‘I remember how keen you were on it,’ she says. ‘You even nicked a lipstick from a beauty salon we went to with Mum.’
‘I must have been about five.’
‘More than that. At least nine.’
She waves at the chair on the opposite side of the table. I hesitate; I don’t want the niceties, I just want to get what I came for and go back to Philip as soon as possible.
‘What are you having?’
‘Nothing, thank you.’
As if she hasn’t heard what I said, she presses a button on her wheelchair and immediately a waiter appears. He’s an older man, dressed like a butler in a period drama, immaculate and attentive. Sofia orders two sparkling waters, not moving her head an inch to look at him. The waiter leaves without a word. However hard I try, I can’t get out of my head what I’ve heard earlier. This place makes me sick to the core.
We’re interrupted by a splashing sound in the swimming pool behind me. I turn around and I recognise the dark eyes, the well-formed lips, the chalk-white forehead. For a moment I forget why I came here. I don’t dare ask, I just watch the girl throw a bathrobe on, remove her swimming cap, shake out her dark curly locks, before running over to Sofia and giving her a kiss on the cheek. There’s an untamed playfulness in her every move, but I can also sense a budding awareness. She calls my sister Auntie Sofia. What the hell is going on?
Sofia puts her palm on the girl’s shoulder.
‘This is Alice. Alice, this is Maya.’
I shake the girl’s outstretched hand. Maya lowers her gaze, clearly not accustomed to meeting strangers. She says good morning in a sweet, girly voice before scampering off into the house.
I wish I could just leave, before I get attached to this lovely little girl, before it fully sinks in that she’s my niece. The closest thing to a child of my own.
Five
‘We haven’t finished yet,’ Sofia says when I get up from the chair.
‘You said everything you wanted. I can’t take any more.’
‘I haven’t said everything. I’m not going to give you a lift to the station until you let me finish my story. You may go anytime, but you’ll have to walk.’
‘Are there any wolves?’
‘I hope when we’ve finished, you’ll be able to figure it out for yourself.’ She rings for the maid, who appears immediately. She instructs her to show me out to the helicopter. She tells me we’re going to the beach.
‘Sofia, please tell me they didn’t suffer. Tell me it was just anger speaking.’
She doesn’t reply. All she says is that she will follow in a few minutes. The beach can only be a few miles away. It’s strange that she takes the helicopter to get there, but I should have learned by now that Owners do everything differently.
The wind has subsided but there is still a breeze, cool and refreshing. The crisp air invigorates me; I hope it will help to clear my head after the things I’ve heard. I follow the maid down the steps and across the lawn to get to the clearing where the snow-white chopper stands. There’s not a spot on its smooth surface. The pilot greets me with a nod of his head, and shows me to my seat. Inside the helicopter is also spotless, from the velvet-covered seats to the curved and polished wooden panels.
Soon Maya turns up with a docile young woman whom she introduces half-formally as her nanny. She has fair skin, long mousy hair and is wearing a long, shapeless linen dress. She is wearing glasses. In her I recognise the woman I saw yesterday in the window. They get in with complete ease as if they have been doing this forever. We’re only waiting for Sofia now. Maya shoots shy glances at me, and whispers into her nanny’s ear, but when I look at her, she turns her head away.
Finally Sofia arrives, driving her electric armchair across the lawn, her hair flying behind her. With the help of the pilot, she gets into the helicopter without getting out of the chair. She is placed just opposite me. She stares ahead, avoiding my gaze as we take off. I’m surprised how much quieter this helicopter is than those used as taxis in the city. We fly towards the sea that lies beyond the forest.
I am reminded of the last time we were in a helicopter together. It was twenty-five years ago when we returned home after taking Grandma to the Dignitorium. Then it was the city beneath us, being redeveloped. Sofia pointed out the difference between old areas and the new ones. I remember seeing overcrowded quarters turned into spacious and sophisticated neighbourhoods. What I see now, twenty-five years later, is the by-product. Now I understand why we have taken a helicopter. There is no road to the beach. There are almost no roads at all. When the helicopter turns around, I catch a glimpse of Sofia’s house and the road I arrived on, winding through the old trees, but it’s the only one in sight.
