Million Eyes

by C. R. Berry

  “One Klingon hot chocolate. Extra sugar.” Having arrived a few minutes after Jennifer, Sarah set down a large paper cup next to Jennifer’s cash register. On the side of the cup was the three-pronged emblem of the Klingon Empire from Star Trek.

  Jennifer cocked an eyebrow. “Where did you get that?”

  “It’s Vortex today, remember,” said Sarah. “I walked through it on my way here, saw three Klingons selling coffee… You know, the guys with the foreheads from Star Trek.”

  “Yeah. I know the ones. Thanks honey.”

  Of course Jennifer knew what a Klingon was. Before Million Eyes turned her life into a science fiction movie, she was an ardent geek. Doctor Who, Star Trek, the Marvel films, Black Mirror, The X Files – you name it. Vortex, the annual sci-fi, fantasy and horror festival that took place on the seafront, was the sort of thing she’d take a day off work to attend. Not anymore. She particularly couldn’t handle anything with time travel in it, which meant saying goodbye to her favourite of the lot: Doctor Who. Her entertainment diet now consisted of frivolous comedies and gentle dramas that didn’t require too much brain power, and she told everyone she met that sci-fi and its offshoots weren’t her thing.

  It was a shame. Sarah was probably the biggest girl sci-fi buff Jennifer had met. In different circumstances she’d love to wax lyrical with her about Klingons and the like.

  “How are things?” said Jennifer as Sarah went to hang up her coat.

  “Peachy. Had another barney with Gloria this morning.” Gloria was the mad and unfriendly old spinster who lived next door to Sarah.

  “Does she still think you’re stealing her WiFi?”

  “Yep.”

  “Mad old bat.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  They started setting up the exterior displays on the pavement outside the front of the shop. “What about your date last night?” Jennifer asked, clutching a pair of 19th-century fruitwood farmhouse chairs, one under each arm. “How did it go?”

  Setting down a huge Chinese vase and some old baskets, Sarah pulled a face. “Pfft.”

  “Ah. Not good then.”

  “Sex was good.”

  “Did he stay over?”

  “Shit, no. We banged, then I kicked him out.”

  Jennifer laughed. “You player.”

  Sarah looked innocent. “What? I’ve got more charisma than him in my big toe.”

  “But you still slept with him.”

  “He was hot.”

  Jennifer started piling up old suitcases next to the farmhouse chairs. “Isn’t that a bit… mean?”

  Sarah sighed. “Well… yeah. I guess. But guys have done it to me loads.”

  “Yeah, but you’re better than them.”

  Sarah beamed. “Aww, honey! That’s sweet. I guess I just really needed to get laid last night. Having said that, I don’t think Mark – no, wait – Mike? Shit. Whoever he was, I don’t think he was complaining.”

  They laughed.

  As they went back inside the shop, a customer in her fifties in a smart, charcoal skirt suit, hair drawn so tightly into a bun it was stretching her face, asked Jennifer how old the grandfather clock in the next room was. Jennifer checked the database on one of the store’s Uzu laptops – the only technology brand left that wasn’t Million Eyes or Million Eyes-affiliated – and advised that it was circa 1720.

  She turned her attention back to Sarah, who’d started attaching price tags to a range of antique cigar cases that had just come in. “Hon, can I ask you something?”

  Sarah looked up. “Course.”

  “Do you want kids?”

  Her eyes widened. “Geez. Nine o’clock in the morning and she asks a question like that.”

  Jennifer grinned. “You know me. I like to keep you on your toes.”

  Sarah contemplated her answer, then said, slightly scrunching her face, “Mmmm, to be honest… no, probably not. I don’t think I’m maternal enough. Or patient. I’d rather be a kick-arse aunt. Why?”

  “Toasty wants a baby. Not right this minute, but she definitely wants one.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know. Her uterus skips a beat every time she sees a baby. Has done since uni.”

  “I know,” said Jennifer. “We were talking about it last night. Thing is” – she didn’t want to sound like she’d already decided, even though she had – “I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

  “About having a baby?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sarah turned on her serious face. “Okay. Have you told her that you’re not sure?”

  “I told her to give me a couple of days to get my head together.”

  “Well all I’ll say is that if you’re leaning towards not wanting kids, you need to end things. Before they get too serious.”

  “Things are already serious. We’re living together.”

  “I know. And I know Toasty rushed you on that. She’s totally besotted with you, you know. And if you give her a wishy-washy ‘Yeah, maybe I’ll want kids one day,’ she’ll stay with you and she’ll wait. And if you then decide, nah, you don’t want kids, you’ll basically shatter the girl.”

  Sarah was right. There was no way Toasty was going to change her mind about having kids. Jennifer could either lie to her – tell her that a baby was a definite possibility even though it wasn’t – which wasn’t fair on either of them, or she could put an end to the best thing that had happened to her in ages.

  There was another option, of course. She could be honest, tell Toasty everything. Her real name, her life before Brighton. Million Eyes.

  Except that wasn’t really an option. She grown accustomed to living this lie. It was comfortable, safe. She wasn’t going to risk destroying everything.

  So what now?

