Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  It was unrealistic, expecting Alfred to carry him to safety, but he’d thought it the first few times. The fourth time he accepted nobody was going to help. The team was probably watching them and laughing.

  One morning she strode in, her normal brisk self. The last few occasions might never have happened. “It’s over,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Langton’s done a runner. He’s not coming back.”

  “But -”

  “Now he’s had you, he doesn’t want you. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

  “I won’t believe that. We love each other.”

  “He hasn’t called or written. The house sale’s all over the news. Are those the actions of a man in love?”

  He searched her face for a sign she was lying. Nothing. He folded up and sobbed.

  “Let it out.” Gnarled hands patted his back. “It’s for the best.” She brought out a bottle of gin. “Would you like some?”

  It warmed his insides. It was a brand he and Alfred had drunk together. When she started to undress he didn’t protest.

  Claire. Fisk. What difference did it make? They could do what they wanted.

  He was never going to think about Alfred again.

  ***

  CER was in turmoil. Everyone knew it.

  The workers only had a rough idea what had happened to Josh. They guessed he was in the building, but anywhere past the tenth floor was off limits. Claire stopped by sometimes, asking for Sienna. Adrian disappeared for hours, accompanied by menacing men in dark suits.

  Then the letters went round. Brilliant white, a holographic cog in the corner, it explained CER was going through a “challenging period” and the recipient’s role was at risk of redundancy. Their discretion and co-operation would be appreciated. Or “Nah nahdy nah nah, you’re gonna get fired,” as Ravi put it.

  Morale was nonexistent. They had time to brood. Thanks to the Prime Minister’s campaign, the purchase of domestic robots was at an all time low. The media blamed artificials for everything from learning disabilities to climate change.

  Madge’s team were stupefied when she came down from a meeting with Adrian and cleared her desk.

  “You’re the best team leader here!” Ravi protested. Even strange, quiet Tatum touched her shoulder and said, “They can’t do this.”

  Madge grimaced. “They can and they have. I’m surplus to requirements - and, as Aidy tactfully reminded me, three years from retirement.”

  “Want me to stick needles under his nails?” Dean asked. “Failing that, there’s this throw I’ve been working on -”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  This was followed by still more sensational news: Ozols had been let go. She appeared with the contents of her office in a crate, exclaimed, “Monty!” and ran back towards the lift.

  Adrian caught her by the wrist. “You are no longer an employee. The code to your office has been changed.”

  “But my cat -”

  Monty burst from Ozol’s shoulder bag, where he had gone for his catnap that afternoon. He deduced that his owner was being attacked and launched himself at Adrian’s face. It’s difficult to fire someone when their enraged cat is whirling around on your head.

  He shrieked, “Get it off me!” and blocked Monty’s attempts to claw out his eyes. Ozols plucked her pet from his shoulders. He promptly became a purring pudding of fur.

  Adrian ran whimpering into the lift, a handkerchief clutched to his face. Ozols had smiled during the fracas, but as she passed through CER’s doors and into the tethering bay, despair returned to her eyes.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked the universe.

  The morning the letters arrived, Pip knew what was coming. It didn’t matter she was the longest serving tour guide with an excellent record. She was too close to Josh. She knew that after her last interview with Adrian, he would take great pleasure in letting her go.

  Sure enough, the day after Ozols’ dismissal, Mandy came looking for her. She cringed. “Aidy wants to see you.”

  “Nice knowin’ y’.” As Mandy’s face rumpled, “No hard feelin’s. Y’re only the messenger.”

  Her personal effects were minimal: her badge, her pass, a robot mug. She shoved them into her locker and went upstairs the long way.

  When the door gusted open, she was surprised to find the office empty. It was more fixture than room - you expected to find wrappings over the furniture. The one change was a flipchart, scrawled with unconvincing equations. She corrected them.

  A stagy cough. She dropped into the chair the other side of the desk, her slouch stopping short of insolence. If the bastard was going to fire her she had no intention of helping. Adrian stepped into the room, the gashes raw on his milky face. He fiddled with his chair until it was suitably magisterial and eyed her over his knuckles.

