by Matt Whyman
‘You can have too much of a good thing,’ Titus told her with great concern. ‘Are you sure you’re not taking this workout thing too far?’
‘In Florida, you have a choice,’ said Angelica, grimacing as she lifted one Lycra-clad leg over the other. ‘You stay fit or die lardy.’
‘Well, just take it easy for the rest of the day,’ mumbled Titus, having taken a step away from his wife. ‘I can handle supper.’
‘Excellent,’ said a voice from behind them. ‘I’m always hungry after training! And Dad serves up big portions.’
Angelica turned to see Ivan drop his sports bag at the kitchen door. He was still wearing much of his football kit, which looked as clean as when his mother had last washed it for him.
‘How was it?’ asked Amanda. ‘Did you pack a cushion for the bench?’
‘I saw some action,’ he told her testily.
‘From the sidelines,’ she said under her breath, and headed for her room.
Amanda’s comment left an uneasy silence in the kitchen for a second.
‘So, what was the score?’ asked Angelica, keen to move on.
‘I’m not sure.’ Ivan shrugged and set his helmet on the table. ‘I don’t even know which side won.’
‘Never mind,’ said Angelica. ‘It’s the taking part that counts.’
‘Your mother is right,’ Titus added. ‘You’ll get the hang of the rules in time.’
Angelica didn’t like to point out that their son had been playing American football for nearly two school years now. Yes, the game could seem complicated to an outsider, but Ivan had many hours of training under his belt. It was just one more reason for Angelica to worry that her boy would never fit in. Titus shared her anxiety. It was evident in the way he looked at his son so uneasily.
‘How about we go outside and throw the ball for a bit?’ he suggested. ‘The practice might help.’
‘I’m good,’ he replied.
Angelica watched Ivan assess his father dismissively, which prompted Titus to haul in his paunch.
‘It might benefit you both,’ she offered quietly, and then shrugged when Titus shot her a look. ‘I’m only thinking of his happiness … and your health.’
‘Well, you don’t have to worry on that count,’ Titus told her. ‘I have a plan to get into shape, and that starts tomorrow. Until then,’ he said, offering Ivan a supportive wink, ‘who’s up for a post-training takeaway?’
6
Oleg Savage liked to dress for the day in front of the mirror in his room. This simply served to remind him that he still had a physical presence in the world. At his age, it was easy to feel like a ghost-in-waiting. Oleg buttoned his collarless shirt to the neck, and then made sure the strands of his beard weren’t caught in any of the buttons. He studied his reflection, looking deep into his eyes. They had seen so many things over a century, both heavenly and abominable. Despite fading in colour, they still had the capacity to twinkle at times, and forever in the name of love.
‘Look at you,’ he muttered playfully to himself. ‘Always the fool.’
As a younger man, many decades earlier, Oleg Savage had gone to hell and back for the woman he considered his soulmate. He could still remember how he looked back then; completely different from now in size and frame, proud and upright in his army uniform, but with the very same glimmer in his gaze around someone so very special to him.
Born and raised in Russia, Oleg and his new bride had found themselves caught up in one of the most appalling events of World War Two. When the Nazis laid siege to Leningrad, blockading the city and cutting off food and medical supplies, the citizens suffered for 900 long days. Many thousands died of starvation, or succumbed to the bitter winters. As despair hung over the city like a fog, survival demanded increasingly desperate measures. For Oleg, who had learned to force down weeds and wallpaper paste, it meant reluctantly crossing a line laid down by God. In an act of desperation, when all other options ran out, he had sustained himself and his new wife with flesh cut from corpses. Even then, Oleg knew it was an act that could never be forgotten, let alone forgiven.
The revulsion and self-loathing was intense, just as he had imagined, and yet he found that there was also something supremely restorative about human meat. It didn’t just swell the belly but the spirit, too, while the very act of eating transported the mind from the horrors of a conflict that would otherwise have consumed them. It was a revelation – something no other food source could achieve – and one Oleg longed to share with others. If people knew how much stronger and more positive they would feel if they dined on their own kind, he decided, the world would be a better place. Even so, he chose not to speak about it when the siege came to an end. The practice had brought Oleg and his wife enlightenment, but he knew that spreading the word would earn him nothing but damnation.
