I remind myself of Pastor Obi’s words at Sunday Mass, reassuring us that only one per cent of the population ends up in the Zone, contrary to the old system in which more than ninety per cent were considered poor and the number grew year by year. I firmly believe that with the government’s help, it can go down even further. Building the Distribution Centre, basically a rubbish tip, was a great idea and now – I remember they said it on the Globe – thousands of items are left there every day. Of course, some people still don’t understand that there’s no electricity inside the Zone, so they take washing machines and other things for which the residents have no use. It’s kind of the government to provide the Zone with clean water, given how much it costs to maintain the piping system. It’s an act of philanthropy, of kindness, a good example for us to follow.
Twenty minutes have passed, but it feels like much longer. My body is not used to the cold metal seat. On the giant screen there’s a list of things visitors are recommended to bring, like matches, blankets, footwear, medicine and so on. Antonio always asks for three bottles of red wine, the maximum amount of alcohol that visitors are allowed to bring in with them. The waiting room is filling up steadily. Some people are coming back from the meeting hall, weeping desperately, grabbing the guards by the arm and demanding answers they know they’ll never get. These scenes are far too familiar; I witness them every month. Their loved ones haven’t turned up to meet them and there’s no way of contacting them in the Zone.
Finally I hear my name among a dozen others. We make our way to the checking room, followed by our e-trolleys. It feels like being in an airport. The checking room is illuminated with white lights that practically pierce the skin, and stern-looking officers in indigo-coloured uniforms form a line like soldiers. I’m asked to enter a little Portacabin that looks like a steel lift. Inside it’s pitch dark. After only a few seconds, a flash of indigo light and a buzzing sound, the door opens to let me out. The scanner sees right inside my body, inside my very bones, and looks into the depths of my e-trolley. For a moment I wonder if it can see inside my mind.
I’m in a place that resembles a sports hall cut in two by a glass wall. Before the wall, there is a long row of cubicles. I need to wait until one is vacant. Officers are hurrying up and down; one of them grabs my e-trolley, switches off the ‘follow the owner’ setting and pushes it away. Wherever I look, people are wiping their eyes and kissing the glass wall where on the opposite side a loved one is weeping.
The smooth plastic seat is still warm when I sit down. While waiting, I look through the glass to the other side of the hall. In the far distance, scrawny, gaunt-faced people dressed in ragged clothes are hurrying to the mountains of rubbish, jumping at the freshly distributed sacks of clothes, bed linen and tinned food. A boy, no older than ten, picks up a bicycle, but two others seize it and push him away. They run off with the bike, leaving the unlucky boy on top of a pile of sacks, struggling to get up. A guard on the other side of the wall is placing the contents of my e-trolley on the table. Soon it is returned to me, empty.
Finally, Antonio arrives. He sits down opposite me; as usual his greying shoulder-length hair looks like he’s just got out of bed. There is a sense of eagerness about him, almost busyness, which is quite absurd given his position. For a moment I feel I’m wasting his precious time. Despite being in his early sixties, he’s incredibly nimble. Having a conversation with Antonio has always felt like trying to catch a butterfly by hand and unless I can fly with him, there’s no way to follow his conversation.
‘I wish you could bring more wine, bella,’ he says, looking over the goods I’ve brought.
‘You know that I don’t make the rules here.’
‘But thanks for these. Matches never last, someone must be eating them secretly. Having a cold soup is bearable but a cold bath is a big no. Everything OK? You’re not looking like a happy bride-to-be.’
This is not the first time he has suggested that I should re-marry. Is he really that stupid or is he joking? I don’t know any more. All I know is that I’m already losing my patience.
‘You want me to stop coming?’
‘Calm yourself, bella. I’m just being practical.’
You and practicality, I’m thinking, but I bite my tongue.
‘You have to be practical to survive in your precious spender areas,’ he says in a taunting voice. ‘Filippo is out of the way. You need to find another breeder.’
I want to remind him that he’s talking about his own son, but I manage to hold back.
‘He was not the most ideal candidate for the role, anyway,’ he remarks.
I struggle to calm my raging nerves. He’s my only living family, I keep telling myself, though it’s not strictly true. He’s the only living family member I’m in touch with.
I check the time. Two more minutes, then I’ll go.
‘Are you alright?’ he asks, watching me closely.
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t bullshit me. What’s happened?’
‘Well…I’ve lost my job. And I’ve become a Low Spender.’
‘You say this like you’ve been through a tsunami. Do you expect me to feel sorry for you? Me? The Zone resident?’
‘At least you’re free from worrying about your Right To Reside.’
‘Want to swap? Just joking.’ He snorts. ‘I’d never let my community down.’
Really? It’s on the tip of my tongue. But you didn’t mind letting your family down, did you? I’m fuming inside; I can’t stand his condescending expression. If he’s as busy as he makes out, I don’t want to hold him up. I get up from my chair.
‘I just wanted to bring these in. See you in a month, Antonio.’
‘I know I seem like an ungrateful jerk,’ he says, ‘but next time, no Cabernet Sauvignon, I beg you. Just Pinot Noir or Merlot. With my meagre diet, Cabernet is just too heavy.’
