‘You’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ Philip says, resting his head against my shoulder. ‘Now you can get married and have the kids you always wanted.’
‘Is this what it’s all about, Philip? Because if it is, you’re wrong. I’ll get you out, no matter what.’
I’ve just said goodbye to Philip, leaving him to attend a session called Eternal Peace. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I’m taking a final stroll before returning to the station. This Dignitorium feels different from those I’ve seen in London. There is more natural green here, not one coloured lake in sight, and its simplicity, with gardens of wild flowers, lends it a special charm. Once I get Philip out, we can go to the countryside again, back to Somerset, where we first experienced the natural world together, not long after our first date. The wild flowers there don’t release the smell of death.
two
I’ve just arrived in Scarborough again. I’m observing the eclectic mix of modern and period buildings from the window of the local monorail. Scarborough is so different from the capital. I can’t see the sea from here but I can still feel how close it is. Pedestrians – as if under its spell – radiate a certain joie de vivre. The original Scarborough was a small town that was then expanded into this megacity under the new system. Old terraced hotels were renovated. The majority of the buildings are built in red brick that lends warmth to the streets. I can’t deny it feels good to be here, like being in a luxury holiday resort, carefree and sun-soaked. Maybe Philip chose to retire in Scarborough to hear the seagulls and smell the fresh salty air. Or to be as far away from me as possible.
It’s early morning, but warming up quickly. When Philip enters the Salon, there’s a wide smile on his face. He’s shining with happiness, but the way he’s walking worries me. Occasionally he holds a hand out in front of him as if he’s struggling to find his way.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Ali, I’m fine. But you haven’t seen my scar yet. Look.’
I touch the scar behind his left ear, where his tracker was removed on the first day of his retirement. It’s so tiny it’s barely visible.
‘Did it hurt when they took it out?’
‘Not at all,’ he says. ‘But Tiara Joy made a scene when hers was removed, as if she’d lost a limb.’
‘Who?’
‘You know, the Elevate! winner whom we managed to escape from at that awful party at Linda’s. She has retired here and paid the Dignitorium enough to let her entourage in all day. You’ll see – and hear – them for sure.’
‘I don’t think I particularly want to.’
I wonder why she is here. Two years ago, at the party, she was glorified. Maybe she has a terminal illness?
‘Now, let me take you somewhere special.’ He stands up and leads me out of the main building to the garden. We walk past a stone fountain and a little arboretum. Then I spot the lake.
A wooden gazebo stands at the lakeside, a jetty extending from it out over the water. All across its surface float colourful little rowing boats, like wrapped candies. Waves ripple on the shore.
‘I love coming here alone, just looking at the water, and daydreaming about you sharing a boat with me,’ Philip says. ‘Even when I was sure I would never see you again, I still kept on dreaming.’
‘This time it’s real.’ I squeeze his hand.
While we wait for the next boat to arrive back at the jetty, Philip stops on the middle of the bridge and leans against the wooden railing, looking down at our reflections in the crystal clear water. I’ve never seen him this relaxed, like a general who has given up the battle, losing the war, but rejoicing in the wisdom that retreating and silencing the guns doesn’t mean failure. He looks well in a dark green shirt, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s unshaven and I have to say stubble suits him. He never let it grow before – it wouldn’t have been tolerated in the office.
A red boat arrives at the dock, carrying an elderly couple who are holding hands. They are both dressed in their best clothes, the woman in a blue silky dress and a matching hat. The man is wearing a black suit with polished shoes. Despite the solemnity on their faces, they emit the same strength and unity as my parents did on their final day. Without knowing anything about them, I am convinced they have retired together and will be terminated very soon.
Like a drop of oil, our boat slides out onto the water. The gentle rocking movement is immediately soothing. Philip rows until we get to the other side of the lake, to a chestnut tree that casts a shadow over the surface of the water. Here we stop.
‘I’ll get you out of here, whatever it takes,’ I tell Philip and when he doesn’t respond, I say it again. I can tell it makes him uncomfortable.
He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and takes a ball of paper tissue out. Before he unwraps it I know what will be inside. The ring with the snake swallowing its own tail hasn’t lost its shine. Philip holds it up, rotating it slowly between two fingers.
‘It has a whole new meaning now,’ he says.
‘Other than eternity?’
‘The lifestyle we used to live, the madness, chasing whatever was there to chase but never really reaching it.’
‘I’m so sorry, Phil.’
‘I’m not blaming you.’ He stares at me innocently.
‘It’s enough that I’m blaming myself. But when you’re home again everything will be different, I promise.’
Avoiding my gaze, he reaches out for my left hand and slides the ouroboros ring onto my finger.
‘You don’t seem to understand, Ali. There is no way out of the Dignitorium.’
He releases my hand and begins to row again.
‘Yes, in normal circumstances,’ I reply. ‘But in this case it’s a misunderstanding. You’re too young.’
‘I’m non-profit,’ he says.
