I followed her through another door, into another corridor, and out under an exit sign. We entered an underground car park, except there were no cars here. Cement columns ran from floor to ceiling. There were maybe a hundred people gathered in the far right corner. I continued to follow Floral Dress as she walked towards them. I could hear the low rumblings of a man’s voice as we came upon the crowd. They were a group of normal, everyday people, young, old, jeans, trendy haircuts, some beards, a few terrible dresses, runners, boots. They looked like they could be in line for a table at a restaurant. I stood at the back, straining my ears and desperately trying to see what was going on in the centre of the group, and who it was that they were all huddled around. I saw a tall, fit-looking man in his fifties wearing a charcoal grey T-shirt and jeans. He had a sharp pointed face and grey hair that was thinning slightly, and was punching the air and talking animatedly. The crowd was hanging on his every word. I shuffled in closer, listening with every inch of myself.
‘They didn’t see us coming, they didn’t see us coming.’ He pointed a finger dramatically in the air. He spoke with a flat American accent.
‘We’ve upset their plans. Production has stalled on the Waist Watch, that controlling device, that piece of machinery that now lets BBest own your physiology – who you are. Your physical make-up. They don’t just know your restaurant preferences, now they know your blood type, your heart rate, your lung capacity, your potential for illness.’
The crowd shuffled and I heard a few tuts, a few boos being lightly exhaled in disgust.
‘And we know where this is going: total control. You won’t get a bank loan because your heart rate is too fast. You won’t be able to choose your partner because they’re not a good genetic match for your future offspring. Total control,’ he shouted, and the crowd bobbed their heads in agreement.
This is a little bit dramatic, I thought, but I suppose he did have to play to the crowd a bit. I knew Granddad would love this kind of shouty get-together, he would be fired up.
‘But we’re going to stop this. The movement is at a pivotal point, our comrades in China, at great personal risk, lit a fire in that factory, and boom!’ His hands flared out dramatically. ‘That shitty shack that never adhered to any fire regulations, that employs staff at slave wages, that forces them to work up to eighteen hours a day, so the drones, the BBest robots in the Western world, can have a Waist Watch. Boom! It went up like fireworks at Halloween. Boom!’
Boom. Boom. The word bounced across the car park, echoing, building momentum and filtering out.
‘We’re close. Don’t believe what you don’t hear.’
The group sniggered a little at this. I felt like the kid who didn’t get the joke but I kind of let my shoulders shake, pretending I was in on it. But really, I felt like he was shouting a lot and being more than a little extreme – BBest robots, seriously? I loved my Waist Watch, I loved my phone. These people were getting their knickers in a twist.
I became aware of someone to my left. Someone who was watching me. I could sense it. I looked over my shoulder. Patrick. What was he doing here? Had he followed me? Did he see through my cross-my-heart swear? He quickly looked away and his cheeks turned pink in embarrassment. He looked at the speaker intensely, as if he was what he was concentrating on the whole time and not me. I suppressed a smile, I couldn’t help it. His eyes wandered back to me, and he grinned, acknowledging that he’d been caught. I smiled back, embarrassed now, and felt my own cheeks flush. He turned his shoulders in my direction and smiled at me and I could see only him. His mouth opened and shaped the word, ‘Hi.’ I responded with an equally mute, ‘Hello.’ He brought a finger to his heart and outlined an X across it. I smiled a bit pathetically. He started to slide past the people on either side of him until we were shoulder to shoulder, still staring, still smiling.
‘Hi.’ This time I heard the breathy sound of his voice.
‘Hello,’ I whispered back, feeling bashful.
‘Fancy meeting you here.’
‘I was in the neighbourhood.’
‘I thought you might be. I thought I might have to keep an eye on you.’
And we said nothing more, but we kept smiling. And I felt it, I felt it with every sense: shooting stars racing across my heart. I was giddy, calm, happy and terrified all at the same time. The back of Patrick’s hand touched the back of mine, our knuckles lightly grazing. A surge of what I could only describe as pure joy crawled through me at his touch.
