The Lamplighters (3 page)

“So, no phone calls?”

“That’s right. No calls, no Internet, no text messages. No physical mail.”

Marla couldn’t disguise her consternation at this restriction. It seemed such a bitter pill after all Welland had offered so far.

The warm smile again. Those white teeth.

“I know it seems draconian, Marla. Believe me, the island is so beautiful you won’t even want to contact the dreary old mainland once you’re there. All our employees say so. Please, take the test with you and give it some thought.”

Marla warmed a little. She picked up the folder and stood up.

“Have you been there? To the island?”

He led her gently to the door.

“You’re kidding, right?” He grinned. “I started out just like you; as a Lamplighter. I loved it so much I joined The Consortium full time. I’m sure once you take the test you’ll work out just fine…”

“A Lamplighter?”

He flicked the light switch off, then on again.

“That’s what we call the island workers.”

Lamplighters.

Marla kind of liked that.

Chapter Five

All the way home, Marla had expected a camera crew to jump out on her.
Surprise! It was a set-up! There is no job, but you’ve been such a good sport…
She leafed through the personality test Welland had given her. Some of the questions were just plain weird, veering randomly from logic puzzles to the somewhat intrusive. Actually, a TV show set-up might be better than all this prying.

As she climbed the stairs back at her building, Marla had an acute sense that something was wrong. Turning the corner into the hallway, she could see why. The door to her room was wide open. She approached the doorway cautiously, gripping Welland’s folder like a shield. Peering into her room, Marla’s heart thumped hard with the expectation that an intruder would be peering back at her. But the room was empty.

Marla checked the door lock. The catch was a little screwy as usual and there was no sign that it had been forced. Must not have closed it properly on her way out for the interview. Jesus, when she wasn’t locking herself out she was having an open house party. She flopped down on the bed and smiled grimly to herself. The room was such a mess anyway it’d look like it had been burgled whether the door was left open or not. Then she froze. Her laptop was gone.

Moments later, Marla found herself banging on the door of the pervert down the hall. She almost had no recollection of walking to his door; the red mist had carried her here. What if it wasn’t him? No. If anyone was going to mess with her things, it was that letch. She pummeled harder on the door, nearly falling inside as it opened. His confused face looked out, half in shadow.

“I want my laptop back, now,” spat Marla, harshly.

“Your…what?”

“Don’t feign ignorance with me, Mister. I know you took it, so just give it the hell back.”

She shoved at the door, hard, knocking him back slightly. There was a faint odor coming from inside, like soured buttermilk. Marla didn’t even want to guess where the smell had originated. She did a quick one-eighty of the room. It was immaculately tidy. No laptop. He must’ve stashed it somewhere, or sold it already.

“Where the hell is it?” She was shouting now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you feeling all right?”

Marla’s red mist solidified into a wall of pent-up rage.

“I’ve seen you looking at me. Watching my every move. Perving over me when I locked myself out. Biding your time until…”

“What’s going on here?”

A sharp voice, from up the hall.
Brilliant.
Marla’s landlady was standing there, fixing her with an angry stare. She opted for a defensive stance, raising her hands in surrender.

“My…my room’s been burgled. My laptop’s gone. I was just asking this guy if he knew anything about it…”

“Accusing me, more like,” he said, indignant.

The landlady cleared her throat. “Mr. James is one of my best, most reliable tenants,” she said. Her voice wobbled with anger, sounding like a detuned radio announcer. “Unlike you, Miss Neuborn, he always pays his rent on time. I was just on my way up here with this.”

She held out Marla’s rent check. The bank had rubber stamped it. The words “REFER TO DRAWER” burned into Marla’s eyes.

“You have two weeks’ notice to vacate your room.”

Marla’s voice dropped to a breathless retort. “But my laptop has been stolen. I…”

“No buts Miss Neuborn. I warned you last time, three strikes and you’re out. This is the third and last time. And if you bother Mr. James again, I’ll be forced to evict you immediately.”

