‘Each bead symbolises a positive step,’ Elliot said. ‘And this afternoon represents your first contribution to our community.’
‘I thought you were just going to show me around,’ James said, thinking it best to sound a touch suspicious.
‘I’m sure you and Eve will enjoy yourselves,’ Elliot said, deliberately ignoring James’ comment.
James took the necklace off, but he didn’t have the fingernails to undo the knot in the leather and slide on the bead. While Eve took care of his necklace, Elliot walked James around to the back of the van. Refrigerated air wafted out as James peered inside at stacks of large plastic trays. Each one was identical: set out with local newspapers, confectionery, cigarettes, small bunches of flowers, drinks and lottery tickets.
Elliot placed two trays on the tarmac, before stepping inside the van and taking out two collapsible trolleys. The double-handled trolleys unfolded and the trays slotted on top.
‘What’s all this about?’ James asked.
Elliot smiled and rubbed James’ shoulder. ‘I’ve got to get to six more retirement homes. Eve will tell you what to do.’
As Elliot drove away, Eve looped the necklace, complete with bead, over James’ head.
‘What’s this trolley business?’ James said. ‘I thought you were showing me around?’
‘Oh,’ Eve said, sounding wounded. ‘I told Elliot you wanted to help us with our charity work. He’ll be really cross with me.’
James acted confused. ‘Why? It’s just a misunderstanding.’
‘Yes, but the Survivors have had some bad publicity about us taking people and making them do stuff they don’t want to,’ Eve explained. ‘Of course, it’s not like that and we always give you a choice, but Elliot’s very sensitive about it. He’ll go bananas at me if he thinks I pushed you into this.’
James realised it was a set-up: the way Elliot gave him the bead and ignored his question, followed by Eve saying she’d get in trouble if he didn’t do what they wanted.
‘I can go inside and call Elliot,’ Eve continued, sounding worried. ‘Oh dear, I’m really for it now.’
James smiled and said what he knew Eve wanted to hear. ‘OK, I’ll do it … It was a surprise, that’s all.’
Eve made a little squealing noise and pulled him into a hug. ‘Thank you James. You’re fantastic.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ James said, catching a sneaky downward glance at Eve’s cleavage as she squeezed him. ‘What exactly is it we’re supposed to do with this stuff?’
‘All we do is take it around to the rooms, knock on the old folk’s doors and ask if there’s anything they want to buy.’
The home was built on a single floor and the mostly female residents lived in rooms with balconies and private bathrooms. The building was modern and it wasn’t horrid, but it seemed lifeless and the squeaky-floored corridors reminded James of a hospital.
After the receptionist buzzed them through a locked door, James followed Eve into the first few rooms to watch her sales technique. Eve spent at least three minutes talking to each resident, most of whom were in the final stages of life and were either bedridden or barely mobile. Eve traded banal news about school and the commune for information about each resident.
Almost everyone bought something. It was usually a small item, like a chocolate bar or newspaper, but there were also requests for Elliot – who visited each resident weekly – to put something on the van. These items ranged from an old gent who wanted a monthly fishing magazine to a brash old lady who requested a particular brand of toilet paper because, The stuff they give you in here leaves your arsehole as red as a radish.
After the first few rooms, Eve sent James off to work a different section of the home. He spent nearly an hour passing from room to room, having more or less the same conversation, which always started with, Where’s Eve today? and ended with the purchase of a couple of dollars’ worth of goodies. James noticed that the prices were double what you’d pay in an ordinary store.
James met a newly arrived resident on his last call but one. The name on the door said Emily Wildman and he found her sitting on the corner of her bed looking bewildered. Some of her belongings were still in packing crates, the curtains were closed and she’d clearly been crying.
‘Hello,’ James said, trying to sound friendly as he pushed his trolley into the room.
‘What are you, a bloody boy scout?’ she said abruptly.
James did a little spiel that Eve had taught him, explaining that he’d volunteered to wheel the stuff around the home and that the profits went to help development projects in the third world. Eve hadn’t been especially clear about what the development projects were, but Miriam Longford’s book claimed that most of the money raised by Survivor charities went on administrative expenses and ended up in the organisation’s own coffers.
‘Have you got a mother?’ Emily asked sharply.
James thought of Abigail and nodded, but it pricked him when he remembered that his real mother was dead.
‘When she’s old and she goes dotty, are you gonna sell her home and make her live in a place like this?’
James smiled. ‘You’ve got a great big patio and a garden outside. All the people I’ve met here seem really nice.’
‘It smells like old people and piss,’ Emily said bluntly.
James laughed. ‘It doesn’t smell that bad.’
‘If they can make you better, they send you to hospital. If they can’t, they send you here to die.’
Emily was thin and looked barely strong enough to stand up, but James still felt intimidated as he backed his trolley up towards the door. ‘Well, I hope you settle in. I bet you’ll get used to it.’
‘Hang on,’ Emily said. ‘I’ll take one of the Cadbury Turkish bars. I don’t eat a lot these days, but I expect I’ll nibble a few squares.’
‘That’s three dollars.’
Emily looked a bit shocked at the price.
