She watched as a dad dropped off a clutch of pre-teens at the cinema, parked, then walked a roundabout route to the Hospital, glancing over his shoulder now and again. At the far corner of the park, a trickle of red and white figures started to appear, waving their scarves, dancing and singing. Beyond the crop of housing she could see the top of the stadium rising up. Past that there was nothing until the City's north eastern boundary, its ludicrous buildings appearing from this distance as an impenetrable wall. Time to go, Cherry thought. With the football out and a movie just about to start most of the hookers would be busy – prime time to use the showers.
As Cherry walked to the door, she caught sight of herself in the full length mirror. The mirror here was much better than the one they had in the wardrobe room, which was poorly lit because the windows were rarely washed. It usually had a hoard of girls jostling for position in front of it, too. If you got to see what you looked like, it was what you might look like shouldering for position at a market stall; a portrait in motion.
Cherry looked funny in her terry towelling tunic. Like an inmate of the old children's hospital, she thought. Her hair needed cut. It was starting to look wild. She was surprised that Lady hadn't pulled her up for it. Her pale brown skin looked darker against the boil-wash white of her tunic. The tunic had been laundered so much that she could see the shadow of her nipples through it. She glanced round to Lady's office door. Seeing that the silhouette was still ensconced behind the desk, she grabbed the hem of her skirt and lifted it up quickly to her neck. Her pubes were squint again – she knew it. Barbara was rubbish, or she did it on purpose. One of the two.
Cherry pulled back her long mane of straightened black hair and tried to look objectively at her body. She seemed thinner – just on the cusp of being too thin, girlish. Satisfactory though, she thought to herself, maybe more. Her years on the job had certainly given her toned muscles – that was for sure. And unlike some of the workers, she laid off the junk. But then she had an advantage, the one good thing she had brought with her from the city. She turned and twisted round to see herself from the side, from the back. She was sinewy, tough. Could have been a ninja, she thought.
Her Book beeped: a scan update. Through the glass door, Lady's silhouette stopped and stiffened. Cherry let her tunic drop and took her Book out of the small thread-bare pocket at her hip. H1N1 mute. Flu. Another small-mutation causing delays on her nanoscreen. She sighed, walked over to the glass door and knocked.
-o-
It was a couple of hours until Cherry started her shift. She lay on her back in her runk and stared at the low ceiling above her. She stretched as well as she could, her arms meeting with cold plastic behind her and to the sides. She trailed them bent along the white walls.
'That's just brilliant,' she said to herself. She put on her Lady face. 'Who wants to buy flu, Cherry? Would you want to buy it? Is it sexually transmitted? Does it look impressive on a business man?'
She had the second runk from the bottom in her stack. Most of the workers on the lower level runks were hookers, but there were a few exceptions, chiefly seekers who didn't like heights or couldn't be bothered with the climb. Ten shelves above her was the top runk, most of the seekers' ultimate aim. Cherry understood the ambition though she didn't share it. She had climbed up to visit seekers further up the stack before and had sat with them, dangling her feet over the edge, making paper airplanes to send messages to their mates in the runks across the room, laughing as they flew off course and landed wherever they wished. She liked the slight feeling of vertigo, the feeling that she might at any minute just launch herself out into the air and fall. She imagined them all doing it at once, drifting to the floor
As Cherry walked to the door, she caught sight of herself in the full length mirror. The mirror here was much better than the one they had in the wardrobe room, which was poorly lit because the windows were rarely washed. It usually had a hoard of girls jostling for position in front of it, too. If you got to see what you looked like, it was what you might look like shouldering for position at a market stall; a portrait in motion.
Cherry looked funny in her terry towelling tunic. Like an inmate of the old children's hospital, she thought. Her hair needed cut. It was starting to look wild. She was surprised that Lady hadn't pulled her up for it. Her pale brown skin looked darker against the boil-wash white of her tunic. The tunic had been laundered so much that she could see the shadow of her nipples through it. She glanced round to Lady's office door. Seeing that the silhouette was still ensconced behind the desk, she grabbed the hem of her skirt and lifted it up quickly to her neck. Her pubes were squint again – she knew it. Barbara was rubbish, or she did it on purpose. One of the two.
Cherry pulled back her long mane of straightened black hair and tried to look objectively at her body. She seemed thinner – just on the cusp of being too thin, girlish. Satisfactory though, she thought to herself, maybe more. Her years on the job had certainly given her toned muscles – that was for sure. And unlike some of the workers, she laid off the junk. But then she had an advantage, the one good thing she had brought with her from the city. She turned and twisted round to see herself from the side, from the back. She was sinewy, tough. Could have been a ninja, she thought.
Her Book beeped: a scan update. Through the glass door, Lady's silhouette stopped and stiffened. Cherry let her tunic drop and took her Book out of the small thread-bare pocket at her hip. H1N1 mute. Flu. Another small-mutation causing delays on her nanoscreen. She sighed, walked over to the glass door and knocked.
-o-
It was a couple of hours until Cherry started her shift. She lay on her back in her runk and stared at the low ceiling above her. She stretched as well as she could, her arms meeting with cold plastic behind her and to the sides. She trailed them bent along the white walls.
'That's just brilliant,' she said to herself. She put on her Lady face. 'Who wants to buy flu, Cherry? Would you want to buy it? Is it sexually transmitted? Does it look impressive on a business man?'
She had the second runk from the bottom in her stack. Most of the workers on the lower level runks were hookers, but there were a few exceptions, chiefly seekers who didn't like heights or couldn't be bothered with the climb. Ten shelves above her was the top runk, most of the seekers' ultimate aim. Cherry understood the ambition though she didn't share it. She had climbed up to visit seekers further up the stack before and had sat with them, dangling her feet over the edge, making paper airplanes to send messages to their mates in the runks across the room, laughing as they flew off course and landed wherever they wished. She liked the slight feeling of vertigo, the feeling that she might at any minute just launch herself out into the air and fall. She imagined them all doing it at once, drifting to the floor
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