Page 53 of The Compound

“I’d been there for a while, and eventually they trusted me to do the cashing up in the evenings.

We took in more money than you’d think in a day.

I got a commission too, which was nice. If a girl came in on her own you could usually make a little sale, if you did their makeup nicely and complimented their skin.

It was better if a man came in, because they never had a clue, and if you shook your head and gave them a certain look they’d be shamed into spending more.

But the best was when a girl would come in with her man.

I always took my time then, when I did her makeup.

I’d pick the nicest colors and blend it so carefully; it looked like a second skin.

And she’d look so beautiful when I was done, and her man would look at her and pay whatever she wanted.

Mind—I think it wasn’t that he handed over the money because of how good she looked.

I think it’s because a man will do a lot if they think that a girl can’t do without them: the girl had to have the makeup, and he had to be the one to give it to her. ”

“Could you get to the point, please.”

“Well, as I said, eventually I was allowed to cash up at night. At first, I did it with someone else, and then I did it on my own. Sometimes it was fine, but sometimes it was wrong—the numbers weren’t right.

I’d stay there for ages after closing, trying to make it right.

Well, eventually I stopped trying to sort it out.

Nothing seemed to happen either way. Wasn’t that stupid of me?

After a couple of months, the accountant rang the manager and said they’d noticed that the figures were off when I was closing.

The manager accused me of stealing from the till.

I was outraged at the accusation and threatened to quit.

Then they looked at the camera footage, and said that they knew I wasn’t stealing.

But they couldn’t understand why the numbers were consistently being filed incorrectly.

The manager, owner, and accountant made me go through exactly how I did it, with a calculator, and I was talking for ages, going through it step by step, and when I finally looked up, I saw that the accountant was staring at me, and the others just looked embarrassed.

I’d been adding up the numbers wrong, you see.

Some of the numbers the computer does automatically, and some you need to add up yourself, with the calculator.

But I had been adding up those ones wrong.

Simple stuff, too. Simple enough that I didn’t realize I needed a calculator.

I thought that six plus seven was fourteen, and I thought that eight and nine was sixteen.

The accountant had to tell me that my addition was wrong.

I asked if I was in trouble, and they said no, but I’d better stick to only doing makeup.

The seventeen-year-old school dropout does the cash instead, now. Well, isn’t that embarrassing?”

He looked uncomfortable. I finished my glass of champagne.

I dearly would have liked another glass, but I wanted to stay as alert as possible.

He held his half-full glass in both hands, as though worried that I might reach across and take it from him.

He topped up his own glass and not mine, then ate a few more bites of his dessert.

Then he said, “I’m going to check and see if the big screen is back on. ”

He was gone for only a few seconds. While I was telling my story, the sun had set, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. We would have to go in soon. He returned, but didn’t take a seat, and instead took his glass of champagne and drank it, standing. “Well?” I said. “Is it on, yet?”

He nodded. I tried to keep my face neutral.

“What’s the task?”

“Guess to the nearest hour how long until Christmas Day. Stupid, isn’t it?”

“What’s the reward?”

“Warm clothes, it said.”

I ate a strawberry and thought about it for a while. When the taps were turned off, we were offered water. If we were being offered warm clothes, the weather was set to turn.

I only had to guess the closer number, and he would be gone. But—amath problem. I had walked into that one. We both looked at each other, thinking. It was clear enough, then, who they wanted to win.

“How long is it until Christmas, do you think?” I asked.

To my surprise, he laughed. “Do you think I’m going to answer, just like that? And you give an answer that’s closer, and I’m banished before I know what’s what. You’re funny, Lily. You’re very funny. I’ll bring the dishes in, you can clean.”

—

Once the dishes were clean, I took my time wandering around downstairs. Tom showered every night before bed for roughly twelve minutes. The shower was high-pressured and extravagantly loud. I could go out then, but not a minute before.

While I was waiting I put the rest of the steaks in a plastic bag and left them on the counter, ready to go as soon as I heard the water turn on. As quietly as I could, I moved from room to room and closed each window. I found Jacintha’s garden shears, and left them out on the counter too.

While I was waiting, I thought about months and days and hours.

What date had Becca said that it was? And how long ago had that been?

How could I not know when Sam had left? I had a vague idea, but the numbers became confused in my head.

If it was early October, and there were, say, twelve weeks until Christmas, then that would be twelve multiplied by seven, which would then have to be multiplied by twenty-four.

I couldn’t think of it: I was too nervous, jumping at every sound from overhead.

At last, I heard the shower turn on. I grabbed the bag of meat and the shears, and ran.

I went out the back, locking the door behind me.

I hurried past the delivery area, the tennis court, and on to the southern perimeter.

Despite my momentum, despite the blood rushing in my ears like a soldier’s song, I hesitated at the boundary.

I didn’t know how far I’d have to go, and I worried that I would be considered banished if I went too far. Hadn’t Susie done it? Couldn’t I, then?

Using the shears, I cut the barbed wire in a number of places, making as wide a gap as I could.

In my haste I cut my hand on one of the barbs.

I cried out, and tried to swallow any further noises, but it hurt, and I looked at it with panic.

The blood fell steadily from my palm, and I thought for a moment, then clenched my jaw and reached out with my other hand, slicing it open on the barbed wire, too.

Blood fell in great drops from both hands now, and I ducked out under the wire.

The desert beckoned me, the orange moon glowing softly overhead, casting the sand in gold.