‘You sure you can destroy it?’ she asks Romano cryptically.
Romano nods. ‘Bring me the right explosive. Trobancubane.’
‘We must wait until they’re far enough so they don’t hear the blast.’
‘Wait. Wait,’ Romano mutters darkly. ‘That’s all you ever say.’
‘Yes. Wait!’ Meirong seizes her knife, saws into her ferry.
There is no water on the table today. Today I will have to be brave. I snatch at the red juice in the jug, pour myself half a glass. I toss it between my lips before I have time to think about the colour of blood. It strips the mucous membranes of my mouth immediately, deodorises my mouth with fake raspberry. I feel an itchy feeling deep in my brain, but there is something exhilarating about the syrupy drink. For a second, my mind is a simple fake fruit, not a tangle of trepidation, a constant jousting between pride and shame.
I take another sip, careful not to drip it on my white angel’s outfit.
A happy zing. Mmm. Interesting.
Tamba wafts in, smelling of something that clashes horribly with raspberry. He sits down in a midnight-blue shirt, looks from face to face, confused by the current of anger crisscrossing the room. ‘Any news?’
Meirong shakes her head, ‘So far, so good.’
Tamba lifts his cheese with his fingers, stares curiously at what lies beneath it. I scoop out some cubes of what might be potato, chew enthusiastically.
Meirong blazes right through the middle of hers in her orange sunset. She points her fork at Romano. ‘Either eat or get some rest.’
Romano jumps up, as if he might grab Meirong’s knife and cut her throat with it.
Luckily for him, Olivia drifts between them. ‘Mor-ning,’ she chants, like she has decided to beat up her terror with pure optimism. She sits down in her white coat. ‘Mm mm, I’m starving. I’ve been up since five.’
Romano slinks out of the room before he murders his lady boss.
Meirong frowns. ‘Take your coat off, Olivia. You smell like a pharmacy.’
Meirong is right. Even the raspberry can’t shoot through the stink. Olivia hangs up her white coat on a hook. Beneath it, she wears the crumpled green of a plant that has been trodden on. Next to me, Tamba rolls his rubber ferry and bites into it. Simple, except for the oil drip on his blue shirt.
‘Oh shit.’ Tamba tries to wipe the oil off with a serviette. ‘This shirt is bloody expensive.’
No one finds it in their heart to care about his shirt, but Tamba’s first sip of raspberry juice cheers him up. He tucks a serviette into his neck and launches at his roll like he is chewing for charity.
The raspberry juice also gives Olivia extra zing. ‘Everything is going well, don’t you think? I mean, we’re praying the search party misses us, and they will. But the subjects are all healthy. Even number two, her heart is fine now.’ Olivia’s eyes suck like a tornado in a clear blue sky. ‘Please, Meirong, can I ask you something? Please can they start with number twenty and get that lung tissue to Timmy? He’s so small, they say he only needs a piece. I’m just so scared something happens and we miss it by a day.’
‘Uhh.’ Meirong chews. ‘Maybe.’
Olivia’s green clothes uncrease before my eyes, as if she has had two days of watering and photosynthesis. ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you!’
‘Maybe. I can’t say for definite. I’ll have to ask Mr Carreira.’
Meirong drops her fork as if the bell has rung for the end of the chewing marathon. She gets to her feet. Olivia grabs Meirong’s hand floating near her ear. Meirong pulls free, slips away from Olivia’s supplicating spine, her fluttering fingers, her frail green hope that a single day of drought could annihilate.
I finish my red drink, smile at Janeé as if to say, Thanks for this lovely drink. It brings a scritchy scratchy sensation but goodness me . . .
Janeé stares at my cheese. ‘Malachi?’
I pat my stomach, keep the crazy red smile up, bestow her with fake raspberry happiness.
Tamba tugs the serviette from his neck. ‘Me too. My stomach has shrunk.’
Janeé stares suspiciously at the two of us.
‘Any chance of a coffee bomb?’ Tamba asks.
‘No,’ Olivia interrupts. ‘You’re already twitchy, Tamba.’
Tamba shakes his head, lies brazenly. ‘Coffee actually calms me.’
‘Please, Tamba. Everything’s going so nicely.’
But Olivia didn’t hear me roar like a lion last night. She didn’t see three grown people giggling like they were drunk on Granny Elizabeth’s acetati.
‘What do you say, Janeé?’ Tamba begs shamelessly.
‘Sorry. All gone.’
Tamba drops his forehead to the table. ‘Arghh.’
He drags his feet from the canteen. Twitchy. Definitely.
Not me. I seem to be on a high induced by the raspberry drink. I have the sudden weird strength to touch Olivia’s shoulder, give it a squeeze with my smooth, plastic-wrapped hand. Three more days, Olivia, I would dearly love to say. I follow after Tamba’s midnight-blue mood.
* * *
I swing into our room, scrub my teeth. Rub at the red stain that looks like a damp-lipped woman just kissed me. It won’t come off. I smile helplessly in the mirror. My grandfather’s eyes smile back at me.
I shrink away from them, hurry down the corridor.
Yesterday was Araba’s rubbery breasts. Today my grandfather’s eyes are teasing me.
Whatever is haunting me has a gravely stupid sense of humour.
* * *
I hesitate at the steel door. I have no words prepared on my plastic voicebox, but I feel light on my feet today. Partly sunny, they might say on one of those vague forecasts. Partly haunted. I make one more attempt to rub my red-stained lips. I raise my key card, turn the red light green. Open the
