Lost on Mars Read online

  Peter came with me. Our plan was simple. We would go home and fetch Al and bring him back to Da and Grandma’s apartment. There we would have a family Christmas together. It would be kept a surprise to Al until he got there.

  What could be better than that?

  ‘We’ve got a goose,’ Grandma was cackling when we set off. She was smiling by now. ‘You fetch that little boy of ours.’

  We sat in the Pipeline carriage and Peter touched my hand. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  I was. I truly was. This was the best possible Christmas present. An impossible present. But I was freaked out and my mind was swimming frantically to catch up.

  They were alive. They had been transported here, some months ago, so far from the prairie and they had been eking out a living since then. Da was working as a carpenter at a toy workshop. Grandma stayed home most days. She still didn’t relish the busy City streets. But they were settled by now in the City Inside. Their horizons had drawn in closer about them.

  For these past months they had wondered what had become of the rest of their family. They had petitioned the Authorities and they had begged to know more.

  I suddenly thought, Hadn’t they seen the newspapers when Al and I came out of the wilderness? Hadn’t they followed our story? Why didn’t they try to contact us?

  There would be time for these questions later. Time for a whole load of catching up.

  Peter said, ‘They didn’t really mean it, did they? About asking me along, too? I’d only get in the way of your family reunion…’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I told him. I didn’t want him to return alone on Christmas Eve to his Den. I could imagine him sitting in his alcove, without Karl. He said there was always lots going on down there, and maybe he would go to the bars. But I worked to convince him that he was welcome to share Christmas with me and my family.

  Me and my family! How long since that had been a real, true thing?

  Even so, Peter still didn’t look sure. I don’t think he was used to being wanted.

  42

  By the time we got back in Stockpot District and on Storey 202 of my building, it was evening. I knew as soon as Peter and I set foot in the apartment that we had company.

  My brother was sitting at the dining-room table, flanked by his girlfriend and her father. All three were beautifully dressed. Tillian was pouring them dainty thimbles of sherry, making herself right at home. They looked like a portrait of folk in olden days.

  Glancing at the room I could see that my brother had, in my absence, made an effort at decorating the place. It looked a bit spartan and sad after all the golden tinsel in the home we had just left.

  I was bursting to tell him what had happened this afternoon. The miracle.

  But I couldn’t. Certainly not in front of the sober-suited Mr Graveley and Tillian in her fancy tea-gown.

  Peter and I crashed into their sherry-tippling and we just wanted to grab Al, and to hijack him away. He looked at us in some confusion. There was that small frown line between his eyebrows that he always got when he was displeased and wasn’t sure what was going on.

  Mr Graveley took charge, standing up and smoothly offering me a drink.

  ‘We aren’t staying,’ I told him. ‘We only came to fetch Al. He’s coming out with us this evening.’

  The old man dismissed this with a wave of his hand. ‘Oh, that’s impossible, I’m afraid. You’ve got that quite wrong, my dear Miss Robinson. You see, you will both be spending Christmas Eve at my home, with Mrs Graveley, my daughter and myself.’

  ‘What?!’

  Al seemed upset. ‘Can I see you privately, Lora?’ he said, in a voice he’d never used on me before.

  Then we were in my messy bedroom.

  I held up my hand. ‘Listen. There’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘No, Lora. You listen to me for once. You might not like it, but Tillian’s family are being really kind, asking us to spend Christmas with them…’

  ‘No, they’re not,’ I snapped. ‘Her family are in cahoots with the Authorities. I don’t trust them an inch. You’ve got to keep away from them.’

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do! Not any more!’ he shouted. He raised his voice, sounding like he’d been brainwashed. ‘And,’ he went on, ‘you’ve got to give that bundle of papers back. Mr Graveley needs them returned. We should never have taken them.’

  I shrugged and grabbed them out of my bedside cabinet. ‘Whatever. He can have them. I’ve got what I needed from them.’ I dumped the beribboned parcel into his arms. I was losing patience with my brother. Why was he turning into such an idiot?

