Heartbreak hotel
Just broken up with your partner? Freshly single and having to face the misery of a lonely Valentine’s Day? Help is at hand in the form of an alternative holiday for the heartbroken
The heartache before the hospitality. Photograph: Christine Madden
HERE IT COMES again, that most dreaded day of the year. Bad enough if you or your partner have to be frogmarched into shelling out for flowers, perfume, chocolates, aftershave, sex toys and dinners in overpriced restaurants. Excruciating if you’re single and think everybody else but you is having a passionate evening with a strings-heavy soundtrack. Devastating if you’ve recently broken up with your partner.
What can you do to escape the frilly, pink world of Valentine’s when your heart has been sledge-hammered? Luckily, you’re not alone when you’re alone. There are lots of new ways to avoid it.
One of them lies nestled in an Alpine valley that looks like a picture on one of those chocolate boxes sold for the dreaded day. Schüle’s hotel in Oberstdorf, a sport and health resort town in the southernmost tip of Bavaria, sits in the middle of a landscape that earns its right to the cliché “breathtaking”. Just looking at the ridge of snowy peaks against the sky feels like a mental peppermint, natural beauty like an intake of crisp air. The hotel features the “Ich bin ganz bei mir” – “Time for Me” – holiday offered by Liebeskümmerer, a German counselling service for the broken-hearted.
Breaking up is a trauma. You feel like the earth has collapsed under your feet
The founder of Liebeskümmerer, Elena Sohn, first approached Schüle’s about a year and a half ago with the concept. “At first, I had to smile,” says Karl-Arnold Schüle, the director of the award-winning, family-owned hotel. But after discussions with the Sohn and the hotel doctor, he realised that it was a service his hotel was ideally suited to provide. What makes it different from just another relaxation holiday or detox? “We tend to each person individually,” he says. The programme for each guest is tailor-made to suit their specific wishes and needs. And special touches are added for those still aching after a breakup, such as inspirational messages on cards left for guests on their pillow.
The Time for Me break includes a consultation with the hotel doctor, during which visitors can discuss which treatments would suit them best. These include a range of massages and Kneipp cure therapies, saunas, participation in Schüle’s many hiking and indoor and outdoor sporting activities and personal counselling.
From the front, the hotel looks friendly, inviting but not unusual. But the back of the hotel opens out to a valley sweeping towards the towering Alps. This view graces almost every public and treatment space in the hotel – from the tranquil indoor pool to the various spa therapy rooms to the saunas. Schüle’s also features a ladies-only sauna – open to men one day a week – and a “room of stillness”: Zeitlos (English: “timeless”). Apparently this room is so well insulated, the glass triple-glazed, that you can’t even get a mobile signal – so no chance of sending your ex a recriminatory text or scanning Facebook to see what they’re up to.
Ulrike Fohn, one of the Liebeskümmerer therapists. Photograph: Christine Madden
“Breaking up is a trauma,” says Ulrike Fohn, one of the Liebeskümmerer therapists who works with the “Time for Me” guests. “It comes suddenly, you feel like the earth has collapsed under your feet. You’ve got to release the shock, the fear.”
Fohn is an alternative practitioner and healer of physical and emotional illness who lives and works nearby. Her voice is soothing, her warm smile full of empathy. The window behind her opens out to sunshine glinting off the mountain snow – a panorama radiating majesty and peace.
Hidden in the crisis of heartache, there’s an amazing opportunity to discover happiness
Many people traumatised by a breakup had focused their entire life and happiness on their partner. They feel like “the earth has crumbled beneath their feet”, says Fohn. “It’s like they’ve outsourced the fulfilment of their most important needs. Then their partner breaks the contract.”
Fohn treats her patients in hours-long sessions. “The key is: accept it,” she says. Struggling against reality isn’t helpful. She’ll assist you in recognising the unconscious thought and behaviour patterns that keep pushing you back into toxic situations and pain. Then, she says, “You have to treat yourself with understanding and love.” And not be afraid to seek help.
Elena Sohn, author and founder of Liebeskümmerer. Photograph: Christine Madden
Liebeskümmerer was the brain child of former PR consultant Elena Sohn. She launched the service after being left by her then partner in 2008 – “or maybe 2009, I’m really not sure anymore”, she says, indicating how far she’s come since then. At the time, however, Sohn was paralysed with grief. While visiting friends, she noticed that achieving distance was helpful. Why, she thought, is there a medical therapy for every little ailment but not for heartache? The name is a German play on words: Liebeskummer = heartache, kümmern = to take care of.
