Paradise Towers

‘What do you fucking mean? How can my dole credits have stopped? Who stopped them?’

‘I’m afraid I cannot say. They have been suspended pending.’ There’s a silence.

‘Pending what?’

‘I’m afraid that’s all the information I can give you at this time.’

‘That’s not fucking good enough! Hello? Hello?’

I throw the phone on the floor. Bits spin across the floor.

‘Those fucking pakis!’

‘What? What?’ says fat fuck mum.

‘They stopped my fucking dole!’

‘Why? Why?’

‘How the fuck should I know?’

Mum is standing hands on fucking hips, about as useful as an ashtray on a fucking motorbike.

‘What are you gonna do?’

I swing my arm across the table and the bacon sarnie follows the phone. The plate smashes. Mum struggles to get down to pick it up.

‘Why don’t you lose some fucking weight?’

Into the front room, Ad and his mate give the customary “fuck off, Dave”, but it’s not fucking funny today; they’re lucky I don’t kick their fucking heads inside out. I don’t answer, my brain is racing. What am I gonna fucking well do with no dosh? What did I do wrong? How can they take it away? It’s my fucking right as a citizen of this poxy country. Fucking federal superstate? They’re having a fucking laugh.

There’s a knock on the door.

‘Who can that be?’ says Mum, walking into the front room.

‘Well fucking well open the door and see, you pratt!’

The acne-faced squirts laugh. I give some respect, they’re level fourteen “Team Stalkers”. They are feared and respected all over the net.

‘Dave,’ says Mum from the front door. I hear footsteps coming up the hallway. Two suits come into the room, Mum is just behind.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘David Hobbs?’

I frown at him.

‘Are you David Hobbs?’ asks the other. They seem like big fuckers. I stand, attempting to ease away the threat I’m feeling. They’re still big.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘Yes he is,’ says Ad, battling away with his game controller.

‘Ad!’ says Mum.

‘You have to come with us, David.’

‘Who are you?’

‘They’re from FUB, love,’ says Mum.

‘What you fucking want with me?’

‘Just come quietly, David.’

‘What do you want with me?’

‘This is Operative Jones, I’m Operative Smith; we’re from the Family Unity Bureau.’

‘I’m getting fucking pissed off with this, I said -’

‘Stop swearing.’

‘Please stop swearing,’ says the other.

‘Fuck you, or I’m gonna rip out your -’

The punter nearest has pulled a scoozy. That’ll shock me into a forced four-hour kip.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Swear again, David, and I will use this.’

‘Fucking hell, mate, I only -’

He moves towards me. I put my hands up, offering the most ridiculous smile I’ve ever painted on my boat race.

‘Last chance, David.’

‘Pause it, pause it!’ says Ad. The screen freezes and they look up. I glance down at Ad. ‘Dave’s gonna get scoozed! Don’t press Start, don’t press start!’

There’s a bit of an impasse. I’m not gonna move … no way. They’re waiting to see if I am. I’d tell them I’m not, but I’m not about to move my mouth. Mum’s standing like a statue, don’t know why, it wouldn’t have enough current to get through the blubber. After a while, the bloke with the scoozy lowers it slightly.

‘That’s better, David, much better. Let’s all be civil about this. Okay?’

‘What’s he done?’ asks Mum.

‘Is that okay, David?’

I’m still not moving. He sees the problem and hides the thing behind his back. I nod my head at him.

‘Do you know Miss Miller?’

I shake my head.

‘Come now, you know Miss Miller.’

‘Come on, David,’ says the other, ‘play the game.’

‘No,’ I say, trying not to swear. ‘I don’t.’

‘Miss Claudia Miller?’

‘You know Claudia,’ says big-mouth frumplestiltskin standing by the door. She hasn’t eaten for ten minutes, the diet must be eating away at her fucking brain. ‘She’s his girlfriend.’

‘Mum!’

‘Miss Miller was confirmed this morning and named you as accessory.’

‘Accessory to what?’ asks Mum.

‘Fucking hell, Mum!’

The lights went out.

I wake up with my head lolling around my shoulder, aching like fuck.

‘Where the fuck -’

A flash of blinding light and pain in the head. Everything comes slowly back into view again. It’s the bitch Claudia sitting opposite, moving in time with the minibus. Minibus?

