Page 61 of The Compound

“Oh,” she said. I could hear the sounds of our kitchen: the splash of water in the sink, the rumble of the kettle.

“Have you not been watching the show?”

“I watched an episode or two. It wouldn’t be my kind of thing.”

I can’t say how I’d wanted the phone call to go.

I felt a little as I had when I was a teenager, terribly drunk at a party, calling her to collect me.

I remembered the feeling exactly: standing outside, wobbling in my heels, knowing she would shout at me, but thinking it seemed worth it if she would just come and getme.

“What about that boy you were with? Ryan, was it?”

“Not Ryan. Sam.”

“Sam, okay. I thought you got yourself a man and coupled up together. Is that not how it works?”

“It’s a test,” I said. I felt dreamy; I felt separate from everything around me.

I couldn’t reconcile my mother’s voice in my ear and sitting in the compound, my feet resting just beside the scum at the surface of the pool.

“You find yourself someone you want to live with, and you couple up. If you really like them, you’ll stay together, and resist the temptation of infinite rewards. ”

My mother was quiet for a few minutes. I heard a faint scrape, and a slight creak of wood. I could picture her perfectly, settling down in the red armchair by the kitchen door. It was worn and tired, and had been there since I was born.

“You’re not exactly a winner, then, are you?”

I knew, then, that my mother wouldn’t be there at the collection point, wherever it was. Andrew had said he would come, but I didn’t want to see him. He would be so disappointed in me, to see the mess I had made of the compound: how little effort I had made to keep our home as it had been.

“I might come home soon,” I said. “How are things on the outside, anyway? Has there been any trouble?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Lily. Things are the same, I suppose. The best you can hope for, with the way things are.”

I paused, then asked, “Any word on Dad?”

“No,” she said. “Still nothing.” She sounded weary, either from listening to me ask that same question again, or because she had to give the same answer.

I used to think that I had tried that life, and was sick of it.

I thought that because I didn’t want my little slice of life—sitting in front of the television, trying not to take up too much space in my mother’s house, avoiding the news yet waiting for an update on my father—that I didn’t want any of it.

But in that moment, I suddenly wanted to go to a city, and have total strangers walk right by me; I wanted to go to the sea, and let my hair be thrown about by violent, salty winds; I wanted to find Sam, and lie beside him on a tiny bed in a tiny room, and make plans for the weekend together.

“Do you think I should stay here, then?”

“Stay there? And do what?”

I picked at the laces of one of my shoes.

They were white and gleaming, fresh from the box.

“I don’t have to do anything here. I can just live in peace.

No one disturbs me. The house, the whole compound, it’s mine to do with as I want.

If I choose to leave, the next group of contestants can come and start over, like we did. ”

“And what if you decided to stay? What happens then?”

“What do you mean what happens then? I can stay here and get whatever I want just by asking for it.” There was silence for a moment.

“The house, the compound, the rewards: it’s all mine.

No one has stayed longer than six weeks.

But I think I’ll be the first. The longer you stay the more famous you become.

No one remembers the people who only stay for a few days, but everyone remembers the two girls who stayed for six weeks. ”

“Well,” she said. “If that’s what you want.”

“Hey,” I said. “Do you know—have you heard—if people, ah…like me?”

“I wouldn’t know. I really haven’t been paying much attention.

I’m sure they like you. Why wouldn’t they?

I did mean to tune in a bit more, but you know how things are with work.

I come home so tired, I don’t want to do anything.

In fact, I’d better go, it’s about time I got ready. I don’t want to be late.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“All right. Thanks for calling.” I stared unseeing in front of me, feeling hollowed out.

As soon as I hung up, the phone died. I looked at it in my hand, small and dark, like a cockroach. I hadn’t ever seen a version like it, and thought that a new model must have been released while I had been in the compound.

I went to bed, though the sun was still up.

I was cold, and wanted to cocoon myself in blankets and stare at the ceiling.

I wasn’t sure what time it was; I could have requested a clock, but I had a vague dread of seeing the slow movement of time.

I didn’t want to be reminded of how much of it had passed, and how little I had achieved.

I wondered if they would kick me out when it became clear that I wasn’t going to do anything entertaining, or if they would continue to watch me as I slept in later and later, and let myself and the compound go to ruin.

There was a shrill beeping noise from beside me.

I screamed, then immediately felt embarrassed for having reacted at all.

I looked around to see where the noise had come from.

On the other side of the bed were a number of the rewards I had requested from the past few days: eyelash serum, and batteries, and a swimming hat, and a jigsaw puzzle that I hadn’t opened, and a packet of jellybeans and a tanning glove.

I had thrown the phone in the midst of it all without really registering it.

I fished it out from among the mess and stared at the screen, lit up with a single message.

I wondered if it was my mother, remembering to tell me that she missed me.

