Seated on an old plastic chair, Pandora brought her daughter to her breast and allowed her to suckle. Alexander leant against the wall by the door and watched the young woman feed her child.

  Tending to Pandora had awakened the unexpected in him: a sense of purpose. Of course, such had not always been the case. Sleep-deprived and frustrated, he had at first resisted the responsibility. Christmas had been just around the corner and, tired from the task of university, he had longed for little more than the soft comforts of a warm bed and the muted watercolour tones of cannabis. That had soon changed. And so, his actions — once aimless, clumsy, boyish — had become deliberate, so much so that he was now starting to believe that, maybe, somehow, he could make a difference. That’s why I turn the cameras off. He didn’t want anyone — his father, his grandfather — commenting on what he was doing. The moment it became theirs, it would stop being his. Besides, he was always careful to do it when everyone else was asleep. Unless they had reason to check, they would never look.

  Pandora’s baby, who she had named Petal, played with her mother’s hair as she drank. She was much bigger than she had been only a few short weeks ago and when he looked at her, Alexander couldn’t help but feel proud at having been a part of her development. Her eyes were big and blue, like her mother’s, and her cheeks were chubby and dimpled. Sitting in the chair, Pandora whispered to her as she nursed, and, at one point, the child seemed to react to her name.

  ‘Did you see that?’ Alexander asked, stepping away from the door.

  Pandora looked up at him. ‘What?’ she replied.

  He nodded at the baby. ‘I think she recognised her name.’

  She turned her face back to her daughter. Her mouth close to the infant’s scalp, she whispered, ‘Petal,’ and again, ‘my Petal.’ The second time, the baby turned, her mother’s teat still between her lips.

  ‘There,’ Alexander said, moving closer.

  Pandora looked at him and smiled. ‘She knows who she is.’ Her eyes widened with delight.

  He was sure she didn’t understand — didn’t even question — why she received preferential treatment over her peers. As they slept, she was given precious minutes with her child, feeding her, clutching her, singing to her. Minutes that the others would never get. They were expected to give the milk that was meant for their babies to Robert. Only then would he reward them with access.

  Alexander knew he could never explain to her why. And yet, as feeble-minded as she was, she was perfect.

  ‘She’s a gift.’ In the chair, Pandora was still looking up at him. ‘She’s a gift,’ she repeated, her face flooded with joy as her baby continued to suckle. With wide, heaven-heavy eyes, she asked Alexander if he would like to hold her.

  Smiling, he shook his head. ‘Let her finish.’

  It was miraculous. In spite of everything, each kindness — however negligible on his part — she multiplied ten-fold. That’s why she kissed me. She may not have had much to offer him, but what resources she did possess were hers to gift.

  A few more minutes and Petal had finished. Pandora held her to her chest and started rubbing her back. The child hiccuped and cooed, her little fists opening and closing as her mother told her how much she loved her and how much of a cherished thing she was. Eventually, she looked up from the child and once again asked Alexander if he would like to hold her. He shook his head.

  ‘I have to go soon.’

  She nodded as if she understood and then returned to her baby, lifting her up and making her giggle.

  The apple Alexander had brought from the house was on a shelf, where Pandora had placed it after he had given it to her. ‘If you want it, you should eat it before I take you back,’ he said and inclined his head towards the fruit.

  Pandora looked up and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He passed it to her, and she adjusted her baby so that she could hold the apple in one hand and Petal in the other.

  ‘Can you manage?’ he asked as he watched her struggle.

  She nodded, but he could see Petal squirming in her arm.

  ‘Here,’ he said, taking the apple back. ‘I’ll cut it up for you.’

  He left her in the storage room whilst he went to the kitchen to get a knife and plate. The door only pulled to, he knew Pandora wouldn’t try to leave. She had her baby, and what more could her simple mind desire?