  “Ms Parfitt. Do you know why you’re here?”

  “I have a sneakin’ suspicion.”

  He ignored her. “When selecting employees for redundancy, we consider a range of factors. Their attendance record. The quality of their work.”

  “I’ve won Best Rep every year -”

  He motioned for silence. “That may be the case, but we’re making certain - changes. Regretfully there’s no place for you in the new structure.” As she blinked at him, “I expected more of a response. Most people have threatened legal action.”

  She pushed her chair away with her foot. “I’m not most people, Aidy. The shit y’ gonna be in, a court case is the least of y’ worries.”

  He made the Daves search her on the way out. They didn’t find anything. She had taken everything she needed the day she received her letter.

  The day Pip left was noteworthy for another reason. Dr Sugar was having his daily wrangle with the chocolate machine when Fisk advanced down the corridor.

  He’d always found her unnerving. Now, the ghost of a smile on her lips, the watery eyes bright, she was sinister. Josh followed as though he was playing grandmother’s footsteps.

  “Noah! I need you to witness this.”

  Her bark made him jump; his arm stuck in the machine. Josh said quietly, “Hold still,” and retrieved the chocolate. He took his creator’s wrist and eased it out. Sugar tried not to flinch. “Thanks.”

  “Josh has something to say.” Fisk ushered them into one of the Prayer Rooms. If it wasn’t for the genuflection mat, you’d think it was a broom cupboard. Dust motes floated on the air.

  “I want to be in the show,” Josh said, staring at the ground. “I want to get back with Claire.”

  Sugar knew he was lying. But he desperately wanted this to be over; for Josh to live out his days in dignity rather than as a letch’s plaything. Women should be women, men should be men - that was what he learned at his mother’s knee.

  “Good. We’ll get in touch with Sienna.”

  Claire and Josh: The Next Chapter

  Here they were again. The long awaited sequel to The Clockwork Bachelor - though who wanted it and who watched it, Josh couldn’t say. The titles set the scene. Cracks in the wedding figurines, an animated Claire with tear drops on her cheeks, a kiss of reconciliation. No adultery or face ripping in sight.

  Of course there had been cut backs. This time round they were based in a complex on the outskirts of Lux. It had its own pool, gardens and petting zoo. While everyone exclaimed over the cuddly animals, Josh spent time with the reptiles. He didn’t see why they should be left out.

  He’d assumed they would be reunited with the old gang. He’d always liked Bunty and Dot, and wondered if Yumi and Ash were still together. But they were elsewhere - pursuing new projects, Sienna claimed. Perhaps she didn’t want to nudge people’s thoughts down same sex avenues.

  The new batch were remorselessly young and relentlessly straight. The boys tooled their hair into kiss curls and tried to look seductive; the girls were predatory, grading them out of ten. They were noisy, messy and never went to bed, talking endlessly about sex and popular
culture. They quoted their favourite shows and songs rather than have conversations. Josh was so bored he could scream.

  He couldn’t avoid Claire - it was called Claire and Josh after all. In the event, their first meeting happened by accident. There was a rope climbing frame in the garden. The second evening he climbed to the top, wondering if he would see beyond the compound walls. When he accepted he couldn’t and started to make his way down, he found himself staring at Claire.

  She flushed, stuttered. “Do you think they can pick us up out here?”

  “They wouldn’t have put all these features in if they couldn’t see us.”

  “Oh.”

  Claire picked at a loose thread in the frame. She hated silence and clearly wanted to break it, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “How’s Mouse?” he asked.

  “Mouse is Mouse, you know? She’s not scared of the dark now. Got a boyfriend, too. What counts as a boyfriend at her age.”

  “Will she be watching?”

  “’Course. She keeps askin’ when you’ll be back.”

  While she had been speaking, the Claire he saw as his Claire - straightforward, unaffected, homely - came out. Now she was patting her hair, performing.