‘Blow it,’ she grinned, swiping her hand in front of her face. ‘I’d rather a bunch of Africans got it than my prat of a son.’
James smiled as Emily handed him three one-dollar coins, but he felt awful as he backed his trolley out and stepped up to knock on the final door. Everything about the place reminded James that he was going to get old and die.
17. INTEGRATION
Ten days after their first evening with the Survivors, Abigail and the three cherubs had begun spending most of their free time either visiting the commune or involved in Survivor activities.
Abigail began what Elliot described as ‘A personal journey into the Ocean of Love’. She listened to Survivor CDs and watched videos during the day. In the evenings she drove out to the commune and attended either the single parents’ group, or one-to-one counselling sessions with Elliot. She also began doing volunteer fundraising work, canvassing for money in the city centre. On the occasional evenings when Abigail wasn’t attending the commune, Elliot would usually phone her for a prolonged conversation and once even dropped by the house for a surprise visit.
Dana kept up her role as the difficult recruit. The unfortunate seventeen-year-old chaperone whom Dana questioned mercilessly got replaced by a middle-aged woman made of sterner stuff. Elliot suggested that Dana undergo an intensive counselling programme, to deal with ‘Emotional and hostility issues’. Abigail agreed and wrote a cheque for A$780 worth of therapy.
The sessions were designed to make Dana feel good about herself, while subtly introducing ideas about the Survivors’ beliefs and the supposed benefits of their lifestyle. Her scepticism was a ploy to make the Prince family’s integration into the cult more credible. But it wasn’t meant to seriously hinder the mission, so Dana allowed the counsellor to win her over and received her leather necklace a week after the others.
Lauren made plenty of friends of her own age within the commune. These pre-teen cultists had yet to master the manipulative recruitment skills possessed by older members and Lauren had a relatively easy time. Wh
ile Abigail and Dana attended counselling sessions, Lauren roamed around the disused mall.
On a typical visit, she would meet her friends in the gymnasium or communal living quarters and tag along with whatever they were doing. Activities ranged from playing games to doing homework, or attending one of the many small religious services that took place every night. Lauren found many of the activities enjoyable, especially games in the gym and the happy clappy services, with their chanting and dancing. But after the overpowering effect of her first visit, she carefully applied Miriam’s thought control techniques: a few seconds thinking about the smell of James’ laundry basket was enough to stop her from being overcome with euphoria.
Because James seemed to be integrating nicely, he wasn’t asked to attend one-on-one counselling like Abigail and Dana, but Eve and Ruth kept him under close supervision, even waiting outside the door when he used the toilet. They encouraged him to attend religious services and lectures about the teachings and life of Joel Regan. He visited the retirement home after school every day and often rode back to the commune with Eve instead of going home afterwards.
*
CHERUB mission controllers John Jones and Chloe Blake were staying at a hotel in the centre of Brisbane. Their role was going to be minimal until Abigail and the cherubs were fully integrated into cult life, but they’d done some background research and one of the facts they turned up was that the North Park Elder Care Community was owned and run by Survivors.
James gradually got used to the oldies on his daily trolley route. He was often asked to read out letters for residents with poor eyesight. He listened to them moaning about their ailments and the staff who looked after them. Many residents complained that they were being charged for therapies and outings that they hadn’t taken and that bed linens weren’t being changed. The plumbing was noisy, the water was never hot and the air-conditioning didn’t work. James couldn’t tell how much was genuine cause for complaint and how much was to do with the fact that the residents had little to do other than watch TV and find stuff to gripe about.
Eve encouraged James to spend time with the residents. He came to realise that they looked forward to his brief visit every afternoon and they’d often set aside something they wanted to talk about: an article trimmed from a newspaper, their husbands’ war medals, or a photograph from their past. He found it disturbing, seeing pictures of residents who could barely shuffle across their rooms as teenage brides and bare-chested soldiers.
James always spent more time with Emily than any of the others, usually ten or fifteen minutes. It was partly because she reminded James of his nan, but mostly because she was livelier than the other residents and often hilariously drunk.
As Emily slugged back endless cups of milk mixed with vodka, she relayed a wonderful line in anecdotes about her son, whom she referred to as either the Dolt or Nugget Head. He’d apparently squandered a significant family fortune by setting up and bankrupting a discount airline, followed by a chain of DIY superstores. Emily said she was down to her last ‘few million bucks’. James particularly enjoyed the story of how Nugget Head had managed to nail himself to a sheet of plasterboard while demonstrating power tools inside one of his stores. Humiliated, he then chose to lash out at a laughing man who unfortunately turned out to be the Australian flyweight boxing champion.
On the Friday, thirteen days after his first visit to the commune, James stepped into Emily’s room and found her listening to the words of Joel Regan through the speakers of a brand new mini hi-fi.
‘Elliot gave it to me when he brought in my new towels and bathmats,’ Emily explained, anticipating James’ question. ‘I hope I’m not offending you James, I know you’re in with that lot, but it all sounds like a load of tosh to me.’
*
It was six when James got in from the care home. He went straight in the shower and came down to find Lauren setting the table in the dining-room. Dinner was almost ready and James was visibly disappointed when Abigail came through with trays of over baked supermarket cannelloni.