  He held the plate for her as she ate, a slice at a time. She offered a piece to her daughter, and let her suck on the fruit until juice dribbled down her chin. Pandora grinned, looking up at Alexander to show him her child’s sticky face. He matched her smile and nodded. Petal giggled and bounced on her mother’s lap. They both looked so innocent. How do they even exist?

  When only a few slices of the apple remained, Pandora said she was finished.

  ‘You eat the rest,’ she said to Alexander, her eyes on her child.

  He looked at the plate. Alongside the slices were the soggy remains of the piece Pandora had offered to Petal. He thanked her and said he would after he had taken her and her daughter back to their respective rooms. Sleepy and full of milk, Petal went back peaceably, as did her mother, who was giddy after having spent time with her child. Alexander instructed her to go back to her bed, telling her that he would see her again next week. She smiled and thanked him as she moved across the room. He put his finger to his lips and nodded, encouraging her to be quiet so as not to wake the others. She did as he said and went back to her bed.

  Before he left, he tidied the storage room. The plate with the apple was on the shelf. He picked it up and took it to the kitchen. There, he opened the bin and scraped the remains of the food into it.

  By the time Robert woke to milk the freshers, all the cameras in C Building were on, and the key to the Seat was back where he had left it, hanging in the hallway next to the front door. Outside on the driveway, Alexander’s little red car was gone.

  Thirty-Five

  Little men hate, bigger men pity, great men try to understand.

  Robert put down his pen and leant across his desk to tilt the monitor. A cloud had drifted, exposing the Sun, and the light coming through the window was causing a glare on the screen. A tweak and it was corrected. The image came back into view. A man, naked from the waist down, sat on a bed as a woman, also mostly naked, watched him from the opposite corner of the room.

  ‘Still no movement,’ Robert mumbled to himself and picked up his pen. An old gold-plated fountain pen, he had used it since he was a boy. Decades later, it had a tendency to leak ink over the top of the nib.

  There was a knock on the door. He looked up from his work and saw Sophie enter. She was carrying a tray. On it, a plate containing a sandwich and a cup of tea, balanced atop a saucer with two biscuits tucked against the rim. Robert smiled at her as she set it down on the desk next to him.

  ‘Thank you, my darling.’

  She squeezed his shoulder and moved back to the door. Before she left, she stopped, as if remembering something, and turned to her husband.

  ‘I forgot to mention,’ she said, resting her hand on the door, ‘one of the hens must have got out in the night.’

  Robert glanced up from the desk.

  ‘I found her under a hydrangea.’

  ‘Alive?’

  Sophie’s face was sombre.

  Robert sighed. ‘A fox, no doubt. How terrible.’ He turned in his seat. ‘Do you need me to clean it up?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve taken care of it. I got Guinevere to help.’

  ‘I bet she was pleased.’

  ‘It’s good she sees these things,’ Sophie replied, then dropped her hand to her side and walked back over to the desk. Funereal, she said, ‘There were feathers everywhere.’

  Robert reached to touch her hand. ‘I’m sure it was quite a gruesome sight,’ he said softly. ‘I shall take a look at the coop when I’m finished here — check there’s not a hole in the wire.’

  Sophie rested against the edge of the desk, careful not to knock her husband’s food. ‘Thank you, dear.’ She tidied a strand of his hair and he smiled at her before returning to his work, taking a sip from the cup on the tray in between pen strokes.

  On the monitor, there was movement. The woman, who had been sitting on the floor, stood up and stretched her legs, and then walked along the edge of the room to the other corner. On the bed, the man stayed seated, but watched as the woman moved.

  ‘Has he done it yet?’ Sophie asked, looking at the screen.

  Robert raised his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘he hasn’t.’

  She sighed. ‘Perhaps he wasn’t the correct choice afterall.’

  The woman was on the floor again, her back to the corner of the room. The man on the bed kept watching. She looked at her feet.

  Robert shook his head. ‘No, he is the right choice. He just needs to be motivated.’