Based in Berlin, Sohn now says, “I would never suffer so much from a breakup again”. She has also written two books: Schluss mit Kummer, Liebes! (No More Anguish, Dear!), and Goodby, Herzschmerz (Goodbye, Heartache). The latter describes her “Glücksherz” (happy heart) technique of getting over heartbreak – and never experiencing it so violently again.
But can you mend someone’s heart in a mini-break? “We no longer try to cure only acute heartache, but work with you to change your perspective,” says Sohn. “I urge people to see that, hidden in their crisis of heartache, there’s an amazing opportunity to discover what sources of happiness there still are in their life.”
Sites such as Never Liked it Anyway and Exboyfriend Jewelry will help you sell and turn reminders of your ex into cash
The attention you receive is personalised and indulgent. When Petra Stein’s (not her real name) six-year relationship came to an end after a devastating breakup last year, she wrote to Sohn. Having arranged her escape, Stein staggered into Schüle’s for a four-day visit.
As soon as she arrived, “the Schüle family took me into their care”, Stein says. Frau Schüle accompanied her on group hikes in the mountains. She had treatments and massages, revelled in the tranquillity of the hotel and its Alpine location and ate her fill every night at the restaurant. Before she got there, she says, “I hadn’t been able to eat for weeks and lost 16 kg”.
Special tub for a luxury bath at Schüles. Photograph: Christine Madden
Stein also partly met two other Liebeskümmerer clients who were visiting at the same time. They shared their stories, propped each other up – and continued to stay in touch after they left. Now close friends, they’ve since been back to Schüle’s for a return visit, and spent New Year’s – that other notorious holiday for making singles feel ostracised – together in Berlin.
After the huge popularity of the (body) detox, the concept of an emotional detox feels like the next big thing. It could be a way of reaching people who might not normally come for help, surmises Kate Curtis, a therapist practising just outside of Dublin, Ireland who has extensive training in various healing practices, such as reflexology, acupuncture, Celtic herbalism and holotropic breathwork. “I think it’s very clever, because it’s taking away some of the stigma attached from some of the psychology treatments that people might need to go for, that people would resist because of that stigma,” she says.
“A breakup is a huge shock,” says Curtis. “But it can be the catalyst for opening up the gates.” She cautions, however, that you should choose a practitioner very carefully, and follow it up. “You need to take care of yourself in the weeks afterward. Once a gate is opened, it’s important that it stays opened. It can contract a few days later, and that can be painful.”
On the way to Schüles, the Alps framing the landscape. Photograph: Christine Madden
At Chewton Glen Hotel and Spa in the UK, Denise Leicester – qualified nurse, aromatherapist, yoga teacher and yogic healer – also conducts emotional detox courses. “We are ‘feeling beings’, yet staying emotionally balanced and learning how to restore ‘emotional wellbeing’ is not often supported or even acknowledged,” says Leicester, who is also the founder and CEO of ila, an organic skincare, spa product and treatment company. “The emotional detox is offered as a gentle way to become more in touch with oneself and to enable toxic emotions to be released, restoring harmony and happiness.” The ila retreat at Chewton Glen “can offer space, support and nurturing in a healing environment where emotions can be released and balance restored.”
Although cohabitation seems to be reducing the divorce rate somewhat, it still remains high – there were, for example, still an average of 13 divorces an hour in England and Wales in 2012. There aren’t any statistics for breakups, but sales of ice cream, chocolates and Adèle albums have certainly not flagged. All fodder for the burgeoning breakup industry and its trailblazing services. The Breakup Shop, for example, will send a letter, email or text to your soon-to-be ex. In their shop, you can also order your ex a present, such as a Netflix gift card or box of cookies. (Their Poo Smell Card is currently sold out.) Facebook is currently trialling a new Take a Break tool that will help screen you from your ex’s feed (and your ex from yours) to help you achieve distance. Sites such as Never Liked it Anyway and Exboyfriend Jewelry will help you get rid of physical reminders of your ex by helping you sell and turn them into cash. Or you can donate them to the Museum of Broken Relationships (see panel below).
