I bury my face in my palms.
‘I’ve checked the cameras.’ His voice is genuinely sad. ‘I listened to the audio twice. Unfortunately it can’t be a misunderstanding.’
‘I expected this,’ I explode. ‘But you have to know, it just slipped out. Charlie was intimidating me, I swear, until he found a mistake, any mistake.’
Leo stands up and starts walking slowly to the window and back.
‘I want you to understand that I believe you. From the first day Charlie entered this school, he has been nothing but trouble. But my hands are tied. I wish you the best.’
A cold sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck.
‘I’m so sorry, Alice. But there’s also the fact that you’ve reached twenty penalty points.’
‘This…this must be a misunderstanding. I had only thirteen points. I have earned thirteen over the past twelve years, for minor things adding up.’
‘Teaching something this wrong earns you eight points. If the school is taken to court–’
‘But it’s true, Leo. I didn’t lie. My father-in-law has been in the Zone for three years and he’s still alive.’
His face turns deathly pale.
‘I didn’t hear that, OK?’ he whispers.
‘I’ll take it back, then. I’ll tell them I made a mistake. That I was not prepared for a question like that, that I didn’t know what to say. They can send me to a training session, teach me what to say next time.’
‘I’ve tried it, trust me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘During lunch break. I’ve already spoken to the authorities, and I told them you’d take it back. They accepted it.’
‘Oh, thank God!’ Relief and gratitude for Leo’s support floods through me. But Leo’s frown hasn’t changed.
‘They accepted it but then called back fifteen minutes later. They found out about your depression and that you’re taking medication. You started a stronger one yesterday, which makes the situation even worse.’
‘For God’s sake, Leo, I was trying to do my work, to keep myself alive. Of course I tried to find a way. That’s what Mini-doc is for.’
‘I know.’
‘Everyone is taking some kind of medicine.’
‘It’s just a very unfortunate coincidence, Alice. I’m sorry. You’re declared unsuitable for work for the next twelve months. For any work. In a year’s time they’ll examine your suitability again.’
I try to take a deep breath but I feel as if I’m suffocating.
‘But I’ll lose my Right To Reside, for God’s sake!’
I stare at him, pleading. He avoids meeting my eye and turns to the window, looking out for a while before he turns around again.
‘Don’t you have any savings?’ he asks softly.
‘If I move to a Low-Spender Area – the very thing I wanted to avoid – I may be able to survive on my savings for a few months. But definitely not for a year.’
‘It’ll be temporary, you’ll see. Once you recover, you’ll come back to us and you can move back to the Mid-Spender area.’
‘You don’t understand. I won’t be able to recuperate. I have to know what happened to Philip or I’ll just get worse and end up in the Dignitorium.’
‘You really have to calm down or you’ll make yourself ill. There’s no way you’ll end up in the Dignitorium just yet. Not for another thirty years.’
I don’t have the strength to explain.
‘Look, Leo, I’ve been a teacher for twelve years, is there really no way of protecting myself?’
His eyes give me the answer. He beckons me to sit down next to him behind his desk. He points at the screen.
‘What’s this?’
‘Just read it.’
It’s the chart showing my likeability ratings for the whole term, based on the votes of all my students. It has plummeted in the past few months.
‘This has also contributed to the authorities’ decision. You need a break, Alice.’
I make a final attempt.
‘Who is going to teach the handwriting class?’
He clears his throat.
‘Who will do it without me?’
‘Alice, the handwriting class is not required any more.’
‘But I had six students in that class! They were devoted–’
‘I have to tell you,’ he says, wiping sweat from his forehead with his hand, ‘that the only reason it was run was because I thought it was such a wonderful idea. And I wanted to keep you happy.’
‘But I had six regular students.’
‘I had to bribe them by cancelling their detentions. I struggled to find the six of them. No kid wants to learn handwriting any more. I’m sorry that I had to tell you this in such circumstances.’
The people I pass on the promenade could be ghosts, just shadows and colours all blurred and distorted. Hoping for even the smallest sign of human compassion, I try to catch a genuine gaze, but all I see are smiles and laughter, worn as a shield or as a weapon. There’s no way to get to the person behind them. It makes me want to get away from the crowd, but it’s rush hour and the open-air bars, restaurants and pubs are buzzing. I cross the lawn to get to a narrow pavement where it’s quieter. I can’t explain the sudden urge to see my old home, a home I find hard to believe was ever mine.
I’m unemployed. It sounds like someone else, not me. I have been disabled. Or discarded. There’s no difference really. I must go home and count my remaining money, if I have the courage. I know I don’t have enough to live off for a year. Not even in a Low-Spender area.
