Mum and Dad told Daisy the next morning, and she accepted the news with a stoicism that made Luke ashamed. For the first time he allowed himself to think that maybe his parents’ plan was the right one, and that they’d all get through their days just fine, as a family.
A few days later, once it had all sunk in, he told his best friend, Simon. Si let out a low whistle at the big reveal.
‘There’s a department within the Labour Allocation Bureau called Estates Services, where the Equals go for their house-slaves,’ Luke said. ‘Abi made an application for us there. We’re being sent south to Kyneston.’
‘Even I’ve heard of Kyneston.’ Si was incredulous. ‘That’s the Jardines. The top of the lot. Lord Jardine is the scary dude who was Chancellor when we were little. What on earth do they want you for?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Luke admitted.
The paperwork had detailed roles for Mum, Dad and Abi: as the estate nurse, Kyneston’s vehicle mechanic, and something secretarial. But no assignment was specified for Luke or Daisy – presumably because they were minors, Abi explained. They might not have a particular job, but simply be required to do tasks on an as-needed basis.
Luke had caught himself imagining what those things could be. Scrubbing the mansion’s gold-plated toilets, perhaps? Or how about waiting on the Equals at dinner, hair combed and white gloves on, spooning peas from a silver tureen? None of it appealed.
‘And Daisy,’ Si continued. ‘What use do the Jardines have for a kid that little? What use have they got for a nurse, come to that? I thought the Equals used their Skill to heal themselves.’
Luke thought the same, but Abi, ever willing to clarify and correct, pointed out that nobody really knew what the Equals could do with their Skill, which was why it was particularly exciting to be going to an estate. Daisy had nodded so hard in agreement it was a wonder her head hadn’t fallen off. Luke doubted even the Equals could fix that.
The summer crawled by. Some time mid-July, Luke thumped downstairs to find an estate agent showing prospective tenants around the house. Soon after, the hallway filled up with boxes so their possessions could be taken to storage.
Early August, he went into town with a few friends from the school soccer team and broke the not-so-happy news. There’d been shock, sympathy, and the suggestion of a valedictory visit to a pub where the barman was known to be a poor judge of age. But in the end, they’d just had a kick-around in the park.
They hadn’t made any plans to meet up again.
With twelve days to go, the bloke who’d turned up asking about the car came back. Luke watched his father hand over the keys and had to turn away, blinking. He was not going to start crying over a car, of all things.
But he knew it wasn’t the vehicle he was mourning, so much as what it represented. Bye-bye, driving lessons in the autumn. So long, independence. Won’t be seeing you in a hurry, best years of my life.
Abi tried to cheer him up, but a few days later it was his turn to see her silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, her head bowed and shoulders shaking. She held a torn envelope in her hand. It was her exam results. He’d forgotten all about them.
At first he thought she hadn’t achieved the grades she had hoped for. But when he hugged her, Abi showed him the slip of paper. Perfect marks, granting her admission to every university to which she’d applied. Luke realized then how much his big sister was giving up by coming with them.
Departure Day minus two was open house for friends and family to say their farewells, and Mum and Dad threw a subdued party that evening. Luke spent the day hunkered down with the console and his favourite games, because there’d be no more of those either, where they were going. (How did slaves entertain themselves at Kyneston? Playing charades round the piano? Or maybe there was no downtime. Maybe you worked until you dropped, then slept, then got up and did it all over again, every day for a decade.)
Then the day itself arrived, sunny and beautiful, of course.
Luke sat on the garden wall, watching his family going about its last bits of business. Mum had emptied the fridge and gone round to the neighbours with an offering of leftovers. Dad was dropping off a final box of essentials with a friend a few streets away, who would take it to the storage depot to join the rest of the family’s possessions.
The girls sunbathed on the grass, Daisy pestering her sister with questions and repeating back the answers.
‘Lord Whittam Jardine, Lady Thalia, Heir Gavar,’ Daisy parroted. ‘Jenner. And I can’t remember that last one. His name’s too silly.’
‘You’re halfway there,’ said Abi, smiling. ‘It’s Silyen – that’s Sill-yun. He’s the youngest, somewhere between me and Luke. There’s no Jardine as little as you. And it’s Jar-deen and Kye-neston, like “lie”. They won’t want to hear our northern vowels down south.’
Daisy rolled her eyes and threw herself back down on the grass. Abi stretched out her long legs and tucked the bottom of her T-shirt underneath her bra to catch some sun. Luke devoutly hoped she wouldn’t be doing that at Kyneston.
‘I’m gonna miss that fit sister of yours,’ Si said in Luke’s ear, startling him. Luke turned to look at his friend, who’d come to see him off. ‘You make sure your lords and masters don’t go getting any funny ideas about their entitlements.’
‘I dunno,’ Luke muttered. ‘You’ve seen the books she reads. I reckon it might be them that need protecting.’