Two raised an eyebrow. “Not a clue. Should I?”
“I was in the news several months ago. I just wondered…” Alex trailed off, feeling gauche.
“Like most indentured servants, my leisure time is limited,” Two told him “Online use is restricted, and I’m rarely permitted to watch a screen. I have no idea who you are.”
“You think I’m some spoilt little rich kid who got sentenced into servitude for drunk driving or drug dealing, don’t you?”
“No, but I do think you need help ironing – you’re terrible at it.” Two winked, and Alex couldn’t help laughing. Seconds later, F returned to the room with a chastened, red-faced Five, and silence resumed.
The afternoon was spent performing the same ironing drudgery as the morning. Alex observed his new companions, trying to get the measure of them. Three was a jolly, bustling know-it-all, who liked to hand out unsolicited advice. Four was dour and self-contained, performing every task with meticulous slowness in pursuit of perfection. The young lad, Five, was a hapless bumbler who put his heart into whatever he was working on, although the end results weren’t impressive. His basket of laundry was the least well ironed, after Alex’s. Two performed every task with a wry, languid air as if he’d done it all before, which, clearly, he had – his sheets were perfectly ironed by the end of the day. Even B couldn’t have done better.
Two noticed his scrutiny and shot him the occasional conspiratorial wink. Alex had a feeling that Two was going to be an easy person to like.
He continued to fret about the photos as he worked, wondering whether to feign an injury so he could see the doctor and ask him about them. C had been kind to him, and Alex felt they had a rapport. He mulled over this plan for a while before deciding to go ahead with it. Ostentatiously dropping the hot iron on his foot, he then hopped around dramatically.
“I need to see the doctor,” he announced to a worried B. She cast an uncertain glance at F, who shrugged and put through a call to the doctor.
Alex felt a pang of guilt as B helped him to a chair in a small anteroom, knelt down beside him, and patted his knee sympathetically. C turned up a few minutes later, and B returned to the ironing room. C started to examine Alex’s foot, but Alex waved him aside.
“What the hell is going on?” Alex hissed. “This place went from holiday camp to boot camp in the space of a day. Five-thirty wake-up calls, sessions in the gym, and ironing, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you warn me?”
C blinked owlishly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“But you knew this was what it would be like when it did. What’s with the ironing?”
“It’s in the prospectus.” C looked startled.
“I haven’t read the prospectus.”
C frowned. “That’s very unusual. Usually, houders discuss it with their indies. It’s a very expensive training course, and they want to get the best from it. It helps if the indie is fully committed.”
“None of this makes sense. There is no way my houder sent me here to learn how to iron.”
“He saw the syllabus,” C said. “It was very clear about the ironing.”
Alex almost burst out laughing because it was so ridiculous. “Look, I need a favour.” Alex leaned forward. “I’ve lostsomething. I tore some pictures of my family and… some other people… from the magazines in the rec room. I was keeping them under my pillow, but I think F might have taken them. Is there any way you could find them and give them back to me?”
“Photos?” C blinked several times, looking nervous. “I doubt F would have any interest in your photographs.”
“He’s a sadist – he probably took them to hurt me.”
“Oh, he’s not that bad,” C said mildly. “He has a job to do here. You wouldn’t believe some of the indies we’re sent. F has to make sure everyone works hard and stays on track, so he can be a little loud and overbearing, but he’s not a bad chap really.”
“Not a bad chap? He beat Two with his stick for no reason. He’s a bastard who enjoys hurting people. I know – I’ve seen his kind before.”
C looked concerned. “Oh dear. I’ll report it to A. Maybe F is a little out of control.”
“And the photos?” Alex asked eagerly. “Can you get them for me?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” C gave his usual, slightly bemused smile and left.
Alex was sick of ironing by the end of the day and glad when the klaxon rang for dinner. B announced that they’d all done very well, and the next day they’d move on to shirts. Alex could hardly contain his excitement.
After dinner, they were allowed an hour’s down time in the rec room without supervision before bed. Four sat at the table stiffly reading the ironing manual they’d been given. Two poured himself a cup of herbal tea, sat on one of the armchairs, and crossed his legs. His movements were elegant and sparse, and there was always a languid, faintly amused expression on his face. He reminded Alex of an actor in a movie from Pre-R times – the 1930s or 40s.
Three sat down beside Alex on the sofa with a heartfelt sigh, while Five loped around the room like a gangly foal who’d been cooped up for too long.
“I’m not criticising, I’m sure Ms B did her best, but it was all rather basic,” Three informed the room. “I could have taught it better.”
