The Dying Fall
Chapter 23: Changes
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Chapter 23: Changes
It had been thirty-three days since Nano had left town. The winter solstice holiday had come and gone: two short days when the offices and factories shut, the chore list was put in a drawer and they stuffed themselves with nut roast, fruit pudding and hot, sweet punch. And then it had been back to work at the Eco Office; back to the fifty-minute commute to Carsle; back to sitting in front of a screen all day, processing data before another fifty-minute journey home again. At least the travel time gave Carrie the headspace to play around with melodies and lyrics—though inevitably she ended up daydreaming about the production equipment that was gathering dust in Nano’s basement. And, to her surprise, thinking wistfully about how she missed her shifts at the Plant and Kayla’s round-bellied presence in the seat next to her on the bus.
On her last day at the Plant, Kayla had given Carrie a hug—made awkward by her ballooning belly—and promised to stay in touch.
“Do yourself and your baby a favour,” Carrie had told her, before they’d parted ways. “Ditch Derek and ask Ethan out.”
Carrie hoped she’d taken her advice—the baby had to be due in the next few weeks.
The Eco Office did have one major advantage over the Plant though: it was warm. It was actually the only place where Carrie felt warm all over, all the way to her bones. At least on her way to work she knew she would get to spend eight and a half hours in a carpeted, insulated environment that was cosy enough to nearly send her to sleep after lunch. It was going home that was less pleasant, huddled up in her coat on the bus and then tramping from her stop to a house that hadn’t been heated for nearly twenty-four hours. In fact, the only rooms in the house that ever saw any heat were the kitchen and the living room. Carrie usually braved the cold evenings in her room, wrapped in layers under her bedcovers, with a hot water bottle hugged to her chest, as she made notes in Savannah’s journal or let the DEBUT bud play in her ear until Lights Out. But then the snow had come and she’d been driven down to the living room most evenings, where Molly read or worked on crosswords by the wood burner, a couple of knitted blankets cloaked around her. On these occasions, they would talk a little—Molly asking tentative questions about Carrie’s day and Carrie responding with information about her new colleagues and their quirks.
On Fridays, after work, Carrie would go to Meg’s and sit with her on the sofa, to watch a programme on television or play a game of cards. After hearing about the arrest of the dealer and his buyer, Meg had fallen into a mute depression again for a week. When the dealer’s sentence was finally reported—neurosensory corrosion and a minimum of ten years in prison—Meg had sat with tears rolling down her cheeks, her shoulders gently shuddering, as she read the news item subtitles. Carrie knew her tears weren’t just for the dealer, but for her own daily nightmare of waking up every morning to a world without sound.
Carrie noticed that, strangely, no mention was ever made of the buyer who had also been arrested.
Meg’s depression had only ended with the first fall of snow. She and Carrie had been watching a programme about the resurgence of a rare hawk in the northern regions, when the children had come running downstairs in their pyjamas, shrieking that it was turning white outside. As soon as Meg realised what the commotion was about, she’d leapt up from the sofa and run to the front door. By the time Carrie had reached the doorstep, Meg was standing in her socks in the snow, arms outstretched and face to the falling flakes as they caressed her cheeks. The following morning, Carrie had accompanied Meg to Mrs Giles’s through the crisp, ankle-deep powder that had claimed the streets, and spent the day learning sign language for words associated with winter.
After a couple of days, the fluttering snow storms had ceased and the region council had sent in the snowploughs to clear the residential streets. There were still banks of snow piled up on the side of the curbs and pavements, and little pockets of it under the bare cobnut tree as Carrie walked through the square now, thirty-three days since she’d said goodbye to Nano. They were running low on firewood at home, so, since Molly was occupied with trying to rescue their root vegetables from the frost, Carrie had volunteered to pick up a bag of logs from the market. Her readiness to venture out in the sub-zero wind, which seemed to cut her cheeks like a razor blade, wasn’t entirely altruistic. She had found an excuse to go to the market last weekend too, just so she could duck behind the oatmeal van and check the shadowy emptiness under the arch of the railway bridge. Carrie had no idea when Nano would be back, but the past couple of weeks had given her hope it would be soon; even though she simultaneously worried that Nano might return before it was really safe to do so.