‘Where the fuck -’

Another flash, instant headache and the scene again materialises slowly from blinding white to the drab denim jacket draped around that whore Claudia. To my right is a bloke in a prison uniform, or what looks like one. He’s got the scooze in his hand. He waves it at me.

‘Swear again, David, and I’ll do it again. Every time you swear, you get a shock from my scooze stick. Swear ten times in a day, and you get a full scooze, which is four hours.’

I nod, looking at the torturous thing in his hand. It’s smaller than a scooze stick, but the word “Scooze” is written on the stalk in familiar scooze font. I’ve seen it in DVDs.

The minibus has a bench running its length on either side, from the back doors to the driver and passenger seat. Claudia sits opposite, and there’s another drab and grimy couple next to her. This handy-with-scooze-stick twat is sat next to me. I’d like to stick it right up his fucking arse and see how he likes it. He probably would, the fucking faggot.

‘Where am I?’

‘Why, David,’ he says, ‘you’re in a minibus.’

I smile. ‘Where am I going?’

‘You and your wife-to-be are headed to Paradise Towers.’

‘Wife-to-be? Fuck off!’

Whack.

‘That’s three. Seven to go.’

‘What do you mean wife-to-be?’

‘You’re in the family way, David … so … you must make a family.’

‘Family way? No way.’

‘The lovely Claudia confirmed this morning … didn’t you dear?’

She nods her dreary, skinny, stupid fucking head.

‘Congratulations, David!’

‘I never … it wasn’t me!’

‘Now, now.’

‘Everyone’s fucked -’

Whack.

‘Six!’

‘It could’ve been Trev! Could’ve been any one of ‘em!’

‘Now, now, that’s no way to talk about the future Mrs Hobbs.’

‘She ain’t gonna be -’

‘Oh, she is David, she certainly is.’

‘I’ll never do it!’

‘No choice, David.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s compulsory at Paradise Towers. All families must be families in the eyes of the law.’

‘Fuck the law!’

Whack.

‘Will you stop doing that!’

‘Five! Give me five, David, please … give me five.’

‘Tell him! Claudia! Tell him that everyone has … that you’ve been … that … you’ve had sex with a lot of blokes.’

She nods.

‘See! Could be any one!’

‘What else do we know, Claudia, my dear?’

She shrugs.

‘We know that all the other men have worn something … don’t we, Claudia? All the other men, young David, have all used something called a condom. Didn’t they, Claudia?’

She nods.

‘So you see, young Mr Hobbs, that you are the father of the unborn child. Claudia will be Mrs Hobbs and the child will carry your name. The child will not be a bastard. No bastard ever need walk God’s earth again.’

‘You swore!’

‘No, young David, bastard means illegitimate. It is a question of context.’

‘That’s just stupid. You said -’

Whack.

‘But I never -’

‘Insolence. At Paradise Towers Workhouse, we are all polite and respectful to our fellow families and to the supervisors.’

We sit in silence and I watch the cars overtaking. It’s getting late; some of the cars have put their lights on. I look at the other couple: they’re both just staring at me. Their fucking faces haven’t seen a lick of soap or a splash of water in years. However long I turn away, they’re still looking at me when I glance their way. Claudia is gazing above the window behind me, occasionally she checks her nails to see if they’ve grown enough to gnaw. They’re still looking. The hooked-on-pain-arsehole is slapping his stick against the palm of his hand. I bet he would like it if I stuck it in his ring on full charge. They’re still looking! Fuck!

‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Good … night.

Up I wake and I’m curled in a ball on the floor. My head aches like fuck. I squeeze my eyes to try and draw out the pain. It comes back to me slowly and then gushes into my thoughts. There’s a rhythmic sound coming from the bed. I can hear groaning. I sit up and get to my knees. There’s two people fucking on the bed. I get to my feet and peer at the person underneath: it’s Claudia. A kind of shock hits me in the stomach. The overweight man on top takes his head away from her neck and looks at me, not slowing his incessant riding action. It’s the maniac from the minibus. He smiles at me through the sweat on his face, an almost “look what I’m doing” expression beaming at me. I turn away, not sure what to do. I can hear their sounds, ever louder, the springs in the bed, his grunts, the slap of his groin against her, my supposed wife-to-be, the bearer of my unborn child. The bed dominates the room, there’s a tele (off), a little kitchen area, a large built-in wardrobe, but what grabs my attention most is a cot, dirty yellow in colour; it has partly worn stencilled teddy bears on it. It chills me. The noise of fucking is filling the room: the squelching, the heavy breathing and those damn infernal fucking springs! It’s bouncing around the inside of my head, torturing me with every plunge he’s making towards the little baby stuck somewhere up her twat. He grumbles and shouts, thrusts hard and stops. I hear him get off the bed.