‘Any other requests, sir?’
‘Haha, very funny. Let me see. No, just the normal stuff. By the way, have you finally decided to have plastic surgery? It worked, if you ask me.’
‘What?’
‘You look younger and more relaxed than ever.’
I know he’s just mocking me. I really shouldn’t have shared anything about myself with him.
‘Start enjoying life, bella. For the first time, you can,’ he says, jumping up from the chair.
He quickly shoves everything into his shabby non-electric trolley. He waves to me in his typical light-hearted way, and vanishes. I stay seated for a bit, trying to recover, until the guard asks me to give up my seat for the next visitor.
In the distance, Antonio re-appears for a moment, pulling his trolley, swaggering towards the pile of sacks in the collection hall. The young boy who didn’t get the bike is still on top of the pile, shaking out the remaining breadcrumbs from a buckled steel bread bin.
Felicity is fast asleep. She’s just had her lunch – macaroni cheese, her favourite. Among the cuddly toys, rag dolls and plastic cubes, she looks like a tiny enchanted princess, her golden hair scattered all over the pillow. Occasionally she gurgles in her sleep; she must be in little girl heaven. With her left hand she’s clutching my index finger. Ruth says that before I arrive – as if she can sense it – Felicity goes to the door and sits down in front of it, waiting.
Start enjoying life. For the first time, you can. Antonio’s words keep haunting me. Is it possible that this time he wasn’t mocking me? Was he right about my skin? I gently extract my finger from Felicity’s clutch and lift my ID phone up to switch on the mirror function, when the bell rings.
On the door-cam I see a platinum blonde woman in a black two-piece outfit. I have no idea who she is.
‘Hello?’ I say, keeping my eyes on her.
‘Who is it? Is Ruth there?’
‘I’m Felicity’s babysitter. Who are you?’
‘I’m he
r grandmother. Would you let me in?’
Now it springs to mind that Ruth said her mum might pop over from time to time. When I asked more about her, Ruth didn’t reply and quickly changed the subject.
This woman is in her mid-fifties, has immaculate hair, and wears bright-pink lipstick. Her black skirt and matching blazer are a perfect fit and of the softest material, beautifully complemented by a black leather handbag. Her clothes and accessories show so little wear and tear that it reminds me of the rumour about some High Spenders who wear things only once. She’s a typical High Spender, I would think, from her appearance, but in her eyes there’s a surprising gentleness. She keeps glancing nervously at her ID Phone.
‘I don’t have much time left from my lunch break. Can I have ten minutes with her?’
‘She’s asleep.’
‘I won’t wake her. I’ll only be watching her.’
She checks her ID Phone again, then quickly removes it from her wrist and hands it over to me. ‘If it rings, don’t answer it. My husband mustn’t know I’m here.’
While she carefully draws open the partition curtain behind which Felicity sleeps, I sit in the living room, eying her ID Phone on the table. Its metal body is gold-plated, telling the world it belongs to a High Spender.
When she returns, her eyes are wet, her make-up smudged. She grabs her ID Phone, hurries to the Globe on the wall and charges it up with money.
‘I know she won’t accept it. But please try to convince her.’
Her eyes are pleading and when I nod reassuringly, she thanks me and dashes out of the flat. I go to check on Felicity. She’s in the same position as she was, but there’s a pink lip-shaped stain in the middle of her forehead. From the window I can see Ruth’s mother running across the lawn, her pencil skirt limiting her moves, her high heels buckling on the lumpy grass. With the help of the pilot she climbs into a golden-coloured heli-taxi. While the taxi is taking off, she holds the ID Phone close to her face, probably correcting her make-up. Now that her nervous energy has left the flat, I can hear the birds chirping outside again. Antonio’s unwanted words ring in my head, Start enjoying life…
The Party
I was in the staff room, making coffee and thinking about the night before. I’d dreamed about a mystery man in a hood for the third time that month. It was always the same dream: he was approaching me with a wide grin on his face that kept growing. He handed me a bundle in a blanket. When I held it in my arms, I saw it was a baby, then a door somewhere behind me slammed shut and I woke with a scream. Luckily Philip had never been woken up by it.
The staffroom was suffocating, reeking of Linda’s latest perfume, which always announced her presence before anyone could actually see her. She was chatting to a group of colleagues, boasting about the film set she and her husband Mark had visited over the weekend.
When the bell rang, all the teachers hurried to their classrooms. Linda made herself another coffee. I had a free period so I stayed on. She sat down next to me, bringing a cloud of the nauseating floral scent with her.
‘You know, we never have the chance to get to know one another,’ she said, squirming like a cat. ‘You’re always in your own world.’
‘Don’t take it personally, Linda. I’m just tired. In between lessons I really need to clear my head.’
‘We’re having a little party at ours tomorrow evening. Come over with Philip.’
Thanks to Mark, who was a Globe executive, Linda lived in one of the wealthiest High-Spender areas. I must have irritated her, never joining her crowd of admirers, passing them by with a well-constructed smile but sitting as far away as possible. I knew that putting Linda and Philip together in the same room would be a recipe for disaster, but not wanting to give her more ground for gossip, I accepted the invitation.