  This really was a bit heavy for nine o’clock in the morning. Jennifer lightened the tone, “Of course, the real question is – if things don’t work out between me and Toasty, who gets you in the divorce?”

  Sarah laughed, “Ha! Well, that’s a tricky one. I was obviously friends with Toasty first.”

  Jennifer grinned. “But I’m amazing.”

  Sarah nodded in agreement, “But you’re amazing,” and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “We might have to let a court decide.”

  “A custody battle? I’m game.”

  The woman with the tightly wound bun brought a Victorian era pewter teapot to the cash desk and Jennifer went to serve her while Sarah continued labelling new items. After she’d gone, Jennifer remembered talking to Toasty about inviting Sarah round for dinner. “Before I forget – dinner tonight at our place?”

  “Who’s cooking?”

  “Toasty wants to.”

  Sarah formed a pained expression. Jennifer chuckled, “I know, I know, but I’ve been teaching her. Her culinary skills are improving.”

  Sarah nodded. “Alright. I’ll risk it. What time?”

  “About seven?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Jennifer took a swig of her hot chocolate. “Oh – and let me pay you for this.”

  “Nah, it’s on me.”

  “Bollocks. You got us Starbucks yesterday.” Jennifer walked over to where she’d hung her handbag and took out her frayed and rapidly-falling-apart purse. As she went to unzip the coins pouch, her bank card, key card, Brighton travel card and various supermarket points cards slipped through a hole in the side, the stitching finally giving up the ghost.

  “Oops,” said Sarah. “Jesus, Vicks, get a new purse.”

  “Looks like I’m going to have to.”

  Sarah bent down to help her pick up her cards, now strewn across the floor. In amongst them, Jennifer realised too late, was a small photograph. It had been tucked between old supermarket cards she hadn’t used for so long that she’d forgotten it was even in her purse.

  Sarah picked up the photo and looked at it. “Awww, who’s this?”

  It was a photograph of Jennifer and Jamie, taken at London Zoo when they were k
ids, but now it basically depicted two strangers.

  “My… my sister…” It just slipped out.

  “Sister? I thought you were an only child.”

  Jen, don’t fall apart! She was normally so good at the lies, but the wave of emotion she’d felt at the sight of the photo ripped her out of the fiction she’d been living.

  Thinking quickly, she took advantage of it, turned it into a new lie. “It’s because she… she’s…” Her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Shit, Vicks.” Sarah cupped her hand over Jennifer’s. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” Jennifer pulled away and hastened to the staff toilet.

  She shut herself in a cubicle, sat on the toilet lid and sobbed. The small photo – a selfie Jamie had taken with a giraffe arching into shot above them – fluttered in her quivering fingertips. A moment in time she yearned to have back.

  Slow breaths, Jen. Calm down.

  By the time she returned to the shop, her emotions were safely boxed away and the shop had got busier, which meant there was thankfully no real opportunity for Sarah to mention her sister. Willow arrived soon after and tasked Sarah with driving to a place in Lewes to pick up some new pieces.

  No doubt Sarah would bring up the subject again, though. She was like that. Even though common sense might tell you that Jennifer didn’t want to talk about it, Sarah would want to make sure that was the case by raising it again and asking, giving her ample chance to open up. Jennifer wasn’t sure if it was prying or caring. Maybe a little of both.

  In any case she’d be ready to deflect Sarah’s questions, whenever they came.

  She hated lying to her, though. Hated it.

  But she wasn’t going to stop.

  After work, Jennifer arrived home to find a large cardboard box in the hallway. Toasty was home too; she could hear her chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Toasty shouted, “Hi, muffin,” but Jennifer was crouched over the box, examining it, and didn’t answer.

  When she saw the logo on the side, she heaved, like someone had slammed a fist into her stomach. Outline of a human eye. Red diamond for the pupil.

  Million Eyes.

  Furious, she hollered, “What the fuck is this?”

  Toasty came into the hallway. “It’s our new TV. The METV 808-Elite. Shit-hot model.”

  Jennifer shot Toasty a pointed glare. “You’re kidding, right? You know I don’t use Million Eyes anything.”

  “Yeah but these are the best TVs out there. It’s got this cool new tech that –”

  “I don’t give a monkey’s, Toasty.” Jennifer had to put up with Toasty using a Million Eyes laptop and phone, but she wasn’t about to make one of their products the centrepiece of her lounge. “I don’t want one.”

  Toasty frowned, “Jesus, Vicks, chill out. It comes with a thirty-day free trial so I thought we’d try it.”

  “Well you should’ve asked me, because I would’ve said no.”

  “That’s why I didn’t ask you! I don’t understand this weird resistance you have to technology.”

  Not technology. Just Million Eyes. Although the two weren’t really mutually exclusive anymore.

  “I just thought you might open your mind the tiniest, weeniest little bit,” said Toasty.

  Jennifer shook her head. “I’m not trying it – ever.”

  “Christ, okay! You’re the fucking boss. I’ll take it back tomorrow.” Toasty stormed into the kitchen.