‘Hey, David.’

‘What?’

‘Turn around when I’m speaking to you.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘I’d rather you did. Do as you’re fucking well told.’

There’s silence. I turn.

He’s grinning. His trousers are up, but they’re open and I can see his flaccid member winking at me through the opening in his white pants. He laughs and wipes himself with a tissue, tossing it on the bedside cabinet. I follow its path and see Claudia lying on the bed; her legs are still open, as are her eyes, but she’s totally vacant, watching nothing on the ceiling. He laughs again.

‘Well … you were right … she’d fuck anyone. Not that I’m not … special … but it didn’t take an awful lot of persuasion.’

He’s wheezing a bit, breathing heavily, wiping his sweaty head. He’s mostly bald, but the grey hair on the side badly needs a cut. He tries to flatten it.

‘You swore at me,’ I tell him.

‘So … fucking shoot me,’ he says, tidying himself. ‘I might be back later for some more if I feel like it.’

I look at Claudia; she still hasn’t moved. He grabs my ear and shakes it. It hurts, but I’m not showing it. He smiles and leaves.

‘What did you let him do that for?’

She doesn’t register, but before I can repeat, she moves her head and looks at me.

‘What?’

‘Why did you let him … you know … why did you and him do it?’

‘Do what?’

‘Have sex?’

She blinks and thinks. ‘He wanted to.’

‘So what?’

‘He asked me to.’

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to, does it?’

She shrugs and looks up. As I turn away, she speaks:

‘Do you want to fuck now?’

I look at her naked body, wet with the sweat of that dirty shite house. He didn’t use a condom and his dirt is leaking over the ruffled sheet.

‘No!’ I say, almost shouting, turning back to the tele that’d caught my attention just before. ‘No way. I’m not a fucking animal, you know.’

There’s a large collection of DVDs stacked up by the side of the tele. I nod approval at some of the titles. “Screwing Las Vegas” is there – what a result. There’s a DVD player and a Gamestation next to the tele. Might not be so bad after all. I reach for the switch as she speaks again:

‘Why not?’

‘Why not what?’

‘Why don’t you wanna fuck me?’

I screw my face up at her. She’s in exactly the same position she was in when he was doing her. I shake my head and retrieve a toilet roll from the bathroom. I hand it to her.

‘What’s this for?’

I shake my head. This one is a total fucking head case. I look around, there’s nothing else to sleep on here; she’s in a right state and the bedclothes are worse. Don’t fancy sleeping next to that.

‘To clean yourself up with?’

‘Oh.’

She takes off a couple of squares and starts to wipe herself in her usual shameless way.

‘Can we watch tele?’ she asks.

I’ve already pressed the switch. Nothing. I press again. Nothing. I check the plug – it’s in. I check the connections – all okay. There’s absolutely no reason the box shouldn’t fire up. I put a DVD in the machine and it whirs into action. I put a Gamestation game in and it clunks into life. I try the tele again – no luck. I can feel the anger rising. I step back to think. I step forward and check everything again – can see no problem. Hit the side of the box – nothing. Ah! Try the brightness control … no. I try everything five times. No picture and no sound. I could climb the walls.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Fuck off! What do you think the fucking matter is?’

‘Won’t it turn on?’

I step towards her and hold my ready-to-roll fist in my left hand. Stupid fucking cow! My teeth are pushing against each other so hard, they feel like they’re going to shatter into a million fucking pieces, but I don’t give a flying fucking fuck.

‘If it would turn on … don’t you think … I’d … turn it on? You stupid … fucking … whore!’

‘Did you press the button?’