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Lora? Why are you being like this? Why can’t you just be happy?’

  ‘Because you’re so into that snobby lot?’ I asked.

  ‘You can’t be happy about any of it, can you?’ he yelled. ‘About our new life here. You should be grateful to the City Inside. You should be grateful to the Authorities and to men like Tollund Graveley. They have given you everything you need. And how do you repay them? By running out of the Remembering Room and damaging expensive equipment and causing a rumpus. Oh yes, I heard all about that. Everyone involved is most upset. Why can’t you be content and obedient, Lora? Why can’t you be happier, like me? Why can’t you be grateful?’

  His voice was very high and loud by then. Was this really the Al I’d grown up alongside? The Al who’d questioned every little thing?

  I hung my head, biding my time and pretending to feel ashamed. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I wish I could be happier.’

  ‘Is it that boy you’ve been hanging around with?’ he asked. ‘That hobo?’

  My jaw dropped open. I couldn’t believe what he’d called Peter. He’d been so friendly to him when they met. I pushed past him. ‘I never thought you’d grow up snobby like this.’

  ‘Me?’ he cried. ‘What about you? I’m ashamed of you, Lora. Look at you – shabby and paranoid and horrible! You won’t get a proper job and you hang around with … vagabonds and deviants!’

  I’d had quite enough of this. I spoke to him in a very quiet, controlled voice. ‘This isn’t you talking, Al. It’s those awful Graveleys speaking through you. I realise that. Now, I’m going to give you a chance. I’m going to tell you something very important and exciting. After that you can decide what you want to do. Whether you want to come with me this evening, or whether you want to accompany the Graveleys to their home in snooty old Darwin District for their Christmas shindig.’

  He frowned at me, hugging that parcel to his chest. ‘I’m going with Tillian and her father. What have you got to say that will change my mind?’

  So I took a deep breath and told him.

  And it changed his mind.

  ‘I’m afraid there has been an alteration in my plans,’ Al told Tillian when we returned to the dining room.

  She rose out of her seat. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I can’t come with you tonight. I’m going out with Lora.’

  The Graveleys stared at us, dumbfounded. ‘But,’ began Tillian, ‘you can’t. He can’t disobey us, can he, Father?’

  Mr Graveley smirked. ‘It would be very unseemly.’ Then he snatched the parcel out of Al’s hands. ‘That’s mine, is it? Thank you, my dear Alistair.’

  I wondered when he would peek inside and discover that every page in the bundle was empty?

  ‘Look, Tillian,’ Al told his girlfriend, keen to mollify her. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I? We’ll be together on Christmas Day.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ she said, crestfallen. ‘It’s our family ritual, Christmas Eve. I thought you would want to be a part of it.’

  Al went to pick up his coat and gloves. ‘Something very important has come up. Peter – could you please pass my scarf from over there? Thanks!’ Al was looking very excited. He could barely contain himself. He hadn’t noticed the distress Tillian was in or how her face was suffusing with angry colour.

  ‘As my
boyfriend you should do what I want,’ she said.

  Pulling on his coat and gloves, Al laughed. ‘I don’t think so, Tillian.’

  Then Tillian surprised us all. She stepped forward smartly and slapped my brother in the face.

  No one had ever hit Al before. He stood there swaying, as if he didn’t know what had happened to him. I think we were all shocked, even Tillian herself. Her father just looked pleased, like he thought all of us young people ought to be soundly slapped into obeying his orders. Old man Graveley started chuckling. It was a horrible noise. Quite high-pitched.

  Heee heeeeee heeeee…

  A figure flew past me. It was a blur of speed and it took a few seconds before I realised it was Peter. He grabbed Mr Graveley by the furry collar of his fine overcoat and punched him hard in the stomach. Both men fell down at once, all crumpled limbs and lots of shouting. Tillian screeched, leaping backwards. Everyone was yelling, and all the dishes and glassware came crashing down off the dining table along with the cloth.