Instead, having fled to England with his wife after the war, Oleg elected to introduce their only child to what was becoming a regular event. When Titus passed it on to Angelica and the kids, Oleg even felt some pride in what he had started. Over time, what had begun in a moment of great hardship became something of a refined ritual for the Savages. The old man smiled at himself, thinking fondly of Titus and his belief that a family who ate people together stayed together. Without a doubt, the occasional feast served to unite everyone at the table. The tradition had outlasted Oleg’s dear wife, who had left this world many years earlier, and would no doubt continue long after he joined her. For now, however, as the memory of his younger self faded in the mirror to a reflection of the man he had become, Oleg smoothed back what was left of his hair. It was enough to turn the old man’s thoughts to the special lady who had prompted him to pay more attention than usual to his appearance lately. They were due to meet on the shaded terrace overlooking the inlet at any time, for coffee, cake and simple companionship.
A knock at the door signalled to him that the moment had arrived. Oleg made his way across the room, allowing his joints the chance to assemble some kind of rhythm, and opened the door. Before him stood a portly male nurse in a capped white shirt and with a purple plug in each earlobe.
‘Ready to roll, big guy?’ Vince was the name of the nurse, who always seemed a little breathless to Oleg, and gestured at the wheelchair awaiting him. ‘If there’s one woman you don’t want to keep waiting, it’s Priscilla.’
It came as no surprise to Ivan when the first scrunched-up paper ball of the lesson struck his head. It happened so regularly that he could even tell who had thrown it. Although everyone was reluctant to be his friend in case they attracted ridicule and grief, it always came down to one of three boys: Ryan, Chad or Bryce. The ball had hit on the left temple. This told Ivan that Chad was responsible, given that he sat across from him, while the hissed comment from behind could only be from Bryce.
‘Hey, new girl! I heard you been sitting on that bench for so long it’s gonna have a plaque with your name on it!’
This trio of alpha jocks had made it their mission to leave Ivan feeling as low and isolated as possible. All three were physically bigger than him, with the kind of buzz-cut hairstyles that suggested they shared the same barber. Even though Ivan had been attending the school for several years, they insisted on reminding him that he was still the last to join, and always referred to him in the feminine as if it was the funniest insult in the world. Ivan turned to the boy who had thrown the paper projectile, scowling so sharply that a groove formed between his eyebrows.
‘I keep telling you to leave me alone,’ he growled. ‘One day you’ll be sorry.’
Both Chad and Bryce pulled the same face, mocking the boy by pretending to be scared, while Ryan at the back just shook his head in pity.
‘All you got to do is quit the team,’ he whispered, having waited for the teacher to begin writing on the whiteboard. ‘It’s embarrassing with a nutsack like you on the gridiron. Makes us look like pussies, rather than the best this county has to offer.’
‘I’m entitled to be in the squad,�
� replied Ivan, facing the front once more. ‘Even if I am on the sidelines.’
‘Give it up,’ growled Ryan, who was well aware that the teacher was about to turn. Ivan watched the boy lower his brow like a bull. ‘Show your face at one more training session,’ he added, jabbing a finger at him, ‘and we’ll tear you limb from limb.’
Ivan said nothing in response, if only because the teacher had just spun around and was now scouring the class for the pupils behind all the whispering. Instead, in the wake of the threat, he opened his exercise book and smiled to himself contentedly.
On their arrival in Florida, Ivan had been the most enthusiastic of all the family to embrace the American way. His father had seemed so proud of the effort he made to get to grips with the culture. It was just a shame that Ivan fell short in every area. It wasn’t his fault if people failed to understand a word he said when he put on a southern accent, and what was with the grief he got when he rocked into school with his shorts slung gangster-style? People just didn’t click with him, and it had been just the same in England.