He nodded and dropped his head, grinning into his chest. I wanted him to take my hand in his, to know the heat of him. I felt my breath catch in my throat like a hiccup. There was an unfamiliar sense of electricity buzzing around me and I wondered if he felt it too.
The speaker interrupted my thoughts.
‘We got news this week: the number of cameras in public places is doubling. We need to map the locations of these cameras. We have an original plan for where the cameras were going to be positioned in the city but it’s outdated. We need you to find them. The cameras are the P365 model, they look like this.’ He reached into his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. It showed a picture of a small surveillance camera, black, shiny, oval shaped. ‘They will be positioned to see into windows of shops, apartments, homes, and they can zoom so tightly that their operators will be able to lip read.’
He paused and surveyed the crowd. ‘What it does is allow them to spy on average citizens and arrest anyone they feel isn’t marching in time. And you can bet they share this surveillance information with their friends at BBest. They’re all just a little too cosy in those government buildings, if you ask me.’
There were disgruntled sounds from the crowd. I had to agree with them this time, it did seem fishy.
He kept talking but I was concentrating so hard on Patrick’s presence that the man’s voice had turned to background white noise.
A shout came from the back: ‘In our own homes, it’s a disgrace.’
The speaker looked delighted that the group was in agreement. ‘That it is, brother, that it is.’
Another shout: ‘It’s only getting worse, not better.’
The speaker nodded solemnly. ‘I hear you, I hear you. But we cannot win this overnight, we all must have patience. We are gathering information on BBest’s links to the government – they are in breach of European law. Rest assured, we have a crack team working on this. But it takes time, because we are following legitimate paths and we will abide by the law . . . for this instance.’ He guffawed slightly at this, as did the rest of the group.
There was an electric beep from within the group. We looked away and towards a man who was gesturing. He raised his hands to form a T. And that was it.
Patrick turned to me. ‘We have to . . .’ He splayed his fingers outwards indicating our need to disperse fast. ‘We only have about thirty seconds.’
I was still smiling, and now nodding. We turned away from each other, but neither moved. And then he spoke, the word like a door opening, the sound of a beginning, a hope, like everything else was coming to an abrupt end: ‘Wait.’
And so I did.
‘Do you want to get a coffee?’ He pushed his long fingers through his hair, leaving comb marks. He gazed at me, on the cusp of blowing a wish my way.
I did. I did.
Floral Dress grabbed me by the arm. I turned back to Patrick, and shook my head. I had to follow this through. Now that I was here I had to know about Granddad. Patrick nodded, showing that he understood, and stepped into the shadows of the car park.
Floral Dress pulled me towards the speaker. He was quietly talking into another man’s ear. He hugged him briefly and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around, his eyes were clear and intelligent.
‘Who’s this?’
‘Maurice’s granddaughter.’
He nodded and extended a hand for me to shake. ‘Your grandfather is a brave man, I only wish I had one tenth of his courage and brilliance.’
Granddad must
love him, I thought. ‘Thanks,’ I managed to whisper. ‘So he comes to these meetings, he’s involved?’
‘Of course, he is a loyal soldier to the cause. We have been honoured to have him serve with us.’
‘Oh.’ I’d just heard it from the horse’s mouth, and in military terminology, which I knew Granddad would be all over.
‘You’re here to help us.’ This was said like a statement of fact.
I was caught off guard. ‘No. I just, I came – the code in the Tolstoy book. I wanted to know what was going on, if anyone can help my granddad. You know he’s in jail. I don’t know why exactly, but it’s obviously to do with this. Do you know why?’
‘The only way to help your granddad is to help us. If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.’
He turned his back to me and started to walk away. I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, or maybe thrust my middle finger in his direction. But I wouldn’t, because unfortunately that behaviour is considered juvenile. In my mind, though, I was pulling his hair and stomping all over his favourite toy.
‘Make sure you get the book back,’ he said to Floral Dress.
