didn’t do what they wanted.
‘I can go inside and call Elliot,’ Eve continued, sounding worried. ‘Oh dear, I’m really for it now.’
James smiled and said what he knew Eve wanted to hear. ‘OK, I’ll do it … It was a surprise, that’s all.’
Eve made a little squealing noise and pulled him into a hug. ‘Thank you James. You’re fantastic.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ James said, catching a sneaky downward glance at Eve’s cleavage as she squeezed him. ‘What exactly is it we’re supposed to do with this stuff?’
‘All we do is take it around to the rooms, knock on the old folk’s doors and ask if there’s anything they want to buy.’
The home was built on a single floor and the mostly female residents lived in rooms with balconies and private bathrooms. The building was modern and it wasn’t horrid, but it seemed lifeless and the squeaky-floored corridors reminded James of a hospital.
After the receptionist buzzed them through a locked door, James followed Eve into the first few rooms to watch her sales technique. Eve spent at least three minutes talking to each resident, most of whom were in the final stages of life and were either bedridden or barely mobile. Eve traded banal news about school and the commune for information about each resident.
Almost everyone bought something. It was usually a small item, like a chocolate bar or newspaper, but there were also requests for Elliot – who visited each resident weekly – to put something on the van. These items ranged from an old gent who wanted a monthly fishing magazine to a brash old lady who requested a particular brand of toilet paper because, The stuff they give you in here leaves your arsehole as red as a radish.
After the first few rooms, Eve sent James off to work a different section of the home. He spent nearly an hour passing from room to room, having more or less the same conversation, which always started with, Where’s Eve today? and ended with the purchase of a couple of dollars’ worth of goodies. James noticed that the prices were double what you’d pay in an ordinary store.
James met a newly arrived resident on his last call but one. The name on the door said Emily Wildman and he found her sitting on the corner of her bed looking bewildered. Some of her belongings were still in packing crates, the curtains were closed and she’d clearly been crying.
‘Hello,’ James said, trying to sound friendly as he pushed his trolley into the room.
‘What are you, a bloody boy scout?’ she said abruptly.
James did a little spiel that Eve had taught him, explaining that he’d volunteered to wheel the stuff around the home and that the profits went to help development projects in the third world. Eve hadn’t been especially clear about what the development projects were, but Miriam Longford’s book claimed that most of the money raised by Survivor charities went on administrative expenses and ended up in the organisation’s own coffers.
‘Have you got a mother?’ Emily asked sharply.
James thought of Abigail and nodded, but it pricked him when he remembered that his real mother was dead.
‘When she’s old and she goes dotty, are you gonna sell her home and make her live in a place like this?’
James smiled. ‘You’ve got a great big patio and a garden outside. All the people I’ve met here seem really nice.’
‘It smells like old people and piss,’ Emily said bluntly.
James laughed. ‘It doesn’t smell that bad.’
‘If they can make you better, they send you to hospital. If they can’t, they send you here to die.’
Emily was thin and looked barely strong enough to stand up, but James still felt intimidated as he backed his trolley up towards the door. ‘Well, I hope you settle in. I bet you’ll get used to it.’
‘Hang on,’ Emily said. ‘I’ll take one of the Cadbury Turkish bars. I don’t eat a lot these days, but I expect I’ll nibble a few squares.’
‘That’s three dollars.’
Emily looked a bit shocked at the price.
‘Blow it,’ she grinned, swiping her hand in front of her face. ‘I’d rather a bunch of Africans got it than my prat of a son.’
James smiled as Emily handed him three one-dollar coins, but he felt awful as he backed his trolley out and stepped up to knock on the final door. Everything about the place reminded James that he was going to get old and die.
17. INTEGRATION
Ten days after their first evening with the Survivors, Abigail and