‘You’re not like most people here, unable to contribute to their Right To Reside, dangerously close to old age. You’re–’
‘It doesn’t work like that, and you know it very well, Ali.’
‘Once my visiting time’s over, I’ll ask at reception. I won’t leave until they offer me a solution.’
He starts rowing again; I can sense his anger in the shortness and fierceness of his strokes. Other couples in nearby boats are staring at us, wondering what the reason is for our sudden increase in speed.
‘What’s your problem now?’
This comes out louder than I had intended. The stares around us are getting more curious. Philip points at a little folly at the top of a slope. It’s definitely more private than the lake.
‘Let’s sit down there,’ he says. ‘I want to tell you something.’
I sense the irritation in his voice. I know what he’ll tell me, that he wants me to give up, but I won’t. This week I’ll take him home.
As we arrive at the jetty, Philip hands the rope over to the two ladies waiting for our boat. He ignores their ‘How are you today?’ and after helping me climb out, he strides across the lawn in the direction of the stone folly.
At its centre stands a life-sized statue of a woman, praying. The dome-shaped, ivy-covered roof is supported by four pillars. We sit down on the cold stone steps. It’s slightly cooler here than is comfortable and I put on my cardigan. We are watching the ducks floating on the water, quacking occasionally. I envy their carefree existence.
‘I need you to promise you’ll listen carefully,’ Philip says, leaning against a pillar. I reach out my left hand to hold his right one, but he slowly pulls it away. He’s looking at the lake with its glasslike surface.
‘OK,’ I reply.
‘Nothing can be done about me or for me.’ He speaks like a father explaining something of the utmost importance to his child. ‘I want you to understand this, Ali. Even if by some miracle I could leave th
is place, I wouldn’t be able to work for long because of my glaucoma, and then I would have to return here anyway.’
‘But, for God’s sake, it would give us a few more months together, and who knows, maybe a new, more affordable cure would become available.’
I could try borrowing from Linda, I think, but before I say it aloud I realise there is no Linda any more. She wouldn’t recognise me if we met in the street, and she wouldn’t answer my call. She would definitely not lend me – a fallen Low Spender¬ – any money.
‘You’re not listening.’ Again, there’s disappointment in his voice. ‘There is no affordable cure. But more importantly, your parents’ sacrifice would go to waste. Don’t forget they died sooner than they had to so that we could have kids.’
‘What does that have to do with this?’
‘I’m not cut out to be a father; you were right all along.’
‘I never said that.’
‘You’re only thirty-four, Ali. You can still have a family.’
‘With someone to act like a stud horse, is that what you mean?’
‘With someone who knows little enough of this world to want to bring children into it,’ he says, and I open my mouth to argue with him, but I can’t say a word.
The stone steps of the folly are so cold I would like to stand up, but instead I shuffle closer to Philip.
‘Can you promise me you’ll do it?’ he asks. He can’t be serious.
‘Look, Philip, just relax and wait while I explain everything to the management. And I’m sure your boss will take you back if we tell him–’
He suddenly stands up and strolls across the lawn, down to the bridge. I follow him quickly.
‘Philip, careful! It’s too bumpy for you.’
‘You think I can’t cross a bloody lawn?’
‘Look at the way you’re walking, the way you hold your head–’
‘Don’t mention my eyesight. Please! Don’t ever bring it up again, and stop worrying about it.’
I stand behind him, put my arms around his shoulders, but he’s unmoving in my embrace, cold as a statue.
‘You’re only thinking about yourself again,’ he murmurs. ‘I want you to have a family. Would you grant me my last wish?’
‘This can’t be your last wish.’
‘Why not?’ His voice stiffens.
‘Phil, we don’t have much time.’
‘You still don’t understand. You never will.’
These words hurt, and I have to look away to hide the tears that are welling up.
‘I won’t be able to go in peace if you don’t promise me you’ll be happy,’ he pleads.
I take a deep breath. This is the performance of my life and my audience is the only man who matters.
‘I promise then.’
The tension in his posture eases immediately.
‘Come, I’ll show you my room.’
We are inside the main building, walking along wide corridors lit with fake candles, our feet sinking into the thick carpet. Wherever we go, we’re escorted by the fragrance of roses in enormous vases. Philip seems to know his way around this endless maze. Fluorescent signs help direct us, though sometimes I don’t even understand the words written on them. One corridor leads to a ‘Multi-sensory Studio’, another one down to the cellar to the so-called ‘Debodifying Caves’. People – staff, residents and visitors – pass us by, always with a smile, especially the carers who – with their humbleness – fit perfectly into the soft honey-coloured environment. On the second floor of the western wing, we turn right. Mahogany doors open onto private apartments. At the last door, we come to a halt. Philip scans his wrist band over the sensor, then turns the knob.
