Free Transformation of Minna Hargreaves, The by Fleur Beale Page B

didn’t open his eyes either.
    Cara frowned some more and focused in on Dad and me. ‘You don’t need to worry about those cameras.’ She pointed up at the ceiling. ‘I’ll collect the footage from them when I come each month and change the film.’
    I gaped at her, a whole heap of words whirling in my mind that I squashed down because of not wanting to provide Good Television.
    Noah didn’t care about GT. He opened his eyes and actually sat up. ‘You mean — they’re on all the time? Like security cameras?’
    She nodded. ‘Yes. Didn’t Wes tell you?’
    We looked at Dad who didn’t even try to look guilty. ‘I might have omitted to mention it,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll soon forget they’re there.’
    And that was meant to comfort and reassure me? I leaned my head in my hands and those damn cameras would have caught the groan I couldn’t manage to suppress. Bloody great. How in hell was I going to appear light-hearted, adventurous, charming, quirky, capable, et-bloody-cetera with those cameras up there recording every move I made?
    I lifted my head and glared at Cara. She smiled back at me and her eyes held exactly the same expression that Gran H’s do when she’s slam-dunked me. I smiled back. ‘I am so going to enjoy the filming, Cara,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much for entrusting the task to me.’
    That took the sparkle out of her eye. Cow.
    She smiled at me again. ‘Time for me to leave,’ she said with just a slight emphasis on
me
. She let that sink in before she added, ‘We’ll be back in a month to pick up the film and drop off any supplies you need.’ She smiledat me again. I had to admit she was pretty good in the revenge department.
    I trailed out of the house after her because watching the chopper take off would be my last piece of entertainment for an entire month. I watched Cara get into it and refused to let myself think about how long a month was.
    The chopper lifted off with a rush of air that flattened the grass and blow-dried the trees and then it was just the four of us. Dad, of course, was acting like he was five years old, this was his birthday and he still had a mountain of presents to open. He rubbed his hands. ‘Come on, troops. Back to the house. I need to show you how to use the radio.’
    I didn’t even bother sending him a dirty look. I trudged back to the house, lifted my head and composed my face for the benefit of the cameras and headed for the privacy of my own room. Dad had other ideas. ‘Min!’ he bellowed. ‘Here. Now.’
    I went, but only because the alternative would have been an unseemly slanging match caught forever on those bloody cameras. I hated them and I hated him and no way was I going to use the bloody radio which for sure wasn’t going to be any sort of radio that would interest me.
    I was right.
    Dad swivelled around from where he sat at a sort of desk, stuck to the wall midway between the open-plan kitchen and sitting room. He beamed a megawatt grin in my direction. ‘This is it, kids. This is our contact with the outside world.’
    Noah grunted.
    ‘Great,’ I said. It was a box stuck to the wall. It had a microphone and a handset and it didn’t look to me that I’d be able to contact anyone meaningful and important to me in the outside world.
    I was right again. He gave me the benefit of a full six seconds of his attention. ‘This isn’t for social use, Min. We do the listening watch. We can use it for emergencies. But that’s it. Understand?’
    ‘Yeah.’ I didn’t bother asking what a listening watch was. Who cared?
    Dad seized the chance while he had us all in the one place to drop in a couple more gems about Life on Isolation Island.
    One: I was not to use my hair-dryer because it would drain too much power from the solar batteries.
    Two: showers were limited to two minutes and baths totally prohibited.
    ‘I’m just gonna love it here,’ I said. ‘I can tell already.’
    Dad beamed at me. ‘That’s the spirit,