  Leaning back in his chair, he reached for the plate. Sophie had cut the sandwich into triangles, and he selected his first and brought it to his lips. The bread was light and fluffy. ‘Since you seem to be staying, my darling,’ Robert said after he had swallowed his first bite. ‘You might like to help me.’ She asked him what he needed. He took another bite. ‘When I’ve finished this,’ he said, swallowing, ‘I shall go in with him.’

  Sophie frowned. ‘To talk with him again?’

  ‘No.’ Robert reached for another triangle. ‘I’ve given him enough of my words. My patience is wearing thin.’

  His wife pressed her lips together.

  ‘After he’s done it once,’ Robert continued, ‘he’ll realise there’s no shame in it, and then we can move on from all of this.’ He gestured to the screen and took another bite.

  Still resting against the desk, Sophie adjusted herself. ‘I don’t know, Robert,’ she said and placed her hand on the side of his neck, ‘you need to be careful with him. You know how upset he was the last time you—’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Robert said, ‘but I think I understand him better now.’ He reached for his tea. ‘Did you make these?’ he asked, nodding at the biscuits. Sophie said she had and he smiled. ‘I am very fortunate, thank you.’ Pinching it between his forefinger and thumb, he dunked the biscuit into the tea before bringing it up to his lips. The end, buttery and sweet, started to crumble as he lifted it from the cup, so he quickly put it into his mouth whole. When he had swallowed, he spoke again. ‘Clifford is not someone who understands any level of reasoning. I see this now.’ A crumb had fallen onto his shirt and he brushed it away with his hand. ‘Whereas some of the others see sense — even if it’s just a modicum — he is,’ Robert paused to consider his words before continuing, ‘he is much more primal in the way that he thinks.’

  Sophie leant forward, listening.

  ‘He deflects,’ Robert pointed at the man on the screen. ‘Humour — or attempts at it, anyway. Nonchalance. He acts as though he doesn’t care, and that there is nothing that I can say or do to make him care, when, in fact,’ Robert looked up at his wife, ‘there is.’

  ‘What are you saying, dear?’

  ‘I just need you to be ready to let me out when I’m done,’ he said and picked up another sandwich.

  ‘Should I get Frank to help?’

  Chewing, Robert shook his head. ‘There’s no need,’ he said after he had washed the food down with a drink. ‘Besides, I sent him out in the van to get something. He’s trying to stop smoking, again, and he’s been a bother all morning.’ He straightened the cup on its saucer. ‘No doubt he will have relieved his addiction by the time he returns.’

  ‘My dear,’ Sophie said, raising her eyebrows, ‘that’s not very supportive of you.’

  Robert finished the sandwich before speaking. ‘As much as we would all like him to, the man’s too old to be changing his habits now. I’d rather he just got on with it and made himself useful again.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Your patience really has worn thin.’

  He laughed and then stood up, kissing her on the forehead as he moved to a filing cabinet. The bottom drawer, like the others, was locked, and he opened it with a key before pulling out a lacquered wooden box.

  ‘Oh, Robert,’ Sophie said, watching from the desk. ‘Must you?’

  ‘I told you, my darling,’ he replied, carrying the box over to her, ‘the man is primal. I have to speak to him in a language he understands.’

  ‘Well, I think you should at least wait until Frank’s back.’

  Placing the box on the desk, he shook his head. ‘You are all the help I need,’ he said. ‘You, and this.’

  There was a gun inside the box. A revolver with a six shot cylinder, its stainless steel barrel glinted in the sunlight that poured in through the window. Robert lifted the weapon out of its casing and pulled the hammer back to half-cock to release the cylinder. Although there was hardly ever a reason to use such a device, he knew how to if it became necessary.

  Sophie wasn’t happy, family history having made it clear just how dangerous a bull could be, but there wasn’t much use in trying to dissuade her husband. All she could do was be there for him, as he had asked.

  ‘It won’t take long,’ Robert said, pulling on his white coat and tucking the gun into the waistband at the back of his trousers. He took the last sandwich from the plate and left the room.