I bite my hand and head for the door. Someone has got to sort this out. Into the corridor and all I can see are shit-for-brains scruff-bag people trudging up and down like mobile sacks of shit. I stop one.

‘Who’s in charge?’

He looks at me for a while, shrugs and moves on. I stop another, but it’s the same. All I see are blank faces and dull eyes. I walk down the corridor. It’s very long; the green carpet is badly worn, the walls are dirty cream white and each brown door looks exactly the same, except the number in the middle.

Eventually, in the middle of the long corridor, I come across a desk set into the wall. It’s in an alcove, so it can’t be seen until you’re on top of it. There’s a man dressed in the familiar grey uniform. He doesn’t look much older than me.

‘Scuse me?’

‘Yes?’

‘There’s something wrong with my tele.’

He looks up at me.

‘Will someone have a look at it?’ I ask.

‘What’s your number?’

I blink at him.

‘I need your number, or we won’t know which tele it is.’

‘The door number?’

He nods. I didn’t check the door number.

I march back up the corridor, find an open door and walk in. I stop dead, wanting to back out, but I’m frozen to the spot. Two women in uniform are crowding around the bottom end of a woman. The woman’s face gets me: the expression is just like Claudia’s: lifeless and dead. A nurse is injecting something into the woman’s arm. I watch the dirty white fluid disappear into her body. The two women are moving again and I see a flash of skin colour against her hairy fanny: it’s a baby.

‘Oh fuck!’

They look at me, backing out the door. I slowly close it, listening, but there’s no sound. The zombies are still walking up and down, empty people with no place to go. It’s hard to breathe as I bump along the walls until I find another open door. I push it open, taking a sharp breath as I enter.

There’s a zombie man on top of Claudia, screwing her with small, sharp thrusts. It’s like a fucking nightmare, but surely I must wake up in a minute. I rush forward and pull at the man’s bony shoulders. His breathing is short and rhythmic, matching his strokes. I yank at him, but he’s impossible to move. With an almighty effort, he falls off Claudia. I pull him towards me, rolling him off the edge of the bed, letting him drop to the ground with a thud. He remains still for a moment, gets to his feet and leaves.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

She says nothing for a moment. ‘What?’

‘What are you doing? Who was that? Why were you letting him fuck you, Claudia?’

She shrugs.

I look by the door, but there’s no key or anything else that would stop someone coming in and helping themselves to my bird. I can’t have a broken tele though … no way. I close the door and look at her. My bird? My bird? She can’t be “my bird”. It’s supposed to be different, not like this. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be like, but it’s definitely not this. It can’t be. I never asked my mum what it was like for her, or what it should be like for me. I think they tried to tell me at school, but I never listened much to those fucking teacher bastards.

I try the tele again. I try it ten times: different sockets, holding the button in, removing the DVD, removing the Gamestation, moving the tele across the room. Could it be the fuse? With a cutlery knife, I swap the fuse with the Gamestation plug, then the plug itself. No good, the tele is definitely broken. I can’t understand it – we just got here. How can it be broken? It doesn’t make sense.

I open the door to our small bathroom. It’s dingy, all white and in need of a clean. The white plastic toilet seat is cracked and the bottom of the basin is brown. I flush, but it’s still brown. Into the main room, I drag Claudia to her smelly feet.

‘What is it?’

‘I need you to go in the bathroom and lock the door.’

‘Why?’

‘I just do. Just go in the bathroom and close the door. Don’t unlock the door until I tell you.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it.’

‘But why?’

‘Look, Claudia, just go in the fucking bathroom and lock the fucking door, okay?’

She looks as vacant as ever. I shove her in the bathroom and close the door. Nothing.

‘Lock the door, Claudia. Lock it!’

The lock snaps into place. With a sigh, I check the door number and march back to the guard.

‘It’s seventeen.’

‘What is?’

‘My door number.’

‘Good for you,’ he says, and resumes his paperwork.

‘I told you my television was broken.’

‘Did you?’ he says, without looking up.

‘Yes, can you get something done?’

There’s a bit of a silence.

‘No,’ he says, looking up.

‘Why not?’

‘You need to see Maintenance.’

‘Where’s Maintenance?’

Silence, before:

‘I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t fucking know?’

