Free Eva by Peter Dickinson Page B

case.”
    “You got this all ready beforehand?” said Mom.
    Ms. Callaway smiled, unruffled.
    “It’s my job to think of difficulties before they happen. The short-term preliminary contract I suggest is only one option. If you would like to discuss ...”
    “No. Let’s have a look at it.”
    Ms. Callaway passed the papers across. Mom put on her glasses and started to read. Dad beckoned to Eva. She knuckled across, climbed onto his lap, and started to finger through his beard.
    “How did it go?” he muttered.
    “Didn’t have time to watch much. Joan had just started. Then
they
turned up.”
    She shrugged a shoulder toward the doorway.
    “But you’ve got it on tape?”
    “Uh.”
    They waited. Dad finished his drink. Ms. Callaway sat still, patient as a hunter. At last Mom looked up.
    “I suppose that’s the best course,” she said. “You really think you can get rid of them?”
    “It has usually worked in the past,” said Ms. Callaway, calm as ever—but then for the first time she gave a small jerk of surprise as Mom turned to Eva.
    “Listen, darling. If Dad and I sign this, it means that for the next week we agree not to talk about you to anyone except Ms. Callaway’s company. We don’t
have
to talk to them either if we don’t want to during that week. But it means that they will have the legal right to shoo everyone else away, and that will give us all time to think. Are you happy about that?”
    They had to wait while Eva thought and then, more slowly than usual, set her message up. She made the words come slowly too.
    “All right. Only provided you don’t sign anything saying ordinary chimps belong to people either.”
    She felt Dad’s body jerk. Then he laughed his infuriating little laugh that meant that what you’d just said was too silly to argue about.
    “I don’t think there’s anything . . .” murmured Mom.
    “No,” said Ms. Callaway, “and I will make a note to avoid phrases to that effect in future contracts. Now, if you will just sign here . . . and here, Dr. Adamson . . . excellent. And now I will see what I can do about driving the wolves from your door.”
    She stood up, patted her hair smooth, and left. The racket from the landing rose as the door opened, then faded. Mom switched on the closed circuit to watch but kept the volume off. Ms. Callaway, flanked by security men, was reading a statement—she must have had that ready too. The camera showed only the back of her head. Microphones jutted toward her. The crowd was listening. Their faces signaled weariness, frustration, defeat. Some at the back were talking into commos. The elevator doors were opening, and several of the crowd were already waiting to board it. When Ms. Callaway stopped reading, some questions were shouted, but she answered with a shake of her head. The elevator went down, crammed. Ms. Callaway came back into the apartment and talked to Mom and Dad about an appointment to which they could bring their own lawyer. By the time she left, the landing was almost empty, and the guards were shoving the last few reporters into the elevator by force. Two of the guards stayed on in case anyone tried to come back.

    Eva awoke several times in the night. She was oddly restless in her own bed. In the old days she used to sleep on her stomach, stretched right out, but now she felt more comfortable curled up. I’d really like a basket, she thought, a big dog-basket, like a nest. I wonder if Mom would mind. Perhaps if I told her I wanted a round patchwork, to cover it with . . .
    Later she woke again and heard voices, Mom and Dad, Mom angry and hurt, Dad trying to talk his way out. They both hated fights, didn’t even like arguments, Dad especially. It was typical he hadn’t ever figured out who owned Kelly, because that would have meant hassle. I’m going to have to watch Dad, Eva thought. Whatever he says, I’m going to see that I own me . . .
    Another voice in the early dawn, only a murmur again but unmistakable.