The Mall (24 page)

I could get used to this.

I sit back in the booth and take a deep drag on the Turkish cigarette. I picked up a carton from Emfyseema, after I’d checked out the sale in Jean-Pool. The picture on
the fag box is almost laughably graphic: a man lying in a hospital bed, his legs gorily amputated, but who cares?

Not me.

My feet are killing me – I’m still battling to get used to the boots’ high heels – and my arms are aching from the weight of the bags I’ve been carrying around. But
it’s a different sort of ache, almost comforting, as if I’ve achieved something. Which I suppose I have. Who knew I was such a natural at this shopping thing? I take a sip of champagne
and mentally tot up my acquisitions. Not a bad haul. Practically a brand new wardrobe, plus there’s the water bed, the kid-leather lounge suite and the sheepskin rug I just had to have the
second I saw it. I’ll need a table of some sort, but I’ve got my heart set on that see-through glass one I saw at Four Legs. Should I get it now? What if someone else nabs it in the
meantime? My stomach squirms with anxiety at the thought, but I decide to finish my fag first.

‘More champagne, madam?’

I nod and the waiter refills my glass. I try not to stare at the huge scab on the back of his neck as he wanders away. It’s his choice, though, right? At least that’s what Horrible
Rat Woman said. The bubbles tickle my nose, and my head buzzes pleasantly. I’d discovered the oyster and champagne bar next to the lingerie emporium (Slut Bucket), and the waiter had almost
fainted with delight as I’d followed him inside.

This is the life.

Of course, it isn’t really a life at all, is it?

‘Whatever.’

The orange couple I’d seen earlier look over from their place at the bar and raise their champagne glasses to me. I smile back at them, light another cigarette with my brand new Zippo, and
wrap a strand of my new hair extensions around my fingers. The hairdresser suggested I get my nails done next, and she might have a point. My bitten nubs don’t really go with the look, and a
full set of red talons is a tempting proposition. And I should really check out that waxing place next to the Hippie Titus tattoo parlour.

The couple slide from their stools and clack their way over to my booth.

‘Can we join you?’ the man says in a lispy, oddly high voice.

‘Please,’ I say. I glance at his feet. The toes of his shoes are filed to a sharp point. Something shifts in my head, but I push it away. I can’t stop thinking about that
table. It really would go perfectly.

The Shoppers sit down in front of me, squashing their bags around their legs. Now I’m up close to them, I can really see the amount of work they’ve had done. Tiny white scars nick
the corners of the woman’s eyes where they’ve clearly been uplifted, and scar tissue scores the man’s forehead as if he’s had major surgery. Which I suppose he has. The top
of his head bulges. Has he had some kind of bony prosthesis added there? Several expensive-looking watches are looped around the stump of the woman’s arm. She catches me looking at them and
smiles.

‘Charles Pratt,’ she says. ‘Best in the mall. You
must
shop there.’

The man nods and grins broadly, showing off his black gums that I now realise are tattooed. ‘Yes. You must.’ He strokes the woman’s arm. ‘Leletia is their
mascot.’

‘Their what?’

‘We were just saying,’ the man says as if I haven’t spoken, ‘that you would make the perfect mascot for Skin Deep.’

‘Your skin,’ the woman says, gazing at the scar. ‘It’s so beautiful.’

‘Have you been assigned yet?’ the man asks.

‘Um. No. Not that I know of.’

‘Well, you must go there straight away. You can’t be a Shopper without advertising, can you? Not unless you
want
to depreciate.’

They share a chuckle.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ I say. ‘This depreciate thing – what exactly does it mean?’

You already know, Rhoda. Don’t be dense.

The woman frowns and glances at her companion in confusion.

‘I’m new here,’ I say. ‘Don’t know all the rules yet.’

‘Depreciation is a matter for the Management. They decide when, of course.’

‘Right. And what actually happens to you?’

‘You get sent to the terminal Wards, of course!’ the woman says cheerfully.

The man taps the top of his head, tracing a finger around the scar where his hairline would be. ‘For recycling.’

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

The woman smiles sympathetically and touches my arm. ‘But don’t worry, it takes ages to depreciate.’

‘How long?’

‘That all depends on your purchasing output. And if you get a mascot contract you can extend your Shopping life for much longer.’

