Acts of Kindness

by Heather Barnett

  ‘That’s…’ Words wouldn’t come. She turned to Ben. ‘That’s… mental.’

  ‘That’s Le Chêne.’

  Chapter Nine

  Theresa Loomier stood in front of them. Bella recognised the vice-president from the videos of the weekly territory reports.

  ‘I appreciate you all must be tired so I’ll try to keep this as quick and snappy as I can.’

  Theresa had the most soothing, mellow voice Bella had ever heard. It was hard to imagine how she was going to keep things snappy. If someone had yelled ‘Fire!’ at that moment, Bella imagined she would smile gently at them all, push her gold-rimmed glasses a little further up her nose and amble away like a turtle across the sand.

  They were seated in a large, thatch-roofed, open-sided structure on the beach, like an enormous wooden bandstand. The only walls were at the back, behind the bar; the other sides of the hexagon had struts with shutters that could be pulled across if the wind was high. Bella had an unobstructed view of white sand and topaz water glittering in the setting sun. This view, along with the heat, the welcome cocktail and the mellifluous tones of the speaker, made concentration a battle.

  ‘I hope you’ll find your time here worth the journey.’ Theresa clasped her hands in front of her.

  ‘So, people. First, it’s time for some relaxation. We’re gonna eat some beautiful fresh fish and shellfish. We’re gonna drink some rum. And later,’ she paused and nodded, her gaze roaming around the faces before her, eyes shining, ‘we’re gonna sing!’

  There were some whoops and a smattering of applause from the audience – Bella suspected that was the locals. The British contingent, on the whole, was looking brave and polite; suspecting the worst but determined to keep a stiff upper lip.

  ‘And remember, on Le Chêne,’ she raised her hands and tilted her head to one side as if waiting for a catchphrase. The audience obediently chanted back at her: ‘Everyone’s one of us.’

  ‘That’s right, everyone’s one of us. Like the Stepford Wives,’ murmured Oscar in Bella’s ear.

  A couple of hours later and Bella was glad they were surrounded by agents, as it required superhuman levels of benevolence to find anything to applaud in the performances. So far, the sole performer with any discernible talent had been Theresa herself, who had given a soulful rendition of ‘River Deep, Mountain High’. Lauren had been seen trying to drag a man – who Bella later discovered was her long-distance boyfriend, James – to the microphone but when he demurred, she grabbed Ben instead. Bella had a little moment of disappointment when Ben opened his mouth. He was off-key throughout and struggled with the higher notes. Singing wasn’t one of his many talents, it seemed. But maybe that was a good thing, it helped remind her he was only human.

  The song finished and she took the opportunity to slip away to the loo, dangling her sandals by the straps as she padded across the still-warm sand to the main building. When she bounced off the door frame, she reflected that she might have had too many rum cocktails. And definitely too many gin ones. The face staring back at her in the mirror seemed to be on a loop; jerking a little from side to side as she tried to focus. Most of her eye make-up had smudged in the heat but something told her that trying to reapply in this state could do more harm than good. No one likes to go back into a party and hear people ask each other who ordered the clown.

  The door opened and the impressive figure of Theresa Loomier filled the frame. She took one look at Bella and put a muscular-looking hand on a sturdy hip.

  ‘Huh.’ She nodded, as if she’d always suspected this was what she would find in the ladies’ toilets. ‘You got a case of rum-face, sweetheart.’ She opened her voluminous handbag and started retrieving pots, compacts and brushes which she laid out on the countertop. ‘You give me five minutes,’ she paused and looked at Bella, ‘maybe ten, and I’ll fix you right up. I used to be a make-up artist, among other things.’

  Things were being done to her face now, to her cheeks, her lips, her lashes. It did flash through Bella’s mind that she might open her eyes and discover she’d been face-painted as some kind of animal, but it felt so soothing that she could barely find it in herself to care.

  ‘Go ahead. Take a look,’ urged Theresa, head on one side as she assessed her handiwork.