‘Man,’ James grinned, ‘the standard of cooking sure isn’t what it was around here.’
Abigail smiled. ‘I’ve not got time these days. I spent most of the morning with Elliot and three hours this afternoon stuffing promotional coupons into envelopes.’
‘What for?’ James asked, as Dana came in and sat next to him.
Abigail shrugged. ‘It’s one of Joel Regan’s businesses, producing customised marketing materials for big companies. Elliot said they were short-handed and begged me to go over there and help out.’
Lauren shuddered. ‘I’ve really gotten to hate Elliot. He’s such a grease ball.’
Dana nodded, as James helped Abigail dish up the food. ‘Have you ever noticed that he seems to be in three places at once?’
‘Mary told me that Elliot only sleeps four hours a night,’ Abigail explained. ‘Apparently he was one of the top men at the Ark until he had a row with The Spider. Now he’s trying to get back on her good side by making the Brisbane commune the most profitable in the world.’
James looked confused. ‘The Spider?’
Dana and Lauren spoke contemptuously and in unison, ‘Regan’s eldest daughter.’
‘Oh,’ James said.
‘Don’t you know anything?’ Lauren sneered. ‘She’s like the wicked witch of the west. Joel Regan is eighty-two years old. Everyone says it’s The Spider who calls the shots nowadays.’
As James pushed his fork down into his chicken cannelloni, Abigail noisily cleared her throat.
‘James, how many times have I asked you wear something over your chest at the dinner table?’
James tutted. ‘I’m perfectly clean. I just showered and squirted myself with deodorant.’
‘I don’t care,’ Abigail said sharply. ‘I’m not sitting at the dinner table with you in your underwear. Go and put some clothes on.’
James wasn’t in the mood for Abigail’s obsession with table manners. ‘Fine,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘I don’t know what your problem is.’
Abigail snapped back, ‘If you don’t like it, James, make your own dinner.’
‘All right, Mum. Keep your tampon in, I’ll go and get a T-shirt.’
James stormed up to his room to get dressed. Three weeks in, the combination of school, homework, the care home and the ever increasing amount of time spent at the commune was wearing him out.
He got back down and slumped into a dining chair, scowling at Abigail.
Lauren tutted, unable to resist a dig at her brother. ‘You’re so immature, James.’
‘Lauren, I really don’t give a shit what you think,’ James answered back.
‘Language,’ Abigail gasped.
‘God,’ Dana moaned. ‘Will you shut up? I can’t sit through another meal listening to James and Lauren pecking at each other.’
Abigail started to snigger as James took his first mouthful of pasta.
‘What?’ Lauren asked.
Abigail snorted. ‘It’s funny, the way we’ve started bickering like a real family.’
The three youngsters smiled.
‘Sorry everyone,’ James said. ‘I didn’t mean to start biting people’s heads off. I’m just stressed out.’
‘Apology accepted,’ Abigail nodded. ‘Unfortunately, I think things will be getting worse before they get better: Elliot paid me a visit here this morning. He told me he thought we were making a valuable contribution to the Survivors and he invited us to move into the commune on a trial basis.’
James and Lauren grinned at each other and even Dana managed a contented nod.
‘I take it you accepted?’ James said.
‘Grudgingly,’ Abigail said sarcastically. ‘I said I thought it was too soon and that I wasn’t sure I wanted to make that sort of commitment, but somehow he managed to talk me into it.’
Lauren laughed. ‘I bet he was looking around at this house trying to work out how much money it’s worth if we donated it to
his commune.’
‘I know,’ Abigail nodded. ‘He won’t be happy when he finds out we’re renting.’
18. REMOVAL
Moving into the commune was good for the mission, but James wasn’t happy. Up to now, he’d been able to take some time for himself, even if it was just a long shower and an hour on his PSP when he got back from the nursing home. Once he moved in with the Survivors, he’d be trapped inside their mind games 24/7.
Two white vans descended on the house early Saturday morning. A middle-aged Survivor got out of each one and began carrying out bags of clothes and belongings they’d packed up the night before. They also took a computer and big-screen TV that Abigail had agreed to donate to the exhibition space at the mall.
There was no traffic on the roads as the Prince family set off, following the vans in their Mercedes. James was surprised to find that Eve wasn’t there to meet him at the entrance. Instead, he was greeted by Paul, a boy he’d seen at school and on the commune but had never spoken to before.
Paul was thirteen, with rounded features that made him seem younger. He grabbed one of the bags containing James’ belongings before leading him inside. They walked up two static escalators to the second floor of the mall. James had never been up this far before. It was a compact area, with glass sides and a courtyard that had originally been a rooftop bar and restaurant.
The stuffy room had mattresses lined up along the walls on either side and smelled like the sweat and farts of the twenty boys who slept there every night. Paul pointed out a row of cupboards behind a bar.
‘All our stuff goes in there.’
Most of the cupboard doors hung open, with strands of boys’ clothing dangling over the edges of shelves. As James approached, he realised the space was communal, with each section containing a different sort of garment.
‘How do you know whose is whose?’
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