Despite the name-calling that had begun pretty much on his first day in school, Ivan soldiered on. He had immersed himself in hip hop and plastered his room with posters of the legends: Snoop, Tupac, Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer. When that did little to stop the ridicule, his interest in American football had started to flower. It had been hard to avoid. Every time he surfed the TV channels he’d come across a game, while kids in their inlet community were forever tossing a ball in the street. After the inexplicably negative reaction towards his pranks and magic tricks, Ivan saw it as a way to earn attention for all the right reasons. Despite his struggle to understand the rules, he had signed up with the school squad and hadn’t missed a session since.
All Ivan Savage ever wanted to do was to make a friend. Instead, his experience only served to harden his sense of injustice. It also left the boy determined not to give in.
Hopping off the bus in downtown Jupiter, Amanda Dias braced herself for the stink of diesel fuel and dead fish. It always happened this close to the harbour, but she had grown used to it over the years. On this occasion, she wasn’t here to stage a protest or upend a crate of striped bass into the water. That had got her banned from the wharf some time ago. No, Amanda had arrived with just one goal in mind, and that was to return to the villa with a job.
The man who answered Amanda’s phone call – the bar manager, so he’d said – had confirmed that the vacancy was still open. He’d been a little cagey about the precise requirements, and the advert hadn’t given much away, but it was work and Amanda was committed to making her contribution to the Savage household.
The Crankbait Sports Saloon was located on the waterside road close to the boat ramps. Sandwiched between a motorbike repair shop and an empty, weed-stricken lot, the most notable aspects of this single-storey building were the red and blue neon piping and front windows covered by security mesh. Amanda stopped before the porch steps and studied the sign. It had seen better days, for sure, but no doubt shone brightly after dark. She hoped that she could say the same for the man in the vest and sweatpants who answered the door. It had taken him a moment to open up after she rang the bell on account of all the sliding bolts. Rolan was his name. He had dark eyes under bushy slugs, and a chip in his teeth she found hard to ignore. He waited for her to meet his gaze once more before apologising for his appearance. It was early, for him, he said, and he’d grown used to people rocking up and having second thoughts about an interview. Amanda had barely drawn breath to stress that it wasn’t a problem before he offered her the position.
‘Is that it?’ asked Amanda. ‘I’m in?’
Rolan nodded, adjusting the crotch of his sweatpants without taking his eyes off her.
‘You’re welcome to take a look around,’ he said. ‘But you won’t find any surprises.’
Amanda peered over his shoulder, seeing little in the gloom. She wasn’t at all concerned for her safety. Having witnessed the lengths that Titus went to in pursuit of a feast fit for the family, she was quite capable of handling herself. What mattered here was the possibility of a wage.
‘One thing,’ she asked. ‘The advert said nothing about serving food.’
Rolan adopted a look of quiet amusement.
‘Guys don’t come here for the food,’ he told her. ‘Unless you’re talking about the potato chips that go with the beer.’
‘What flavour chips?’ she asked, and placed her hands on her hips.
‘Plain salted,’ Rolan said with a shrug. ‘We don’t do fancy here.’
‘So, when do I start?’ asked Amanda, before promising not to let him down.
7
The grounds to the rear of the Fallen Pine Nursing Home sloped gently to the shore of the inlet. From the terrace, looking across the broad expanse of water, Oleg was able to locate his son’s villa by the boat moored beside the jetty.
‘Do you see it?’ he asked his breakfast companion, and handed over the binoculars with the sticker restricting use to the terrace only. ‘Titus has a wonderful family. He’ll stop at nothing to create a loving and stable environment over there. It makes me so proud.’