But maybe it’s best to start at Schüle’s with a caring, indulgent break as an antidote breakup. As you enjoy the five-course dinner with a book, take note of your surroundings: you might see that the couple at the next table hardly exchange a word. Maybe being single isn’t such a bad thing after all.
A version of this article appeared in the magazine N by Norwegian in February 2016
Other destinations for the dumped
Different phases of breaking up call for different antidotes. Feeling hungry? Adventurous? Or gleefully vengeful? Try a break at one of these locations
Museum of Broken Relationships
When Croatian artists Olinka Vištica and Dražen Grubišić ended their relationship, a joke about what to do with the object left behind turned into a museum. Since starting up in 2006, it’s gone on tour all over the world. Next tour starts this month [February 2016], or visit the museum in Zagreb.
Tuscookany – cookery holidays in Tuscany
Now that your ex, who always did the cooking, is gone, it’s time to learn how to make fantastic pasta yourself. Where better than in a cooking course at a villa in gorgeous Tuscany. Get occupied, learn something new and bring back a skill to make your friends (maybe even the ex?) jealous.
Anti-Valentine’s Party
Want to turn sad into mad? Dry your tears and head for the annual Anti-Valentine’s Party at Birds Café and Bar in LA. They serve food and special drinks – such as blackheart martinis – and previous parties have featured male and female piñatas to bash and possibly voo-doo dolls. Having fun is the best revenge.
The Chocolate Museum, Cologne
Need to indulge? Short of taking a bath in chocolate, you can visit the Chocolate Museum in Cologne, near its famous mediaeval cathedral. Take the tour, overwhelm your senses with the sights and smells, let one chocolate after another melt across your tongue, visit the cathedral and expiate. Then start over.
Exotics Racing / Nürburgring
To get your heart racing again, why not drive an exotic luxury car around the Nevada desert? At Exotics Racing in Las Vegas, you can drive a Lamborghini, Ferarri, Porsche and more – or be driven in one. In Europe, the Nürburgring racetrack offers a broad palette of motoring experiences, including watching racing or speeding down the track yourself.
Gelato Museum
All wrapped up in a duvet to eat ice cream by the pint? Soothe your heartache the classy way and visit the Gelato Museum just outside Bologna. After learning about the history of ice cream, getting introduced to the art of Italian gelato, sample the artisan product and melt away.
Schüles Hotel, Oberstdorf, Germany: a winter paradise. Photograph courtesy Schüles Hotel
Serenity: the care put in by the Liebeskümmerer. Photograph: Christine Madden
Ice dream
MUNICH has frozen in the grip of the coldest January for years. Sub-zero temperatures have sent many cowering into their duvets. Others – hardy, warm-blooded snow and ice enthusiasts – are emerging from hibernation and taking advantage of the arctic conditions for an increasingly rare chance at local winter sport.
In November, optimistic purveyors set up sheds along the Nymphenburg Canal, hoping that this year they might get lucky. In previous years, the shacks remained boarded up and lonely alongside the stubbornly liquid waterway. But this year the weather complied, sending the mercury plummeting and freezing up the canal, which stretches eastward from Nymphenburg Castle.
On one end, where the canal opens out, skaters skid and twirl on the ice in front of the Hubertusbrunnen. Further down, the canal is portioned out for curling. An ice version of boules, curling involves sliding a heavy disk down to a target. Strolling down the path along the canal, you can hear the skates and curling stones scraping across the ice, a sound like marble masonry. You also hear cheers and laughter as the players celebrate their success – or just their joy at being out to play under a cobalt blue sky, walking on water. Their large thermal bags of provisions and steaming mugs show that they’ve come prepared. The odd burgundy splash on the snow and ice indicate that the hot beverages they’re drinking aren’t just coffee.
Curling on the frozen Nymphenburg Canal, Munich. Photograph: Christine Madden
Curling on the frozen Nymphenburg Canal, Munich
Leaning into the next shot. Nymphenburg Canal, Munich. Photograph: Christine Madden
Mass shooting in Munich
Screen shot of Munich Police Twitter feed during the shooting at the OEZ 22 July 2016
THE mass shooting in Munich last night, in which 10 people lost their lives – including the gunman – and many others were wounded, has been designated as an “amok” shooting, not a terrorist attack. The German work “amok” describes an indiscriminate rampage shooting by a perpetrator that is motivated by reasons other than organised terrorism. The police have discovered no indication that the shooting was an Islamist or Isis terrorist attack.