  In the ridiculous, violent struggle Mr Graveley pointed a rigid finger at me. ‘I blame you for all of this! You rebellious malcontent! You scheming witch!’

  After that I wasn’t too sure about the order of events. I just knew that I wasn’t going to hang around arguing with these people. And I wasn’t about to let them call the Authorities out on Peter for assault and causing an affray. I just bundled my brother and my friend out of the apartment and next thing, we were aboard the elevator and hurtling down to ground level. We were escaping!

  Peter was jubilant, though his nose was bleeding where Graveley had thumped him back. Al had a hand over his mouth like he was about to throw up.

  Just before we reached ground level he said, ‘She actually hit me.’

  ‘She did,’ I said. I didn’t say any more. Tillian had shown herself up. Just like her father, she expected to be obeyed in all things. Far as I was concerned, Al was lucky to get this wake-up call.

  We hit the Downstairs Market, which was the busiest I’d ever seen it. Peter sighed that he was missing the best night of the year for busking.

  ‘Is it true, Lora?’ my brother asked me, taking my hand. ‘What you told me up there? You weren’t just saying it, were you?’

  I grinned at him. ‘Every word is true!’

  43

  We ran through snowy Christmas streets. Running so my lungs were bursting and I could hardly breathe. I wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time. We hadn’t run like this since we lived on the prairie. Since we were wild kids, before we were respectable City dwellers.

  Peter laughed, seeing us like this. He ran with us, dipping and swerving past the shoppers, the last-minute bargain-chasers. We veered into the gutters to kick the fresh pink snow, and we darted across roads through slow-moving traffic.

  We hurtled underground and onto the Pipeline, cutting through the heart of the City. Jingling carols and drummers and buskers assailed us everywhere we went. We ran like our lives depended on it. Like the Graveley family and all the Authorities themselves were coming after us.

  When we got to Eventide District, we went by the department store Al had talked about. The one with the famous toy department. This was his idea. He wanted to show me what he had found there.

  Of course the toyshop was mobbed. We had to fight to catch a glimpse of the display. Peter talked to a lady sales assistant, distracting her as I leaned in close.

  I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

  It was the Homestead in miniature. It was our house, and our past, in every detail.

  I wasn’t planning on doing this. But next thing I knew I reached out and plucked out the figure that stood by the stove in the kitchen. I liberated the carved wooden mother and slid her into my coat pocket without anyone noticing.

  Peter told us, ‘It’s the big surprise hit of the season. It’s the biggest-selling toy in the store. It’s all the fashion, apparently…’

  ‘Really?’ Al was delighted. But I wasn’t so sure. We hurried back out of the toy department, and onto the escalators. Al asked me how much money I had with me. We both emptied our pockets to pool our resources.

  ‘I think we should buy presents for them,’ he said. ‘For Da and Grandma, I mean. We can’t turn up empty-handed, can we?’

  ‘I’m sure they’re not expecting anything,’ I said. ‘Why, until this afternoon I didn’t even know they were still alive!’

  Nevertheless, Al would have his way and he dithered in the ladieswear and menswear departments, picking over expensive wallets and bags, silk ties and headscarves. I knew Da and Grandma wouldn’t want anything from here. They’d find these things too pricey and fancy. Also, we were wasting precious time. It was late by now and the shoppers were starting to thin out as people headed home at last.

  ‘Al,’ I told him gently. ‘Just leave it. They aren’t expecting presents. They just want us. They want to see us.’

  He seemed nervous. ‘Do you think? I don’t know.’ He bit his lip. His face still had a mark where Tillian had slapped him. He said, ‘I feel a bit scared. What if I don’t recognise them? What if they don’t recognise me? We could be like strangers to each other…’

  ‘Is that all you’re worried about?’ I laughed. ‘Al – of course you’ll know each other! It hasn’t been all that long! And besides, they are your blood! Leave those silly, expensive presents. Peter – do you still have that address? Can you remember how to get us there?’

  He nodded. ‘It isn’t far. Bolingbroke District is a few blocks away.’

  ‘Come on, then.’

