‘So with George’s help they received thrown-away, barely used items for free.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I didn’t even realise such situations can exist.’
‘Most of us don’t, Ali. They are the denied, the forgotten class.’
I remember people in rags I saw near Nurse Vogel’s home, carrying a shiny red fridge freezer. They kept looking around as if they were afraid to be caught. For a moment I had the feeling they had stolen it from High Spenders, but now I understand.
‘There are not many of these people left,’ Philip says with resignation. ‘Not for long, anyway.’
I can’t help but shiver. I see myself in a year’s time, alone, overcome by depression, trying to stretch out my miserable existence for as long as I can, just to ditch it all for the promised glory of the Dignitorium the next day.
‘So they caught George in the end?’
‘His tracker showed too much transition between the High Spender and Low Spender areas and it raised suspicion. They fined him, and he was unable to pay it off.’
‘Fined him for what?’
‘Impeding the economy, encouraging corruption, interfering with regulations. So he had to retire.’
‘It’s heartbreaking.’
Fury climbs up from the pit of my stomach, and I close my eyes. I’m nauseated by this Garden of Eden.
‘He was still allowed the Right To Reside-free year in a family member’s home,’ Philip says, squeezing my hand. ‘He is really grateful for that, as it could have been cancelled because his fine remained outstanding. The one free year expired in December. Then he moved in here, just a week after I did.’
‘He doesn’t seem to mind.’
Philip remains quiet.
‘Or does he?’
‘I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet. But he’s dreading the sedation period far more than the T-Wing. He talks to me about it in the evenings, after turning off the lights.’
‘I thought the sedation period was really pleasant.’
‘It’s not that. He dreads senility more than anything. Most importantly, he dreads not recognising his family any more.’
This has never occurred to me, that it’s not just pain we fear, but losing ourselves. Once my parents’ drug therapy started, I still visited them every day, apprehensive at first, but when I saw the mellow joy they floated in, I relaxed. They were in a rainbow-coloured state but still able to talk and laugh. It was encouraging, almost tempting. Is George clinging too much to his mind, his ego, unable to let go? Is he right or wrong?
We’ve reached the top of the hill. It seems as if the whole world is under our feet. I look down at the main building of the Dignitorium and feel the bitterness flowing in my veins. Philip gently takes my shoulder to turn me around. Beyond the forest, down in the distance, I catch sight of the sea, endless and silvery blue.
‘I like coming up here,’ Philip says.
‘Are there no seats?’ I look around the little circular clearing.
He shakes his head.
‘They probably don’t want us to stay here too long and start realising what we’re leaving behind,’ he says sharply. ‘They prefer us down there in the restaurant or in the spa. They prefer us even more in the T-wing.’
‘Philip, it’s not funny. Where is the T-wing anyway?’
He turns his back on the sea and we look down at the main building and the gardens again.
‘That extension,’ he says pointing his finger, ‘at the back. That is the T-wing.’
‘Why do they make them so small?’
‘It’s big enough to suit their purposes, for one or two terminations per day.’
I shiver and return to the sea view. It’s much more pleasant. I link arms with Philip. I’m determined to keep him as happy as possible for the rest of his time here. I must avoid turning the management against me. I’ll be good and grant him his last wish even if it costs me my sanity.
‘Phil, I want you to know how sorry I am that I forced my image of a perfect family on you and never listened to you. I’m sorry for the lost years. For letting you down in the most difficult times.’
‘Can you hear it?’ he whispers and tilts his head to listen more closely. ‘It’s a woodpecker.’
‘And if I could make it right and just have one year back, I would do everything differently.’
‘We used to listen to birdsong when we were dating,’ he says, smiling to himself. ‘Do you remember, at the lakes, when we fell asleep on the grass and woke up the next morning, soaking wet from the dew?’
‘I’ve realised you’re more important than that imaginary lifestyle with that imaginary child.’
‘We even wanted to record it, do you remember? But then we couldn’t, because we didn’t have our ID Phones with us. Do you remember those ID Phone-free Sundays we used to have? That was your idea.’
I’m transported back to those days, to my early twenties, to that carefree, optimistic young woman who came up with ideas. Ideas that were too little to get us in trouble but big enough to make us feel like rebels. What happened to that person?
Philip has just gone to his Death Taster session. I don’t know how he can stay so cool about it. My legs won’t take me to the exit yet. I need to try one more thing to make the most of our remaining time together. Philip doesn’t have to know about it.
The receptionist with the long ponytail has ‘here-comes-the-troublemaker-again’ written behind her grin. I ask my question as politely as possible.
‘Is there any way to make my visiting time just a tiny bit longer?’
‘The rules and regulations cannot be amended under any circumstances by staff or by visitor request.’
‘All right.’ I take a deep breath. ‘But surely you understand that I just started visiting my husband a few days ago, unlike others who have six months before their loved one’s sedation period starts.’
‘Rules and regulations cannot be amended under any circumstances by staff or visitor request. In case…’
I can see the growing tension in her face and I remember Philip’s eyes begging me to grant his final wish.
‘Forget it. Sorry for disturbing you.’