The identity of the gunman has not yet been released, but he was an 18-year-old German-Iranian who was born and grew up in Munich. First reports of the shooting arrived at the Bavarian police at 17.52 yesterday evening. The police quickly closed off the scene of the crime at the Munich shopping centre Olympia Einkaufszentrum, all public transport in the city was shut down soon afterward. There were reports of other attacks in the city, which the police also investigated, but none of these proved to be real.
Residents were asked to stay at home, not to remain in public spaces and get off the streets. Extra police reinforcements came from all over Germany, also from Austria. More than 2,000 police officers were involved in the operation. The police kept people informed on Facebook and Twitter, tweeting in five languages – German, English, French, Spanish and Turkish – to keep people informed. They also used Twitter to ask people not to post pictures of the gunman or the police, as this would interfere with the success of the operation.
Initial reports stated that up to three perpetrators were at large. Apparently plainclothes police gave chase initially and were seen by witnesses, who then informed the police that they had seen three armed men fleeing. Because so many reports were coming in – Bavarian police commissioner Hubertus Andrä said in a press conference at noon today they had received 4,310 in six hours yesterday evening, the amount they might normally get in four days – they were unable to correctly interpret the information.
Hours after the shooting, a body in a side street near the OEZ was identified as the gunman. He had died from a self-inflicted gun wound and, although he had been shot at by the police, none of these had hit him.
The 18-year-old gunman had a 9mm Glock; at the moment there are no indications that anyone knew he had a weapon. Police are currently investigating how got it. After searching the gunman’s room at his family home, the police found newspaper articles and other literature about mass shootings. The perpetrator was obviously took a great interest in them. According to Bavarian police commissioner Andrä, as he was so interested in mass shootings, he must have been aware of and studied Breivik’s attack as well. There are also reports that he was interested in violent video games, and of a possible psychological illness.
During the press conference, police commissioner Andrä also said that there had been definitely only one perpetrator, and that the gunman had, according to the investigations they had been performing since he was identified, there were no connection between him and the refugee situation.
His family are established Munich residents: his father a taxi driver, his mother a shop assistant. The family lives close to Stiglmaierplatz in the centre of Munich. The gunman was not known to the authorities. He was still a student, but the police have not released any information about which school he attended.
There are reports that a Facebook account, possibly hacked by the perpetrator, offered free food to people at fast-food restaurant McDonalds on that day. Most of the victims were young people: three 14-year-olds, two 15-year-olds, and a 17, a 19, a 20 and a 45-year-old. All were from Munich; three of them female.
A young woman, a neighbour, said on Bavarian television that she understands people are frightened, but that Muslims are also frightened, and that attackers like that don’t make distinctions.
The police and Bavarian state ministry have held press conferences; Chancellor Angela Merkel is due to hold a press conference this afternoon.
Great expectations
CHAZ bounded out of school and towards the bus stop. Like it knew it was a special day, the bus pulled up immediately, and Chaz got on, chose a window seat at the back and pulled out his smartphone and started tweeting.
“Birthday: so far so brilliant. On way home for family dinner. Recording equipment in the offing? Or even ukulele?? Sick!”
Five minutes later, he’d already had 46 favourites and 104 retweets. He’d even got 22 new followers today. Ten on twitter, and 12 on his YouTube channel. Life was sweet.
He got out his phone to film himself for a new vlog.
“Yo brothers and sisters it’s the day of my birth so I’m full of mirth for what it’s worth down here on earth, where we live and love to celebrate and I feel just great…”
“And it’s you I hate, so just levitate yo ass out of here,” someone who was passing him in the bus chanted.
Chaz shut off his phone. “Sod off, Dan.”
“So happy birthday, Mate,” Dan sang and got off the bus.
Minutes later, it was Chaz’s stop. Once he was home, he was planning to go straight to his room to download his video into his computer and finish his vlog. But his mum called him over. Both his parents were sitting at the table with a lovely large chocolate cake, covered with candles. God, he loved birthdays. He looked about for parcels but didn’t see any. But that was no reason to worry. Probably his present was recording equipment, and it was upstairs. That’s why they detained him. Sick.