‘We must fly,’ the man says. ‘Shopping waits for no man, as they say!’

They get to their feet, struggling with the bulging bags.

‘And remember,’ the woman says as they head out. ‘Skin Deep. You’ll be perfect!’

My phone beeps. I scramble though my bags trying to remember which one I’d dumped it into. I finally locate it in the zip-up pocket of my new silk evening purse.

Will you listen now?

‘Listen to what?’

To what I’ve been telling you. Time to snap the fuck out of it. If you don’t leave now you’re dead, Rhoda. DEAD.

‘You don’t know that for sure.’

And what about Dan?

‘Dan can look after himself.’

Okay. If you don’t care about Dan, what about the kid?

‘What kid?’

The waiter is watching me curiously. I’ve been speaking out loud again.

THE KID! THE FUCKING KID! THE KID WHO’S THE REASON YOU’RE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!

Oh fuck. I haven’t thought about him in Christ knows how long.

What the hell was I thinking?

And what the fucking hell am I doing?

I stand up, sending my champagne glass flying across the table.

Goth retard girl smiles at me vacantly as I race into the phone shop, stumbling in the unfamiliar boots, no sign of recognition on her stupid face. Mind you, what with the fake
hair and bling clothes I must look like a completely different person.

‘Hello, ma’am!’ she says cheerily. ‘How wonderful to see you! May I—’

‘Where the fuck is Dan?’ I snap.

Her smile slips slightly. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am?’

‘Cut the crap!’ I reach across the counter and grab the front of her T-shirt, pulling my face close to hers. ‘Where. The. Fuck. Is. Dan?’ I grab her shoulder and shake
her roughly, but she continues to stare blankly back at me. ‘I know you know where he is. Now tell me!’

Around me there’s the beep-beep-beep as every phone flashes into life.

‘I think that’s for you, ma’am!’ the girl says.

My own phone beeps and vibrates in the pocket of my leather jacket. But fuck that, I’m not going to play their game any longer.

I decide to try a different tactic. I slap a smile onto my face. ‘I need help. Last time I was here I was with a guy. Tall, longish black hair. Real coffin kid, you know.’

‘I do?’

Deep breath. Don’t give up.

‘He was a… a… brown, like me.’

‘But you’re a Shopper.’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘but I wasn’t always.’

Now
, that
didn’t sound totally schizo
.

She clicks her fingers as if she suddenly understands. ‘You want to return something?’

That’s it. If I stay here a second longer I’m going to punch her in the fucking face. I hare out of the shop.

I skitter down the aisle, ignoring the smiles and admiring glances of the other Shoppers and wannabes, all of whom are lugging bulging plastic bags or pushing trolleys piled high with shit. How
can I have taken their various plastic surgeries or injuries for granted for the last few hours?

Duh. Brainwashed, that’s what you are.

I can’t argue with that.

‘Ma’am!’ a shop assistant calls from the doorway of a boutique selling complicated and painful-looking bondage gear. ‘We’re having a sale!’

‘Fuck off!’ I snap at her as I pass.

‘Thank you for your time, ma’am!’ she calls after me.

I’ve got myself into such a state that I race past the bookshop, and have to double back.

Please be there, Dan,
please
!

Might be too little too late. Prepare yourself.

The store looks empty, but I can make out a figure behind the counter – a tall figure with long dark hair. Thank Christ.

‘Dan!’ I yell.

He looks up.

‘Oh thank God!’ I say as I race up to him, now completely out of breath.

He stares at me, eyes blank. I’m not sure what’s worse – his zombie stare or the fucking awful clown suit he’s wearing. But maybe he just doesn’t recognise me.

‘I know – the hair, right? Look, don’t ask. Now, get your arse into gear, we have to get the fuck out of here.’

He stares back at me vacantly, and then a grin spreads across his face. ‘Good day, ma’am,’ he says. ‘How may I help you?’

Oh shit. They’ve got to him. ‘It’s me, Rhoda!’ I yell into his face. ‘You know, scruffy Rhoda who kept telling you to fuck off?’

He pushes a pile of books towards me. Their covers are emblazoned with Day-Glo stickers: Buy one, get three free, publishers clearing house. Wow. That’s a good deal. But I’d have to
get a bookcase, and I’m sure I—

RHODA!