  “Will we be okay, Josh?”

  How could he put it without hurting her? “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  ***

  It set the tone for their encounters. Jay Cee was beside himself. “Feel something, damn you!” he hissed, yanking out clumps of his hair. “Our audience is switching off in droves!”

  “Do you want us to create drama?” Josh asked. “Lie?”

  “Maybe I do, bottle opener!” He never tired of insults. “Argue! Make up! Do whatever it takes!”

  “I don’t like rows,” Claire said.

  “I don’t see the point of them,” Josh agreed.

  They made their escape before Jay Cee heaved a table at them. For a squat man he was surprisingly strong.

  They’d be united for a moment, laughing and pulling faces, before remembering. Her smile faltered, she rejoined their ‘friends’. Only two stood out. There was Dirk, who hit on Claire continually, using lines from corny films. And there was Bridget, who copied whatever she did, from her hairstyle to her handwriting. Josh wondered if she fancied Claire - not that it’d go anywhere. The one time he’d mentioned gay girls, she scoffed, “Girls like that are kiddin’ themselves.” He asked what about Yumi and Ash; she said they’d find nice boys eventually.

  Josh wasn’t surprised the viewers were tuning out. He tried to give his days a shape - plant the vegetable garden, exercise the animals, practise his diving - but by midday his rota was exhausted.

  He thought of Alfred. He couldn’t help it. With this lot he felt foggy, meaningless; with his friend he was wide awake. The feel and taste of him was part of Josh now. He missed a sinewy arm around him, a head against his shoulder. He’d hold invented conversations with him, even the fights he couldn’t manage with Claire.

  He hated the thought of Alfred out in the world somewhere, indifferent to him.

  ***

  Of course Alfred was doing nothing of the sort. He wasn’t hiding, the estate wasn’t for sale. He was fulfilling a promise he had made to Gwyn long ago: to show her every capital city on the continent before she was thirty. It was the first time she had been abroad. She shrank from some of the food and couldn’t speak the languages - she’d hide blushing behind Alfred - but at least she tried.

  He thought now would be the time to ask her. Yes, it had been awkward in recent months, but the talk on gala night restored their old camaraderie. They were sitting on a sun baked stone fortress. Nobody was about. Gwyn rubbed lotion into her long freckled limbs.

  “So. Pip,” he said.

  She stopped what she was doing. “You know?”

  “I guessed.”

  “Thought Nanny might’ve. Does everyone know?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She hit herself in the forehead. “So much for being discreet.”

  “It’s the way you look at each other.”

  “She thinks it’s weird I’m not out. It’s not like you’re going to disown me or anything.”

  “Pip’s great. She’s good for you.”

  She worked on a patch she had missed. “What about your latest adventure?”

  He took the lotion from her. “You got too much out of me last time.”

  “Look who’s talking!”

  “A gentleman never tells. Once the Fosters - Howeys - whatever the hell they’re called reach an agreement, I’ll be there. He’s got a strong relationship with Sugar. I’m sure he’ll make a convincing case.”

  Gwyn frowned. “They haven’t been very understanding so far.”

  As Alfred took off his hat, he noticed a boy leaning against the wall further along. How long had he been there? Could he have been eavesdropping?

  Gwyn caught his expression. “Don’t worry. He’s probably admiring the view.”

  He hoped she was right. A sense of unease lingered for the rest of the day.

  The nights were the loneliest times abroad. He didn’t mind them back home - he’d gone thirteen years sleeping in a cold bed - but when he opened his eyes and saw the shadow of mosquito nets and heard cicadas outside, he ached. Since he couldn’t call or send incriminating letters, he filled his diary with sentimental rubbish.

  What did people mean when they said “love”? The kind in books, where a self indulgent gesture wiped out the work of years? The sort that fizzled out if you met somebody ‘better’? The sacrificial love Gussy had made into an art form? He wanted someone he could confide in. Someone he could be himself with. Someone who told him when he was being an arse. Someone he loved unconditionally, who loved him in return. He wanted Josh.