  He sat her down outside the door, in front of the monitor and the buttons that controlled the locks. He kissed her and she told him to be careful. He said he would and she pushed the button which unlocked the door to let him in.

  Clifford didn’t look surprised to see him. He merely inclined his head to the left, let his eyes pass over the man in the white coat, and then looked away. In the corner, the woman was panicked.

  Robert moved to the centre of the room. ‘You disappoint me,’ he said to the man on the bed. Eyes on the floor, he didn’t respond. His wrists were no longer in chains, but he knew there was little use in trying to fight his captor. The last time he tried, the man had come prepared. Clifford’s leg was still red and painful from where Robert had struck him with the electric prod.

  ‘You had no trouble servicing the others. I do not see why this one should be any different.’

  Behind him, the naked woman on the floor let out a sob.

  Clifford lifted his head. He looked older than he was. ‘You know why it’s different,’ he said through clenched teeth.

  Robert didn’t respond. In his hand, he held the remaining triangle of the sandwich Sophie had made him. Keeping his eyes on the man on the bed, he brought the food to his mouth and took a bite. He ate it as the man watched and the woman on the floor quietly wept. When the sandwich was gone, Robert cleared his throat and said, ‘You see, Clifford, if you don’t do this, then you are of no use to me.’

  He was quick to pull the gun. A hand under his coat and he was holding it, his dominant hand wrapped around the handle and the barrel firmly pointed at the man on the bed. It was crass, to threaten like that, but it was the only way to get him to embrace who he really was.

  Clifford’s eyes were wide and frozen and the woman’s sobbing had increased.

  ‘Do it now and we can end this conversation,’ Robert said.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ was all the man could say. ‘Crazy, really crazy.’

  Robert held the revolver steady. ‘Do it now, Clifford.’

  ‘No,’ he protested, straightening his back. ‘I won’t.’ The barrel was contacting his forehead now. Clifford’s eyes had never been so wide. ‘You’re bluffing,’ he spat at the man in the white coat. ‘You won’t do it!’

  Robert’s mouth was straight. ‘How confident are you that I won’t?’

  It was a good question, and, delivered as it was, by a man with unblinking, focused eyes, not one Clifford could really say he knew the answer to. From the bed, he looked at the woman. She was howling, hot tears streaming down her face as she pummelled the floor with her fists. With his thumb, Robert pulled the hammer back. Everyone in the room heard the gun click. Despite having been warmed against Robert’s body, the barrel was cold and stung Clifford’s skin.

  ‘Do her.’

  Slowly, Clifford pulled his head away from the gun and slid off the bed and onto the floor. Robert kept the revolver on him as he moved, crawling across the tiles to where the woman was crying. When he reached her, Clifford looked over his shoulder, as if to check that the man with the gun really was still there. Seeing him, his feet shoulder-width apart and his elbows straight, Clifford dragged in a lungful of air and snorted it out through his nostrils. His cheeks were red as he tightened his jaw. In front of him, the woman curled her body into a ball. The wall held her in place when he grabbed her, the corner of the room, which she had thought a friend, turned traitorous, transforming from a place of safety to one of horror. With rough hands he snatched at her bare legs, forcing them apart so that he could enter her. Screaming, he had her on her back, her balled fists imprisoned against the hard tiles by his. Another lungful of air and he pried her open.

  A series of indelicate convulsions and it was done.

  His skin bristling with perspiration, Clifford dragged himself away from the woman, she quiet and shaking against the wall. Robert lowered the gun and stepped away.

  ‘That was not so difficult in the end.’

  The other said nothing.

  Three strides and Robert was at the door. He knocked on it and the electronic lock clicked instantly. Before he left, he turned his head to the man on the floor and smiled. It was a nice smile. ‘You will eat well tonight,’ he said to him.

  On the floor, Clifford’s mouth was closed. As the man in the white coat left the room, he couldn’t help but turn to look at the woman, crumpled, sobbing on the floor.