Chapter 47
Gayle was in the office shouting at someone on the phone. She attempted to emphatically hang up, which was far harder on a mobile than it would have been on a landline.
‘What’s with the get-up?’ she asked. ‘Have you gone over to the dyke side?’
She looked at Jasper. Was he going to pick Gayle up on her derogatory language?
He waved a hand in front of her face. ‘This isn’t the conversation you’re looking for.’
He was probably right. They had other priorities.
‘It doesn’t matter how many Star Wars references I hear, you know, I’m not watching it.’
Gayle observed their exchange with the air of a woman being forced to wear a tripe facemask. ‘Oh I get it. You two finally porked then?’
‘You make it sound so romantic,’ said Jasper.
‘Seriously, though, what’s with the head scarf?’
Simone told Gayle what had happened and showed her the wound.
‘Shit a brick! Was it her hairy gash that swung the deal, J?’
Tasha, who had been loitering by the door, made a puking sound.
‘As for you, young lady, I was worried sick.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tasha.
‘It’s alright. You can make it up to me. Gary’s not come in again. Lazy git. There’s Love Island couples more committed than him.’
Tasha tutted. ‘Has the food drop been?’
‘About ten minutes ago.’
‘Fine. I’ll see what I can rustle up.’ She sloped off.
‘And how are you, other than the head?’ asked Gayle.
‘I’m good.’
‘You look like shit.’
‘I’ve missed you too.’
Gayle scoffed.
‘You can say it,’ said Simone.
‘Say what?’
‘You’ve missed me.’
‘I’ve missed you in the same way I’d miss my piles if I ever got rid of them. So what’s so important that it couldn’t wait for me to come up with a good enough excuse not to be here?’
‘We’re going to get the money to tide you over.’
‘And the shopping list I made this morning is going to win the Booker Prize.’
Gayle explained how she’d contacted everyone she knew to see if there were any emergency funds she could tap into until they sourced a more permanent solution. No one had been able to offer any help.
‘So unless you’re about to magic a golden goose out of your arse, we’re screwed.’
‘How long before you reckon you might secure something?’ asked Simone.
‘At least a couple of months. But I’ve got six weeks tops before the shutters come down.’
‘I’ve got an idea.’
‘Shake a bucket outside?’
‘Even better.’
She told Gayle her plan. She’d fleshed it out properly since she’d spoken to Nancy and Ziggy, running her ideas by them to gauge interest. It was going to be called Asylum. She liked that it nodded to the idea of refuge and protection, so they could talk about the place being a homeless shelter now, but also hark back to its days as a psychiatric facility. A mashup between the two. She’d got a contact in theatrical prop hire who owed her a favour and could get them gurneys, old wheelchairs, straightjackets and treatment beds with restraining straps to set the tone.
There’d be a ton of activities on offer. Things like a padded isolation room where people would be invited to sit stimulus-free for an hour; freezing cold hydrotherapy baths, originally thought to calm the nerves in disturbed patients; hypnotherapy masquerading as mesmerism, namedafter the German physician who had induced trance-like states to deal with energy blockages. Wei was going to perform cupping to purge excess bodily humours and restore balance in the body. And there would be personality diagnosis through Rorschach inkblot tests. Essentially a whole load of things that had their genesis in some of the more horrifying treatments from the so-called Age of Reason, but that had the capacity to leave participants energised, more self-aware and more in touch with themselves than when they first came through the door.
For it to feel truly immersive, they’d also need to conjure a creepy atmosphere. There’d be a Ouija board for anyone wishing to commune with Cedar Lodge’s ‘previous occupants’ who, they would claim, stalked the corridors at night. They’d keep the electrics off and equip people with torches. What with a few ceiling tiles removed here, a banging door there, it would be easy to let people’s imaginations and lack of sleep do the rest. She was conscious that much of it wasn’t strictly related to old-school psychiatric care, but it was okay to play fast and loose with some conventions to ensure people had a memorable time. It was a bit distasteful if you examined it too closely, but there were event companies out there making top money from dropping people into a simulated apocalypse, or actually kidnapping them and subjecting them to low-level torture – all in the name of entertainment. At least this was for a genuinely good cause.
The whole time she described her idea, Gayle peered at her through mistrusting eyes.
‘Why would anyone put themselves through that voluntarily?’
‘Because they are bored, rich millennials who just want to feel something.’
‘And how much do you think this will make?’
‘I think we should do it as a pay what you think it’s worth event.’
A mushroom cloud of expletives erupted from Gayle’s mouth. ‘So we might not make anything?!’
‘This way we get plenty of exposure and the chance of donations from a wider group of people. And if the guest list has a good time, there’s a potential cash boost from them too.’
She’d consulted the girls about it. They’d talked about the phenomenon whereby, when they were paid for a post, they’d do the bare minimum to justify the fee, but give them something for free and suddenly they were canaries in a mine, telling everyone who would listen about it. Buying a ticket to a charity gig? Nothing special in that. But raising awareness for a good cause, and publicly making a grand gesture of donating to the cause themselves? That was like meth to the social media mavens. No one, Ziggy had said with staggering self-awareness, cares about anything more than they care about looking like they care about something.
‘How many people and how many nights?’ asked Gayle.
‘One night. Around thirty people. Exclusivity makes these things more desirable. Scarcity is the currency in which these people trade.’ She also told her about the hotel idea for the current residents.
Gayle tilted her head from side to side, weighing up the options. ‘Okay,’ she said eventually.
‘Really?’
‘It beats selling a kidney.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yep. I’m all out of ideas. Let’s give yours a go.’
Jasper seemed as surprised as she was that Gayle had acquiesced so quickly. He was very, very beautiful when he was surprised, so much so that what she really wanted to do was take him to the nearest accessible toilet and remove all his clothes. But that would have to wait. It looked like they had work to do.