‘Oh . . . I . . .’ I said after him. I heard the disappointment in my voice, and yet this was too much, this was all too alien to me, this was a bridge too far.
He turned around and took a step back to me, his face half an inch from mine, our noses almost touching. ‘You wear a Waist Watch, you have signed your life over to BBest, you believe you’re being the best you can be, but ask yourself this: when’s the last time you made a decision for yourself? When’s the last time you chose to do something that wasn’t suggested? When’s the last time you were truly free?’
He sounded like Granddad.
I said nothing but felt myself nodding.
‘Nice to meet you, Maurice’s granddaughter. Have a nice life.’ And with that he was gone.
And I was left under no illusions that I had just met a horrible man.
‘The book,’ Floral Dress hissed at me, clearly disappointed that she had brought me here and that I was a bit of a dud. I passed it over to her and she returned my phone. She hugged the book to her chest and scurried away.
I looked around – I was alone in a car park. It was deathly silent. Everything had happened so fast I didn’t know what to think.
25
After meeting Patrick I was a whirlwind of giddiness. I could not stop smiling. I relived every second, remembered every gesture, every electric current that shot through me. Not just my body, I agreed with my chattering mind, my soul. My inner self. He touched me. He found me, the real me, the me me. I felt like I was in a musical, I wanted to throw my arms to heaven and sing at the top of my lungs. I wanted to skip through meadows of daisies, twirling in a peasant dress. I wanted to sit in a fifties diner drinking chocolate milkshakes and being quizzed in minute detail by girlfriends wearing poodle skirts who wanted to know everything. Last night was a song and it was racing through my mind on an endless loop; each time it played sweeter than the last. It was a song that I would never get tired of singing.
This morning I found him on BBest. Patrick Rockford. I pulled up his profile and stared at his picture, stared and stared. I could look at his face forever. His lip curled slightly upwards on the left-hand side, and I wondered if that was a tiny scar under his eye or just a scratch on my phone. I had an overpowering feeling of fuzzy hope and joy and happiness. What I would really have liked to do was phone Cat and gush down the line to her, but I couldn’t. Where would I have even begun? So there I was at a Luddite meeting where I met a horrible man and a lovely man? Besides, she was a Mason fan.
Oh God, Mason. A cold, swampy feeling washed over me. I’d have to push him to the back of my head. Or I’d have to push Patrick to the back of my head. Oh, my poor head. I couldn’t think about Mason now. I wouldn’t.
I didn’t know what to make of the Luddites and their angry rants and fist shaking. They definitely said a few things that made me think – well, really made me confused more than anything. I had dipped my toe in and now I thought I might take it right back out of the freezing water and into some comfy slippers.
And then, oh joy, oh rapture, I got an email.
Freya,
Long time no see. I hope everything finished up okay last night. On the off chance that you’re free on Saturday, I do some work with a volunteer project every couple of months, we plant trees and gardens with inner-city kids. You might enjoy working outdoors and getting a bit mucky and all your flower knowledge might be really useful. All the details are attached. Bring a friend.
Patrick
Well, needless to say I was all a-wobble and the giddiest type of goose a person had ever laid eyes on. I was maybe being asked out, in a roundabout way. Until I remembered that I had a fiancé and was not free to go out or to start an email flirtation with a tall, dark man. But after some debate with myself, maybe half a second, I decided to go. It was about volunteering, after all, and the poor children and the trees, and my flower knowledge would come in handy with this type of activity. It was all about me becoming a better person, which I was sure was a New Year’s resolution of mine, if not this year then last, so it was a win–win. I was just thinking of the trees, people. And I’d pop any other thoughts so far to the back of my head they’d pop out my ears.
Later that morning, as I was still sitting comfortably on cloud nine, I swiped through some floral display ideas with Maria, a new client, in my new shop. I felt different, I felt as though there was a scent on me, like I was emanating happiness. Whatever was happening here, it was showing in my work.
