I, Willhelm

When Dave first came to Robbie, the story could not have been less appealing. Although he would never say it, the homeless where not exactly front page material. He’d tried in the past to write stories about the shocking increate of homeless, first due to the pandemic, and then the cost of living. But the fact was that the public didn’t care. It was too close to home with so many people only one pay check away from experiencing it themselves, so they ignored it. Robbie didn’t see the point in wasting his time.

“Look, I know you want people to pay attention, but people just don’t care” He had warned Dave. “Everyone’s just white knuckling it at the moment hoping they don’t end up homeless. They don’t have the bandwidth.”

“You’re not listening, this isn’t like before. There aren’t more homeless, there are less.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“You’re not listening. They haven’t just picked up and found somewhere to live, they’ve literally disappeared”.

“Suicide?”

“Yea, I thought that at first, but no, they’re just vanishing. No bodies, nothing. They just get up and leave. I’ve been talking to a few people, and they said that some of their mates were getting phone calls and then just walking away a day later. They didn’t take their phones or anything. Some of them were talking about a place called Willhelm”.

“I’m guessing you’ve looked it up?”

“There’s some place in the states with that name, but nothing in the UK”.

“What do you think is going on?”

“How the hell should I know, Robbie?! That’s why I’m asking you to look into it.”

Robbie reassured him he would look into it, ended the call, and promptly forgot about his promise.

* * *

It had been three months since Alice Wilson had returned. As Aphelion Robotics had expected, the news cycle had quickly moved onto which celebrity was on the verge of divorce. Robbie however had not moved on, the tablet Joan had given him hidden in his flat, and a rough article drafted on his personal laptop. Work had been tense lately at work, another war had started, this one closer to home than the last one, and the focus at work occulted between the cost of living and celebrity gossip. There was no in-between. Robbie found it fascinating to note that in the current times any kind of middle ground had vanished, people either wanted complete escapism, or a light shone on the ever harsher reality of life. Personally he found the topic tedious and frustrating, and today it was all he could do not to look at the clock. Hopefully, if he got out of the interview soon, he might be able to go to the local shops and, if he was lucky, spot Alice. It was a long shot, he knew that, but it was better than figuring out how to write another sob-story about rising food costs.

The Wren food bank had been running for over two decades. They had seen the needs for their services increase year on year, but the last two years in particular had been like somewhere a flood gate had opened and they were inundated. At least that’s what Karen McLeod told him as Robbie sat opposite her, his phone out to record the conversation and his gaze wandering around the room. Near them a long que of people lined up for the pantry in the backroom, a large burly man a small old woman handing out curated parcels of food.

“So you say demand is up? By how much?” Robbie asked, his eyes occasionally glancing to the clock on the wall behind Karen.

“Oh, it’s increased 20%. That’s in the last year. Last year it was only a 1% increase. That’s a huge difference!” Karen replied, her tone mixed with anxiety and anger. “I mean, before it used to be that the people who came had been down on their luck for a while, and you could see that, you know. Then we were getting people who were from double income households, and they’d been holding out because they were embarrassed. Imagine being 40 years old and never out of work and having to come here asking for food.”

“And do you give them the food? Is there any kinds of means testing?”

Robbie glanced at the clock again, Karen noticing and trying to hide her irritation.

“No, absolutely not, and I’ll explain why”— Karen shuffled in her seat and leaned forward—“my husband is a teacher in this area, and I’m telling you now, a good 30% of the students in his class could probably do with getting food from here. They’re hungry, but their parents are proud, so they’re trying to make do. And I’m not saying that they’re proud like it’s a bad thing, I’m saying that there is a perceived loss of dignity when you have to go to a food bank and ask for help. They feel ashamed, and their kids are suffering for it. So when someone comes down here and asks for help, we don’t turn them away. Because we don’t know them, we don’t know their story, and the last thing we want to do is turn someone away who might need it.”

“But isn’t the food bank likely to be used as a free food supply if you do that? People just turning up and thinking oh, great, free food.”

“That’s price we’re willing to pay.”

“But you’re arguing that the government needs to do more to fund food banks. If that’s a price you’re willing to pay on your own, that’s great, but is it right to ask tax payers to fund people who are just abusing the system?”

