Mum and Dad were listening to me describing my future husband and our home. They sat with their backs to the living room door. At some point I realised that the birds had all stopped chirping at the same time, as if they had been switched off with a remote control. I sat opposite my parents and cold blood filled my veins when halfway through a sentence I saw Sofia’s figure appear in the living room, moving closer like a shadow. Soon her face was right behind the glass door. She was watching intently, not making any noise. She stood there, in shock, motionless, her eyes like burning coal. The door was ajar – who knows how long she had been listening? I broke off as if I had been saying something inappropriate. The air froze and a heavy black cloud settled over the house. Sofia was back. I didn’t want her there. I looked at my parents in panic as if they had the power to send the spectre away.
We all jumped up, torn from our happy conversation. My parents, overcome with joy, both gave her a long hug. She was like a stick in their arms. Dad looked at her with concern.
‘You look ill. What’s happened to you?’
She was much paler than usual but she just shrugged and didn’t reply. Her almond-shaped eyes were shielded, guarding her secrets, but an underlying fear filtered through, something I’d never seen before in her. My parents’ joy over her return was tainted by her unnatural silence. I sensed she resented me for sharing all my dreams so intimately with our parents.
All evening she treated me like an enemy. While we were eating, the food turned bitter in my mouth. Sofia didn’t touch her plate, even though Mum had done everything to give her a proper celebration and had ordered her favourite take-out. Her eyes bored into me, filled with accusation.
‘Where is your lovely Sebastian?’ Mum asked, but met only with silence.
Dad begged Sofia for ages to say something and she still didn’t, but went up to her room. Despite a strong sense of danger I couldn’t help sneaking out of my room and knocking on her door. I was desperate to hear about life in the deluxe city pad on the riverside; I wanted to know what it felt like to be an Owner, whether the concierge really bowed before her, how the interior of a private jet differed from a normal one, and whether Sebastian’s parents were really as posh as he’d said. Secretly gloating, I assumed she had broken up with Sebastian and so lost the privileges of the Owner lifestyle, forced back into the so despised Mid-Spender boredom. Like a small predator recklessly deciding to take on a bigger competitor, I ignored the fear swirling in my stomach.
She opened the door with a face that could have killed. Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes wild.
‘What happened to Sebastian?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Are you ashamed to admit he’s ditched you?’
‘Mind your own crap. Just carry on building your family in the clouds.’
‘So he ditched you.’
She slammed the door in my face. I felt glorious. Yes, Sebastian got bored with Sofia and ditched her, I thought, and now she’s back to the life, the house she so despised, and penniless. A rush of superiority ran through my body. All my earlier insecurity faded.
That night I couldn’t sleep. I was trying to listen for any noises from her room through the thin wall behind my head, but no sound came through. I was in two minds about Sofia’s return. On the one hand, I was glad she had been proved wrong, her arrogance broken. On the other hand I felt our home was poisoned. Sofia’s presence, like slowly spilt ink, had soaked into every corner of the house. I could feel it on my skin.
The next day was a Sunday. My parents were at home, pretending that we were one happy family, now that Sofia had returned to us. By noon they were starting to be concerned about her as she hadn’t left her room. They crept up the stairs, to the landing. Mum put her ear to her door. Nothing. Dad was looking at her with worry.
‘Sofia!’ Dad shouted. ‘Are you okay?’
No answer.
‘Honey, are you awake?’ Mum asked.
The silence behind the door wasn’t like when someone is pretending that they are not in the room. It really felt empty. Dad began knocking.
‘Sofia. Open up! We just want to know how you are.’
‘I’m begging you, darling. Just say a word. Then we’ll leave you alone,’ Mum cried.
There was nothing for minutes but then suddenly we heard the door unlock and Sofia came out of her room. She ignored us completely, and hurried into the bathroom. Some minutes later she returned to her room, slammed her door and locked it. We had only seen her for a few seconds but it was enough. I could sense my parents’ shock. For the first time in her life, our strong, arrogant, beautiful Sofia, was broken. With her ashen face, black circles under her eyes, the empty expression, she was a totally different person. Mum and Dad were anxious, while I was more curious.