  I convinced Al to put down the stuff he had been grabbing. We left the department store without having made any purchases. Except I had picked something up in there, hadn’t I? With my hand in my pocket, I kept a tight grip on that small wooden model of our Ma.

  We went back through the network of dark and rubbish-strewn alleys. It was a complicated business finding our way. Not all of the streets were signposted, as if these addresses wished to remain obscure. As if the streets had twisted their shapes about since our visit that very afternoon.

  But after some time – and a few wrong turnings – we found the tenement building. Snow was falling heavily and the trip up those metal staircases seemed even more daunting than before. I took a deep breath and led the way. Strangely, Al didn’t make a single noise of protest at the scary route. Either it didn’t bother him, or he figured that we had come so far already and been through so much, a few slippery iron steps and trembling gantries weren’t going to put him off now.

  We climbed and climbed and climbed, past dark windows. Behind each door and each set of drawn curtains we knew families were settling down for the night and their own celebrations. And now, at last, the Robinson children were coming home, too.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Al said, his voice very high and young-sounding in the freezing air. ‘Thank you, Lora. And thank you, Peter.’

  We were on the metal walkway of the fifth storey, at the very top of the building. Here was the red door again, the only one where the paintwork had been kept neat and spruce.

  Inside they would be waiting for us. The old dame would be basting the goose in hot fat. Da would be tuning his guitar, perhaps, and later we would sing. We could sing all the old songs again.

  I banged hard on the door. ‘Da! Grandma! We’re here! We’re back! Let us in! Happy Christmas! Let us in!’

  It took a few moments for the door to be unbolted and opened. It swung inwards and for a split second I thought: what if none of it’s true?

  What if there was no golden light, no tinsel nor spicy fruitcake smells? No shuffling, cackling Grandma in her apron. No laughing Da?

  What if we found the hallway harshly lit and quite bare? And the flat all emptied and gutted? What if it was nothing but a hideous trap, and standing there was Dean Switftnick in his top hat and cape? Policemen with him, wearing black armour and training guns on us…?

  Heee heeeee heeee…!

  But these w
ere terrible, morbid thoughts. I don’t even know why I was imagining such things, when everything had turned out so right.

  Perhaps I just couldn’t take in the facts and accept the good news yet?

  Thankfully, the door opened and the apartment beyond was wonderfully warm and festive. There was music, and laughter – and both Da and Grandma were there waiting for us.

  It was one of the best nights ever. That’s no exaggeration.

  I don’t think Al and I had ever eaten so much, and Peter looked amazed by all the food that Grandma brought out of that tiny kitchen. The old lady had been working like crazy all day. She had revived all her old skills and knowhow, and she had baked like she hadn’t done in years. There were pies and squashy cakes loaded with cream, and this was even before she brought out the baked ham and the roasted goose.

  ‘Slow down, Ma!’ Da laughed. ‘You’ll make them burst! Have you cooked all our holiday food at once?’

  ‘All of it!’ she grinned. ‘I’ve cooked everything that we had in the cupboards and the cold store! We’ve got to feed these kids up! Look at how skinny they’ve got! Just look at them!’

  It was especially nice for me, the way they took Peter in and made him feel like a part of the family. His eyes bugged out at everything. He shook Da’s hand very manfully, and complimented Grandma on her new Christmas frock, even though her apron covered most of it. Peter even joined in – uncertainly at first – when Da got us all singing together. I hoped that Peter could put aside his worries about Karl, just for tonight.

  Al was grinning like a loon all evening. He seemed to forget about the mess he had gotten into with Tillian and the Graveley family and he went straight back into his childhood. He tried to hide that he wept when Grandma folded him into her skinny arms. He had always been her special favourite. He reminded her of her long-lost brother, Thomas – of course, I remembered now how she used to say that all the time. She’d always had a special soft spot for Al. Now they would be inseparable again.

  ‘We thought you’d gone,’ Al kept saying. ‘We thought you’d gone for good.’ He looked at Da too, and Da ruffled his hair fondly.