He wished his sister could be there, too, but she’d left the family more or less years ago. Actually, come to think of it, it wasn’t long after her 16th birthday. Maybe she didn’t get what she wanted. On the other hand, the parents were a bit past it. Always going on about books written by old farts. Whatever. What could you expect? Now he communicated with his sister through Twitter mostly. She was far away in Edinburgh, studying to become a forensic pathologist. Each to his own.
“Hey Mum, Dad,” said Chaz, plonking himself down on the couch.
“Happy birthday, Charles,” said his mum.
“You’re 16 now,” said his dad. “We’d like to have a talk with you about something.”
“Yeah, sure. Can we have the cake while we’re talking?” said Chaz.
“In a minute,” said his dad. “We’d like to talk to you a bit about your future.”
“Do we have to do it now?”
“Yes, Charles. I think it’s time.”
“In the future, you know, I’d rather you called me Chaz.”
“That’s sort of what we want to talk to you about,” said his mum.
“You see,” his father started. “It’s like this, Son. You’re not really our son. Not our biological son, anyway.”
“What? I’m adopted?” Chaz gasped.
“Kind of, and kind of not,” said his mother.
“Your mother gave birth to you,” said his dad. “She incubated you, so to speak. But your genetic material is completely different.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“Charles… you really are Charles. About 17 years ago, we acquired something very valuable in an auction. It was something belonging to a famous author called Charles Dickens.”
“So I’m named after him?” asked Chaz.
“Let me finish,” said his father. “We acquired Charles Dickens’s toothpick.”
This was a bit of an anticlimax, Chaz thought. What next? William Shakespeare’s fingernail scissors?
“A magnificent relic,” said his mother.
“I don’t know if we had the idea before or after we got it,” said his father.
“It kind of all happened at once,” said his mum.
“But we had this incredible idea,” his father continued. “Charles Dickens was one of the greatest literary geniuses of all time. What a thing to give to the world, to bring back Charles Dickens. To let him continue his great work and bring beauty and literature into the world.”
Chaz could sense that this conversation was not going in a good way. And that, when it was over, he might actually not be in much of a mood for chocolate cake.
“So we had the toothpick examined for residual genetic material,” his father said. “And then we managed to revive it and grow it. And clone it.”
There was a silence. Chaz was first to speak.
“No,” he said.
“That’s right, Son. You are Charles Dickens.”
“The clone of Charles Dickens,” Chaz corrected his father.
“Yes, but that means you are, in fact, Charles Dickens.”
“But I’m not Charles Dickens,” Chaz protested. “I don’t want to be Charles Dickens. I’m Chaz. I don’t even like his bloody books.”
“Oh, come now, that’s not entirely true,” said his mum. “You’ve hardly given them a chance. You liked A Christmas Carol.”
“So?” Chaz demanded.
“That’s Charles Dickens,” said his sort-of mother. “He – you – wrote that.”
“THAT WAS THE MUPPETS!” Chaz shouted.
“All the same, Charles Dickens – you – wrote it.”
“I did not! I HATE writing.”
“You write all the time,” said his mum.
“I TWEET all the time,” said Chaz. “I tweet. On Twitter. I do vlogs Video blogs, in case you’re so bloody past it you don’t know or even notice. Not the same as writing huge, effing, boring novels is it?”
“Charles…” started his father.
“I’m Chaz, dammit. I hate being called Charles. I’m Chaz. C. H. A. Z. And you’ve just stolen my life from me. You’ve stolen my life. I had a life, and now you say it’s somebody else’s.”
“No, we’ve given you a life. A very illustrious…”
“No, stolen. I never wanted all those books you keep throwing at me. I hate books. What happened to the ukulele I asked for?”
“That’s not a serious instrument, Charles. Books are enduring works of art,” said his father.
“They’re past it,” Chaz screamed. “Just like you. I tweet. I have 12,000 followers. And counting. And I just put my first rap vlog on YouTube. I’ve got followers there, too. Not quite as many, but counting. I might even…”
Chaz was about to say, might even get a book deal, but that would have been counter productive.
“And you’re telling me I’m supposed to sit down and write these huge, insanely boring novels that nobody wants to read because, wait for it, because ‘I’m a gift for humanity’?”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing,” said his dad.
“OMG, I’ve had enough of this shit,” screamed Chaz, and ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He immediately pulled out his smartphone and started walking very quickly down the street while he typed into it.
“omg u can’t believe what psycho tossers mum and dad are. U were so right to escape,” he wrote to his sister Jane on Twitter.