‘You never loved him. It can’t be that bad,’ I shouted through the door until Mum hushed me and Dad led me downstairs, shooting me several scolding looks.
‘But seriously,’ I protested. ‘You both know I’m right.’
‘Maybe she loved him. Don’t assume you know other people’s feelings.’
‘Oh, come on, Mum, don’t be ridiculous,’ I kept my voice unnaturally loud, hoping she would hear me from upstairs. ‘She is incapable of loving anyone and anything apart from money.’ I made this last sentence louder than the rest. Dad ushered me further away.
We continued our day as usual; I helped Mum cook while Dad made some small repairs in the garden and the shed. The radio was on in the kitchen – Mum turned it up, probably to stop herself from thinking. Her mind was disturbed, I could tell. Through the window I saw Dad out in the garden, the worry on his face making him look twenty years older. I was itching to turn down the volume on the radio, to tell Mum what I was thinking; that I was sure Sofia had never loved or even liked Sebastian, so the only thing she was mourning with such melodrama was her Owner lifestyle. I was glad she would learn her lesson now; she might even become a bit humbler and more appreciative. But the empty look in her eyes was haunting me and I caught myself worrying in case she did something to harm herself. We couldn’t do anything about it, with her door locked.
‘Take this up to her.’ Mum pushed a tray of sandwiches and a glass of water in my hand. ‘But don’t you dare say anything nasty to her. I’ll hear it if you do.’
Of course, she didn’t open no matter how much I knocked or shouted that her food was ready. It was the same empty silence glaring from her room. I put the tray on the floor.
‘Room service is still there if you want it.’ I went back downstairs to the kitchen. Nothing else happened that day, not on the outside, but three minds were whirring non-stop, wondering, asking, fearing, hoping. I hated to admit it but even I began to worry. This was not like Sofia at all.
‘I’ll find out how she is,’ I said to my parents after dinner. ‘I’ll take this up to her.’ I grabbed an apple.
‘Be kind to her, sweetheart.’ Dad said. I nodded and went up.
The tray with the food from earlier was still on the floor, untouched.
I was listening in front of her door before I knocked.
‘Sofia, you must eat something. Mum and Dad are seriously worried.’
Nothing.
‘If you don’t eat, they’ll call the police to break the door down.’
My empty threat worked. I heard the shuffle of clothes being moved, feet dragging on the carpet. She opened the door, looking like a ghost. The empty look in her eyes had been replaced by a deep, penetrating hatred. A hatred that could kill. I instinctively backed off. She quickly picked up the tray and placed it down in her room.
‘Now get away.’ She mumbled.
‘You don’t want the apple?’
Instead of answering she tried to close the door but I didn’t let her. For some seconds I felt genuinely sorry for her. She was in a terrible state and I wanted to say som
ething encouraging.
‘Instead of rotting in here, you could go out again. I’m sure you could find someone else. Another Owner.’
It didn’t come out the way I meant it. Her features were distorted by the malice in her eyes. She stood in the doorway, blocking it with her body and outstretched arms.
‘What’s your problem?’ I burst out. ‘Are you jealous?’
‘Of you?’
‘That I’ll have the life I’ve always wanted. And you won’t.’
Suddenly she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the room. She slammed the door behind me, and locked it with her ID Phone. I didn’t have mine on me. I was trapped.
‘Do you want to know what I really think of your bloody plans?’ she hissed. ‘They’re the typical little dreams of a spoilt princess like you, for a world that only exists inside your stupid little head. I’ve seen the world, the real one. I’ve seen what’s in store for you, how you’ll all end up. You and your plans are pathetic, and you’re a selfish idiot for wanting the same for your kids!’
‘You’re just jealous,’ I yelled. ‘How can you even compare my family plans with your useless, hedonistic lifestyle?’
