Planners for tonight’s event had toyed with the idea of staging the concert within the factory itself, capturing footage of Jesse Austin singing, surrounded by machinery and workers, creating the impression of a concert that had sprung up spontaneously, as though Austin had burst into song while touring the premises. It had proved impractical. There was no clear stretch of floor space to act as an auditorium. The heavy machinery would block the view for many and there were questions about whether the machinery was suitable for international scrutiny. For these reasons the concert would take place in an adjacent warehouse emptied of stock and more traditionally arranged. A temporary stage had been set up at the north end, in front of which were a thousand wooden chairs. In order to preserve the notion that this was a concert in contrast to those performed in the West, the workers were being ushered directly from the factory floor, given no time to go home and change. The organizers not only wanted an audience of workers, they wanted an audience that looked like workers, with oil on their hands, sweat on their brows and lines of dirt under their nails. The event would offer a stark contrast to the elitism that typified concerts in capitalist countries with tiered ticket prices resulting in a stratification of the audience, where the poor were so far away they could hardly see the show while the truly impoverished lingered backstage, in the service corridors, waiting for the concert to finish so they could sweep the floor.

Leo supervised the movement of workers from the factory to the warehouse, his thoughts on Raisa. He’d cut a particularly unimpressive figure today at her school, desperate and dishonest. However, he was in a position of power and Raisa had proved herself to be astute: it was possible she would weigh up the offer to attend the concert purely in practical terms and those were favourable to him. He wondered what she thought of his occupation. Mulling over the possibilities, he urged the people around him to hurry up and fill whatever seats were available. There were no tickets. The concert was free. The men and women dutifully occupied any remaining places, some of them shivering as they sat down. The warehouse was little more than a steel shell. The roof was too high and the space too large for the gas heaters to warm the entire area. Workers seated at midway points between heaters were discreetly handed gloves and jackets. Leo rubbed his hands together, searching the crowd – there was not long to go and Raisa had still not arrived.