As we get closer to the beach, I’m surprised to see the ruins of a small town a few miles from the coast. The town was presumably abandoned like all the rest when the population had to move into the megacities at the beginning of the new system. I can see the remnants of old roads, by now almost completely grown over with weeds, the derelict terraced and detached houses rising up like gravestones, monuments to a bygone era. Weatherworn cars with deflated tyres line the narrow streets. In the centre of town stands a church with a half-collapsed spire, slates from the roof lying shattered on the pavement. Sadness lingers over this ghost town, declaring the victory of natural destruction.
‘Why hasn’t this place been renovated into a nice seaside resort?’ I ask Sofia.
She looks down nonchalantly.
‘Why would it be? There are so many already, dozens of them, just in this area. Fifteen miles west of here, I have another beautiful mansion that used to be a seaside spa hotel. It’s crumbling away, but there is absolutely no reason to renovate it. Nobody would use it.’
‘Why not sell it to the High Spenders?’
‘Sell? You forget that they can’t own land. Their Right To Reside is only valid in the cities.’
‘Yes, but if they bought property, that would bring in extra income for the Owners.’
‘We don’t need any more income. We are already suffocated by what we have. And no amount of money would make up for the noise and the mess that spenders would create, or for their increasing demands. The more you give them, the more they want.’
I shiver but I can’t keep my eyes off the sad view below, the town that has been abandoned for almost three decades, a leaking time capsule. How many children like Felicity could live there? How many lives from the Zone could be saved?
I can’t describe the joy of standing on the beach, a long-forgotten experience. The waves are licking at my toes; the quiet roaring of the sea sounds as if it comes from the very depths of the earth. From our holidays, I remember the beaches being fairly crowded, covered with people in beachwear and kids with plastic toys, the sand etched with their footprints. This is entirely different, for there’s no one here but us. It’s as if we’ve landed on an uninhabited planet. The white sandy beach with its smooth, untouched surface stretches out in both directions. Once my feet touch the sand and I breathe in the salty air, a long-forgotten joy returns. I drop my bag and start to run along the water’s edge, where I can feel the mixture of seawater and sand under my feet and between my toes. Seagulls are floating right above my head, making the cooing sound I haven’t heard for years.
As the waves curl up to my ankles, they seem to wash away the shock of the past few hours. I don’t want to think of tomorrow, when sour reality will strike me in the face. For now, I just let myself forget. Without any warning, Dad’s face appears in front of me, his gentle, hazel eyes and his mouth that so easily turned into a smile.
I stayed on the bench. He and Mum arrived at the entrance of the T-wing. Through my tears I watched them, hoping they would look at me one last time. The carer at the doorway gently led Mum in, and I didn’t see her any more. But Dad stopped for a moment before crossing the threshold and turned to l
ook back at me. I couldn’t control myself; I jumped up from the bench and ran to him for our final embrace. Something was bubbling up from deep inside me. I was shaking. Dad held me away from him for a moment and looked deep into my eyes. ‘I promised you, didn’t I?’ He released my arm and turned around. The next thing I remember is the slam of the door, the impenetrable white wooden surface an inch from my face. I didn’t stop crying but these were tears of joy. He would leave happily; he would go to a good and safe place as he promised. All through the years I knew he hadn’t lied. No matter what Sofia claims to have seen, I am certain Dad kept his promise. Something ascends from my soul, like a captured bird released.
After the walk I return to the others, rejuvenated. Sofia, wearing her sunglasses and with a light white scarf wrapped around her head, ignores everyone else. Her feet are up on a chair. Her head is tilted to one side, she is either staring into the distance or sleeping. Maya approaches me holding her hand out, and pulls me away from the others. ‘Come,’ she says, pointing at the row of beach huts in the distance.