The user imnotjane responded within seconds.
“O I can. It is a truth universally acknowledged that our parents are toerags.”
“U won’t believe what they told me.”
“Try me,” tweeted imnotjane. “But maybe not on Twitter.”
A version of this story originally appeared in the German magazine Spotlight
Spin
AFTER a few minutes of pretending to admire the paintings on the wall of the HR reception office, Mark went back to the front desk. “So,” he said.
“I’m sure it will only be a moment,” said Cynthia, without looking away from her computer screen.
“I really like your artwork,” Mark said.
“Thanks.” She smiled politely towards her screen while continuing to type. Then her computer pinged. “Robert can see you now,” she said. “You can just walk in.”
Robert, the head of HR, watched Mark enter with a big, sunny smile. “Mark,” he said, “it’s so good to see you! You’re looking remarkably well today.”
“Thanks,” said Mark. “You’re looking very well, too.”
“I just can’t believe how terrific you look,” said Robert. “Do you know what? I’m going to do a selfie of us both.”
“Erm…” muttered Mark, as Robert jumped up from his chair and ran around the desk.
“Smile!” said Robert, as he put his arm around Mark’s shoulders and held out his smartphone in front of them.
“Look at that! Gorgeous! I’m going to put that on our Twitter feed,” said Robert.
“Wow. Brilliant,” said Mark. “But I’m thinking you didn’t call me in today to take a selfie.”
“God, you’re clever,” said Robert. “That’s why I can see really big things for you in the future.”
“You can? Yes, I mean, that’s what hard work and commitment are for.”
“Take a seat, Mark,” said Robert, gesturing to a chair. “I can’t tell you how impressed we are with your forward-thinking, proactive contribution to our company. You’ve entered the left lane and left everyone behind you.”
“Well, thanks…”
“That why I feel very strongly about your future. I know you’re going to do great things. And in order to facilitate you, I’m going to see to it that you have a lot more flexibility. We’re ensuring that you aren’t hampered by your current position so that you can feel free to pursue new goals.”
“Erm…”
“I’m delighted to be able to launch you into phase two of your career. This is a proud day for us both, Mark. Once you’ve been cut loose, I can see you rocketing into action.”
“Erm, hold on, Robert. Are you saying I’m being made redundant?”
“Yes, Mark, we’re promoting you to customer. I am so happy to be able to deliver a solution that will bring us both the greatest profits.”
“But… but…,” Mark stammered. “But, Robert, you know my wife just had twins…”
“Double return,” said Robert. “God, Mark, you’re an action man everywhere.”
“Robert, you’ve just made me unemployed.”
“You’ll be skiing off-piste.”
“Dammit, Robert, are you listening to me?”
“This won’t be taking effect until the end of the month,” said Robert. “Oh, sorry. I meant the end of the week. Strap it on for a while, see what you think.”
“Strap this on, you bastard!” Mark leapt out of his chair and threw a hard punch into Robert’s handsome square jaw. Mark expected (and half-hoped) that Robert would punch him back. Instead, Robert’s head spun around full circle and snapped back into place, then he fell sideways down on the desk, eyes open, still smiling.
“Holy shit,” said Mark as Robert convulsed on his desk.
Cynthia entered. “Oh, dear.” She walked over to her boss, who lay in spasms on his desk. “He’s late for his check up.”
“Is he OK?” said Mark. “I’m really sorry, I… I don’t know what happened.”
“You punched him. They all do.” Cynthia placed her hand on Robert’s neck to check his pulse. But she didn’t. Instead, she lifted open a flap of skin. Beneath it, little lights flashed. “He badly needs to be reprogrammed.” She pressed a few switches inside Robert’s neck, and his body slumped before coming back into life. “There. I’ve rebooted him.”
“So…” Mark stuttered. “Wait. So Robert is actually Robot?”
“Yes, that’s right. It works much better that way,” said Cynthia, checking her watch. “He’ll be up and running in about 90 seconds.”
“I always thought he seemed a bit unnatural.”
“It’s much better not to get too personally involved,” said Cynthia.
“So,” said Mark, “are you a robot, too?”
A voice came from Robot’s mouth. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “Look at that gorgeous arse. I’d like to slap it.”