Karen clenched her jaw and cleared her throat before replying, barely able to hide her irritation. “Who do you think in in that que?”— She motioned over at the line of people — “You think it’s all a bunch of work-shy benefit scroungers? I guarantee you, the vast majority of people here are tax payers. They’re paying their taxes — which has gone up because inflation has dragged them into a higher tax bracket — they’re paying their council tax, which has also gone up. Same for their water, their heating, their food bill. Five years ago we had people who used to drive here. They’re stopped coming because they had to sell their car because petrol was too expensive, and most of the people here walk because they can’t afford to own a car. That young woman over there”— Karen pointed at a young girl with bright red hair — “She walks here because her dad is too ashamed to be seen down here. They gave up their car a year ago. She’s in school at the moment, and she walks over 3 miles every few days to get here and back with the food we give her.”

“She’s got enough money to dye her hair though.”

Karen glared at him, and Robbie glanced over at the clock again. Karen debated internally if she should tell him that a the hair dye the girl used was under five pounds, but it occurred to her that it wouldn’t make any difference. He had made up his mind; any outward expression of joy or life was scrounging. The girl should have no treats, no joy, nothing but a relentless grind through existence.

Suddenly she reached into her bag which was hooked on the side of her chair and pulled out a picture of a young woman and a little girl.

“This is Lea Richards. She threw herself in front of a bus last month, she was holding her little girl.”

Karen refused to look away as Robbie squirmed in his seat. “She hadn’t been able to pay her rent, all her food was from the food bank and the babies father was refusing help. She’d sold almost everything she had. Once she didn’t have anything left she couldn’t see a way out so she threw herself in front of a bus. You don’t take all the little joys way from people or they loose the will to live!”

“She could have got a job.” Robbie snapped. “You can’t just expect people to pay for your children.”

“She’d had a job! The same one since she was sixteen. She lost it because she took too long to recover from childbirth. Once she had the baby she couldn’t find work, so she worked odd jobs and cleaned houses to get by. She’d paid into the system, but when she needed it the only place she could go without judgment was here.”

“She killed her daughter. How can you pretend that she was a good person! ”

“She saw how people like you treated her! She was a single mum who couldn’t afford her rent! How on earth could she expect people would be kind to her daughter. She was worn down and she just couldn’t take it anymore, so she didn’t leave her daughter behind. In her mind she was being loving and rational.”

“So she traumatised a bus driver by being selfish.”

Karen stared at him as though he’d grown a spare head. “The buses are all run by robots now. They have been for the last two years!? How do you not know that?”

Robbie stood up and shoved his chair back as far as he could. “You know what, I think I have enough to write the story.”

“Let me guess, single-mum-benifits-scrounger take advantage of government safety net? I hope you never need help from places like this!”

Robbie shook his head, walked away and waved down a Roamer. The robot car cruised to the side of the road and the door opening to let him in.

“What a colossal waste of time.” Robbie mumbled as he waved his card over the payment system. He didn’t notice the robot turn to look at him in the rearview mirror, its blue eyes adjusting like a focusing lens. If it had had a face, it would have looked disappointed.

It was sheer luck that Robbie noticed Alice. He had been staring out of the window, wondering how on earth he could cobble the interview into an even semi-interesting article when he spotted her walking along the pavement. He hadn’t thought for a moment that he had a chance in hell at actually spotting her, but there she was, walking along the pavement hand-in-hand with a man that Robbie vaguely recognised as her husband.

“Alice!”

Robbie all but threw himself from the Roamer, half rolling onto the pavement and scrambling over to them.

“Hey. Sorry, sorry. I realise that probably looked a bit insane. My name is Robbie Samuel, I’m a reporter with”—

“I can’t talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it. Leave me alone.” Alice turned away from him and they both tried to walk away quickly.

“Look, no, wait! I’m not here to ask you about Aphelion. I realise you can’t talk about that, I want to know more about how you got away.”

“I can’t talk about it” Alice repeated, her husband moving to stand between her and Robbie as they walked.

“Look, I’m not here to get you in trouble. I just want to know how you apparently got away from a robot that’s strong enough to lift a car!”

Alice stoped, looked him up and down and shook her head, as though she had read something about him that was previously invisible. “We’re leaving, don’t follow me.”

“I’m not going to give up you know, there’s a story here.”

Alice looked over at the car waiting for Robbie and tilted her head at the robot in the driver’s seat. The robot tilting it’s head back and shrugging it’s shoulders. Robbie looked back at the robot, noticing the exchange.

“Find a story somewhere else. You’re not making it out of my life.” Alice hissed, walking away with her husband.

Robbie didn’t try to follow them this time.

“Robot?”— he asked as he stepped back inside the vehicle — “What did you do just there?”

“Do, sir?”

“That look, motion, you did a kind of nod with the woman.”

“I thought she was requesting a ride, sir.”

“Oh. Well, take me back home. She doesn’t need a lift”. Robbie confirmed his home address and leaned back in his chair, not bothering to put on his seat belt.