I look back at Sofia, but she seems to be asleep. Maya’s nanny smiles at me, making eye contact for the first time. ‘She likes you,’ she says. Maya’s pull is getting stronger and when the nanny nods I let her drag me away.
‘Are you from the city?’ she asks, looking up at me.
‘Yes, I’m from London. Have you ever been to London?’
‘Once every year Auntie Sofia takes me there, to show me the Christmas Fayre. Then she takes me to the puppet theatre.’ There is undeniable longing in her voice.
‘Do you like it?’
‘I like the people and the other children in the puppet theatre. And once we had a yacht ride on the Thames, just me and Auntie Sofia; that was lovely.’
‘Do you go to school?’
‘No, it’s the school that comes to me. I have five teachers.’
But no class, no classmates, I find myself thinking. How lonely she must be here, at the end of the world, with only adults for company.
‘Do you have any friends, Maya?’
‘I see other children six days a week. Auntie Sofia invites them to come and play and talk with me. Will you stay and play and talk with me?’
‘I will stay for a bit but I have to go home soon.’
We arrive at the row of wooden beach huts, painted turquoise and cream. They are in surprisingly good condition; someone is definitely looking after them. Maya runs to the first one and opens the door. She waves at me to follow her. Standing in the doorway, I’m amazed by the number of dolls and toys piled up in the hut.
‘What do you think?’ she asks.
‘Wow! Why are they here?’
‘I come here to play with nanny, or sometimes with my friends.’
She runs out and opens the door of the next hut. I’m surprised for a second that these huts are unlocked, but then I realise, who would come here? In this hut, loungers and parasols are kept, in the third one, mattresses, beach balls and blankets, in the fourth one, more toys. When we turn back, she holds out her hand for mine.
‘Can you not stay for another day?’ she asks.
‘I’d really like to. But I can’t.’
‘I’ll ask Auntie Sofia to pay you.’
‘It’s not about that, honey.’ I ruffle her hair. ‘I have something urgent to do. But I’ll come back another time.’
She must sense a false note in my voice, for her smile fades.
‘Catch me!’ she yells.
She runs away, screaming with joy, and I run after her and try to catch her. When I get close, I pretend to fall over so she has the advantage. But when she sees I’m on the ground, with apparent pain on my face, she scurries over to me and reaches a hand out to try and help me up. She runs up to the top of a dune, her feet sinking down to the ankle in the fine sand. Once at the top, she throws herself onto the sand and starts rolling down, squealing. Once down, she runs up again. I follow her and we roll down several times, laughing and screaming, until I’m so dizzy that I can’t take any more. Her nanny and Sofia are watching us from the distance, but when I wave to them, it’s only the nanny who waves back. Sofia turns her head towards the rumbling sea.
We’re back with the others. Sofia sits up on her lounger and nods to the nanny to take Maya away. They’re playing with a multi-coloured beach ball; I can hear Maya’s screams in the background. From time to time she checks if I’m watching.
‘What do you think of her?’ Sofia asks.
‘She’s lovely. Why does she call you auntie?’
‘She seems to like you.’
‘I like her too.’
Now that the sun has hidden away again, she removes the white scarf from her head, revealing her dark, messy hair. It’s still long and frames her face and shoulders but has lost its healthy shine.
‘You’re looking a bit better,’ she says. ‘I was afraid you would faint. I’ve never seen you that pale.’
‘I just don’t understand.’ I burst out. ‘How could anyone find pleasure in other people’s death? And I don’t mean it in a naïve way, I know there are some cruel people. But what on earth does an Owner have against unfortunate dying people that makes them enjoy their agony? Like a morbid reality show.’
‘Despite having everything they could ever dream of, most Owners are hollow inside and have ceased to feel any real emotion,’ she says. ‘Watching others suffer and die is the only way they can recharge that long-empty battery, I’m afraid.’
