Free The Grasshopper's Child by Gwyneth Jones Page A

old memories, only stops you forming new ones. She probably remembers lots of things.’
    â€˜I’ll make a point of asking her. The first mobile phones, the kind you had to pull after you on a cart. The Cuban Missiles.’
    â€˜The Vietnam War. The Birth of the Internet.’
    Clancy smiled under the hood, and shook his head. ‘Wild. What about that time in the Crisis, when there was no internet and no phones for years?’
    â€˜I don’t remember, I was too young . . . I think my mum and dad kind of liked it.’
    â€˜What about the Occupation. D’you remember that at all?’
    Heidi shook her head. ‘Nah. Except it was horrible, and Mum and Dad were glad when the Chinese invaded us, whatever anyone says.’
    â€˜Yeah, same here. Living under Chinese Rule is a disgrace, but it’s a sight better than the alternative. D’you think modern civilisation is ever going to come back?’
    â€˜I don’t care if it does or not.’ said Heidi. ‘My mum didn’t kill my dad, and I have to prove it. That’s all I worry about.’
    â€˜Right I don’t care, either. I just want to be free.’
    â€˜Ha. You wish. Are birds free from the chains of the skyways? ’
    â€˜Bob Dylan. I like Dylan. But only the early stuff. Nothing after Blood On The Tracks.’
    â€˜I disagree,’ said Heidi. ‘There’s duds, but there’s a lot of good stuff in his later work.’
    The stone floor’s cold claws were climbing painfully up her backbone, and she’d lost all feeling in her feet. ‘I’ve got to move. I was sweating, I’ll catch a chill.’ She stood up.
    â€˜Okay. See you around, on your flying path.’
    â€˜If you stay here, you probably will.’
    He grinned. ‘The Hooded Boy and the Running Girl. Drop by again.’
    As she headed for the Garden House, the promise that she would see her mum like central heating in her heart, she wondered why she hadn’t offered to sneak the Hooded Boy a few stockpiled groceries. The Wrecks would never miss stuff. She hadn’t offered, because he hadn’t wanted her to offer any help: and this earned her respect. Clancy was someone who could control what was said to him; control how close anyone approached him. He had his own personal force field.

8: Sharing The Care

    Dr Gunn was a retired Civil Servant. She lived alone except for Evie, her guide dog, in a picture-book cottage on Church Lane, next to St Mary’s churchyard. Her dad had been the vicar. She’d been an important person in Mehilhoc when George was a little kid; although she’d seemed ancient even then. He’d thought she was in charge of everything, the way everyone deferred to her; even his mum and dad. Tall and stern, she’d bend down from her height and peer at him through her glasses, the green stone in the brooch she always wore flashing like a magic sign of power. As if she knew every naughty thing he’d ever done.
    He was in no danger, as he looked through her possessions. The green brooch wasn’t going to swoop down on him. Given the choice of Elders available, he’d struck lucky. Dr Gunn wasn’t senile. There weren’t going to be any old-person ‘accidents’ for George to deal with. She had a daily cleaner, a man to do her garden, and she wasn’t even house-bound. She could still be seen striding along with Evie, taking her daily walk along Sea Lane and round the harbour. All George had to do was turn up, and make a sandwich.
    And never miss a visit, as his dad would have his hide if he didn’t play the game.
    Her bedroom smelled of antiseptic cream, essence of old age. There were strange old hats in boxes on top of the wardrobe, a suitcase full of papers under the bed. Drawers stacked with old lady underwear, in exactly squared off layers: no hidden treasures between the folds. How did she keep things so neat when she couldn’t