The high-ceilinged room we enter feels more like a luxury hotel suite than an institution for the retired. The space is divided into two; each resident has a single bed, a bedside cabinet, a desk and an in-built wardrobe with full-length mirrors for doors. All the furniture is made of heavy oak. In front of the enormous bay windows stand a coffee table and two imitation antique armchairs. The view is stunning; the room overlooks the western part of the gardens, with the lake in the near distance and a vast forest stretching beyond. On the right side of the room, behind an executive desk a gentleman is sitting with his back to us, wearing chunky headphones. His eyes are fixed on his mini-screen and he is saying words out loud in Italian. I shoot a glance at Philip.
‘This is my room-mate, George,’ he says. ‘He’s learning Italian.’
‘Italian? What for?’
The words slip out and it’s too late to take them back.
‘To have a chat with me.’ He chuckles.
George turns around and when he sees us he takes off his headphones. He jumps up to greet me. For a man who must be in his early sixties, he is very youthful. His brown eyes are bright with joy, and he shakes my hand, radiating warmth and honesty.
‘George. George Dimitriadis,’ he says.
‘I’m Alice. Lovely to meet you, George.’
‘We’ve become like an odd couple here, haven’t we?’ George glances at Philip.
‘We neighbours have to stick together,’ Philip agrees.
‘Neighbours?’ I ask.
‘Well, I’m half-Italian, George is Greek, so we’re neighbours, aren’t we?’
I’m surprised that someone as full of life as George can be retired. I wonder if he has some illness that hasn’t manifested itself yet. I’ll ask Philip tomorrow. I’ll also ask him why George is learning a language that he will have no use for. As if reading my mind, George turns to me.
‘I’ll learn till the very end, to improve myself,’ he says. ‘Until the last day. Which won’t be too long, now, but I hate to be reminded.’
‘George and I retired around the same time,’ Philip turns to me.
‘And we refuse to be dumbed down,’ George adds.
‘Yes,’ Philip says, the sparkle returning to his eyes. ‘Instead of going to the spa we try to have a conversation in Italian. Rather than wasting hours in the restaurant and bar, we go for walks in the gardens, contemplate life and discuss poetry.’
‘I assumed you would have a sea view,’ I say, standing at the window.
‘Only the High Spenders have the privilege of seeing the sea from their rooms,’ says George, and shrugs. ‘Not that we care that much.’
‘Why would a High Spender retire to a mixed-class Dignitorium?’
‘You’ll know the answer once you’ve seen Tara,’ Philip replies in a sarcastic voice, and they both chuckle and pull faces like naughty schoolboys. Finding a close friend is the first positive outcome of this horrible situation, I’m thinking.
Out of the blue, Philip’s wrist band reminds him that he has a meeting starting in five minutes. In the meantime, my wrist band starts blinking red, warning me to make my way down to the reception.
‘A meeting?’ I ask Philip.
‘With the doctor. I have only two weeks left of my honeymoon period and they want to decide on the most suitable sedative.’
He says it with total ease as if he is discussing what he’ll have for breakfast. I hope he doesn’t notice the goose bumps suddenly appearing on my skin. George waves goodbye to me, then turns back to his desk and puts the headphones back on.
‘Thank you, Ali, for understanding. You don’t know how happy you’ve made me,’ Philip whispers, holding me close.
We leave the room together, Philip and I. At the landing we kiss goodbye, then Philip goes straight ahead to the medical centre, through a frosted glass door beyond which I cannot pass. I carry on downstairs with a weight on my chest. Today the same receptionist is on duty, the young woman with the long ponytail. She doesn’t stop smiling but it seems increasingly like a grimace. From the hall I can hear the cacophony of recorded voices, confirming their happiness in the Dignitorium.
&nb
sp; ‘May I speak to a manager?’ I ask, trying to force a smile.
‘May I ask why?’
‘I’m sorry, it’s confidential.’
‘I need to know the reason, Mrs Brunelli.’
‘I’ll discuss everything with the manager. If you would be kind enough to send them out.’ It’s difficult to hide my growing impatience.
‘I’m the first point of contact, and no one can see a manager without talking to me first,’ she says. Her mouth is still pulled upwards but her tone has turned frosty.
‘Look, it was a misunderstanding that my husband retired, he was not supposed to be–’
‘Pardon me?’ she leans closer as if she hasn’t heard correctly. Up close, her skin seems hard like a mask, due to the thick foundation she wears.
‘I just…well, is there a way to get him out? He is still in his honeymoon period and–’
With her large green eyes she is staring at me as if I’m an alien applying for residency on planet Earth. She doesn’t say a word, but without breaking eye contact she pushes a button on the wall. Soon the door behind the reception desk is thrown open and a woman in her early fifties, wearing a well-cut black velvet suit, appears. She has a stern expression on her face. She is holding a mini-screen.
‘May I help?’ Her smile is almost natural, she’s definitely better at this than the receptionist, but I detect amusement in her eyes.
I repeat my problem, but halfway through she interrupts me and points at her mini- screen.
‘Would you like to read it printed or on screen?’
‘I skimmed most of the contract yesterday, thank you, but you have to understand that our case is entirely different and–’
‘Your husband read the contract before he signed it, Mrs Brunelli. There’s nothing else to add.’
‘But you don’t know our situation at all…’
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