“So, Barry,” said the Head. “You’ve had your five days with five parents but now it’s decision time. Which of the five sets of parents would you like to choose?”
“Um… when you say choose… you mean go and live with forever…?” said Barry.
“Yes!” said the Head. “Until you grow up, of course. And then you’ll have to come and see us to apply for children. It won’t be me in this chair by then, I shouldn’t think… Ha ha!”
The Head looked to The Secretary Entity to laugh at his joke. But they just looked pained.
“Are you all right, Secretary One?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Head,” said Secretary One.
“You sound a little throaty.”
“I’m also fine, thank you, Head,” said Secretary Two.
“So do you actually.”
Barry looked out of the window. It was late on Friday night – they had kept the Agency open for him specially – and the lights of the city were glittering outside.
“I don’t know,” said Barry. He looked down at his list, which was lying on his lap. It was so crumpled now that even he couldn’t really read it, although he was the one who had written it.
“Hmm,” said the Head. “I’m afraid you really have to make your mind up now.” He looked over at the last 24-Hourglass, the red one. It had about a hundred grains of sand left. One went through. Then another. “It’s nearly midnight. And past midnight, you’ll be ten. And then…”
He trailed off. As usual.
Suddenly, Barry felt very angry with him. “What?” he said, loudly and sharply.
The Head raised an eyebrow. Not a big one, just a standard up-it-goes. “Pardon?”
Barry took a deep breath. “Then… what?! Every time I come back here, there’s always a moment where you and them…” – he did a thumb gesture towards The Secretary Entity – “go quiet about what happens to children who get to ten without finding parents! But now I want to know! I have to!”
The Head sighed. He got up and went to the window – the one with the amazing view of the city – and looked out, not saying anything. He had his back to Barry. He opened the window. Then he turned round. His face looked white with dread.
“OK, Barry. This is what happens to children who don’t find parents by the age of ten. Basically—”
As he said this, a powerful gust of wind came into the room and blew Barry’s list up into the air.
“Oh my God!” said Barry.
The piece of paper was lifted by the wind, high up to the ceiling, towards the open window. The four of them – Barry and The Secretary Entity and the Head – jumped up, trying to catch it, but because they were, after all, just children, they were too small.
Plus, the list was so crumpled now it had formed lots of little folds and crinkles which acted as tiny wings. And so it continued to float above the jumping children, and then another gust caught it and it flew beyond their grasping hands and out of the window.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” said the Head. “I’m very sorry, Barry. I really am. Shall we send PCs 890 and 891 out to look for it?”
Barry sighed and sat down again. “No, it’s OK. I guess it doesn’t matter any more…”
The Head and The Secretary Entity sat down too, looking rather uncertain as to what to say next. Instinctively, they all looked to the 24-Hourglass. Now there were about seventy grains left.
Then sixty-nine.
“So,” said the Head. “What were we talking about?”
“Barry’s parental choice, sir…” said Secretary One.
“Of course!” said the Head. “So. Barry. Which couple do you like best…?”
Barry stared at him. He shook his head. Clearly, he was never going to find out exactly what happened to children who didn’t find parents they liked by the time they were ten. But it was obviously something not very nice. So he said: “Well… there is a couple…”
“Splendid. The Rader-Wellorffs? Vlassorina? The Fwahms!? Elliott and Mama Cool? Malcolm and—?”
“Um… well…” Barry leant over the Head’s desk. The Head leant over towards him. “Not exactly. I was wondering about this other couple – this man and woman. I keep on seeing them wherever I go. Not the whole time. Just in moments.”
The Head leant back. “Well, do you know who they are…?”
Barry frowned. “When I first saw them, their faces looked blurry. But each time I’ve seen them again, they’ve got slightly clearer.”
The Head glanced at The Secretary Entity, who shrugged. “Are they on our books?” he said.
“Yes,” said Barry. “I think so. I mean, I thought I saw them when you first showed me some Parent Profiles, but it was so quick I’m not sure now.”
“Well, let’s have a look…”
The Head flipped up the top of his gold laptop and expertly brought up a series of Parent Files. He scrolled through them quickly. There were a few faces Barry recognised, but that was because they belonged to the parents he’d been trying out. Lord Rader-Wellorff’s photo had him standing on a rug that was also a dead bear; Vlassorina was in black and white, and neither of them was looking at the camera. But there was no sign of the parents he was looking for.
“No,” said Barry. “They’re not there.”
“Hmm,” said the Head. “Well. Can you describe them?”
Barry thought. “Um… they look… kind. Although some of the time they look frightened. And something else. I don’t know what it is. Their faces. They look at me with some… thing… something I can’t quite name…”
The Head seemed to get a bit distracted during this speech from Barry. He drummed his fingers on the desk and looked anxiously at the 24-Hourglass. It was hard to tell, but if you were someone with a magic gift for knowing, just by looking, how many things there were in one place – like, say, sweets in a jar at a fête – you’d have known that there were fifty-four grains left.
“Well, I’m afraid that very descriptive description won’t be enough to pinpoint them among the millions of parents we have on file, I’m afraid. And time marches on! As we know, it’s nearly…” He tapped the 24-Hourglass, which unfortunately had the effect of making the sand grains run down even quicker. “…your actual birthday.”
This took Barry aback. He’d had so many different and weird parties this week, he’d forgotten.
His actual birthday. His real birthday.
“Yes…”
“Look, Barry. I like you. I feel you’ve become my personal responsibility. I’m not having you ending up… you know…”
Barry didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to start that again. There wasn’t time and, besides, he did know that when the Head said “you know” The Secretary Entity shut their eyes and gulped. Which couldn’t be good.
“So, if you can’t decide, I’m afraid that means only one thing…”
“What?” said Barry, a bad feeling creeping up the back of his neck.
The Head looked him straight in the eye. “Code Black,” he said and then pressed a button on the machine in the centre of his desk.