His left hand flashes up and touches me with a scooze stick before I can move. My legs give way and I drop to my knees.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘It’s my first day.’

‘Can you ring someone?’

He’s ignoring me now.

‘Excuse me, can you ring someone about it?’

He looks up and sees that I am pointing to the phone.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘The phone doesn’t work.’

I look up and down the corridor. The zombies walk up and down, without looking at me kneeling at the desk. Should I go back to Claudia or try and find Maintenance? The lights flash and a voice comes over the intercom telling all family members to return to their rooms.

Back to the room and I close the door. I hate not being able to lock it. I tell Claudia she can come out now, but there’s only silence. I tell her again. Nothing. I bang on the door.

‘I’m on the toilet.’

I stand and think.

‘I’m having a poo.’

Nice.

The door opens, hitting me with a wave of shitty stink. She’s still bollock naked. She brushes past me and gets into bed. The smell stops me going in the bathroom, although I’m busting for a slash. I sit on the bed.

‘Do you wanna fuck?’

‘No, Claudia.’

I go to the bathroom door, take a deep breath and before I can move, I hear her ask why. Standing there, with my face scrunched up with the effort of keeping the clean air in my lungs, I wonder what strange feeling is troubling me. I am totally fucked off with the broken tele (and some bastard is gonna pay for that tomorrow), but there’s something, something else that’s bothering me. Searching deep down, I almost laugh when I realise I feel pity. I’ve never felt it before, and it’s a fucking shit feeling.

A loud buzzing jolts me awake. The clock says it’s seven in the AM. The AM! I can’t see how to shut it off! Claudia is still asleep, butt naked and soiled from my efforts of last night. I can’t see a shut-off switch anywhere! Wait … it’s stopped. I slip into my boxers and peer into the corridor. The zombie fuckwits are walking outside. The door is pushed towards me. I step back. It’s the guard from yesterday.

‘David! Good morning! How are you enjoying Paradise Towers?’

‘My tele doesn’t work.’

He pushes past me.

‘I see sleeping beauty is … sleeping.’

I nod, closing the door behind him.

‘I must’ve fucked her into a coma, wouldn’t you say?’

Evil bastard. He walks over and prods her stomach. He’s smiling at her fanny.

‘It’s a shame,’ he says, looking up, ‘that you’ve got to have breakfast and go see the guvna. I quite fancy waking it up with a good old rogering.’

I try and think of something to say, but the scooze stick is in the fucker’s hand.

‘Well, let’s see,’ he says, taking something from his pocket. It’s a hypodermic, filled with the dirty looking liquid that I saw yesterday.

‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing that would interest you, sonny.’

I move towards him, but he holds up the stick. I back down. He pushes the needle into her arm and pushes down slowly. She stirs, but does not wake.

‘What is it?’

‘This?’ he says, putting it in his pocket. ‘Dimetaphane. Known on the street as Easy J.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘You probably wouldn’t … it’s for women.’

Claudia stirs and opens her eyes. She smiles upwards, looking completely out of it.

‘Do you wanna fuck?’ she says.

He looks at his watch. ‘We really haven’t the time my dear. You see, it’s breakfast time, then you have an appointment with the guvna.’ He turns to me and shrugs. ‘Unless,’ he looks down at her, ‘neither of you are hungry?’ She shakes her head in a slow exaggerated movement. The man picks a familiar looking blue from his pocket and pops it into his mouth.

‘I’m hungry,’ I tell him.

‘It’d be totally rude to refuse,’ he says, pulling down his trousers and pants. He starts to fiddle with himself. I look away. ‘Watch the tele, David. Take your mind off it.’

‘It doesn’t work.’

‘Well,’ he says, kneeling on the bed, moving into position, ‘that’s hard luck.’

He moans as it starts, then he stops.

‘Do I take it you are jealous, David?’

‘No,’ I snap. ‘Why would I be?’

He goes at it with my bird for about five minutes, before he grunts to signal his finish. I hear him roll off and start putting on his clothes. He walks up to me, smelling of my woman. He smoothes the sides of his hair. It springs straight back.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘thanks for that, David. Ever accommodating. Enjoyed that.’

‘Can I just ask?’

He mumbles, tucking in his shirt.

‘What is that stuff - that Easy J - that you gave her?’