The elderly lady sitting across from him was wearing a plastic visor tinted pink to counter the subtropical sunshine. In her white dress and oyster shawl, Priscilla looked as pretty as a dewdrop, which was exactly how Oleg had put it when he first shuffled out to meet her. Just then, holding out the binoculars, he noted that Priscilla had also applied lipstick. Only recently, she had shown him photographs of her glamorous past, married as she had been to a NASA executive from the Kennedy Space Centre up at Cape Canaveral. Even though her frame had long since contracted, she still possessed a refined beauty that was as evident now as it was in those sepia pictures.
‘I’m going to have to take your word for it,’ she said, with a trace of a smile and both hands clasped in her lap. ‘I couldn’t possibly see that far, even with assistance.’
Oleg waited a moment before speaking. He watched her gaze out across the inlet, the sky above just a different hue of the brightest blue, and wondered if she was simply consulting her imagination.
‘Cataracts?’
Priscilla nodded, looking content all the same. ‘It isn’t just memories that fade at our time of life.’
‘It doesn’t have to be that way.’ Oleg returned the binoculars to the table and collected his glass of orange juice. ‘I see everything, and feel good, too.’
‘Everyone feels good in Jupiter,’ said Priscilla. ‘Living here soothes the bones as much as the soul.’
Oleg knew just what she meant, and yet it was his firm conviction that the climate wasn’t wholly responsible. He just wished that he could reveal what he believed to be the true secret to his long life. Titus shared his view that their chosen diet kept the years at bay. Angelica had once delicately pointed out that it hadn’t worked for Oleg’s late wife, but both he and Titus pretended not to hear. The benefits of eating your own kind outweighed any drawbacks, they maintained. It stood to reason that nutritionally the flesh contained everything another human being required to stay fit and healthy. As for a spiritual level, it took you places that even living in a nice environment just couldn’t match. It was a shame, in Oleg’s view, that nobody was prepared to lift the blinkers from the standard meat on their plates. As he saw things, most people just couldn’t let go of the belief that poultry, pork, lamb and beef was the way to continue, despite the industry that engulfed it. The factory farming turned his stomach, from the confined conditions to the artificial hormones and that awful journey to the abattoir … the whole hideous production line. That was inhuman, in his view. Unlike the calves and the piglets, the chickens and the sheep, the people his family picked off had no idea what was coming to them. Thanks to the swift, respectful slaughter methods he had passed on to Titus, their approach to eating sat well in both the belly and conscience. What’s more, with the world population heaving at the seams, wasn’t this the ultimate
in environmental responsibility?
Oleg liked to think so. He just didn’t want to spoil things with Priscilla by admitting to it.
‘The sea air is certainly restorative,’ he said instead, having taken a couple of long, slow breaths to stay calm.
‘I adore it here,’ said Priscilla. ‘When Larry died I feared I might be all alone, but I’ve made some great friends. Truly special,’ she added, and faced him with some deliberation.
All of a sudden, Oleg felt his neck begin to prickle. With just the briefest lick of her lips, there was something suddenly suggestive in the way that Priscilla regarded him. It seemed entirely inappropriate, and yet Oleg found himself raising his bushy white eyebrows in response.
‘I think we’ve both been very lucky to have found the loves of our lives in this world,’ he said after a moment focusing on the patio stones in a bid to compose himself. ‘But even though they’ve moved on, we’re entitled to be happy in our final years, aren’t we?’
He looked across at Priscilla and found that she had closed her eyes. This happened a lot among the residents, Oleg included. Short but frequent naps were what got everyone through each day. Just as he settled down to admire her at rest, a smile crept across her face and she nodded in agreement.
‘You’re a good man, Oleg,’ she said, and opened her eyes once more. ‘You know, just lately I’ve been feeling like a teenager all over again.’
‘Me too,’ said Oleg, with a flash of teeth that were a little too white to be his own. ‘I sense a rebellion coming on.’
Priscilla chuckled like a contented hen and placed her hands on the armrest of her chair. ‘Well, just say the word and I’m there.’
Oleg held his juice aloft and waited for her to do the same thing. ‘Here’s to Jupiter,’ he said, by way of a toast, and smiled as they clinked glasses. ‘And here’s to us.’