I shouldn’t look up at the third floor terrace, but I can’t help it. She’s there, again. I can see her ash-blond hair tied up with a clip; wavy ends are falling on the back of her neck. She’s wearing a white sleeveless top, an expensive one; despite its simplicity I can tell it from the material, the way it ripples on her back and shoulder. She’s china-white, protected; not even the rays of the sun are allowed to fall upon her without her consent. I can see her doll-like face, as she turns her head for a moment, then types something into her ID Phone. Her carefree gestures make me seethe. I recognise this type, an excellent education paid for with daddy’s money, a husband from the same circle, a good career promising a glittering future. My old home is just a stepping-stone for them. In a few years they will be High Spenders.
I couldn’t keep quiet forever, just nod and agree in order to keep my job or whatever is at stake. Finally, I snort, nothing is at stake. I have nothing and they must know it. They must see what became of me while they were enjoying themselves in our home. I don’t wish to make a scene; they could report me for that. But they have to know. They have to know how easy it is to find oneself fallen from grace, from having it all to having nothing at all.
I walk back to the building, climb the steps, stare at the intercom. Number 33. I could ask them to come down and talk to me.
Looking at it rationally, I know it was not their fault. By law a single person is not allowed to occupy a home for a whole family. If not to them, my home would have been given to someone else in February, to another family. I must have done the same to someone when I moved into my new place, without knowing it. And when Philip and I moved into Number 33 many years ago, someone had already lived there before us. It never occurred to me to think about it, about where these people go, those who leave their homes for us.
I’m eyeing buzzer number 33, trying to prepare what to say that will make them come down and listen to me. I’m aware I must look strange on the security cameras, standing here with my finger reaching out towards the intercom. I go back to the lawn, where I will look less suspicious. I put on my sunglasses and keep my eyes fixed on her. Should I say I left something in the apartment? No, they would have thrown everything out on the first day. Could I pretend we know each other from school? I need to come up with so
mething believable, otherwise she will just hang up.
She is still there, on her ID Phone. Her husband, a dark blond, tanned guy, straight out of a tennis racket advert, brings her out a glass of orange juice. My stomach churns with envy. She takes a few sips then leans back against the lounger. Soon she is ready to get up, and he reaches out an arm for her. Spoilt brat. She stands up, with her back to me, and takes another sip of juice. As she turns to the table, I can see her figure from the hips upwards. She’s pregnant. About six months. Or five.
I start to run as if I’m in the middle of a burning field, not turning back, not looking once at my past. I can’t help it but the image of her in her full pregnant glory is already blazoned in my mind. All I have now is a sickly bitter taste in my mouth. The taste of ultimate defeat.
In the corner of the courtyard the evening is colder and darker than ever, despite the last rays of the sun warming my skin. This is the last evening I can sit here. It’s time to go in and start packing, for the second time this year. But I find I can’t focus on clothes and dishes and suitcases. Instead I’m dialling Nurse Vogel, and through my tears I tell her what has happened.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that, my dear,’ she says with compassion. ‘But you shouldn’t let it destroy you.’
‘It’s not up to me. My savings are enough for seven months. If I don’t recover–’
‘You will recover, I’ll make sure of it.’
‘And how about you? Did they bother you again?’
She stands up and goes to her mantelpiece. She lifts up a small oval-shaped orange vase.
‘This is a vase my husband bought me from a work trip in Spain. Red is my favourite colour. Whenever he saw something nice in red, he bought it for me.’
‘But it’s…it’s not red.’
She nods with a tortured expression on her face.
‘Exactly. Yesterday, when I arrived home from work, I spotted it straight away. They changed it.’
I feel cold tingle running up my spine.
‘They returned, then.’
‘The worst thing is, Alice, there are moments when I start to doubt my own state of mind. They are really good at this.’
‘But you’re so respectable and you do such wonderful work.’
She lowers her voice and looks me straight in the eye.
‘I’m everything they deny the existence of. I’m at the age that people should be dreading but I defy everything they claim. So far they’ve let me get away with it, out of consideration for my decades of experience and the fact that they can’t fault me. I earn my Right To Reside so I’m not a non-profit person. But they watch me constantly.’
‘What can you do to protect yourself?’
‘I’ll keep going, like before. I complain more and more at the health check-ups, despite not having any serious health concerns. That has saved my life, I think.’
‘Really?’
I’m unsure again whether to believe what she says or if it is all part of the mental deterioration that comes with old age. What if these ‘changes’ in her flat are just the product of her crumbling sanity? But the fear and sadness in her eyes are so real. Just as they were in Grandma’s. I despise old age; how our loved ones fall apart in front of our very eyes. And how it makes them blind with denial.
‘Oh, Alice,’ her voice turns into a whisper, ‘did you really believe I had horrible back pain? I made up that story years ago so they would be satisfied that I’m deteriorating like I’m supposed to. Like everyone else. I have some back pain, of course, but it’s nothing serious. I need to keep telling people how much I suffer.’
‘What a clever idea!’
‘The problem is, the medical checks don’t show anything serious. That’s what raised their suspicion recently, I guess. They might have sussed out that I had made it up just to prolong my life.’
I still can’t see the point of this. Why would anyone have a problem with Nurse Vogel if she’s not non-profit?