I’m outside. The irritating sound of Tiara Joy’s voice squeaking from the bar’s terrace reaches me, and I change my route and walk around the building to avoid her and her entourage. My blood pressure shoots up when I think about how she’s allowed to break the rules while my modest request to see Philip for a bit longer has been denied.
The monorail rolls in to London. Looking at the affluent Mid and High Spender areas we pass by, I see it all with different eyes now. People are enjoying themselves to the full, making the most of all that society has to offer, not minding that they will end up like Philip or George. In the distance, miles away the sleek white tower of the Primavera Club reaches up to the sky. I feel disgust looking at it, exuding authority, although in reality its windowless walls reveal nothing, refuse to communicate. I have a sudden urge to go there and ask the Owners for help but I know they don’t care about anything beyond their own decadent lifestyle. I don’t have delusions any more. What I thought as a child to be a sophisticated, futuristic building hiding secrets I so craved to discover, tempting me with its mysterious treasures, I see now as a stone wall; unresponsive, impenetrable, indifferent, nihilistic.
It has been a long day, both for body and spirit. I’m crashed out on the sofa. Switching on the Globe, I flick through the channels, but it’s one rubbish programme after another. On ‘Elevate!’ the female contestants are trying to out-dress each other. On ‘Two’ a documentary features a solemn man in his sixties, who sits in a solitary leather armchair in a studio, talking with tears in his eyes. He’s remembering how his parents were neglected in a retirement home in the old system, their pleas to end their suffering denied as euthanasia was illega
l. On ‘Three’ I catch the end of the news.
Yesterday a record number of non-profit people were captured in London. They should have retired or moved into the Zone but instead they were hiding in parks, in monorail stations. Some were even breaking through the red fence and escaping into the wolf-packed countryside until they were located via their trackers. Due to the gravity of the situation, PM Edward Finch is speaking live, introducing a new government initiative to assist the disadvantaged. ‘Philanthropy will be better rewarded from now on,’ he says with sincerity. ‘If residents make a significant donation to the Zone Distribution Centre, they can gain months or even years of High Spender status. Everyone now has the chance to become a High Spender.’
Are people blind? Don’t they see it’s mostly the High Spenders who can donate enough in the first place? The PM stresses the importance of this initiative to build a fairer society. I watch his lips move. Previously his words would have lured me in, but now I can see Philip was right. It’s a performance. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t see any errors. He’s pitch-perfect, and that makes him all the more frightening.
four
Philip is almost victorious today, the way he lifts his chin, his eyes glowing as he stares into the distance, the wind ruffling his hair. He doesn’t bring up yesterday’s confrontation, as if it didn’t happen at all. We’re making our way to the restaurant and I do my best to put on a cheerful face.
I’ve just learned that I can have a complementary lunch with him, something every spouse of a Mid Spender is entitled to once a month. I find myself thinking of Mum and Dad, how happy they were in the Dignitorium, and how I didn’t even doubt that when the time came, I would retire with Philip. Now that I’ve had a taste of it, my enthusiasm has gone.
‘French, Greek, Japanese or steakhouse?’ Philip asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘For lunch. I’d like you to choose.’
‘You’re saying there are four different restaurants in this place?’
‘No. There are many more – about fifteen, of different nationalities and themes. But most of them only open for dinner.’
It amazes me how they pretend to really care for the residents’ emotional wellbeing. The truth is they understand the risk of the residents getting bored, and work hard to maintain the illusion of novelty until their time comes to enter the T-wing. How cleverly thought out! And how sickening!
‘You know which one I want to go to, don’t you?’
He squeezes my hand and for a moment I’m that twenty-something-year-old girl again, who expected to cook Greek with her new boyfriend, but he had already cooked the meal.
‘Will George be there, too?’ I ask.
‘That’s the only one he goes to. He hasn’t been to any other restaurant. Once we went to the steakhouse together but before the waiter arrived, George stood up and just left. I found him in the Greek tavern.’
‘I can’t stop thinking of how they mistreated him. And he remains such a positive person.’
‘Not today.’
We make our way down a glass corridor to the dining area. Philip is walking again in a way that deeply unnerves me. My strong, talented husband has become an invalid. But I hold my tongue. At least this is one promise I can keep – I won’t mention his illness ever again.
Above our heads, palm trees and other exotic plants are pressed to the outer side of the glass tube, the patterns creating the illusion of a living wallpaper. Bright green light seeps through the leaves. We emerge to find ourselves in a square where the buildings are arranged in a semi circle, connected by an open-air deck. Each house is built in a different style. They are all restaurants. Among them, there’s a lovely-looking French bistro, an American diner and a traditional English pub.
The Greek tavern has white walls, blue window frames and doors, and a roof terrace which looks onto the lake, where the tiny colourful boats are out again. Whitewashed stone steps lead up to the terrace where tables covered with blue checked tablecloths are already waiting for their guests. There are fresh flowers in a blue-painted vase on each table. Philip pulls a straw parasol over from the corner, to protect us from the sun. So far the tavern is empty. The waiter greets us and hands us each a menu. The service is impeccable.
