Chapter 9
Lockhart is an amiable and informative guide.
We walk along Serenity’s sun-dappled avenues, past more pastel-painted mansions with green lawns and white picket fences.
Brightly coloured flowers blaze from every side.
Towering palms and other native trees provide intermittent patches of shade.
Sprinklers sprinkle. Mockingbirds screech and caw.
A few residents are out pottering in sun hats and gardening gloves. Lockhart seems to know everyone and cheerily barks out ‘Good morning’, ‘Lovely weather’ and ‘Garden’s looking beautiful.’ I smile mutely, feeling like a performing chimp being taken out for a stroll.
‘Straight ahead you’ll see the town square,’ Lockhart says as we reach the end of another picturesque road.
‘We’ve been busy getting it ready for the fiftieth-anniversary celebrations in a couple of weeks.
There’ll be a concert here, followed by a parade and a firework display.
What’s more, the fairground will remain open till midnight! ’
‘Wow!’ I say in a dutifully impressed voice.
We cross at a pedestrian crossing, and I stare around.
To my left is what must be the town hall.
It’s a large, red-brick building with wide stone steps leading to a grand, double-fronted entrance.
A banner has been strung above the doors.
Welcome to Serenity Falls – celebrating 50 blissful years – 1975–2025.
‘It’s the final weekend before school starts back,’ Lockhart continues. ‘So, a fitting end to the holidays. I’m sure it will be quite the spectacle. August ninth and tenth. Mark it in your diary!’
‘Definitely,’ I say, and I actually mean it. Could be fun, in a cheesy kind of way.
To our right is a bandstand adorned with red, white and blue bunting.
Just past this is a large circular flower bed.
The blooms have been planted to spell out Serenity 50.
In the middle stands a statue of the man himself, Harold Winsom, looking cheery and suave in a suit and trilby, leaning on a walking stick and gazing skywards as if basking in his own reflected glory.
‘Isn’t that the same statue as in the park?’
‘An exact replica,’ Lockhart tells me.
‘Right.’
We walk up to it. The statue is life-size, and Harold Winsom wasn’t a small man, almost my height. I’d also wager, from photographs I’ve seen, he was a little larger around the waistline than his somewhat flattering bronze incarnation.
There’s a plaque beneath his feet:
Harold Winsom, beloved founder of Winsom Wonderland and creator of dreams.
Modest too, I think. Below this, there’s another line:
Fruere hora. Serius est quam cogitas.
VI XIII XXII
I frown. I’m not exactly fluent in Latin, but the phrase is familiar. I point at the plaque. ‘Do you know what this means?’
Lockhart bends slightly and squints. ‘Ah, yes. “Enjoy the hour. It’s later than you think.” Harold was someone who believed in seizing the day. Life is short, and so forth.’ Lockhart smiles, but it seems a little distracted. ‘Talking of which, we should probably move on. Lots to see.’
He starts to walk away. I pause, staring at the inscription and wondering what the numerals represent. It doesn’t feel like a positive mantra. More like a warning that time is running out – it’s later than you think.
Still frowning, I straighten and hurry after Lockhart.
Main Street is a bustling pedestrianized area lined with quaint shops with bright multicoloured awnings and cheery hand-painted signs outside.
Tables and chairs are arranged in front of pretty-looking cafés.
Everywhere is exceptionally clean. Melodic music, one of Winsom’s famous tunes, is being piped from speakers mounted on the streetlamps.
It’s all very charming … and slightly surreal.
Harold Winsom has created a real-life version of Main Street in his famous theme park here in Serenity, and it’s like walking through a set. I can’t help feeling that if I peered behind the back of the shops I’d find they were nothing but facades, propped up by scaffolding.
‘We have everything here you could need,’ Lockhart says.
‘Local butchers, bakers, grocers, flower shops, lots of cafés, although I confess Millie’s is my favourite.
Their iced mocha—’ He smacks his lips. ‘We also have a video-games store, bookstore, some lovely restaurants and a couple of bars – Grey’s and Flannagan’s Irish Bar. ’
Of course. There’s always an Irish bar. If man ever makes it to another planet, I’m pretty sure they’ll find an Irish bar has got there first.
‘I bet that can get pretty lively,’ I say.
‘Not really. Curfew is at ten thirty every night.’
‘Curfew?’
‘Yes. Alcohol often leads to crime, and here in Serenity we want everyone to feel safe, day and night. Ensuring bars are closed and people are off the streets helps with that.’
‘Ten thirty, though?’
‘Well, between you and me, it’s not strictly enforced by the Conservators.’
