person I thought would truly understand. But as my tears fell, and I stared in disbelief at the screen, he just got up. Walked out on the spectacle, left me alone.
I followed him into the kitchen. “I didn’t say that, Dad. Those weren’t the questions she asked me.”
He stopped for a second and looked down at his wretched, snivelling daughter. I waited for words of comfort and wisdom.
“What did you expect, Rosa?” he asked. “When you dance with the Devil you don’t get to pick the tune.”
He’d finally broken his silence, to offer me condemnation. All the time I had been desperate for an ally, for advice, and he’d said nothing. Didn’t he know that if he had cautioned against the PIDs’ plans I would have abandoned them in a heartbeat? But he sat in judgement without ever first offering counsel. Of all the betrayals in my lifetime none ever cut so deep.
Mum was the epitome of hook, line and sinker. Trying to get any understanding out of her was pointless. In her eyes the PIDs could do no wrong. They had given her son a hero’s immortality, after all. I tried to explain why I was so upset, that I had been manipulated, misquoted. But she wouldn’t hear of it. She was three-quarters of her way through a Cabernet. Empathy for her wayward daughter wasn’t on her agenda.
“Of all the ungrateful little… Honestly, Rosa! Do you know how much work has gone into sorting out that little mess you got yourself into? All those man hours, not to mention everything I’ve suffered, on top of all this family’s already been through! And all you can think about is that you don’t like the editing job? I’ve never heard anything so selfish in my life!”
“But Mum, they’re saying the Afzals had terrorist connections.”
“Oh, and you suppose you know better, do you?” She slammed her wine glass down on the table. “All those highly trained professionals, all that research, but oh no! A silly little teenage girl with a chip on her shoulder knows better?”
The lines around her mouth were more pronounced than I had ever seen them. Eyeliner started to smear under her lids, wide eyes locked me in a gaze that I could swear held hatred. I felt the blood in my veins turn cold at the unmasked scorn she shot at me.
“You’re not saying… You don’t think that, surely?”
“Left in a bit of a hurry, didn’t they? I always thought that Kadeem was a bit dodgy.”
“No, you didn’t!”
“Now you know what other people think, do you, Rosa? Well, it’d be the first time anyone in this family paid attention to what I think, so I suppose I should be grateful. Yes, I always thought he was dodgy. But I had to be the good wife, didn’t I? Couldn’t go having my own opinions, not when princess Rosa finally had a little friend, and Daddy dearest had a business to think of. No, doesn’t matter what I think. Just as long as I cook the meals, play nice and say all the right things. Well, I was right. So you can both stick that in your pipe holes and bloody well smoke it!”
The front door slammed. Dad had gone. Left me with her.
She was so pissed, so aggressive. There was nothing I could say or do. I wanted to be a thousand miles away, but I was too scared of the world outside to even storm out. So I did what any teen would do in my situation. I ran to my bedroom to cry.
The throbbing in my right arm, from the chip insertion, seemed amplified. Yes, they really had stitched me up. Physically as well as emotionally. Alone in my room I remembered Greyson saying I could call him anytime. Once again it seemed I had nowhere else to turn but to the enemy. Perhaps he hadn’t known either? Perhaps he could at least help me see a way forward.
So I picked up my Shades and called him.
“Rosa!” He was cheerful when he answered. For a moment I wondered if he hadn’t seen the finished interview. Surely he would know how upset I must be if he had? “Great job, huh? You must be thrilled!”
Apparently he chose to ignore the stark evidence to the contrary that was my blotchy, tear-streaked face.
“How dare they?” I tried to sound assertive and pissed off. But my voice was high and squeaky. “Those aren’t the questions I was asked.”
“I know, right?” Greyson wasn’t even looking directly at me. His eyes kept darting to the sides, looking at something that was far more interesting than me. “Genius those editing guys. It was a bit of a car crash originally, when we watched it back. I thought we’d have to get you in to reshoot. But they didn’t want to put you through it all again, with all you’re dealing with. Honestly, the work that goes into these things is immense. I’m stunned. You must be so pleased.”
“Pleased? They’ve twisted everything I said. Everything I believe, everything I am! You have to make them retract it, make them show the original. I’ll go to the press. I’ll upload my story everywhere! I demand—”
“Rosa.” he stopped his distracted glances and focused right on me. I wished he hadn’t. The congeniality I was used to, the façade, was gone. “You’re in no position to be making demands. We’ve gone above and beyond for you, to rescue you from your own mess. You came to me for help and you got it. We could have left you to fend for yourself, to play the role of ‘bad twin’ to your brother’s good. It isn’t our job to rescue headstrong teens from the shit piles they create for themselves, you know. We pulled out all the stops because of the respect we have for your family. You have no idea what it takes to reverse public opinion. We do. Thanks to us you have a bright future. You can write your own ticket. I advise you to accept our generosity graciously. Move forward with your life.”
“But I don’t care about money!”