  The face in the mirror was expertly made up, the skin matte and clear. It still jerked from side to side but Theresa couldn’t be expected to fix that. Before Bella could thank her, Theresa had disappeared into a cubicle, calling out, ‘Kindnesses within OAK don’t count, you know. That one was a bonus, on the house.’

  After breakfast the next day, the UK contingent was split into their teams to be briefed on the latest kindness innovations in North America. Lauren’s boyfriend James led the first session.

  ‘If you’d like to gather round, I’ll show you an initiative we launched at the back end of last year,’ he said.

  The room resembled a lab – cool, white and sterile, and unexpected after the wood and thatch of the buildings she’d seen so far. Her team had been joined by seven or eight locals. James, sandy-haired and fresh-faced, was waiting for them by a large round table in the middle of the room. He tilted the tabletop up until it was almost vertical and came round to stand beside them in front of it.

  ‘Take a look.’

  The entire tabletop was a mirror. Bella realised the lighting must be incredibly flattering because her reflection looked like an Instagram filter had been applied to it. Glancing up at the ceiling she saw rows of standard LEDs, nothing special.

  She glanced at the other faces in the mirror. Lauren was shooting shy glances at herself and turning pink. Oscar was tilting his head from side to side and inspecting all angles. Ben was looking at her, Bella.

  ‘Pretty good, huh?’ James was watching their reactions. ‘It’s got built-in filters. Come round and see.’

  They all trooped around the back where a web of tiny wires was embedded in the surface.

  ‘Our team has already started installing them in restrooms and malls across the US. We’ll be infiltrating a range into the retail market in the second quarter of the year.’

  ‘Can I ask a question, James?’ Bella said.

  ‘Sure!’ He looked eager as a puppy as he swung round to face her.

  ‘Is this kindness? Aren’t we lying to people? We’re not making them more attractive; we’re making them think they are. In certain places – and not in others.’

  James tapped on a tablet as he responded. ‘Sure, great question. We thought about that. What we did is we set up one of these mirrors – secretly, of course – in a public restroom and surveyed people on their state of mind as they went in and again when they came out. These are the results.’ He projected a graph onto the screen behind him. ‘Ninety-eight per cent of those surveyed said they felt more confident after they’d used the restroom. More importantly, eighty-three per cent said they were happier. And, as we all know, happier people are kinder people.’

  Oscar was looking thoughtful. ‘And you had a control group, I take it? You did another sample – excuse the pun – at another public loo?’

  ‘Absolutely. Of course.’

  ‘Good. Because, thinking about it, I for one am always happier when I’ve, ahem, evacuated my bowels than beforehand.’

  There were a few sniggers, but James responded straight-faced. ‘You’re totally right, and our research confirmed that. However – and this is crucial – the uplift in self-reported happiness and confidence having used our special filter mirror was over thirty per cent higher than in those respondents who had used the standard facilities.’

  Bella glanced at Ben. His mouth twitched as he caught her eye. She suddenly felt shy and dropped her gaze.

  ‘Oscar,’ Ben said, ‘if you’ve got any more useful insights to share about your toilet habits perhaps you could produce a one-pager rather than discuss them here?’

  ‘I’ve produced many things in my time, Ben,’ Oscar retorted, ‘but a one-pager isn’t among them.�
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  James was already moving on to the next example. ‘Okay, team. Something else we’re pretty proud of on the kindness innovation front. The video you’re about to see is from CCTV in a franchise of a fast-food restaurant. We own the franchise.’

  He hit play. On the screen, people were queuing to place their orders. A grossly obese man was talking to a server at the front of one of the queues. Bella was struck by the size of him, his belly slung down low over his thighs in the tracksuit bottoms. He was handed a tray with two burgers, two portions of chips and two milkshakes. He took it, turned, and shuffled off out of shot. The video ended.

  James rewound the film, pausing it at the point where the obese man took the tray of food.