Christ. I tear my eyes away from the books. ‘Come on, Dan, say something!’

For a second I think I can make out the glimmer of recognition in his eyes. I reach over and slap him on the cheek. ‘Dan! Come on! Snap out of it!’

He shakes his head, as if he’s trying to clear it. There’s a filthy bandage taped to the back of his head, and my stomach slips as I take in the dark brown and pus-yellow stains on
it.

‘Oh fuck,’ I breathe. ‘What have they done to you?’

‘Rhoda?’ he says in a small, tired voice.

‘Yes! It’s me!’

He pauses, drops his head, and then raises it again, the inane grin back on his face. ‘Would you like to hear about our latest bestsellers?’

chapter 22

DANIEL

‘Would you like to hear about our latest bestsellers?’ I’m pleased with myself. I feel like I’ve chosen the exact right words.

The Shopper gives me an angry glare but her rage only pumps more calm through me. She’s saying something else but I can’t really understand it because it doesn’t seem to have
anything to do with our product range. I listen for keywords.

The Shopper grabs my shirt. I can smell the delicious fragrance of her perfume. Touched by a Shopper on my first day! I hope the Representative is watching this! ‘… you don’t
frhak dfao jakdgf, I Wilbur you…’

‘Wilbur Williams? We have it. We have most of his backlist too. The new one is only due at Creditmas, but we have his latest in paperback.’

‘… gadtggg hut the fuck up, Dan fgakst…’

‘Oh, yes. We do have it:
Shut the Fuck Up and Earn
. It’s currently on our business promotion and you get fifteen per cent off and bonus loyalty points with every
purchase.’

She removes her talons from my shirt and smooths it down over my chest. ‘Did you say bonus loyalty points?’ Now I can hear her.

‘Yes, ma’am. Double bonus points.’

‘And what can I do with the points?’ The Shopper starts to breathe more heavily, the satiny green of her dress rising and falling with each breath. It’s almost time to close
the deal.

It’s Rhoda, you fucking idiot. What have they done to her?

‘You get Book Bucks towards the purchase of your next book. Ma’am, our loyal Shoppers are very important clients. I can tell just by looking at you that you would spend your Book
Bucks most elegantly.’

The Shopper smiles. ‘Do you get a card?’

What have they done to her?

‘Oh yes, ma’am. It’s a very attractive one.’ I pull one of the glittery, violet loyalty cards from under the register. She reaches out for it. I giggle coyly and snatch
it away and slip a form and a pen in front of her. ‘Just your details and signature, ma’am, and it’s all yours.’

What have they done to you? Rhoda?

‘Rhoda?’

A contraction jolts down my brain stem. I must have said something wrong but I can’t remember what it was. The service enhancer will keep me in check.

The Shopper looks at me and puts down the pen, shakes her head like she’s trying to dislodge something out of her ears. Kark, I’m losing her. They would be so proud of me if I sign
up a Shopper on my first day. But now I’ve done something disregardful and I’m losing her.

‘Ma’am, has my service disappointed you? I will try harder. Or I may direct your custom to an officer you feel may better serve you.’

‘… ffgsak dghjcoo msbudgscx…’ The Shopper shakes her head and stalks away.
Rhoda. It’s me, Dan. Help me.

Kark! I’ve lost her. So close. So karking close.

My phone beeps. The message contains the code for my thirty-moment victual break. I start copying it from my phone to my anklet and
don’t just stand there idiot. You’re off shift.
Go and find Rhoda
I’m not sure whether to click out, because it is rated as highly disregardful to move from behind the register when you are on a register shift. If I work hard enough,
if I sign up some Shoppers and make high-percentile sales, then perhaps I will be assigned a merchandising shift. How long will it take before I get a merchandising shift? That’s a reward
worth working towards! How exciting it will be to
Shut the fuck up for Christ’s sake! Move! If you lose Rhoda now, it’s your last chance gone.

Gordon arrives to cover me while I am on victual break.

‘You’re on break, Darneel.’ I admire his suit and his neat hairstyle while he speaks.

‘Oh. I wasn’t sure what to… I didn’t want to disregard…’

‘You browns are a spasm. It’s disregard
not
to go on break. Off you go. You only have twenty-eight moments left.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ I remember how to walk. I’m so pleased to have such reassuring colleagues. I am really loving my first day on the job.