was wary. This could be a test. Henry had once said that he should trust no one.
‘Isn’t it more important to be about where we are now, rather than where we once were?’ he said.
‘Don’t give me that,’ she said, her eyes narrowing. ‘You don’t believe in what’s going on here. Not truly, deep down, in here,’ and she banged her chest with her hand.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You watch them too much, as if you are working out the right thing to say, not what you truly believe. What is it, just some fun?’
He shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. I believe in Henry’s message. And what do you mean by them? Don’t you mean us?’
Dawn looked at John, her lips pursed, wariness in her eyes. ‘I don’t mean anything.’ She pointed towards the window that now had a metal grille hammered into its frame. ‘The old man. Is he awake?’
John put his face against the grille and saw the old man turn his head towards him. His breaths looked shallow, and there was pleading in his eyes. He had no hair, apart from the wisps around his ears. His scalp seemed almost translucent, the veins visible through the tired pallor of his skin, his cheekbones just sharp edges.
John nodded. ‘How long has he been like this?’
‘He was always frail, that’s why he let us stay here, so that we could help him with the farm, and shop for him. He told us he had no family. We’re not helping him anymore though.’
‘How many were there of you, when you first came here?’
‘About ten of us, plus Henry.’ Tears popped into her eyes. ‘Some have left, some more have come. When we came here, it was an escape, that’s all.’
‘From what?’
‘From what we were doing. We were travelling round, going to all the demos. It was fun, but sometimes you’ve got to get away and have some downtime.’
‘What got you into all of the political stuff?’
She shrugged. ‘It was the togetherness, I suppose, the people you meet. A lot of us didn’t have that when we grew up.’
‘What about you?’
‘I grew up in care. The first lot of us did.’
‘How was that?’ He banged another nail into the window frame and then bent it around the grille.
‘Just typical, I suppose. You get warned about stuff, or hear about them, and you think it will be different for you, but it isn’t. It’s just the same. We’d hang around, and the men would come cruising. They were always too old for us, but it didn’t matter, because they could get us drink and fags, and we could ride around in cars with loud music and spoilers and stuff. It seemed like fun, but then you realise it’s a trap, that no one cares for you.’
‘Where were your parents?
‘Not with me,’ Dawn said, her sadness showing in her voice. ‘I went into care and they never tried to get me back. The care workers did their best, but they couldn’t give us the love we needed, the affection. But when you’re young, you confuse affection with sex, and so if you’re getting fucked, you’re getting love, except that you’re not. You’re being used. So one day, six of us left and never went back. We went to the festivals, and then the camps, you know, the protest ones, climate change and ones like that. The people were nice. No one used us, because they wanted to teach us stuff, and we listened.’
‘When was this?’
‘Three years ago.’
‘Are you all from care, the ones who came here?’
‘The newer ones are different. Posh kids, just looking for an adventure. Take your Gemma. She’s from a good home, but she wanted to break away. We all have different reasons. I was living in a hostel when I first met Henry. A lot of the girls were talking about him. He was older but different to the others, because he seemed more determined. He had things to tell us, his take on the world. Then he started to talk about getting away from the city, starting on our own, like a commune, where we made our own rules.’
‘And so you ended up here?’
‘Only by a fluke. We were between squats and we came to a party in the field next door. It was just a bonfire and people sleeping out, but in the morning the old man let us use his toilet and bath, and so we cleaned up for him, and then we ended up staying. And then Henry attracted more people, because, well, people follow Henry.’ Dawn smiled, although John detected regret in it. ‘It was great at first. We had a base. We could go to the camps but we had somewhere to come back to. The student demos were the best, because the nice kids would join in too. That’s when we hit on the masks.’
‘The masks in the pictures?’ John said. ‘I saw them in the house, but I didn’t know you’d started that. I used to see them on the news. They’re creepy. All white and expressionless.’
‘Shop dummies,’ she said. ‘It was symbolic, you know, because that’s what we had become, faceless. And it made it harder for the police to identify us, which was the real reason. When other people see you like that, they see you as a group who are getting their stuff together, and so they want to join, and people followed us on the marches, rather than us following them.’
‘I saw the masks on the news during the riots last year.’
‘The riots were just the best times, but then they became sort of the worst times.’
‘Why the worst?’
Dawn’s jaw clenched. ‘Because that’s when Henry changed. And we changed, as a group.’ She looked at the Seven Sisters and took a deep breath.
John followed her gaze. ‘I like them,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘The stones. They’re atmospheric, sort of mystical.’
Dawn closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she said, ‘They are not what they seem.’
‘What do you mean?’ John said, as he turned to hammer another nail into the frame.
‘You don’t really know what they stand for,’ she said. ‘If you did, you wouldn’t think that.’
‘Tell me then.’
Dawn looked towards the Seven Sisters again and tears came into her eyes. She looked like she was about to say something, but then there was some quick movement, and Dawn yelped as Arni’s cane was thrust through the open doorway, the metal handle under her chin. She turned round slowly, John following her gaze.
Arni was standing in the hallway, his arm outstretched. John hadn’t heard him. Arni was glowering, his anger giving him a flush to his cheeks and a quiver to his arm.
Dawn’s breaths started to get ragged, eyes flicking between John and Arni.
The cane stayed there for a few more seconds before Arni lowered it, still staring at Dawn.
‘We