‘It’s liquid orgasm for women. It’s rife here. All the women are like Claudia. It’s pure paradise.’

I feel a strange attachment to Claudia. I don’t know why or how – and I’d like to get rid of it, but she seems almost to belong to me, to have become part of me. This man is abusing her and I don’t like it. It’s not right. It’s not like when some guys get the birds pissed on a DVD, then do them up the arse, making them scream like babies and then they all fall about laughing about it at the end – this is like rape, but she’s mine to have and to hold – not his.

‘Well, I wouldn’t say -’ I start.

‘Oh come now, David. Let’s be honest shall we? We’re all men together here.’ He kneels down to tie his laces. I wonder whether I should boot him in the face, finish him off, punish him. ‘You or I would have one orgasm, one after the other, all day long if we could, wouldn’t we? Be happy for her. Look at her. She’s a happy lady.’

I suck the front of my teeth. ‘Will it harm the baby?’

He stands and looks at me. ‘I wouldn’t think it helps, would you?’

Claudia is laying in yet another pool of sweat, her open eyes rolling around their sockets.

‘Get dressed, David.’

‘What about Claudia?’

‘I don’t think the guvna wants to see it like that. He’s not interested in people like Claudia. He would rather pump you full of Dimetaphane and make your eyes roll. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work for us mere men, so you’ll have to take it the way God intended and bite his desk to pass the time. I’ll designate her an addict. She’ll receive food rations. Don’t worry.’

Dressed and into the corridor, I close the door.

‘How can I lock that?’

‘No keys, David. It’s a rule of Paradise Towers. There has to be trust to make all this work.’

I pull at the closed door, trying to convince myself it won’t spring open and that it would somehow lock shut. One of the zombies bumps into me, spinning off and continues down the hallway.

‘These guys? What are they on? They look like people from “Dead Night Walkers” – that’s a top DVD, by the way. Have you seen it?’

‘There’s a lot of bad drugs around here. You should stay away. Come along. You’ll be for it, if you’re late.’

I pull the door again and we’re off. Down flights of stairs, corridors and then more stairs. Each passageway looks the same. He tells me there are ten floors and that I live on the seventh. The guvna is on the first floor. His door is different; it sounds heavy when knocked. We’re ushered inside by a cute bitch in sexy specs. She leaves the guard, the guvna and me alone in the posh office.

‘Mr Penbury!’

‘Good morning, Sir.’

‘And this?’

‘And this is David Hobbs, Sir.’

‘And Mrs Hobbs?’ He motions for us to sit. We sit.

‘Mrs Hobbs-to-be is a grade ten, Sir. She is at home at this minute, Sir.’

His face darkens and he sits. He makes like he is about to pray and moves his lips to the tips of his fingers. ‘I see.’ A couple of minutes pass, before he speaks again: ‘It is,’ he says, rising, ‘a rather unfortunate thing, substance dependency.’ He turns and looks out of the large window. ‘Come here, David.’

I stand and move to the window. He places his arm on my shoulders. I inwardly shrink from his fagotty talons. Down below, there’s a small park. There are people milling around the grass and the large pond that dominates the centre. I can see small children running, groups of larger children walking and everything looks sunny and happy.

‘I like to think of Paradise Towers as one large family.’ He squeezes my shoulders and motions for me to sit. I want to see more, it looks nice, so fresh and clean. Penbury is frowning and I feel I have to walk away. ‘It is never pleasant to hear of … unfortunate circumstances.’

Penbury nudges me.

‘No, Sir.’

‘Do you have substance dependency?’

‘No, Sir.’

He smiles at me. ‘Good. You have no problems?’

‘Only one.’

‘Oh?’

‘My television doesn’t work.’

‘I see. Television. Another of the world’s great evils. David, let me show you something.’

He moves over to a sideboard, where there’s a television that’s exactly the same as mine. He presses the start button – nothing. He demonstrates the television is plugged in. He tries the button again – nothing. His middle-aged body shrugs at me.

‘Yours is broken too,’ I say.

‘No, David.’

He turns back to the box and unplugs it. He lifts it into the air and drops it. It breaks in two. I wince, then peek from behind my lids and see the two halves of the tele had no guts inside of it.