The market was fairly busy as she moved through the stalls towards the log van. Despite the number of people, there was an air of calm that was almost eerie, as if the volume had been turned down on the usual hustle and bustle. There had been no further incidents for the past fortnight—no protests, no arrests, no raids. There had only been talk of a planned, approved rally next week. Carrie had heard from Talissa that a ‘social group’ of workers, mostly from the manual labour industries had been formed to organise and apply for the event. Initially, the application for a permit had been turned down, but then, yesterday, the Region Chief had given her approval, provided the rally kept to a strict set of rules. The organisers had agreed the conditions and most seemed to think this was a small but peaceful step in the right direction.
Carrie wasn’t convinced. The general discontent and resentment was still there, brewing under the surface. She could feel it when she got on the bus to and from Carsle, in the office breakroom, and even now, as she queued at the log van. The short, cold days and long, even colder nights didn’t help. Nor did the anti-climax of the winter solstice holiday and the fact that there were still months to go before spring arrived. But what really stretched the public’s tolerance was bringing the curfew forward an hour. The government had justified their decision as a means of protecting civilians from the dangers of the longer, darker evenings, and no one had argued—because what reason could anyone reasonably give for needing to be out on the freezing night streets beyond 9 p.m.? No one, of course, believed they were the ones being protected by this change to the curfew. Even Molly had been angered by the news—expletive-riddled mutterings escaping between her teeth as she’d aggressively peeled potatoes and nearly sliced her thumb with the knife.
Since no illegal protests had arisen from this alteration to the curfew, the number of Patrol officers on the streets had gradually decreased to almost normal numbers, and life had rolled on in its usual mundane and uneventful manner. Inevitably, Carrie had started to get a familiar itch for all the things she knew she shouldn’t: the undersound, weekends in Nano’s basement, and buds. The DEBUT bud Nano had given her with the brooch had run out of charge four days ago and Carrie could feel the burden of forced, tuneless silence growing to an unbearable weight inside her. Without the distraction and escape of music, Nano’s absence, and all the other absences it created, yawned as a gaping hole in her existence.
As she waited for her turn in the log queue, Carrie couldn’t help glancing at the bridge arches, where they rose over the market stalls and vans. The first time she had ventured beneath those arches on a Saturday morning had been the day after they’d scattered Savannah’s remains on the Ash Grounds. Hitting up on a bud and filling her mind and body with music had saved Carrie that day. Music had been saving her every day since, one way or another.
Turning to leave the log van, with a bag of logs in her arms, Carrie noticed Rox passing up the same aisle of the market. Rox spotted her too, smiled, and, without breaking her stride, raised her eyebrows and jerked her head in the direction of the railway bridge. Carrie hesitated for a second and then diverted her steps, as quickly as she dared, towards the oatmeal van. Slipping behind the large, white vehicle, as it shuddered on its motor, she paused as she made out in the shadows under the bridge a figure leaning casually against the brickwork.
Nano looked up as Carrie slowly approached and tucked his pocketbook into his jacket pocket. “Hey,” he said.
Carrie stopped a few feet from him and shifted the log bag in her arms. “Hey,” she replied, feeling suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious. “When did you get back?”
“Last night,” Nano said. “I got a lift with one of the drivers from the Distribution Centre.”
“Back to work already?”
“Dryce is keen to catch up on all the business we’ve missed this past month.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
Nano gave his usual smirk and shuffled forward with his hands in his pocket. “Dryce thinks so.”
“I guess you’ve been pretty busy this morning then?”
“Pretty busy,” Nano agreed. “You must be in need of a fresh hit by now,” he added slyly.