Maria owned an Italian restaurant and bar in the neighbourhood. Her red hair was sprayed high into a beehive, her make-up was heavy, her neck dripped with gold chains. She had a loud, almost singsong voice and threw her head back to laugh at the tiniest of things.
She almost kissed the screen in delight when I showed her my ideas for the restaurant entrance.
‘And they’ll smell,’ I reminded her. Customers often forgot about the heady scent of flowers, they saw the pretty picture but forgot how emotive a scent can be.
‘Of course, at the entrance there’ll be a . . . how you say . . .’ She tripped over her words but her hands gesticulated, saying it all.
‘An explosion.’ I grinned at her. I stood up. ‘Let me give you an idea.’
I raced around the shop and picked up some gardenias, roses, lavender, a collection of the freshest blooms I had, a mish-mash of smells, bundled them all together and tied a string around them. I buried my head in the petals and inhaled deeply, my nostrils awakening with a blast.
‘Here,’ I said, and thrust the bouquet at Maria.
She dived in and I saw her chest rise and fall. When her head lifted she was smiling with the fullness of her senses.
‘Magnifico, magnifico. Let’s do this.’
Right there and then she signed me up. She hugged me enthusiastically as we said goodbye, but I was trembling slightly as I closed the door. This was a big order, a bread and butter constant supply order. I leaned my forehead against the pane of glass on the door frame and took a moment. It felt good.
There was a knock on the door and I jumped out of my skin with the vibrations. I stepped back, and there, grinning like a mischievous monkey, was Mam. I swung the door open to welcome her in, absorbing and enjoying the fresh blast of moist spring air that gushed inwards. I was happy to see her. I was always happy to see Mam.
‘Well, you are a surprise. I didn’t know you were around.’
She rushed in and kissed me. I could smell her familiar scent of vanilla shampoo and foundation as her soft cheek pressed against mine.
‘This place is fantastic, I’ve been dying to see it in operation.’ Mam was wearing wedge heels and tight jeans, her make-up was perfect and her hair was styled sleekly into a bob. She looked well. She ran her hand across the wall. ‘Look at all this great shelving space. And it smells so good in here. This is nice.
Really nice.’
‘Thanks, I love it. Tea? Coffee?’
‘No, I’m at capacity.’ She idly walked around and picked up a few flowers from buckets then replaced them.
‘Did you admire my chalkboard? Every time I thought about this shop I saw a chalkboard out the front. When I’m coming in in the morning I spend the journey thinking about what I’m going to write on it.’
She strained her neck, clearly trying to read the sign outside. ‘I didn’t bring my glasses, love.’
‘It’s okay. It says, “Love is in the air”.’ I laughed.
‘Lovely. I spoke to Dad last night. I wish we could get him out of there. I feel so helpless.’
‘I know. I hate thinking of him locked up. It makes me so sad. I nearly wish he had his cigarettes.’
‘I know.’ We looked at each other helplessly.
‘Colin’s meeting the lawyers tonight, they might have some news.’
‘Hopefully.’
Mam edged around the room, surveying, picking things up and putting them back down again. Her eyes flicked towards me and then fluttered away. Her movements were jerky and deliberate. She was nervous, I could sense it.
‘What’s going on, Mam?’ I stood in front of her.
‘Oh, nothing, nothing, I was just in the neighbourhood.’ She looked everywhere but at me.
‘Okay,’ I said, slightly amused by her flapping.
She rubbed her hands together and started stripping pieces of her hair between her fingers. ‘I’ve, em, you know, a date this evening.’
‘That’s great, Mam, but you go on dates all the time and never even tell me about it. Do I need to prepare myself?’ I wondered if there was some cotton wool in the back that I could shove in my ears in case she was going to launch into some torrid sexual exploit stories.
She scratched behind her ear and her voice rose an octave. ‘Well, maybe you should know about this one, it’s with that older guy.’
Well, this was a little bit different. ‘The age-appropriate man, the wine and lycra? Are you sure about this, Mam? Are you sure he’s not a little too old for you?’ I teased.
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