  ‘Nothing jumped out at you, right? All looks like a normal restaurant. But the food that this guy’ – he pointed with a red laser to the fat man – ‘has been given is not the same as the food that that guy’ – he pointed to a small, skinny man – ‘has been served. And that’s not just because one of them ordered a Mega-Burger and the other a Chick’n’Cheese.’ He flicked on to a different screen and an architect’s drawing of the restaurant appeared. ‘You see these panels in the floor, and these points in the ceiling? These allow us to scan customers at the counter for weight, body mass, and other key indicators. A customer such as this gentleman on the right, morbidly obese, gets served a low-fat, high fibre version of the standard recipe.’

  The group started calling out questions.

  ‘Why not serve everyone the low-fat version?’

  ‘Doesn’t it taste different?’

  ‘How fat does someone have to be before they get the “special” meal?’

  James looked flustered, unsure which question to try to answer first.

  Before he could address any of them, Ben, who had been silent until this point asked, ‘What about the ethics?’

  James opened his mouth to reply but was beaten to it by a calm voice from the back of the room which said, ‘We take ethics very seriously. As you know, Ben.’

  Theresa had entered the room unnoticed. ‘I’ll be pleased to take you through the philosophical argument later, but right now you need to head into the bunker. As a matter of urgency.’

  As she finished speaking an ear-splitting alarm rang out and everyone was out of their seats in an instant, chairs clattering to the floor, belongings left scattered across the table as they hurried to the exit.

  Chapter Ten

  Lauren grabbed Bella’s arm and shoved her into a stairwell. Ahead of them, others were already streaming down the stairs and through double doors into a huge, windowless concrete space. A woman carrying a tablet came over and asked for their names. Staff with armbands clanged the thick metal doors shut and came round handing out bottles of water.

  ‘It’s a satellite,’ Lauren explained, as they found somewhere to sit. ‘Most of the time we know when they’re passing over and it’s built into the schedule, this must be a new one. Nothing to be worried about. It’ll probably be over in, what, half an hour? Forty minutes?’

  ‘That’s right,’ added Oscar. ‘Unless they detect us and blast us to smithereens. In which case it’ll be over a lot quicker.’

  Lauren glared at him. ‘Will you stop it?’ Turning to Bella she said, ‘He’s joking. There’s no danger whatsoever. It suits us to keep Le Chêne a secret, that’s all. We use technology to disguise the coastline, making the island seem much smaller. When there’s an alert we all get out of sight to avoid them picking up movement or heat.’

  ‘Are you saying no one knows this island is here, outside of OAK? I mean the real island, not the fake one on Google Maps,’ Bella said.

  ‘We’re pretty sure they don’t. Because maps show it as uninhabitable and we’re so isolated we don’t get many people investigating.’

  ‘But…’ Two hundred years ago she could have understood it. Today, the world was very small, how could they ‘hide’ a bit of it? ‘When planes fly over—’

  Lauren shook her head. ‘They don’t. We amended the neighbouring countries’ systems so they each think the airspace belongs to the other one, and they keep out. And it’s not on any commercial flight paths.’

  Around them, people were settling down into the institutional-looking plastic chairs, chatting, reading from the stacks of magazines dotted around on tables or taking the chance to rest their eyes for a few minutes. Catherine passed their little group, looking pale and – unusually for her – dishevelled.

  Bella nodded in her direction. ‘Wonder what’s up with her?’

  ‘Claustrophobic, maybe?’ Lauren hazarded, distracted by the sight of James approaching. ‘Some people struggle being trapped underground until the alert’s over.’

  Bella wasn’t close to Catherine but she didn’t feel comfortable about letting her go without at least checking on her. Oscar was flipping through a copy of Time magazine, yawning. James had taken Lauren’s hand and was whispering something in her ear.

  ‘I’ll go and see what’s up,’ Bella said to no one in particular, before setting off in pursuit.

  Catherine had turned down a corridor above which hung a sign for the ladies’ toilets. To Bella’s surprise, as she rounded the corner, she saw Catherine had walked straight past the entrance to the loos. There was nothing up ahead other than a dead-end, inset into which was a door – to a cupboard, she assumed, as it had a keyhole but no handle. As Catherine placed the palm of one hand against the door, she heard the footsteps behind her and span round, her face white.

