The Transition

Spooked, Karl turned on the green glass library lamp on his bedside table.

‘It’s a creaking sound.’

‘It’s crying.’

‘It’s pipes or something.’

‘Someone,’ said Genevieve, ‘is crying.’

‘Let me get close – OW! Motherfucker!’ said Karl, falling back onto the bed, holding his foot. ‘What is that?’

‘Poor thing,’ said Genevieve. ‘You’ve stubbed your toe.’

‘I think they’re broken,’ said Karl. ‘All of them. Who installs a fucking metal buttress in the middle of their floor?’ He went down on his hands and knees and inspected the silver girder he’d dashed his foot against. Difficult to miss, now that he saw it. When his toes felt better he tried to get his ear flat to the low wall, but whatever the noise was, it had stopped.

7 (#u8dbad0ef-bff8-5bc7-834e-390a1c7b55f6)

‘OH, HEY, LOOK at this. Look. How did you sleep? It’s telling me precisely how I slept. These are the points where I was dreaming. This is where it brought me out of a dream that seemed to be upsetting me. I’m not sure how it does that. Did you have any bad dreams? Karl? Karl?’

Karl woke up. He was not hungover. There was no crust in his eyes. Genevieve was sitting up playing with her tablet. The smells of fresh coffee and bacon drifted up to the attic.

‘I’m a “full disclosure” kind of guy,’ said Stu. He poured them both a cup of coffee from the stove pot and pushed a jug of steamed milk towards them. They were sitting at the black granite breakfast bar. ‘Anything we do that pisses you off, you tell us, okay? Everything out in the open. Even if it seems really petty. If I come back from kiteboarding and trail wet sand through the house—’

‘Which he does every bloody week, so good luck with that,’ said Janna.

‘I want you to tell me. If Janna intimidates you with her coarse language and aggressive personality, I want to know about it. Don’t let it bottle up and explode.’

‘We’ll do the same,’ said Janna. ‘There’s nothing more poisonous than pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Karl.

‘You’re being so lovely,’ said Genevieve, stirring her coffee. ‘You don’t need to be so lovely.’

‘Genevieve, the loyalty you’ve shown in joining your husband on The Transition; and Karl, the guilt you’ll be feeling about that … we understand this is a strange situation for you both. I promise you, it’ll be over before you know it, you’ll have a permanent residence and you’ll be doing the job you always dreamed of. How do you want your eggs? Poached?’

‘Poached is great.’

‘Right answer.’

‘This is how we start,’ said Janna. ‘Tomorrow is Monday and you go back to work as normal. We share every duty – we have a rota – it’s on your tablets so you’ll be reminded when it’s your turn to cook or clean up. You don’t have to pay anything – that’s part of it. Not just rent, but bills, food, travel to work – we’ll have a Transition car drop you off and pick you up. It’s all covered.’

‘See it as a complete break from ordinary life – a total anaesthetic while the operation takes place.’

‘Ick,’ said Janna. ‘But you don’t have any money either. So it’s a kind of economic house arrest for the first couple of months. We know that’s … patronising.’

As per the contract, Karl and Genevieve’s wages were paid straight into The Transition’s holding account. Half of Karl’s income went towards paying off his outstanding debts and fines. The rest accumulated and would eventually become their down payment.

‘But in losing your economic freedom you’ll gain something you didn’t even know you were missing: time.’

‘The language you’ve always wanted to learn, the weight you wanted to bench-press. All the things you’ve been putting off,’ said Janna.

‘I always wanted to learn Italian!’ said Genevieve. ‘Or Spanish, or maybe French!’

‘Pick one,’ said Janna. ‘You’re learning Italian.’

‘Molto bene!’ said Genevieve.

‘I don’t actually know what a bench press is,’ said Karl.

‘You’ll be surprised how quickly you take to it,’ said Stu. ‘And you’ll be surprised how quickly it makes a difference. To everything.’

Karl looked at Stuart’s thick and gladiatorial torso. He seemed like a different species, or at least a fantasy – what Karl imagined a man to be when he was growing up.

‘I have been thinking about getting in shape,’ he conceded.

‘But the first thing we want to talk about,’ said Stu, ‘and this may surprise you, is actually that lesion on your face, Karl.’

‘It’s an ingrown hair,’ said Karl.

‘Is that what it is?’ said Stu.

‘Whatever it is,’ said Janna, ‘it’s clear that you’re not leaving it alone to heal.’

‘I don’t even realise I’m doing it,’ said Karl, scratching his cheek to illustrate.

‘I’ve tried to get him to stop,’ said Genevieve. ‘For, like, a year.’

Karl felt his face flushing.

‘Mindfulness,’ said Stu. ‘You may wonder why we’re focusing on something so small, especially in the first lesson, but think about your face, Karl. Think about the face in general. It’s the first thing people see, before they even start talking to you.’

‘We believe that that mark on your face is a microcosm,’ said Janna, ‘of everything else you’re doing wrong with your life.’

‘Wow,’ said Karl.

‘Oh, do me,’ said Genevieve. ‘What do my split ends mean?’

This particular ingrown hair had followed the plot of a never-ending police procedural, with Karl the brilliant but obsessive detective on the trail of an ingrown-hair-stroke-serial-killer who might or might not even really exist; digging and gouging the same spot on his cheek night after night; thinking he once caught a glimpse of it, long ago; taking the drastic and controversial decision to stop shaving altogether for a fortnight; insisting that it was there, finding nothing, alienating his co-workers; letting it scab over, then going at it again too soon.

– I’m calling in the tweezers.

– Every time you call in the tweezers without a warrant you set our department back five years of good practice.

– I want the tweezers goddammit.

– Take some time off. See your family.

‘Karl?’ Genevieve called.