“I’m good,” Carrie replied.
Her sincerity drew a look of surprise from Nano. “Really?” His tone was cynical. “You’ve still got charge on that DEBUT bud?”
“No,” Carrie admitted, “But I’m good now—I mean—maybe I’ll pick something up later, when I’ve got enough cash on me.” For a second she thought she’d meant to say she was good for now, but then realised she’d actually said exactly what she meant. Just seeing Nano back in town was enough to ease the itch that had been tormenting her.
Nano seemed to understand her meaning too and he took a step forward, removing his hands from his pockets before then hesitating, as if he was unsure what his own intentions were. “The undersound is back on tonight,” he said, putting his hands back in his pockets again and shrugging his shoulders.
“Where is it being held?”
“At the Distribution Centre. I’m getting there for eleven if you want to come?”
“Okay.”
Nano grinned at Carrie’s rather quick answer. “I’ll meet you at the back of the theatre at ten-thirty.”
Carrie nodded and smiled. “See you at ten-thirty,” she said, and then turned and headed back towards the oatmeal van.
Carrie hugged the logs close to her as she walked home, partly to give her a better grip on their awkward shape, and partly to shield herself from the icy wind. Beneath her jacket, she could feel the turquoise brooch pressing close to her chest. She’d taken to wearing it every day now, having told her mother it had been a winter solstice gift from Meg. If she didn’t want to draw attention to the brooch when she was using it to carry a bud, it made sense to make it a regular part of her wardrobe.
When she got home, Carrie put the logs beside the wood burner in the living room and then went to the kitchen. As she reached the door and pushed it open, she caught her mother singing quietly as she took off her wellies at the back door.
If music be life, give me excess of it
Until I die
That strain again,
Sweeter than violets, overcoming my senses…
Heart leaping into her mouth, Carrie immediately backed out of the kitchen before she was noticed. The door fell closed in front of her with a gentle ‘click’, and, without waiting to find out if her mother had heard her at the doorway, Carrie ran upstairs to her room as quickly and as silently as she could. She shut the door, shrugged off her jacket and let it drop to the floor as she crossed to Savannah’s bed and took out the journal from the slot in the mattress. Crawling onto Savannah’s bed, Carrie sat back on the pillows and opened the journal to the back pages, where the lyrics to Vannah were written.
Her mother had been singing Vannah—the melody as well as the lyrics—which meant she had heard it somewhere. Somehow, her mother had heard her song, and now she was singing it to herself when she thought there was no one around to hear her.
Carrie closed the journal and held it to her as she stared at the ceiling for a moment. This was the white space Savannah would have stared at early on a summer’s morning, before she got up to go to school or work. To her left was the window, looking out over the grey street, and to her right…
Carrie half-turned to look across the room at her own untidy bed.
What if it had been the other way around?
What if it had been her and not Savannah that morning? Had Savannah ever lain here and wondered what it would be like to stare at an empty bed every morning and every night?
Carrie touched the brooch where it was pinned to her jumper—the brooch that was designed to protect her from Patrol stop and searches. It wouldn’t have done Savannah any good: she’d had the bud playing in her ear when she’d been caught.
If music be life, give me excess of it
Until I die.
Carrie wondered what her mother would think if she knew who had written the tune and words she’d allowed to fall from her lips. Savannah had made a choice the day that the Patrol had shot her. It was the same choice Carrie would probably make too. But now, it occurred to Carrie that perhaps her mother had made an even more difficult choice, and, if she had ever gone back on it, even for a moment, Carrie would be facing more than one empty bed right now.
Next weekend: Chapter 24—Last Undersound
The Dying Fall: Index
Welcome to the index page of The Dying Fall. Please scroll down to find links to each published chapter. If you need any help, let me know via the message button at the bottom of the page.
Author’s Notes:
Nano is back!
Chapter 24: Last Undersound, coming next weekend.
PJ