Marla glared at James. He looked as shocked as she did. Her eyes filled with tears. She turned and ran back to her room, slamming the door.

This time it closed properly.

Chapter Six

A week had passed since she’d been given her notice and Marla still hadn’t found a new place. For days now, she’d got up early and headed out to scour the newsagent notice boards and local classified ads—nothing affordable. She’d logged onto countless property websites, using the computers at the local library for lack of a machine of her own. If her friendly local neighborhood pervert hadn’t done it, she could only imagine that bastard Carlo had broken in and taken her laptop.
His laptop
. Still she couldn’t find anything affordable. Her overdraft was maxed out, and no credit card company would touch her—not with her rating. As usual, the agents were asking for a month’s deposit plus six weeks in advance.
Daylight robbery
, frowned Marla as she headed back to the bed-sit, her home for one more week.

Crashing into the bombsite that was her room, Marla kicked aside yesterday’s t-shirt, socks and panties. She flopped onto the bed and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. There had to be some way of appeasing her landlady. Anything would be preferable to the nightmare of moving. If she could just buy some time until she heard about the job.

The job. She’d almost forgotten to mail the personality test back to them after her scene in the hallway the other day. Surely they’d had time to go through it by now?
Probably just a scam
, she thought bitterly,
they’ll get back to me and offer me some crappy telemarketing gig
. Sighing, Marla curled up under the womblike darkness of her bedclothes, contemplating dull years of work cold-calling angry strangers through a plastic headset. Perhaps that was her destiny; maybe she should just resign herself to it.

It felt like only minutes had passed when Marla was awoken by a sharp rapping at her door. Blinking tiny traces of sleep from her eyes, she mumbled, “Who is it?” The sharp knocking again, rap-rap-rap. Not her landlady again, not now
please
. Marla shook off the duvet and stomped sleepily over to the door.

It was Mr. James.

“Sorry to disturb you. Were you sleeping?”

“No, not really, I…” Marla tried to waken herself up. “I was just chilling, taking a quick nap.”

“There’s a phone call for you. On the payphone, downstairs.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Marla slipped out of the door. Mr. James stepped back to give her some room to get by. An awkward moment passed between them. Marla felt suddenly embarrassed about shouting at him, accusing him. She turned.

“Listen, by the way, I’m really sorry about the other day.”

He smiled back at her, “It’s okay. No hard feelings. And it sucks—about your laptop, I mean.”

“Never really worked properly anyway,” said Marla as she headed for the stairs.
I can identify with it
, she thought to herself.

“Ms. Neuborn? We received your personality test. I wanted to personally thank you for taking the time to complete it for us…”

The voice on the phone was just as friendly as before. Friendlier.
Here it comes
, she thought.

“And I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on making the selection.”

What? Oh no, not another interview. I’ll simply die.

“Ms. Neuborn? Are you still there?”

“Yes I am still. Here.”

“Pending contractual arrangements, we’d like to offer you the position of maintenance operative as part of The Consortium’s island workforce.”

“Oh.”

Marla had a sudden, violent, urge to pee.

“Oh!”

“May I ask if you’re still interested in the position?”

“Oh yes. Yes. I am.” The urge to pee stopped, replaced by vague thoughts of a strong alcoholic drink.

“Well I guess that makes you a Lamplighter. Congratulations Ms Neuborn. And welcome to the team. We’ll be in touch with all the details.”

The walk back to her room was a blur. Marla sat down on the bed, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, her face a tragicomic mask of both reactions. She rolled a celebratory cigarette and breathed the smoke in and out deeply.

Only then did she notice something else was missing from her room, something that had definitely been there when she left to answer the phone. She’d seen them only moments ago. Her used panties, from yesterday. She dropped the cigarette into the ashtray and scrambled around on the floor for them. Gone. A sick feeling hit her stomach. Anger building inside her, Marla left the room, cursing the latch. She crossed the hallway and stood in front of Mr. James’ door. Loud pornography bellowed from inside his room accompanied by his unmistakably urgent grunts and groans.