  One evening he and Gwyn went to the opera. It wasn’t one of the classics; Gwyn was bewildered by it. By the end of the second act the racket and incomprehensibility had become too much. They joined a sizable portion of the audience sneaking out.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “I don’t think it’s my scene.”

  The theatre was a stone’s throw from their pension. They were soon mounting the stairs. Gwyn reached the top of their flight and gasped. “Someone’s forced your door!”

  The intruder had picked the room apart with ruthless efficiency: the contents of his suitcase, his wardrobe, his bed. “What queer thieves,” she said. “Nothing’s missing.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Alfred pulled down his dressing gown and felt in the pockets. Sure enough, his diary was gone.

  Gwyn didn’t understand. “A gang’s hardly going to break in for a diary, are they?”

  He paced. “It’s not just a log.” Every ardent passage taunted him. “Everything’s in there.”

  “You’re a prat, Grizzly. Leaving the juicy details out where anyone can read them.”

  “Thanks. Helpful.”

  They watched the news that night, convinced it’d make an appearance. It wasn’t mentioned. Alfred refused to take comfort in this.

  “If it’s who I think it is, she’s saving it for the right moment.” To himself, “Next time she drops in the polls.”

  Gwyn watched him fret, certain he was stark mad.

  Every morning he wrote Josh a letter. “I’ve nothing to lose,” he said the first day. “It’s almost liberating.” Since he still had a sense of self preservation, he wrote them in binary. He was glad he had taken the time to learn. As the days passed and no reply came, he grew wild. “They’re stopping them. They must be!”

  Gwyn was sick of the whole business. This was meant to be her holiday, her treat, but most days Alfred was too distraught or hungover to go out with her. He’d press money into her hand - “Go somewhere interesting, buy something nice -” and spend his days arguing with the Lilan embassy.

  The seventh day there was a breakthrough. He returned with a basket of oysters, his smile at odds with his scrubby beard and hollow eyes. “Go
t through to Sugar. He said Josh is having an upgrade. That’s why he hasn’t written.”

  Gwyn didn’t buy it. Why couldn’t they have said so days ago? But Alfred seemed perfectly satisfied.

  “Sugar’s a funny old stick, but he loves Josh. If he’s looking after him he’ll be alright.”

  ***

  If Jay Cee had wanted drama, he got it, though not in the way he’d anticipated.

  One of the compound’s many features was a skating rink. Josh had been taught by Cora and regarded himself as competent; he had been trying to persuade the others. They hemmed and hawed, but they’d finally grown bored and wanted to do something different.

  “What about you, Claire?” somebody asked.

  She sucked her thumb. “Well -”

  “Come on!” the others pleaded.

  “I’ve never done it. I’ll be useless.”

  “What kind of talk is that?” Josh demanded. “I’ve seen those trophies in your room. If you can ride a horse, you can do this. I’ll show you.”

  Everybody nudged and winked. He ignored them. He wanted to help her, wanted her to have a new interest. She was always complaining she was bored, wasn’t she?

  The others clomped ahead, showing varying degrees of skill. Dirk had learned at finishing school; some of the boys tottered like they were on stilts. The girls joined hands and skittered across the ice.

  Claire hung onto the side. “Don’t be nervous,” Josh said. “Everyone’s got to start somewhere.” He showed her some beginner’s steps, held her hand. “I’m not going to let go. You can trust me.”

  She gritted her teeth and tried her best. Her pride wouldn’t let her do anything less.

  What happened next wasn’t her fault. They were gliding at a gentle pace, Claire looking to him for reassurance, Josh smiling and encouraging. Dirk barrelled into them, showing off. As Claire scrabbled on the floor, trying to get up, he skated over her fingers.

  She screamed in pain. “I’m sorry, baby,” Dirk began. Josh cut him off with a furious, “Haven’t you done enough?” He coaxed her fingers open. Dirk had sliced clean through her middle finger.