“Oh, dear,” said Cynthia, reaching back for Robot’s neck controls. “This often happens. The experimental 1950s vocabulary tends to assert itself after a violent trauma. I’ll just boot him up again.” She operated the switches, and Robot slumped once more.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, without looking up from Robot. “Your redundancy papers are on my desk. Would you pick them up on your way out? Don’t forget to sign for them.”
A version of this story originally appeared in the German magazine Spotlight
Oh holy night
“NAME?”
“Dennis. Dennis Mobray.”
“Age?”
“Six.”
The woman at the desk looked up at him over her glasses. “OK. Slightly bolshy sense of humour. I’ll make a note of that in the character profile. A lot of people don’t like that. But some families do, actually.” She scribbled something lower down on the page. “So, let’s start again. Age?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Thank you. Now, your original family configuration.”
“Is that really relevant?”
“Dennis,” the woman sighed. “We are trying to achieve the best fit possible for you and your host family. Of course the makeup of your original family is relevant in order to assure the success of your holiday visit.”
“But, Shirley,” he started.
‘Christmas was torture. I just want to watch boxsets on TV’
“I’m sorry, my name isn’t Shirley.”
“But the nameplate – ”
“This isn’t my desk. I’m filling in while Ms Nott is away.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. My appointment was with Shirley Nott. Anyway, what I wanted to say was that I don’t want to spend Christmas with anybody. I hated my family. Really, I hated them. Christmas was torture every year. So I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want to sit in front of my TV and watch box sets. Is that so bad?”
The woman sighed again and put down her pencil. “Dennis,” she said, “I understand your anxiety about the situation, but really, there’s no cause for concern. Since the government decided to do something about the increase in suicide during the holiday period by ensuring that everyone had a family to go to, it’s out job to ensure that everyone is paired with just the right family for them. So, if you’ll just co-operate now, we’ll do everything in our power to make your holiday period a happy one.”
“But…” Dennis struggled. “I’m sorry, what is your name then?”
She looked back down at the files on her desk and continued to go through them. “Holly Green.”
Dennis flinched, but continued. “Thanks, Holly. It’s like this. I just don’t want to be with anyone on Christmas Day.”
“Of course you do,” said Holly as she finished with one file and began to study the next. “Everyone wants to be with someone at Christmas. So, let’s see… “I’ve a nice family here, just perfect for you. It’s a lovely elderly couple with two adult children, both with spouses of their own, and the son has two sons of his own who just love to play football. You can all go outside and kick the ball about while gran and the women prepare the meal. The grandad got a replacement hip recently, so he just stays quiet in front of the telly watching the Queen’s speech and Dad’s Army and drinking cider.”
“Isn’t that a bit sexist? That’s exactly what contributed to my mother dying so young.”
‘He doesn’t swear quite as much, will have the four children, his mum, auntie and cats’
“Oh, dear, didn’t I tell you to explain your family circumstances? Let’s try another… Ah, here’s one. Not the same ages, but the father is a foodie, a big Gordon Ramsay fan, so he’ll be preparing a holiday meal special. It does says here he doesn’t swear quite as much as he used to, you’ll be glad to hear. He’s divorced, so I’m afraid his wife won’t be there, but he’ll have the four children, ages three to 12, his mum and his auntie. You don’t mind cats, do you?”
Dennis slapped his hands on the table. “Listen, this is ridiculous. I don’t want to spend the holidays with any family. Nobody. Not even the Holy Family. Do you understand?”
“I’m sorry, Dennis, but there’s nothing I can do. It’s regulation. So let me see if I can find another home for you … ”
“No, Holly, that’s it. I don’t want another family. Where is Shirley, anyway? Can I just again when she’s back?”
Holly sighed again. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Dennis. She won’t be back in the office until after Christmas.”
“Oh,” said Dennis. “I’m sorry, is she ill?”
“No. Well, prevention, really. She does go a bit funny this time of year, so the doctors have recommended she travel somewhere where they don’t celebrate Christmas. So she’s in Jaipur until after New Year’s.”
“Oh, good God,” Dennis groaned.
“Oh, that’s just given me the most wonderful idea!” said Holly. “You can go to her family. Her parents have just got back together again and her brother will be on parole starting next week. They’ve actually requested someone open and friendly …”
Dennis stared at her, open-mouthed, as she got out the file. “It says here … oh, by the way, do you know how to disarm someone with a knife?”
A version of this story originally appeared in the German magazine Spotlight