“You think you have a choice in this?” I snap. “Just be glad you’re getting a new outfit.”
And April is at least pleased about that. Sid gives us a whole ten dollars to spend on clothes—a standard week’s wages—though we soon discover we could be spending far,farmore on even one outfit. But after rummaging through the exchange for a while, we manage to find something. I get a dress covered in red polka dots whereas April picks a—frankly—boring brown skirt. They both only need a little mending, which I spend the next couple of days doing.
Before the dinner, I follow Sid around the acreage like a hawk, making sure he doesn’t smoke. We already know we’re going to have to kiss at some point tonight. How else are we going to sell Bradley on our very legit romance? But I would rather not taste ash every time.
“You know I only smoke when I’m stressed, right?” he barks at me. “And this is not helping.”
“Is that the pattern? Because you smoked all the time when we first met—oh.”
No one is in a good mood by the time we pile onto the bus, heading towards the northern end of the island. I’ve never visited this area before. As we approach St. Mary’s Lake, Sid points at a line of acreages. “That’s the old golf course the Pattersons sold off.”
“The what?”
“Maria’s family used to own a golf course before the Quake,” says April, who must have heard about this at school. “The government bought it off them to make farms.”
“And they accepted money? There wasn’t anything to buy back then.”
“Not yet.” Sid shrugs. “But Bradley’s mother was smart enough to wait. She started a bank twenty years ago. If you want to get funding to do anything on Salt Spring and the government won’t pay for it, you go to the Pattersons.”
I nod. I’m not sure I understand this perfectly, but one thing is clear. If anyone has the power to ruin things for us, it’s these people.
The sun is setting by the time we reach the estate, long shadows painting the road. We walk down a winding driveway to reach their property. Fewer trees have been logged to create farmland here, and they block out the moon. My grip tightens on Sid’s hand.
The gravel path opens up to reveal a three-storey home with a massive veranda. More than the size of the house, it’s the number of lights that stuns me. I’ve seen plenty of broken-down mansions, but light costs resources. Candles burn in every window. The front walk is rigged with lanterns that wink happily in the evening gloom. Some even have solar cells built into them.
I point at one illuminating the front walk. “I thought the government took all those.”
Sid grunts. “Not much the Pattersons don’t have.”
I’m trying to wrap my head around what the limits of that might be when a man comes to the door to take our jackets. For a wild moment, I think they have their own butler like some long dead lord, but it turns out this is a service provided by the catering company. My head goes right back to spinning, because apparently catering still exists.
We’re shown inside, where there’s a grand oak staircaseand a crystal chandelier rigged with a dozen candles. It’s incredible how little the place looks like the deserted mansions April and I looted in high-end communities on Vancouver Island. The pictures are still hanging on the walls, their frames polished instead of broken down for firewood. A china vase of poppies sits on an end table. All the furniture matches.
We’re led upstairs to where a crowd has gathered around a brick fireplace. Every other guest can afford to wear wool, not scavenged clothes like the ones April and I bought at the exchange. The colours are muted, due to the limited range of dyes available these days, but there’s a polished newness about everything. Sothat’swhy April wanted something brown. Me and my polka dots are clearly out of fashion.
Bradley’s mother nods as we enter. She sits in a chair by the fire, eating crab cakes and talking to an old man who Bradley introduces as the mayor of Galiano Island. A few other distinguished faces ring the circle, but I hardly catch any names. They’re a who’s who of who-gives-a-shit as far as I’m concerned, but Sid’s face pales in a way that communicates they’re important. Government types, maybe. Or business leaders. I can’t be sure, but if Mrs. Patterson controls the main bank, I can only assume people are itching for a chance to sit down to dinner with her.
“We had to double up events. We’ve always got someone coming and going,” says Bradley with a laugh. His hair is waxed upright, and he’s dressed in a starched hemp shirt. “Mother can’t rearrange her schedule much. We’ll be in the second dining room. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” I say. If we’re being slighted, it’s not like people of our station have a right to object. I’m relieved I won’t have to eat with these people, but I feel their eyes following us as we file out of the main dining room. Mrs. Patterson’s friends might not think we deserveto be included in their circle, but we’re worthy of gossip. Instinctively, I latch onto Sid and pray it looks like we’re in love.
Once we reach the second dining room, two more guests are waiting for us. A sullen girl, who must be Maria Patterson, and Amy Sullivan.
“Kayla and Sid! It’s so good to see you!” She hugs me first, then makes her way down the line, ending on April. “And how’s my future scientist doing?”
“Oh… I’m—um…”
When April can’t form a sentence, it hits me that there might be someone she’s even more embarrassed about disappointing than me.
“Did I tell you, Maria? April came on a tour of the Guild with me. I think you two have a lot in common. You’re both so bright.”
“Yeah, you said something about it.” Maria doesn’t turn to look at anyone. She has lush, pin-straight dark hair that probably involves ironing every morning. April keeps begging us to get an iron so she can do the same, but considering we don’t even bother using one for clothes, it seems frivolous to me. Or did, until standing in this place.
It’s like we’ve stumbled into a Jane Austen novel, where trivial things matter a great deal. This resembles the distant past more than the years immediately preceding the Quake, what with the candlelight and the comedy of manners we’re all engaged in.
The caterers bring out a round of crab cakes and Bradley recites the latest polling numbers, complimenting Sid on how high he’s ranked. After the guild tour, the paper did run a short story. Not one with any pictures, but pulling quotes from both Amy and Sid.
“That’s the kind of publicity you can’t buy. Amazing stuff,” says Bradley.
