‘If he booked us, it would create a media storm.’
‘Yes, but then we’d have leprosy. Is it worth it?’
‘It would be if it stopped people spending all their time on social media and made them actually live their lives instead.’
‘But Wilkes,’ said Elizabeth, reaching across the table to place her hand on his, ‘you’re on social media. You’re very active on it. You practically have carpal tunnel syndrome in your right wrist.’
‘I have to be,’ he replied. ‘I’m educating strangers on how they can live better lives. And making sure that those with the wrong opinions are held to account.’
Elizabeth smiled and realized once again what an incredible person her boyfriend was. His giving nature. His empathy. His indestructible conviction in his own moral superiority. ‘I don’t know why they always give out honours to politicians and movie stars,’ she said. ‘It’s people like you who are the real heroes. You should be Sir Wilkes Maguire.’
‘Naturally, I could never accept any honour that invoked the spirit of the British empire,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘But at the same time, if such a thing came my way, it would be an amazing boost for the homeless. And the lepers.’
‘I’m sure Daddy knows people at Number Ten,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a word.’
‘Well, if you must,’ he said, as if it was neither here nor there. ‘But let’s get back to what we were discussing.’
‘Oh, I thought we had finished talking about that.’
‘We’ve barely even begun!’
‘It’s just … well, how many people can we really help there?’ she asked, not wanting to sound too negative. Along with his weak bladder, Wilkes was prone to tears, particularly now, during hay-fever season. He perspired a lot too. Basically, he was a leaker. ‘Don’t you think we’re better off doing good at home? We’re in a soup kitchen in the middle of the day, after all, discussing leper colonies in Indonesia.’
‘No, we need to wake people up. To make them see how much suffering there is in the world and how deeply it affects me. Not everyone’s like you and me, you know. Take your family, for example. Do you know, last week, I saw Nelson eating a tomato?’
‘What’s wrong with tomatoes?’ asked Elizabeth, baffled.
‘It was an Italian tomato, Elizabeth, and Italy exploits migrant workers in order to fill supermarket shelves around Europe. They barely pay them and then kick them out at the end of the season. It’s practically slave labour.’
‘You ate a pizza last week,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We were in Pizza Express. And pizzas have tomato bases.’
‘Yes, but I posted a picture of it online and pointed out the troubling politics and twenty-four people thanked me for drawing attention to the problem. And then there’s Achilles. Every time I see him he’s carrying a disposable cup from Starbucks in his hand. Can’t he buy a reusable one?’
‘Oh, that’s just Achilles,’ she said. ‘He’s an idiot.’
‘But it’s not just your family. It’s your friends too. And your family’s friends. And your friends’ families.’
‘Yes, I get the point. Don’t go on.’
‘You’re always saying that you really want to make a difference in the world – well, this is how to do it.’
‘What I mean is that I want to be an influencer.’
‘But this is how you influence people. By gaining as many followers as possible and making them believe in you, even if you have no knowledge or training in your particular subject. That’s how Jesus did it, after all. And look at Christianity. It’s huge.’
‘Jesus wasn’t on social media,’ countered Elizabeth.
‘Only because it wasn’t around then. But can you imagine if he’d tweeted from the cross?’
‘Dying,’ said Elizabeth, looking into the distance as she considered this. ‘Nails in my hands and feet. Back in three days. In the meantime, #BeKind.’
‘Exactly. Or if he’d made a TikTok and posted it as he rose from the dead? What about an Instagram video of him turning water into wine? Content like that would have broken the Internet. Hashtag Messiah!’
She thought about it, wondering how she could transfer his compassion to something less disgusting. Sick puppies, for example. Everyone loved a sick puppy.
‘How many lepers are on this island anyway?’ she asked eventually.
‘Around twenty,’ he said.
‘You don’t think it’s a bit white saviour?’
‘No!’ he cried, appalled. ‘We’d just be transporting knowledge, support and medical supplies to a people who have suffered for too long in silence.’
‘But neither of us has any professional training,’ she protested. ‘And you don’t like blood. You nearly passed out last week when you got a splinter in your foot. I thought I was going to have to sedate you when I was taking it out.’
‘That’s not fair,’ he said. ‘The heel is a notoriously sensitive part of the human anatomy. And I wasn’t crying from pain. I was crying because I realized that you appreciated me enough to help prevent my leg from turning gangrenous. Just think, if you say yes, we could be pulling splinters from the limbs of lepers this time next month. Can you imagine anything more exciting?’
‘I can,’ she said. ‘But we don’t have all day so there’s no point in me starting a list. Do they even have Wi-Fi on this island of yours?’
‘Look, I don’t need you to decide right now,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I know I’ve thrown this at you out of the blue. All I ask is that you think about it, okay? Keep an open mind. Read up about it. Consider how much good we can do in a part of the world that is desperate for people like you and me, and how this is a completely unexploited hashtag on social media. #WilkesHelpsLepers.’
‘I’m happy to think about it,’ said Elizabeth, standing up and resolving to think about anything but this for the rest of the day. ‘But in order to do so, I need to go home and have a long, hot bath. I always think best in the bath.’
He nodded. ‘Do you want some company?’ he asked hopefully.
She thought about it. He did look adorable, sitting there in his oversized cardigan with a bunch of old elastic bands inexplicably wrapped around his tiny little wrist. But all this talk of leprosy had eradicated any sexual desire she might have felt. She needed some time alone.
‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘But I’ll post a photo once I’m submerged.’
AFTER EIGHT
Beverley waited until the house was empty to contact Pylyp. He’d been gone less than twenty-four hours but she was already missing him, so much so that, the previous night, she’d had an erotic dream about shirtless Ukrainian peasants charging Russian soldiers with pitchforks as they attacked each other across the Carpathian Mountains. Waking in a state of disarray, she’d given serious consideration to nudging George, who was lying asleep next to her, and inviting him to take advantage of her arousal, something that neither of them had proposed in quite some time.
A few hours earlier, she’d texted her lover to say that she would Skype him at this time, when she was sure to be alone, and he answered now on the second ring, appearing on the screen before her in a tank-top, his face damp with perspiration, as if he’d just completed a workout.