‘What’s in it?’ Melvin asked.
‘Everything!’ a woman enthused. She lectured him about enzymes and elements and his eyes glazed over.
‘Seems too good to be true. You’d think by now we could have worked out how to keep humans healthy. If I were a cynic I’d say they’re trying to keep us sick,’ Melvin said with a smirk.
‘Who?’
‘The faceless blob in power. It doesn’t matter, they’re all the same. My point is that I think we all know what’s good for us but there’s no money in it. Look at me, fresh air, exercise, good local Cumbrian food and laughter. That’s all I need to stay healthy and happy. Nowadays, am I supposed to believe that I need a sachet of powder made in a factory to be happy?’
The group chortled collectively but still Melvin wasn’t put off. They had no clue, this lot, he thought.
‘I reckon Acorn knows what’s good for her,’ he said, stroking his dog. Acorn looked up at him and smiled, panting in excitement that her master was paying her attention.
‘Why does it have to be so complicated?’
The youngsters were growing bored of him, he felt. They moved off one by one. He looked at the hotel entrance and noticed the heavies were still there, like hawks, watching the kids who were here to further their own careers. Melvin was reminded of close protection in the army. They weren’t here to babysit or watch folks paddling in the shallow water for their own safety. Somebody here was important, and Melvin had a feeling they were twitchy now some fella had died.
‘Was it something I said?’ Melvin asked the empty seats.
One young man remained seated at the table with him – the one drinking the powder. Melvin thought he’d seen him somewhere before.
‘I agree with you,’ he said. ‘But maybe just not on the night my friend died. I think everyone’s a little shocked and upset.’
‘Your friend?’
‘Jamie. The man who died.’
‘Oh I do apologise. I was insensitive. I’m a little forgetful,’ Melvin said.
Melvin noticed that the young man’s hands shook. It was almost invisible, but Melvin knew it was there because he’d witnessed men the lad’s age falling apart during war. It was a nervous condition – what was called shell shock in the Great War – and it was involuntary, meaning the sufferer was unlikely to know he was doing it.
‘So you sell this stuff too, then?’ Melvin asked.
The young man nodded.
Melvin held out his hand and the younger man took it. ‘I’m Melvin. I live over there,’ he said, pointing to a bunch of trees at the end of the lake. ‘I’m in trouble with my wife for being late,but I had to come in and help. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and now I’ve been told by the police to hang around. And this is Acorn.’
‘Paul Burlington,’ the man said in return. He stroked Acorn.
‘Have you spoken to the detective yet, Paul?’ he asked.
Paul shook his head.
‘Do you seriously drink this stuff?’ Melvin asked, watching Paul stir his drink with a fork taken from the restaurant. ‘You’d be better off poking that fork into a fat sausage.’
Paul laughed and glugged his juice.
‘It works,’ Paul said.
‘You’re a fit lad now, but that’s because you’re young. If you keep supplementing real food and exercise with this crap, you’ll be sorry when you’re my age.’
Paul sniffed, but it was good natured.
‘I was raised on eggs, butter, fish and home cooking. You lot eat rabbit food,’ Melvin said.
‘If we’re going to save the planet, we need to be less selfish with our own desires and learn to share what we’ve got,’ Paul said.
‘And that’s what the factories tell you to say? They don’t seem to run out of ingredients to make pies, cakes and cereal, do they? Plenty of that about. They don’t seem to be short on the energy or the water they need either, or the land.’
