The woman behind the hatchway scanned his R-token and handed him a ribbon of pellet bags and a packet of assorted texture powders.
Lolo stepped up. ‘Any salmon powder?’
‘Sorry, sweetie, not today. Got some blueberry powder if you want. It’s quite good if you mix it with water and let it set in a mould. An ice-cube tray is best.’
‘That’s so lovely of you, thank you.’ Lolo pulled a small jar out from under the basket’s gingham cloth. ‘Almond-flavoured marshmallows. I’ve been experimenting. Let me know what you think.’
They exchanged a smile. Ollie thought the ribbon of pellet bags she gave Lolo was a lot longer than the one he’d got. He shook his head in bemusement. ‘Is there anyone in here you don’t flirt with?’
‘I’m not flirting,’ sie exclaimed in an indignant tone. ‘I’m just nice and talk to people. It wouldn’t hurt you to try it some time. We’re all in this together, you know.’
‘I talk to people. The ones I need to.’
‘Ooh, storm a-brewing. You’re so hot when you do that moody Mr Serious voice.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Mind your mouth, boyfriend. There are children in here.’
They went and queued at the counter. At the first station, they handed over a couple of the pellet bags each. Ollie looked at the labels on the powders he’d been given and dropped the one for butter chicken on the counter.
‘You’ll smell of that all night,’ Lolo complained.
‘Stop whingeing. It won’t smell or taste anything like butter chicken.’
A couple of minutes later they’d made it down to the serving station. Lolo took a pair of plates out of the basket. Ollie watched with an impassive face as the bloke behind the counter ladled a pile of gingerish slop onto his plate. It doesn’t matter; this is just what you have to do so you can rescue Bik and Gran,he told himself.
They sat down at one of the tables. Lolo made a show of taking the additional dishes sie’d prepared out of the basket, all peppy and cheerful as each one was announced. ‘I made some salad, look, and some naan bread – though to be honest, it’s more like a pizza base. And some chocolate mousse for pudding.’ Sie produced a bottle with what Ollie really hoped was apple juice, because it looked too yellow for his liking. Alcoholic drinks were banned from the community centre.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘It’s not easy, you know. I could do with some more electricity.’
‘Can’t spare any. Sorry.’
Lolo gave a martyred sigh. ‘Right.’
‘Look, I’m close, okay? Tonight should give me Larson.’
‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘I cause the hurt, remember?’
‘Ollie, please . . .’
‘Don’t worry, I’m careful. You know it.’ Ollie picked up one of the leaves from the salad dish. That was a mistake. It was basically a thin green biscuit that tasted like what he imagined raw seaweed would be when it grew next to a sewer outlet.
The tables around them started to fill up, and with it the volume of conversation rose. Kids started to run around, and older people were helped to tables by younger relatives. Several Civic Health Agency nurses worked their way along the hall, checking up on their patients, asking families if the youngsters were okay.
One couple was carrying a newborn, which Ollie frowned at. ‘How could they do that? How could they have a kid in this place?’
‘Gedd and Lillie-D? They’re sweet people, and their baby’s a real cutie. I’ve cuddled him a few times.’
‘Why? I mean, don’t they understand what’s happening? Our two chances of getting out of Blitz2 are none and fuck all. How could they bring a kid into this world?’
‘Because we can’t afford to give up hope. Just look at him; he’s so adorable. We need babies to remind us why we’re alive.’
‘That’s not hope, that’s being stupid and selfish.’ Shaking his head, he bit into another salad leaf and tried not to pull a face.
‘Evening, guys, how’s it going?’
Ollie looked up to find Horatio Seymore standing at the end of the table. The senior manager helped run half a dozen district food operations in this part of London. He’d been some kind of hotshot with the Benjamin charity in the time before. Ollie had even encountered him a few times when social agency outreach workers had tried to get Bik and his parkour équipe to come along to a youth gym. Then one other time: an unnerving not-quite-encounter along the Thames just after the last of Ollie’s Legion friends had been killed.
Which made Horatio someone who actually knew Ollie’s real face. Every time he turned up at the Bellenden Community Centre, with his neutral smile and non-judgemental attitude, Ollie’s nerves kicked in. He knew that was stupid. The fleshmask was flawless. But still . . .
‘We’re good, thanks,’ Lolo said. ‘Would you like some lemon squash?’
‘It’s lemon?’ Ollie blurted.
‘Ignore my friend, he’s such a philistine.’
Horatio’s smile became more genuine. ‘No thanks. So you’re all right? Got something to do in the day?’
‘We trade,’ Lolo said. ‘We do all right.’
‘Nothing too illegal, I hope?’
‘Absolutely not. I’m into food textures. If you’ve got some watts left in a quantum battery, that’s my payment; I can work up most flavours. Vegetables are a speciality – no offence to the people in here, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Horatio said. ‘Glad to hear it. But if you do ever need help, you can always call on me. I’m not official, not part of the council or police, okay?’
‘That’s very kind,’ Lolo said. ‘We need more people like you.’
Horatio nodded affably and moved on to the next table.
Ollie spooned up some more of the not-butter-chicken goop. ‘I don’t like him.’
‘He’s a good man,’ Lolo protested. ‘You’re just horribly biased against authority. Not everyone in government is automatically a corrupt fascist, you know. And anyway, you heard him – he’s not actually officialdom.’
‘Then what’s