He shrugged. “That’s your choice, Rosa. I think we’ve done all we can for you. You’ll be fine from here on in, as long as you toe the line. There’s no need for us to impose on your life any further.”
“I thought… I thought you said you’d be there, for whatever I need. For as long as I need?”
“And I have been. I’ve given you all you need to put this behind you. Now it’s time for you to stand on your own two feet. You’re ready.”
“But—”
“Goodbye, Rosa.”
I’d been used. Chewed up and spat out. But now I had a ‘life’?
I knew, in that moment, that I was a puppet. That hasn’t changed. I’m not so stupid that I can’t see my place. Teresa, Kyle, even Greg. They’re using me. Just like the PIDs did. The difference is this time I’m going into battle with my eyes wide open. This time, I get to choose who pulls my strings. Sometimes that’s the only choice we have.
Just like John Proctor, I know that there are more important things than mere physical existence. Things worth dying for. Like truth, honour and justice. Like refusing to be a poster girl for all the things I find abhorrent in this rotten, stinking world Cole has created. Like setting the record straight.
12
TERESA
I guess she sees herself as some kind of tragic misunderstood heroine. She’s more use to me dead than alive, so it’s a delusion I’ve been happy to fuel. She never got over the interview. She couldn’t stand being thought of as a Reclamationist. Me, I’ve spent my whole life publicly promoting values I despise. It’s the mission that matters, not my image. What people think of me doesn’t bother me. I’m above all that. That’s the difference between the glory-hunters and the real soldiers. I don’t need someone else’s understanding, or validation.
I’d seen enough of her self-indulgent, pity-party nature to know how much that interview must be tearing her apart, but I didn’t dwell on it. Greyson had done his job by the book, and I probably would have done the same in his shoes. PID business wasn’t on my mind that evening; I was waiting anxiously for more important news.
Cole finally got off his call to Mills, after blowing plenty of smoke up his arse. I could just picture him on the other end of those Shades, getting more puffed up with each word of praise. He’d be intolerably smug when I got back.
When he put his Shades down, Cole came over and rubbed my shoulders.
“Duty done,” he said. “Now to relax.”
His Shades started to ring.
“Hadn’t you better get that?” I asked.
“No. Leave it. I’ve already neglected you for too long.”
Oh, please. Neglect me some more.
The call rang off, and he started tugging at the cord on my dressing gown. He mistook my nerves for excitement, chuckling as he ran his hand up my thigh.
The Shades rang again.
“I really think you ought to get it,” I said, trying not to sound too urgent. “It must be important.”
He sighed, and stood up. “I suppose,” he said. “If you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re a remarkable woman. So few understand the pressures I am under.”
“We’re both slaves to our profession,” I replied.
He laughed, and answered the call. As he paced around the bedroom his expression, and his erection, went south. I grinned. This must be the news I was hoping for.
“God damn it!” His face was even better than I had imagined. He was almost beetroot. A mixture of red anger and blue shock that accentuated his capillaries so it looked as though he had a map of obscure B roads tattooed across his cheeks.
“What’s the matter?” I curled up next to him on the edge of the bed with my eyes wide, egging up my concern.
“Damn hackers. Damn lowlife bottom-feeding scum!”
“What’s happened?”
“Some bastard… some ignorant, good for nothing bastard has hacked the Grid!”
“Oh my goodness.” I sat up straight, looking as professional and intelligent as I could manage in a fluffy white dressing grown. “Have they done any damage?”
“Leaked all the data. Published all of it!”
“Oh good God!” I reached for my Shades. “Where? The broadsheets? Oh, shit, it’s the left-wing tabloids, isn’t it? I should call in. Hell, I should fly back. This needs to be contained. I’ll pack right now.”
“No, no, my dear. No, not the papers; not the press at all, in fact. Just some corner of the Dark Web where the lowlifes and good for nothings waste their worthless little lives with petty criminality.”
BANtor in other words.
“Has it been dealt with?”
“Yes. Yes, it’s all been taken down. I suppose there’s no real harm done. We’ll have to review our security and so forth, but the leak has been contained. It’s just… I thought it was watertight.”
“Nothing ever is. Not really.”
“I suppose you’re right. You’d know better than me. I just can’t fathom it. Why? Why would someone do it?”
“To prove they can?”
“That seems a shallow motivation.”
“Most motivations are. It’s good it’s been contained, though,” I said. “No real harm done. But… Oh, I’m probably just being paranoid. If your advisors think everything is fine, I’m sure it is.”
He frowned. “What? What is it?”
I smiled, and reached for the bottle of wine by the bed. “Oh, nothing. I’m sorry. I’ve gone into PID mode. Y’know, the kind of ultra-paranoia and thinking through every possible thing that could go wrong that I have to engage in to do my job. Forgive me, we’re supposed to be relaxing. And trusting our teams. I mean, if I’ve thought of a potential problem then they must have too, so there’s no reason for me to doubt that—”
“Zara,” he took the glass out of my hand and set it down gently on the bedside table, “I know we said no work. But, if something’s troubling you, I want you to share it.”