  Jennifer went upstairs to change. It didn’t take long for her anger at Toasty for ignoring her wishes to ease into guilt at reacting like that. As much as she hated to admit it, Million Eyes devices were generally the top choice for anyone who didn’t know they were murderous time travellers using consumer electronics as a smokescreen – which Toasty didn’t. Jennifer’s aversion to everything Million Eyes wasn’t going to make an ounce of sense to her.

  Oh, Jen. This was the second time today that she’d let buried feelings re-surface.

  After changing, she switched on the TV in the bedroom and lay down on the bed to get a hold of herself. As bad timing would have it, the Million Eyes Annual Tech Summit – basically a live, two-hour-long, internationally televised advertisement for all things Million Eyes – was on. She’d caught bits of them in the past and they consisted of speeches about the latest innovations, demos, and interviews with consumers and businesses who piled praise on Million Eyes like brainwashed lemmings.

  She grabbed the remote control to change the channel, then saw that the host was welcoming on stage the CEO of Million Eyes, Erica Morgan, to give the summit’s keynote speech.

  Jennifer lowered the remote.

  She watched Miss Morgan strut onto the stage wearing a pale blue knee-length skirt with tiered ruffles, a matching blouse and a loose, dark grey, checked blazer buttoned at the waist. Her silky, coal-black hair spilled over her shoulders like a tap running with ink. Jennifer had seen her before, but she was known for keeping a low profile, avoiding public appearances and rarely giving interviews, certainly not keynote speeches at televised events. Having checked her out, Jennifer had found out hardly anything. Her Wikipedia page was sparse; nothing was known about her family, her background or her jobs and achievements before she suddenly became CEO of Million Eyes in 1998. It was rumoured that she’d worked for Million Eyes for some time before that, but nobody seemed to know what she did there. Even her date of birth was unknown; people had been trying to guess her age for years. If Jennifer had to hazard a guess she’d say mid-fifties, but something told her she might be a lot older and just looked really good for it.

  Thunderous applause winding down, Miss Morgan addressed the crowd in a soft but confident voice, “Friends, good evening. Thank you so much for the warm welcome. It’s fantastic to see you all and I’m so proud to be heading up such an extraordinary company, particularly today. The pace of innovation at Million Eyes in the last few years has been stunning. I have been with this company since the beginning –”

  You have? Jennifer imagined the Wikipedia scribes scrambling to add this vague detail to her page.

  “– and it’s been a privilege and a source of awe and inspiration to watch it grow around me. In recent years our engineering teams have outdone themselves and in a moment I will be talking about the products and platform developments that I am personally most excited to share with you. But first I want to thank you.”

  Jennifer felt her lip curling, her frown deepening.

  “All of you. Everyone here tonight and everyone watching at home. Million Eyes has changed the world. It has transformed the lives of every person on Earth but none of it would’ve been possible without you. You have helped us help you. Your support and your enthusiasm is the reason Million Eyes technology is in every home and office, every shop, cafe and restaurant, every school, every factory, every farm, every car, train and aeroplane. Because of you, Million Eyes… is everywhere.”

  Jennifer shivered, a chill skittering up her back. She grabbed the remote and switched it off.

  If there was anything she was sure of right now, it was this – Toasty’s new TV was going back.

  22

  August 30th 1997

  “George! My old friend, what a wonderful surprise.” Sebastien Touchard, a French waiter living in the centre of Paris, opened the front door of his modest apartment by the Seine to his English friend, George Langdon, who he’d not seen for years.

  It was clear pretty quick that this wasn’t going to be the happiest of reunions. George looked tired, pale, distressed. Beads of sweat glistened on his receding hairline. Granted, it was a hot day in a hot city, but Sebastien suspected there was more to it.

  “We have to talk,” said George, out of breath.

  “Of course. Come in.”

  Sebastien showed George into the lounge. “Can I get you – ?”

  “Nothing, thank you.” George seated himself on the leather couch.

  Sebastien sat in the chair opposite. “What is it,
George? What’s wrong?”

  “Are you still a waiter at the Ritz?”

  Sebastien had been at the Paris Ritz for ten years. It wasn’t always a bed of roses, but the rewards far outweighed any unpleasantness. “Yes. Why?”

  Still trying to catch his breath, George replied, “Diana. Princess Diana. She’s staying there tonight, isn’t she.”

  And these were the sorts of rewards he reaped – getting to serve extraordinary people like her. But what did George want with the princess? “Yes. She and Dodi Fayed are due to arrive sometime after four.”

  “Are you working tonight?”

  “Yes. My shift starts at seven. George, enough with the questions. What is this about?”

  “I need you to give her something.”

  “Princess Diana?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  George reached inside his jacket, pulled out a small, ancient-looking book, handed it to Sebastien.

  Sebastien frowned. The plain green buckram cloth binding was ripped in several places, exposing the boards beneath. The pages were stained and rippled. Much of the gold foil lettering on the front and spine had flaked away, leaving just the indentations from the blocking process. The words remained perfectly readable, however: The History of Computer-Aided Timetabling for Railway Systems. By Jeremy Jennings. Not a book – or author – Sebastien had ever heard of.

  Sebastien looked at George. “You want me to give this to the Princess of Wales?”