One new voice note, the screen read. I looked at it fretfully.

I held it in my hand for a while and stared at the ceiling.

I pushed some of the things aside so I could lie comfortably on the bed. I pressed play.

“Hey,” a voice said. I paused the voice note to let myself cry, but only for a minute.

I pressed play again. “It’s Sam. I don’t know if you’re hearing this in the compound, or if you’re home again.

I’m not really sure if you’ll get to hear it at all.

I wanted to get in touch, but the producers said it wasn’t possible—then they sent me this number this morning and said that maybe you’d like to hear a familiar voice.

I hope that’s okay with you. I tried calling, but I don’t have much reception where I am.

I’m hoping this message gets to you anyway.

I’m traveling at the minute—I’m on a boat, actually.

I’m visiting an island I read about in a story when I was a boy.

I didn’t think it really existed, but I was looking at flights a couple of weeks ago, and I saw that it was only a five-hour journey from where I live.

It was weird, going home after the compound.

I thought I was looking forward to it, but I felt pretty numb for the first few days.

Someone from the show called me a week after I got out to check up on me.

I said I was okay, but didn’t really feel entirely connected to reality.

They told me that was normal, that all contestants feel that way when they come out.

Anyway, I thought that it might be good to have a change of scenery, so I sold some of the things I won—I didn’t realize how valuable some of the rewards were.

It was enough for a plane ticket, so I booked a flight and then a boat, and now I’m almost there I think.

“I’m going to travel around for a bit, and then I might work on a vineyard for a little bit.

It’ll be good for me, I think. I miss the heat of the desert: I’m cold all the time now.

I’d like to work in the sun again. I miss going inside to the shade after working outside for a long time, and your muscles are aching and there’s sweat on your face and on your back, and that feeling when you take the first drink of ice-cold water.

“I miss waking up to you beside me. Sometimes I wonder if I imagined it all, especially now, when I’m somewhere new. I miss you so much I sometimes don’t know how I’ll get through the day.

“I’d been feeling poorly for a while, even before I went on the show.

I didn’t know what I was doing with my days.

I found it hard to plan for the future. I kept thinking, why bother when we’ll probably be dead in twenty years, maybe fifteen.

I think probably all of us must have been very unhappy, otherwise why would we have done that to ourselves?

I know we told ourselves that we wanted to live peacefully, but I think we were looking for new ways to make ourselves miserable.

I did enjoy it, for a while. I was happy when I was with you.

“I’m sorry about how we left things. I’ve replayed it a thousand times, over and over. I’d do anything for a second chance with you.

“I don’t think I’ll go home for a while.

But I’d really like to see you. I don’t know what’s been going on with you—you told me not to watch, and I haven’t been on my phone much.

Or I could come and see you, when you’re out.

It’s a frightening journey, going from the compound to the pickup point.

But maybe you don’t want to see me, or maybe you’re planning on staying there for a while.

I hope you’re happy, whatever you’re doing.

“Okay, I think I’ve said enough. I’ll keep my phone on for a few days in case you want to get in touch. I love you. Bye.”

I sat in silence for a while. I pushed the things off the bed and stood up. I stretched, and looked up at the skylight, where I could see a little patch of dull blue.

I went to the screen and ordered one final thing: a sled.

Drunk one day, I had requested a car, but it was denied.

A sled was the only thing I could think of big enough to hold both all of my things and Andrew’s.

It took hours to pack. I included some pieces that other people had left behind, too: Candice’s gossamer scarf, Jacintha’s perfume, and Sam’s telescope.

I threw the dead phone onto Andrew’s monument; it was quite literally the ugliest thing that I had ever seen in my life.

I couldn’t fathom what the next group of residents would do withit.

Hauling the sled through the desert was, without question, the hardest thing I had ever done. My arms ached as they never had before, my back tense and cramping. Though it was cold, sweat poured down my forehead and clung to my hair.

Day turned to evening, and evening turned to night.

I could see the puff of my breath before me, and little else.

I was horribly tired, but not afraid. I stopped often, and looked around, but there was nothing to see except for the shape of the enormous sled behind me.

I didn’t know what direction I was going in, or if there was a landmark I could use as a guide.

When the temperature dropped further still, I stopped, shivering, terrified that I had passed the collection point, and that there was nobody there to get me.

I had never seen this part of the show before, and wasn’t entirely sure that it existed.

Although rationally I knew that this wasn’t going to be shown, I kept imagining people watching me search for someone who wasn’t there, stumbling blindly, clutching my rewards.

What brilliant viewing that would be, I thought with something nearing hysteria—what excellent, excellent television!

And then: a voice called my name. A hand lifted, in greeting, or as though to ward off a skittish animal. I raised my hand, returning the gesture, and stepped forward, the sled dragging heavily behindme.