  Bella held up a reassuring hand. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a shock, I wanted to check you’re okay, you don’t look too good.’

  The expression in Catherine’s eyes was distinctly unfriendly. She turned her back to Bella and placed both palms against the door, arms stretched, head drooping between them.

  ‘I just need a minute,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Can I get you something? Some water?’

  Catherine seemed to grasp at this. ‘Yes, water would be good.’

  Bella hurried away and when she returned, Catherine had slumped to the ground, sitting with her back against the cupboard door, head on her knees.

  After draining the glass, she forced a smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll be okay now. I need a bit of time on my own.’

  Bella hesitated. ‘If you’re sure?’

  Taking the empty beaker, she turned to go, and as she did something clanked behind the door. They looked at each other in surprise and then Catherine shrugged.

  ‘Boiler cupboard, I guess.’

  That evening was the team cook-off. Each group had to make a dish from scratch, to be served as a part of a buffet. After eating, the diners would score each other’s food.

  ‘It’s a bit like Come Dine with Me,’ Oscar told Bella, ‘but without the witty commentary. Scoring is anonymous. I tend to be firm but fair. Anything with avocado in it gets zero. Bananas score ten. It’s a good system which has served me well over the years.’

  They were meandering, pleasantly lethargic in the evening warmth, along a sandy path rustling with dry leaves.

  ‘Do people get competitive?’

  ‘God, yes. There’s an actual cup at stake, you know. It’s gold – solid gold, mind – and shaped like a cupule.’

  ‘Like a what?’ Something small and quick rustled through the thicker carpet of leaves that bordered the path. It was too dark to see what it was, but her guess was one of the sleek little lizards which seemed to be everywhere. On her terrace earlier she’d counted seventeen skittering across the walls.

  ‘A cupule. Good God, woman, how long have you worked at OAK? A cupule, you ignoramus, is the little cup that an acorn sits in. It protects the acorn. That’s why Isadora’s guards are called the cupuli.’

  ‘Isadora’s guards?’

  Oscar stopped dead and stared at her. ‘I mean. Honestly. It’s like talking to a newborn monkey. Is there anything you do know?’

  ‘Yes. I know you go shopping with your eyes sh
ut.’ He was wearing a luminous Hawaiian shirt.

  He strode forward, wafting away the insult with a wave of his hand. ‘I’ll let that one pass. Your feelings were hurt. Isadora’s guard – the cupuli – is a small, hand-picked team tasked with protecting her. Her safety is their sole responsibility. Some of them shadow her like your typical bodyguard. Others are more elusive. Field-based. Their role is to be her eyes and ears – to pick up useful intelligence.’

  They were nearing their destination now, a long, low hut which had been assigned to them as their kitchen.

  ‘Why would she need intelligence?’ Bella wanted to know. ‘On what?’

  ‘On anything that could pose a risk to her. She’s our most valuable asset, you know. OAK’s heart and soul. A hereditary ruler.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that before.’ Only now did the implication dawn on Bella of the fact that from OAK’s inception until the present day, it had been run by Isadora’s ancestors. ‘But she doesn’t have children, does she? What happens when she dies?’

  ‘Good question. Great question.’ He raised his eyebrows at her as he opened the door. ‘But one for another day, we need to get cooking.’

  The room was bright and clinical. Stainless steel gleamed. A knot of people, including Catherine, Lauren and Ben, stood by the counter on which sat a large cream envelope, debossed with an oak leaf.

  Ben pushed the envelope in her direction as she and Oscar approached. ‘I think Bella should do the honours as it’s her first time.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, taking the proffered envelope.

  ‘It tells us which course we have to cook and the main ingredient we need to base our recipe around,’ he said. ‘They’re drawn at random.’

  Slitting the envelope open and pulling out a thick piece of card, Bella read aloud, ‘Course: main. Ingredient: lamb.’

  ‘Damn.’ Lauren’s face fell.

  Oscar gave her a look of sympathy. ‘Hoping for dessert? Never mind, I’m sure James’ll get other opportunities to nibble on your cupcakes.’