I exhaled loudly. “Well… It’s just that… If someone’s done this once, then it just proves it can be done, right? I mean, all that’s happened right now is they’ve leaked the info of the benefit claimants and a few volunteers. No harm, no foul. But, when the chips are mandatory. When we’ve all got one, all the ministers, all the secret operatives. I just… I don’t know. It would worry me, I guess. Being undercover, say, and then someone hacking and finding out who I really am. It could be dangerous. Plus, knowing where high profile people are, all the time? I mean, this lot just wanted to show off, leak the info for an ego trip. What if a smarter outfit managed it? A terrorist group, perhaps? They’d know exactly where everyone was, all the time. Even you.”
He turned a little pale. The thought of some highly trained assassin tracking your every move with GPS will do that to you.
“I’ve been assured,” he said, “that security will be increased, that this can never happen again.”
“And I’m sure they’re right,” I said. “But… didn’t they say that before?”
13
ROSA
Dad didn’t come home that night. Or the next. I didn’t know where he was, and I didn’t care. It was irrelevant because he wasn’t where I needed him to be. With me, giving me support. Instead he had condemned my actions and walked out the door. He may as well have let go of my hand and let me fall from a cliff.
Thanks to the PIDs’ little editing stunt I had public support, but parental disapproval. Dad because he thought I’d compromised myself by playing their game, Mum because I hadn’t played the game well enough. That’s what you call a no-win situation as far as home life is concerned. No matter what I did, one of them, if not both, would disapprove. My sanctuary had become a battleground, as well as pit of grief and despair.
When Dad did return home, there was no attempt to reconcile. A flutter of hope briefly danced in my belly when I heard his key in the door. Maybe being away, doing whatever it was he was doing, had given him time to reflect. Would he rush up to my room, eyes full of tears, strong, warm arms outstretched, and finally tell me all the things I needed to hear? Like how he knew I’d been manipulated, how proud he was of me, how we were on the same page. Him and me against the world. Always.
Not a bit of it.
When he didn’t come up the stairs, I crept out of my room onto the landing. I hid in that one perfect spot kids always find. The one where you can hear, and sometimes see, your parents, but they can’t see you. He wasn’t heading my way. He chucked his coat over a dining room chair and headed straight for the study. Mum was chatting on her Shades; she didn’t stop to greet him. Instead she pulled a face, as if she’d caught a whiff of something noxious, and carried on talking.
“He’s back, apparently,” she said, a little too loudly, when he shut the study door behind him. She always did that. She waited until you were far enough away that it seemed as though she didn’t want you to hear, but then raised her voice to make damn sure you did. She didn’t fool anyone. ‘Passive aggressive’, Jimmy used to call it. He didn’t know how much it stung, though. She never did it to him.
Usually Dad just pretended he didn’t notice. He’d let her rant on to whichever harpy she was gossiping with, refusing to dignify her with any kind of reaction. Not this time.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, walking close by the study door. “I don’t care to be honest. It’s not like he’s been any help or support anyway. Just leaves me to deal with everything, as if I’m not grieving too! Not much of a man really when you think about it.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Led Zeppelin came on full blast from behind the door. So did I.
“Dave!” She banged on the door. “Turn that down, it is far too loud!”
Dad flung the door open. “On the contrary, Jane, it is clearly not loud enough because I can still hear you!”
She wasn’t used to him reacting to her. Come to think of it, maybe that was part of their problem. I’d been on the receiving end of his unresponsiveness for a while, so I can kind of sympathise. She didn’t miss a chance, despite the shock of his retaliation, to play martyr though.
“You see?” she said to her confidante as she turned tail and headed for the lounge. “You see what I have to put up with? How am I supposed to keep it together? Neither of them care about anyone but themselves!”
Nice little pop at me there too. I’d heard enough. There was no solace to be had, no reconciliation. I went back to my room and switched on my Shades. I scrolled through all the recent articles about me, more concerned with the public comments than the content. It seemed Greyson was right, they did know how to change opinions. I was no longer a villain. I was praised for my courage in speaking out against the ‘Islamic threat’, exalted for my willingness to admit I had been manipulated, and ultimately seen as the grieving twin of a hero who had been taken advantage of.
Jimmy would want the English people to look after her.
Fuckin terrorists trying to insult a hero’s memory by converting his sister! Good on ya, Rosa. Stay strong.
Thank you for sharing your story, Rosa. You’re an inspiration.
It was all built on lies, but it was nice not to read people calling for me to be raped and stoned nonetheless. At home I was a disappointment and a disgrace. A burden to my mother, and a source of shame to my father. Out there, though, if the web was to be believed, I was indeed a sweetheart of the nation.
I didn’t want to be either. I had to get out, but I didn’t want to be recognised, even for positive reasons. I crept into Jimmy’s room and took a hoodie from his wardrobe. I knew he wouldn’t mind. He’d often lent it to me. There was something so much more comforting about a large, soft garment made for a man. I could disappear into it, and it felt like being hugged by stronger, more assured arms.