Back home that afternoon, I was watching parents playing with their children in the park, chasing each other on the lawn, others walking and collecting the orange and yellow leaves that had fallen. Beautiful fresh ones, not yet withered. I tried hard not to think about the fact that I had turned thirty-two the previous day.
As I’d expected, Philip wasn’t keen on going to the party.
‘I would only ruin it for you,’ he said. ‘If I have to listen to them, I’ll be sick.’
‘It’s been a long time since we met anyone new.’
‘You’re always saying what a bitch Linda is.’ Philip sighed.
I told him to sleep on it.
An hour later Philip and I were sitting on the roof terrace, at a table packed with leftover canapés and cakes I had treated myself to for my birthday. The birthday Philip had completely forgotten about. The sun was shining, and the sky was clear. The humming of the lively crowd on the promenade rose up from below. I immediately recognised the sound of a food trolley, its wheels catching on a door frame, making the cutlery clatter. I heard a bottle of wine being corked from our neighbour’s terrace, which was adjacent to ours.
‘Hiya, guys.’ Ted, our neighbour, waved to us over the ivy-covered wall. ‘Nice day today, isn’t it?’
‘Lovely,’ I replied. ‘Celebrating something?’
Philip pretended not to have noticed him. Turning his back on Ted, he started fiddling with a candle holder on the table.
‘Just life, that’s all,’ Ted said, raising a glass of white wine. ‘The kids are away on a school excursion, you know.’ June, his wife, came out to the terrace pushing a food trolley packed with silver dishes. It was just an ordinary weekday but June looked like a glamour model with her freshly highlighted hair and false eyelashes. I greeted her and sat back in my chair. The partition wall stopped them from seeing us when sitting, but I could hear the clinking of crystal glasses and muffled conversation.
Philip didn’t touch any of the food. Just one day before, on my birthday, I had sworn to myself to bring life back into our marriage, and that I would not compromise on the baby issue. Now, admitting my failure, I repressed the urge to shake him. I loved Philip but I repeatedly found myself wondering why all my friends and colleagues had fun, adventure-loving husbands, while mine seemed to suck all the life out of me.
‘I’m exhausted, Ali,’ Philip said quietly, so the neighbours couldn’t hear. ‘Not just now; it’s permanent and getting worse.’
‘Do you want to go part-time?’ I asked. ‘Are you ready to pay the price for it?’
I meant it as a joke, of course; I would never have considered downgrading to the Low-Spender area, but he replied in a serious tone.
‘I wouldn’t mind. Tom’s a Low Spender; they are OK with it.’
‘I would ask Tom again when something happens to his kids.’
‘Because nothing ever happens to kids in Mid-Spender areas – is that what you mean?’
His words were enough to make me shiver, despite the warm sunshine. I was wondering if he enjoyed reminding me of that day, to torture me. I felt Philip was accusing me of forgetting too easily. But I hadn’t. Joshua’s seat in my class – still vacant – served as a constant reminder, as did the quiet fear in the air, and the flowers I saw every day laid around the school gate. It nearly broke my heart.
‘Life goes on, Philip. It’s tragic, but–’
‘What kind of life do you mean?’
‘Sometimes I really think you don’t love me any more.’
He looked up with eyes that were filled with pain. I reached out for his hand.
‘I admit things aren’t perfect. But it’s because we’re not doing the right thing, Philip. We try to compensate with books, shopping, dinners, the Globe. But what we need – what I want – is a child.’
He was listening intently.
‘What future do you imagine for that child?’
‘Why did you keep promising then? For all these years?’
‘I never promised anything.’
‘But you were never opposed to it
either. You said the time would come when you’d be ready–’
‘No, I didn’t. You said that, and expected me to agree.’
‘And why can’t you agree?’
‘Because I have concerns, Ali. I’m not sure any responsible person could bring a child into this world. Can’t you see that?’
I didn’t know what to say for a while. I sat there, listening to the laughter seeping over from Ted’s terrace, wondering what the world would come to if everyone thought like Philip.
‘You’re becoming more and more like your dad,’ I blurted out.
I could see that this hurt him. It hurt me to say it, too. But it had to be said. Just like Antonio, Philip had become contemptuous towards the Owners and increasingly cynical about everything. I couldn’t understand how it had happened, right before my eyes. But the most disturbing thing was that I had to decide whether I wanted to spend the rest of my life like this. I had lots of temptations. It would have been so easy to enter that door from my dream before it slammed shut. To take the baby from the man in the hood.
‘OK, I take back what I said about your dad. But we mustn’t let some homeless thugs steal our dreams away from us. We’re safe here. It was a one off.’
‘That’s not much consolation.’
‘I told you there are guards now. The school feels like a military base, with drones hovering permanently above the yard. The government has invested a huge amount in security.’
He looked up at me.
‘Do you really believe they care?’
‘I know it’s a good initiative. Stop being so negative, I want to enjoy myself. Come.’
‘Where?’
‘Come, I’ll show you something.’
I pulled him up from the chair and led him over to the edge of the terrace.
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