Her face went dark. I’m sure she was surprised at my use of the word hedonistic and it crossed her mind that I had heard it from our parents and that it meant they were criticising her in her absence.
‘I’d rather live in the Zone than be a Mid Spender!’ she shouted.
I wasn’t listening any more.
‘You might live in luxury for the rest of your life, but I don’t give a shit,’ I continued with victory in my voice. ‘I’ll be more than just a decoration. I have a future!’
I turned around to force the door open but it remained locked, and before I could start banging on it, she knocked me away. I landed on her bed, and saw her coming closer.
‘Your future?’ she spat. ‘I can tell you about your fucking future–’
‘I’m not going to listen to this.’
But I had no way of leaving the room. I scrambled up and looked her in the eye.
‘At least try to accept with dignity that Mum and Dad love me more. Just go back to your Sebastian. We don’t want you here.’
She stared at me for a while. For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of her. I felt my parents’ loving hands on my shoulders. We were three. She was on her own.
‘I’d like to be there when reality hits you, you stupid fuck,’ she screamed.
‘My reality will be a loving family, a happy home, a fulfilled life. Yours will be nothing but empty luxury! Empty!’
I kept on shouting, hoping Dad would hear and come to my rescue. Sofia suddenly grabbed my shoulders and shook me. I wriggled out of her grip but she pushed me to the door and pulled my hair back. She looked me right in the eye. I was sure there was insanity in that gaze. For a moment I was convinced she was really going to hurt me.
‘Stop playing your childish games with me,’ she hissed. ‘You’ll never have your own family. And even if you do, you’ll lose them and you will die a lonely and miserable death.’
‘Let me go. Dad, help me.’
‘And you’ll never have any children!’
The blood drained from my face and I stopped breathing with the shock. She released her grip on my shoulders and dragged me over to the door. She scanned her ID phone and the lock released with a click.
‘Now get out of my room!’
I looked at her as if she was the devil himself. Then I tore the door open and ran. Dad went up to speak to her, while I stayed with Mum in their bedroom, terrified. Mum kept asking what had happened but I couldn’t stop shaking and crying. I felt as if Sofia had trampled on my delicately constructed world and it had collapsed like a tower of cards under the weight of her fury. Dad soon returned, saying her door was locked and she was playing loud music.
‘She won’t get away with it. I’ll talk to her tomorrow,’ he said grimly. The wrinkles running across his forehead became more pronounced.
In my bedroom I made sure I locked the door. That night my sleep was disturbed and in the morning I woke in a pool of sweat and tears. When I went down for breakfast, Mum told me Sofia was gone again. All she’d left behind was a message, black letters written with a marker pen on the white wall of her bedroom: ‘You’re all dead to me’.
But the main shock came when Dad went out to the garden. He saw something and tried to hide it, but I could tell he was shaken, as he stood rooted to the spot, staring out. I knew at once that it was my apple tree. Dad told me not to come any closer. He stood in the doorway so I couldn’t go out, but I ran into the living room and from the window I could see it clearly. The tree had been slashed at with an axe and its bark criss-crossed with a sharp blade like the scalpel Sofia kept in her laboratory. Some of its branches lay on the ground, like severed arms.
Though relieved that Sofia had left, I didn’t know how much I could believe her promise that she’d never return. With time came proof that it was true. It was the last time we saw her. After months of painful uncertainty for my parents and newly found freedom for me, a photo was uploaded on Yap! of her wedding day with Sebastian. She wore a champagne-coloured wedding gown that embraced her perfect figure. Sebastian’s chubby white face radiated pride and disbelief. The photo must have been taken in an exotic location. They stood on top of a rock, the crystal blue ocean behind them. For a long time, my parents tried to get in touch with her, but it all proved fruitless. We wouldn’t have known even if she had died.
six
Far away from the London I’m familiar with, I get off the monorail at the Zone Visitor Centre. There are no condos here, only an empty square populated with rusting statues and a fountain that no longer flows. On the right, an angular grey building looms over the square, blocking out the sunlight. From either side of it a massive concrete wall extends, farther than the eye can see. The wall enclosing the Zone is as high as a two-storey building, and smooth like a mirror, impossible to climb.