Marla returned to her room and started packing her rucksack. It was time to get away, far, far away, from this rat hole.

Chapter Seven

Welland was waiting for Marla outside Nice airport arrivals in a sleek black open-topped car. He grinned at her as she approached, those perfect white teeth gleaming in the morning sun.

“How was the flight?”

Marla smiled her thanks as he helped with her bag.

“It was Business Class.”

He laughed in recognition as he put his sunglasses on. Marla hadn’t flown for a while and had clearly never flown Business before. She looked so much more relaxed than she had on the day of her interview.

“Only the best for our employees, Marla. And you’d better start getting used to life’s little luxuries. The island has more riches to offer than Business travel. Think of it as First Class,” he winked slyly. “You’re about to get an upgrade.”

“My second today,” giggled Marla.

The car’s powerful engine throbbed as he hit the accelerator. Marla grabbed her own sunglasses as they drove out into the bright sunlight. The breeze blew through her hair like a cleansing breath. London and her depressing bed-sit already seemed to be a million miles away. Good riddance. She kicked back in the comfort of the leather passenger seat and looked at the passing cars.

“Comfy?” asked Welland.

“Oh yes,” Marla said as she stretched a little, catlike.

“Good. We have quite a drive I’m afraid, so just relax and enjoy it. There’s a boat waiting that’ll take you to the island. The exact location has to remain…”

“Confidential, I know.”

Back in London, Marla had looked Meditrine Island up on every website she could find. It simply didn’t exist—not on any map. Even Google Earth couldn’t find it. Doubt had begun to set in, so Marla asked about it when The Consortium had called to confirm travel arrangements. “Meditrine Island” was merely a name, the friendly voice had assured her; the island could only actually be identified by its registration number, latitude and longitude. “Please understand The Consortium’s need for secrecy,” the friendly voice had implored. “The assets of our clients would be under considerable risk if every Tom, Dick and Harry knew where the island was located.” If Marla had any doubts, the voice went on, they could cancel her flight at any time. Reassured, Marla had told them that wouldn’t be necessary.
Let them keep their secrets
, she thought,
and I’ll keep mine
.

Through her sunglasses, Marla watched the gray airport warehouses and car parks give way to green countryside. For a moment, the sun slipped behind a cloud and Marla shivered, remembering her vile neighbor Mr. James. Then the sun blazed back into the blue sky, warming away the gooseflesh on her arms and bathing her face in its warming glow. She vowed that would be last time she’d think of that horrible man, or her horrible past.

The past. She had considered calling her “mother” before jetting off, of course. She’d found herself standing at the payphone at her bed-sit, calling card in hand, scrap of paper in front of her with the number written on it in fading ink. Marla had even picked up the receiver, just for a second, before returning it to its cradle.
From the cradle to the grave
, Marla had thought bitterly, recalling a song she’d once heard at a club with Carlo. No, relations with her final pair of foster parents had ended very badly. Best to leave them that way rather than re-establish contact and then make them end even more spectacularly. What would she have said anyway?
Hello Mrs. Gore, it’s Marla, remember that fuck up of a foster daughter you couldn’t wait to get rid of? Well, I got a job. A job on a faraway island…
They would just assume she was high again, or finally being sent to jail for her latest heinous crime. No, it was better to lock up the past and throw away the bloody key.

“We’re here.”

Welland’s tones cut through her thoughts like the very voice of reason. He slowed the car to a halt and half-stood, pointing over the windshield into the distance. They’d arrived at a small harbor. The faint ding-ding of bells rang their greeting. Sun kissed the water, twinkling into the ocean’s distance.

Marla looked out to where Welland was pointing and saw the speedboat, huge, sleek and black like his car.
He had to be kidding
.

“Your chariot awaits.”

She looked wide-eyed at the impressive vessel. Its name had been painted on the front side,
Sentry Maiden
.

Welland took Marla’s rucksack from the boot of the car and handed it to her.

“This is as far as I go,” he said. “Island Security will look after you now.”