‘It is a box, David. Simply a box.’ He walks back to his desk and sits down. ‘I like you, David. I feel you have had a raw deal in life and have been drawn in and saddled with a conniving, blood-sucking bitch. Would that be a fair assessment, Penbury?’

‘It would, Sir.’

‘Would it be a fair assessment, David?’

They wait for my answer. It’s a tough question. I get the feeling there’s more to it than he’s letting on.

‘No, Sir. It wouldn’t.’

The guvna lifts his head back and Penbury nudges me.

‘David,’ says Penbury, ‘I don’t think you were listening to the … to Mr Phillips.’

The guvna shifts forward and stares at me. Freaky fuckwit. He’s dreaming about my arse now, I can tell. It’s twitching with panic. If he tries anything, I’m gonna shit all over his saggy cock. Although, maybe he’d enjoy it? He lifts up his head and shakes it.

‘No, Penbury. I believe this one is trying to say the decent thing. I commend him for this. It makes me even more determined to … to offer that, which I wish to give him.’

Penbury looks at me and the corner of his mouth turns up. We watch the guvna stand and turn to the window.

‘Do you understand what this place is, David?’

‘It’s Paradise Towers.’

‘Yes, it is. But first and foremost, it is a workhouse. Do you understand what this means, David?’

I think. ‘No, Sir.’

‘Let me explain. During the descent into … into anarchy and social breakdown, our Lords and Masters developed a system whereby the population could and would take account of their actions. For this reason, single parent families were outlawed. The co-conspirators would be forced to make a union and the … the means to facilitate a family environment would be provided.’ He turns to me. ‘There would be … no excuses.’ He turns back to the window. ‘So, the workhouse was reintroduced. Nothing like the days of Queen Victoria or President Blair; it’s much more humane. So … here it is … and here you are.’ He turns back and sits. ‘For an honest day’s work, you and your family unit are provided with shelter, food, education and social stimulation. After some time, you are given the chance to earn extra money, if you excel in your chosen profession, and thereafter, should you wish, and many do not, you can accumulate enough capital to return to the outside. This is as simple as I can explain it. Do you have any questions?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘However, in your case, bearing in mind the exceptional circumstances, I am prepared to do something for you. You appear to be a healthy young man. You appear to have been tricked into … at least treated badly … by this young slapper you have knocked up. What possessed you to invade her filthy vagina, God alone knows.’ His face is reddening. He shakes his head and sounds more calm: ‘From time to time, I like to add a personal touch, to make a difference. Today is such a day. Would you like me to do this for you?’

I stay silent, thinking it’s best not to speak. Penbury nudges me. ‘Yes, Sir, thank-you, Sir,’ I say.

He smiles. ‘Good … good.’ He nods at Penbury to leave, and he does. With Penbury gone and my heart thumping as I prepare for his anal attack (“Anal Attack 3 – return of the sphincter” – there’s a great DVD), he opens a drawer and pushes what looks like a box of pills across the desk. ‘Take one.’

I take out a small white pill and push the box back towards him. I look at it and believe its function might be to relax my quivering bum muscles. It feels like I’m about to lose yesterday’s dinner anyway. I move it towards my mouth.

‘No!’ he says. ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’

‘Taking the pill,’ I say, unsteady, ‘like you said.’

‘Good heavens, sonny, no! Not you.’ He laughs and stands. ‘Give it to that worthless piece of fanny trash in your room.’

‘Oh …right … I see.’

He sits again and is looking around the room. He looks me in the eye. ‘What you have there is … well … not strictly allowed ... according to the letter of the law.’

I turn it over in my hand, it looks like one of Mum’s diet pills. They never work.

‘It’s …’ he beckons me to lean over the desk. ‘It’s an abortion pill.’

I look down at my hand. The little white blob. They even banned hospitals giving it out to stop spastic babies being born. I remember all the fucking tele about it. They said, “trust in God”. Yeah, right, trust in God to send honest people mong babies that fuck up their lives.

‘Oh come now, David. You can’t tell me you haven’t done anything illegal before?’

‘No … well … maybe, but nothing bad.’

‘And this is? You have some dirty old whore who has tricked you into impregnating its filthy fucking cunt, and you think righting the wrong is … wrong?’