‘The Conservators?’
‘Yes.’ He gives me an odd look. ‘You should have had all of this in your welcome pack.’
‘I don’t think I got one.’
He tuts. ‘I suppose it must have been missed, what with everything else.’
Everything else presumably being that troublesome corpse in our pool.
‘So, the Conservators?’ I prompt.
‘The Conservators ensure that everything runs smoothly here in Serenity Falls, from refuse collection to security. They’re based in the Human Utilities Building – the Hub. You probably saw it as you drove in.’
I think back. ‘The kind of triangle-shaped building?’
‘That’s it. Being a Conservator is a great responsibility. Serenity Falls wouldn’t be the town it is without their dedication and hard work.’
Good for them, I think, and I can already picture them. Bland suits with neatly arranged desks and lanyards. I guess every organization needs its pen-pushers.
We continue our walk down Main. It’s bustling, but it doesn’t feel crowded. Just pleasant. People going about their business and supporting their local shops.
‘You’ll notice there are no fast-food chains in Serenity Falls,’ Lockhart says now. ‘The Conservators don’t allow them.’
‘You must be the only town on the planet to manage that.’
I’m not sure Sadie will be happy, but I think it’s a good thing. It can’t be a coincidence that the plague of the fast-food chains coincided with the rise in mobility scooters. Cause, meet effect.
Lockhart gestures towards a nearby café. ‘You might also notice something else is missing.’
I stare around. A group of teens sits outside a café drinking milkshakes.
Next to them there’s an older couple reading newspapers and a couple of mums with pushchairs.
Everyone looks fit, healthy and wholesome.
I am suddenly very conscious of my pale, skinny legs, Scooby-Doo socks and the faint aroma of smoke lingering on my clothes.
I frown. And then I spot it. ‘No one is on their phone.’
Lockhart nods, radiating smugness. ‘Cell phones are banned in all public spaces.’
‘Really?’
‘Obviously, no one is going to leap on you for taking a quick call. But we try to enforce it.’
‘And people stick to that?’
‘It took a while, but they’ve realized it’s for their own good.’
The kids in my old school could barely cope without their mobiles for a few hours.
A whole day and there would have been riots.
I confess, even I get twitchy if I can’t check my messages regularly.
As for Sadie. Oh, she’s not going to like this, I think.
Not at all. Probably even less than a dead body in our pool.
Lockhart is looking at me as if waiting for applause.
‘Well, that’s a fantastic achievement,’ I say. ‘Although I imagine my daughter won’t thank you.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she will,’ Lockhart says. ‘In time.’
For some reason, something about his tone rankles. It makes me want to take my phone out and start scrolling through Reddit. I decide to change the subject.
‘So, are there any bigger stores in Serenity Falls?’ I ask. ‘A supermarket, petrol station?’
‘There was a building project out on the west side a few years back. We already had the police station, funeral home, the hospital and college. Now we have a supermarket, bowling alley, gas and electric charging station.’
‘So, Serenity is pretty much self-contained?’
He nods, rosy face glowing. ‘About the only thing we don’t have is a taxi rank.’ He spreads his arms wide. ‘Because why would you want to go anywhere else?’
To make a fucking phone call, I think.
‘How long have you lived in Serenity Falls?’
‘All my life.’
‘Really?’
Lockhart looks older than fifty, and he must see the surprise on my face.
‘We moved here when I was nine. Of course, it was easier in those days. The Winsom Corporation was even offering incentives to come and live in Serenity Falls. They wanted families moving in. To create this thriving new community.’
‘Do your parents still live here?’
‘My father died some years ago. My mother has Parkinson’s. So now she’s taken care of at Serenity Senior Living.’
‘Right.’
We leave the bustle of Main Street and cross the road towards the park and lake.
I find myself pausing to take it in. Much as my cynical British self wants to scoff at the sugar-sweet confection of this place, there is no doubt that the lake is stunning.
Wide grassy banks slope gently down to a large, glittering expanse of water.
Lily pads float on the surface and reeds wave in the faint breeze.
Two or three smaller rivers branch off it in the distance.
A pathway runs around the perimeter, and an ornate bridge crosses a small overflow.
At the other end of the lake, a stunning French Colonial-style building overlooks the water.
‘Serenity Falls Hotel,’ Lockhart says. ‘Where we’re going for lunch.’
‘Nice.’
I stare around. Picnic benches and carts selling ice-cream and cold drinks are dotted around the park. Families sit on blankets on the grass, people throw Frisbees, and some more masochistic types jog around the path, huge headphones clamped to their heads like sweaty cybermen.