George Dimitriadis, wearing a perfectly ironed, short-sleeved white shirt and brown pleated trousers, comes running up the steps. I raise my hand to wave to him when I notice he is not even looking in our direction. He sits at the furthest table, right on the edge of the terrace, probably to have a full view of the lake. But he seems far away. Lost in his thoughts, he buries his face in his hands.
‘Bad news?’ I ask Philip.
He nods.
‘He was so cheerful yesterday, with his family,’ I whisper.
‘It was yesterday. Then it sounded like good news.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘His daughter is pregnant.’
‘It’s great news! What’s wrong then?’
‘He’ll never live to see his grandchild.’
‘What a shame! They were all so happy yesterday.’
‘They weren’t,’ Philip says. ‘He pretended, they pretended. They rejoiced but in the back of their minds they were all thinking the same thing: he will not live to see his grandchild. That’s all he could keep repeating all night.’
The chardonnay turns bitter in my mouth though it is really good wine. We’re munching on our nibbles, a selection of olives and warm rosemary flatbread, when we see George standing up from his chair. He is heading our way.
‘Lovely morning we’re having today, guys.’ His voice sounds just as cheerful as usual.
‘Are you OK, George?’ Philip asks.
He nods, but avoids making eye contact.
‘Have a seat,’ Philip says, pulling out a chair for him.
George sits down, not saying a word. He looks around suspiciously then pulls his chair closer to us. He lowers his voice.
‘Milan has disappeared.’ He pauses for a moment to see the effect his words have on us, but whatever he’s expecting, we don’t deliver. I have no idea who this Milan is. ‘Toby, his roommate, said he was removed from their room last night.’ He leans even closer, his nostrils widening. Sweat trickles down his forehead.
‘When Toby woke up this morning, Milan wasn’t in their room,’ he says, short of breath. ‘Milan’s bed was already made up for a new resident, all his stuff cleared out. Toby didn’t make a big deal of it; we all know some people are quite abrupt about termination, change their minds overnight. But this morning he walked towards the screens at reception and there is no Farewell Video from Milan.’ He is panting so hard, I am beginning to worry for him. Philip must be thinking the same as he offers him a glass of water, but George shakes his head.
‘But where else could he be if he wasn’t terminated?’ I ask with pretended nonchalance while my hopes begin to rise.
George’s face is glowing with excitement. ‘Toby said Milan had been telling him quite mysteriously about a marriage between his daughter and a prominent High Spender and that it could change things for him, too.’
‘We’ll never know now, will we?’ Philip says, and shrugs.
‘I want to find Milan’s family. They must know about the secret appendix to the contract.’ The determination in George’s voice is almost frightening. Philip reaches out to give him a comforting pat on his shoulder.
‘Even if it were possible to buy your way out, nobody could afford it,’ Philip says. ‘That’s why we’re here in the first place, because we can’t even afford the Right To Reside.’ George doesn’t seem to listen.
‘We still don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy,’ he mumbles to himself. ‘I’ll never know.’
‘Of course you will, George,’ and I want to say more comforting words but the lack of conviction in my voice would give me away.
‘I’m here for you George, if there’s anything I can do,’ Phil says.
‘Yes, but…’ his dreamy eyes are staring into the distance, beyond the lake. ‘Anyway, guys, I’ll let you finish your meal.’ He stands up abruptly and hurries down the stairs.
‘Will he be OK?’ I ask Philip.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen him this upset before. But tonight we have a Soul River session, which will help him relax.’
‘What the heck is that?’
‘It’s very soothing indeed. It’s a unique meditation with sensory overload. The sensation we feel is reminiscent of being carried by a gentle river.’
‘Are you sure that’s enough?’ I turn my head away so he doesn’t see me pulling a face.
He sighs. ‘I hope so.’
Wild thoughts are spinning in my head. How could this Milan leave the Dignitorium? Is there really a secret appendix to the contract? If so, why is it not public? How did Milan’s family learn about it? George is right, there is something dodgy about him disappearing from the room at night. What if Philip–?
‘Alice. I know what you’re thinking. Can you drop it, please?’ Philip’s hand stops just an inch away from his mouth, an olive rolls down from the toothpick and drops onto the table. It rolls to the edge, leaving a light trail of oil behind it.
‘I’m not thinking of anything at all.’
‘Yes, you are. And I want you to forget about it. You see, I can understand why Milan moved out secretly at night. The management doesn’t want other residents and their families to speculate and build up our hopes for nothing.’
‘I’m not speculating, I’m just thinking about it ¬– it’s interesting,’ I say.
‘Just drop it. Please.’
‘I will. I have already. What are you having next?’
‘Moussaka, I think.’
‘I’ll have the same then.’
The waiter, as if reading our minds, arrives and takes the order.
It takes no more than ten minutes for the food to arrive. It’s delicious, but I can’t enjoy even a bite. My thoughts are too preoccupied with what I’ve just heard from George. My heart goes out to him, to this real gentleman, whose simplest and greatest desire – to see his new-born grandchild – has been denied.
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