This man is a little nutter. He’s on the edge. I’ve seen DVDs about crazy fucks like this bloke before. He’s licking his lips and running his hands through his thick grey hair.

I could stop the rot right here and now. I could get rid of the bun, dump the oven, get home, get my fucking life back, but … but it’s not right, it’s just not right. There’s a baby in there, my baby; and I’ve got this feeling, somewhere, telling me to help Claudia, and that there’s something that I want and need to reach. The pill is an instant fix. I look at it and think about picking it up. He’s looking at me, willing me to move, but I won’t, and now, all things considered, I can’t.

‘I do,’ I say.

He takes the pill and drops it in his drawer. His face is bright red as he calls out:

‘Penbury!’

He returns.

‘Assign Hobbs his work detail, show him the ropes. That’ll be all gentleman.’ He turns his chair to the window.

I stand and catch another glimpse through the window. The people look so bright, it’s so green. It looks good.

We leave the room. Penbury looks at me, leans over and sniffs.

‘Did he fuck you?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t hear screaming, but I thought you might be used to it.’

We go into a long room with benches across it. There’s space to walk down one side. He leads me to a chair and tells me to sit.

‘What did he want with you? Did you have to suck his cock?’

‘No!’

‘Did he suck yours?’

‘No! He didn’t fucking touch me!’

Whack!

He ignores the pounding he’s just given me:

‘So, what was it?’

‘It was private.’

He shrugs. ‘Be like that.’

‘I’m gonna work myself in, set up home and earn money to get us out of here.’

Penbury raises his eyebrows. ‘Yeah? Me and you both, pal.’

A fat woman comes up to us, wearing a white coat and a white hat that covers all her hair.

‘Is this the new one?’ she says.

‘David Hobbs,’ says Penbury.

‘What about Mrs Hobbs?’

‘Mrs Hobbs-to-be is grade ten.’

‘Shit! That is fucking shit!’ says the woman. She pulls out a scooze and sticks it in my eye. It feels like it’s gonna burst. The blinding pain! I can’t believe she just shoved it straight at me. I freeze, holding my hand over my eye, taking short breaths, feeling stuff leaking from it: blood, water or both. She didn’t pause, she didn’t give me a chance. My other hand moves to protect my head when I feel another sharp scooze to my scalp. My quick breathing has a mind of its own. I can’t believe it – people must be watching. I yelp out. I hate to admit it, but I sounded like a bitch.

‘Take it easy, Tracy, you’ll kill him,’ says Penbury.

‘Fuck off! You miserable fucking worm! I’ve got a fucking order to deliver and one of my new workers is sitting in her room, pissing fanny juice all over her sheets. I need her here!’

I’ve closed my other eye tight and turned my head as far as possible, to protect it.

‘Well,’ she says, ‘he’ll have to do her work too. Maybe that’ll make the little cunt get her fucking arse into work.’ Someone grabs me by the hair. I open my good eye, but I can only see the bench. ‘Do your fucking work properly, or I’ll burn your fucking eyes out and make you swallow them, you worthless piece of shit!’ she screams.

My good eye focuses; the other is too painful and won’t open. I see Penbury looking at me, wincing.

‘She must’ve got you right on the eyeball, David,’ he says. ‘It looks awfully painful.’ He points at the large white rump moving away from us. ‘That’s Tracy O’Neill. She’s your supervisor in Work Group G. You … best just do whatever she asks.’ He drops two boxes on the bench. ‘This is your work.’

‘What is it?’

‘In this box,’ he says, tapping the lid with his scooze stick, ‘are condoms. In this box,’ he says, tapping the other, ‘are condom packets.’ He lifts another box from the floor. ‘This box,’ he taps it, ‘is empty. I know you’re poorly educated, David, but I would guess you can work it out.’

‘I … the guvna -’

‘Mr Phillips … to you.’

‘Mr Phillips said I would have a profession.’

‘You have. You are a condom box filler.’

I touch my face. My eye is horribly swollen. I look at my fingers and see traces of blood.

‘Anyhow, I must be away. I might go and visit Mrs Hobbs-to-be.’

‘No … don’t,’ I say, one hand on my eye, looking for something in his face.

He smiles and walks away, whistling and swinging his scooze stick.