Mum and Dad appear in my mind, again, like in my dream but more vividly. I have a powerful urge to leave; I can’t let Sofia see me weak and disturbed. She won’t give me the money. She wouldn’t give it even if I watched the recording of my parents’ termination.
What if this is just a trap, and she’ll never let me go home? She may hold me back by force, like when I wanted to leave her room, on that night twenty years ago, but she didn’t let me, not until she finished what she wanted to say. I may be a prisoner here, while Philip gets closer to the final date, without me there beside him. And there’s nothing I can do to save him. Like Nurse Vogel couldn’t save herself. She was right in the end.
‘So the old system was really better than this,’ I say, more to myself than to Sofia.
‘There were Owners then, too, they just had a different name.’
‘But at least people were protected, non-profits didn’t have to die, they had benefits and pensions to rely on.’
‘Benefits? Pensions?’ Sofia stares at me, bewildered. ‘That’s absurd. It’s not as if humanity is a rare species that needs to be protected from extinction. Why do people still feel they deserve to receive anything? Your petty little life is absolutely irrelevant to society as a whole.’ The colour has returned to her face, and her eyes are like darting flames. ‘You don’t do anyone a favour by living, princess; quite the contrary, you use up energy and resources, actively contributing to the decay of this overpopulated planet. Apart from those few who are personally attached to you, no one gives a shit about you.’
I get it, Sofia, how could I have been so stupid to think otherwise, I want to say, but I don’t have the strength to argue.
‘Have you finished your story?’
‘I’ll finish it when we return home.’
Her eyelids are drooping, and her movements are sluggish; it’s probably the sun. I don’t want to hear what else she has to say. I simply can’t take any more.
She calls out to the pilot, who has been sitting barefoot on the beach, watching the sea. She tells me to fetch Maya. Maya’s eyes are shining as she grabs my hand and we stroll back along the golden beach. We stop at intervals, turning to look at the trail of footprints behind. Maya doesn’t stop chatting about a starfish she and her nanny have found in the sand. We climb into the helicopter, Sofia first. On the way back, I try to avoid looking down at the abandoned town below.
/> Six
Back in the house, Sofia and I sit at the table on the terrace, overlooking the forest. The waiter sets the table for afternoon tea.
‘I’m surrounded by useless people,’ Sofia says all of a sudden. ‘Not even one of them is worth a penny. Useless bunch of fucking Owners. You’ve got a husband, then?’
My hopes are rekindled and I find an official photo of Philip on the mini-screen on the table. It was taken when he took on the Paradise project. He was glowing, wearing a bespoke black suit with red tie, smiling with confidence. I hold it up in front of her.
‘This is Philip.’
I sit there quietly, telling myself that all is not lost, or maybe it is and I must go before I become the victim of another tantrum. She looks at the photo for a while then leans back on the chair.
‘He will do,’ she says. ‘He will be perfect.’
‘Perfect for what?’
‘We’ve got similar tastes in men, did you not know that?’
‘I don’t understand, Sofia, what–’
‘Everyone will think she’s his. Maya included. The dark eyes, the features. And she’s got your nose. Good.’ She smiles to herself.
Something turns inside me. I’m glad she can’t see my trembling hands beneath the table. If I ask her to explain herself, I might ruin the moment or she might take it back or say I’ve misunderstood something. What the hell is she talking about? Why is it so easy to resuscitate hope? I stare at her, but I can’t read her expression.
‘I couldn’t be further from what you call a good mother,’ she says. It sounds like a confession. ‘You with your Philip, you could give her a fresh start. A different fate, unlike mine and Sebastian’s.’
‘You’re speaking in riddles, Sofia.’
‘Now that Sebastian is gone, Maya is a half-orphan. Soon she’ll be a full one.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’
‘The drugs and pleasures of the Primavera Club did the damage, and it’s far more than just physical. You don’t know the half of it, Alice. I’m burned out, to the extreme.’
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