‘I’m sure no harm will come to you, Nurse Vogel. You’re a useful member of society.’
‘This is what I keep telling myself, but I have a hunch they are about to get me, very soon. Don’t forget, just by being alive at this age I’m a rebel, an enemy.’
DATE
After the clarinet concerto, Philip accompanied me to the monorail. Standing on the platform in the falling snow, he kissed my cheek and held my hand in his. Then he asked me if he could see me again soon. Two days later, we met for lunch at my favourite Italian restaurant. To break the ice, I brought up his Everyday Hero speech. ‘I was so impressed by the way you spoke to our pupils. It gave the impression you’d had a loving dad as a child.’
He frowned and took a long sip of red wine. He stood out as solemn among the other diners, who were mostly quite tipsy. This just made him even more enigmatic in my eyes.
‘You couldn’t be further from the truth.’
‘What was he like, then?’
‘Difficult,’ he said after a long pause.
‘He must have been in great trouble if he attempted suicide.’
‘He has been in great trouble all his life.’
Something told me I had entered forbidden territory and I quickly changed the subject to my own dad. He sat, listening intently while I talked about my life, sharing my hopes and dreams and, as the wine took effect, sharing my fears too, including those caused by Sofia, our own family devil. After our first date I was not sure he would want to see me again, but he messaged the same night.
As the weeks went by, despite seeing each other almost every day, I sensed he had built a protective wall around himself, following some traumatic experience that he seemed unable to share. On the other hand, he spoke freely about his views on society and his career. He was hugely critical of the system in which he was determined to become an important architect.
‘Important?’ I asked, looking down from the Millennium Bridge at the panorama, both sides of the river built up with futuristic skyscrapers. ‘You mean you’d like to win awards?’
‘I’m not interested in awards,’ he said defensively. ‘People don’t realise that architecture is much more than just creating buildings for people to live and work in, or showing off the latest mad ideas when it comes to structure.’
He stopped and I waited to hear what he thought architecture was, but he simply stared into the distance, as if he was miles away from the hordes of tourists around us.
When I tried to find out more about his mum, I was not much luckier.
‘She died. I was just eighteen.’ Bitterness laced his voice and I started to ask questions, but he was tight-lipped. ‘She had to retire too early. She would still be fairly young today.’
We’d been dating for three weeks when, one evening, during a walk along the promenade , he asked me:
‘What’s your favourite cuisine? Apart from Italian?’
‘I love Greek. But to get it right, you need the best ingredients.’
‘Leave it to me. Come visit me at home tomorrow.’
‘We can cook together!’
He loved the idea and we kissed goodbye.
The next evening, I arrived at his attic apartment in MS05. I was ready to help him cook, when I noticed the small round dining table was already set, with a vase of red roses and a lit candle in the middle. Philip pulled a chair out for me. He served a three-course Greek meal with wine paired to each course. It was all just perfect, but something was gnawing at me.
‘How is it?’ he asked, when I was a few bites into the spanakopita.
‘It’s wonderful Philip, thank you!’
‘What’s wrong then?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘You seem buried in your thoughts.’
‘I’m just tired. It’s been a long week,’ I said. ‘Next time, we could cook together,’ I blurted out.
<
br /> ‘Is it what’s troubling you? That I didn’t wait for you?’
I nodded and gently took his hand across the table.
‘You don’t have to prove anything to me, Phil. Maybe in the past you had to deal with things on your own.’ I pulled my chair over to his side of the table and took his face in my hands. ‘You are not alone any more. We are together now.’
‘I’d like you to teach me togetherness,’ he said, and that’s when I saw how vulnerable he was. A feeling of deep concern hit me in the heart, and I swore to myself I would never let him down. That I’d rather have him, in all his grumpiness, darkness and reserve, than an average Joe with no emotional baggage. I finally had someone to look after.
One month into my relationship with Philip, we had agreed to meet at a rooftop bar called The Calypso. I still knew nothing about his father or the reason for his suicide attempt. Whenever I brought it up, he changed the subject and frowned, so after a while I stopped asking.
The Calypso was frequented by people who liked to take their time and enjoyed the small things in life, such as the view over the city – Big Ben, for example, was visible in the distance. I don’t know if I belonged to that crowd or just desperately wanted to.
From above, the city looked surprisingly peaceful. Not too far away, a new skyscraper was being built, slowly creeping upwards. I knew when it was complete, it would block out the sun and I would have to find a new favourite bar.
I thought of Philip. Despite having met several times now, I found him a puzzle. I had no idea how he felt for me or where exactly our relationship was going. It felt as if I was sitting in a boat, not knowing which way the current would carry me. When Philip arrived at the Calypso, he brought an air of seriousness with him. I sensed his disapproval of the bar, and began justifying myself.
‘You know, I like coming here,’ I said. ‘I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders when I’m up here.’
‘You seem to be the picture of perfect harmony and satisfaction.’ He kept watching me. ‘In your padded little life, filled with cute schoolchildren, what do you have to worry about, exactly?’
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