I’m dreading seeing my father-in-law. I will continue to help him, but I don’t know if it’s out of love or pity, or out of pure selfishness, because he’s my last remaining connection to Philip.
My e-trolley follows me up the ramp, and I enter the ash-grey building that is the Visitor Centre. It’s equally bleak inside and out, without any windows or decoration. Artificial light, brighter than the sun, streams from all directions but I can’t identify a specific source. Endless rows of metal benches line the waiting hall, packed with visitors and their e-trolleys. I sit down in a quiet corner. The announcement keeps asking us to wait patiently until our name is called out. It could be half an hour. It could be much longer.
It’s strange how Antonio and I have become closer after Philip’s disappearance. We would never admit it, but now we only have each other. ‘What can you have in common with her?’ he asked Philip, not long after we were married. I’d just arrived home from work and wanted to surprise Philip on his birthday, sneaking quietly into the apartment with a cake, balloons and a bunch of flowers. Philip answered something in my defence, though I don’t recall exactly what. It was all I could do not to drop everything. ‘She is the perfect product of this rotten society. The very type of woman you always wanted to avoid,’ Antonio spat. Philip was about to reply when I did drop the cake, and they both looked up in surprise. Antonio gave me a sharp look and stood up, ready to leave. ‘What did I tell you?’ he said to Philip, giving a final glance of disgust at the gifts I was bearing. ‘Don’t you know, bella, he doesn’t like sweets? Or do you just not care?’ Philip sent him home, and tried to reassure me that I mustn’t take his father’s behaviour personally, but the day was ruined.
Antonio grew up in Italy and moved to the UK as a hopeful young artist at the start of the new system. Before he lost his senses, he was a reputable painter and sculptor. But madness slowly took over. First he refused some lucr
ative commissions from the council, including sculptures for shopping centres. Then he refused offers from private customers. The number of commissions he received kept on shrinking until one day, three years ago, he stopped working for money. He continued painting for joy and gave his work away to schools. Philip and I begged him to find a job, any kind of job, just to keep his Right To Reside, but he didn’t listen. We knew he was slipping away, but his decision to move to the Zone, still came as a shock. After that Philip worked even harder to remain a Mid Spender, to prove his father wrong.
We both thought Antonio wouldn’t last long in the Zone. I don’t know how a feeble artistic soul like him, who found our spender areas unbearable, managed to stay alive in what must be the most dangerous place on Earth. The Zone is a hotbed of crime, with the convicts who are dumped there forming violent gangs. Apart from them, most Zone residents are just non-profit people – orphans, the ill and disabled, the long-term unemployed and those without savings – people who have no right to reside on this planet, but are not lucky enough to qualify for the Dignitorium. For that, you need at least ten years of employment. Despite being entitled to it, Antonio refused to retire in the Dignitorium.
On a low glass table in front of me is a pile of Zone flyers. Out of boredom I reach for one. They are there to take away, to discourage us and those we know from ending up in the Zone. It’s heart-breaking to see the photos of the half-collapsed buildings, the dilapidated roads, the rat-infested squares, the bodies covered and carried away on makeshift stretchers. It’s like a war zone, but worse. In war, there is at least hope that peace will one day be restored; but in the Zone, people only hope that death will come swiftly, releasing them from this netherworld. I throw the flyer back quickly, as if it were burning hot. Not that I’m much better off; I’m just as doomed as Antonio and the rest. During my sleepless nights, panic gnaws at my insides, and I’m tortured by questions about the future. How will I earn my Right To Reside if I’m not allowed to work? How will my savings, just enough for seven months, last for twelve? I still have visions of my last day at school, in which I see Charlie’s malicious grin as I’m dragged to the T-wing by iron-armed nurses for instant euthanasia.
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