The Biggerers

by Amy Lilwall

  Bonbon’s ears rose. Her eyes danced over Susan.

  ‘First destination: Batch Mode Store. Twentieth borough. Located,’ said the car. Oh dear. She hated the twentieth. A mass of super-rises and no outside. Like a car park that covered the entire borough, as tall as it was sprawling. And grey. Elephant-foot grey. ‘Second destination: Because Mini-Me’s is Totally Shit. Non-identifiable. Continue search?’

  ‘No,’ said Susan.

  The car started and drove away.

  Soon, they were filtered on to the highway belt. ‘Highway belt,’ said WayToGo. ‘Engine will disengage in three seconds.’ And after three seconds they were gliding along in silence, accept for the tiny clicks of the belt as the sections under the wheels lifted and swivelled and fed them onto identical sections in the next lane. They were eased onto a third lane. Susan bent over into the passenger-seat footwell and took out the Shaker from her handbag. Bonbon clapped her hands.

  ‘Okay, okay. Here you go.’ She turned to Bonbon who took the Shaker, shook it, then turned it upside down over her mouth. Two flakes fell onto her tongue. She closed her eyes and sucked them. ‘I knew you’d be hungry.’ Susan leaned on her hand and watched Bonbon in the rear-view mirror. Funny how she only ever clapped her hands when she saw the Shaker – not food in general – just the Shaker; and she hadn’t seen it very often. This was probably the fourth time… The Littlers Advice Manual had said that they were ‘brought up’ to understand basic English, but communication between a ‘full-human’ and a ‘littler’ had been blocked in order to maintain the established, intended roles. Animals could not communicate verbally, the manual had explained, and this was the main difference between humans and animals. ‘Littlers’ were by no means to be considered animals, although it would be unethical to demote a ‘verbally capable’ being to the role of ‘pet’. They did try to talk, Susan thought; on several occasions she had seen one or other of them open their mouth but nothing would come out. Susan looked at Bonbon for a moment.

  ‘We’re going to Batch Mode, Bonbon.’

  Bonbon stopped shaking the Shaker and blinked at Susan.

  ‘Batch Mode is a shop that sells nice things for littlers.’

  Bonbon squinted. Shop. Sells. Batch Mode? There were a lot of words she didn’t know.

  ‘We’re going to Batch Mode to buy a humcoat for Bonbon. For you.’ Susan’s reflection pointed at Bonbon.

  Bonbon widened her eyes and licked her top lip. Blankey’s humcoat lay on the floor inside her head. She pictured herself putting it on and rubbing bits of it against her cheeks and chin. ‘Humcoat for Bonbon,’ Susan said, and then started to clap.

  Bonbon dropped the Shaker and clapped back.

  ‘Humcoat for Bonbon?’ Susan repeated; this time she didn’t clap.

  Bonbon clapped again.

  Susan clapped back; just once.

  Bonbon watched. Then clapped back again.

  Susan clapped three times.

  Bonbon repeated. Three times.

  Susan clapped out a slow, slow, quick quick, slow.

  Slow. Slow. Quick quick. Slow.

  Susan grinned. They were communicating! She put both thumbs up.

  Bonbon looked at her thumbs for a second then copied.

  Yes! Ha! They were communicating!

  ‘Leaving Highway Belt in ten seconds.’

  Big purple numbers counted backwards from ten on the WayToGo.

  ‘Engine start: unnecessary,’ it said when it got to five.

  Yep, thought Susan, Batch Mode was in a bloody super-rise. When would the powers-that-be tear those stupid buildings down; grey, concrete, smoke-spewing eyesores. They were so against everything that teachers preached to kids during their Green Practice classes. She scowled as the car was loaded into a glass lift and rolled her eyes when the lift said ‘Fifty-ninth floor.’ Clapping snapped through the air and she spun around.

  Bonbon pointed out of the window towards the city-bed that was quickly shrinking as they soared upwards. Susan blinked. Bonbon had clapped her hands to get her attention after not even a thirty-second lesson in hand clapping.

  Susan peered into Bonbon’s face. ‘Would you like a humcoat, Bonbon?’

  Bonbon clapped.

  Susan nodded her head. Then clapped once.

  Bonbon wrinkled her eyes.

  ‘Would you like a humcoat, Bonbon?’

  Bonbon clapped madly.

  ‘Yes,’ Susan nodded and clapped once. ‘Or no.’ She clapped twice.

  Bonbon blinked. Then clapped madly.

  ‘Destination,’ said WayToGo as they slid into a parking bay. ‘You’ve been brought here by WayToGo.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you, WayToGo. Let’s go get you a humcoat.’

  Bonbon allowed herself to be lifted out of her car-seat. That whole clappy thing had been really… new. She had never clapped at the big She-one before. But now she was confused: was she going to get a new humcoat or not? She hoped it would be just like Blankey’s… But that bit at the end where she had said ‘yes’ clap, then ‘no’ clap… Did that mean she wasn’t going to get one? Hmmm. It was all very unsure. She sat on the roof of the car as Susan’s bottom bobbed about below, the top half of her searching around for whatever it was she was looking for. Maybe she would pick up her Shaker… Yes clap, no clap, yes clap, no clap. Bobbing bottom. ‘Bugger, it must have gone between the seats,’ came wafting up word after word. If only Bonbon could catch the words between her hands and let them go when she wanted to use them. Yes clap, no clap, yes clap, no clap. Then she might be able to say something to the big She-one. Yes clap, no clap, yes clap… No! It was ‘no’ clap-clap. That’s what she had meant. She was trying to tell Bonbon how to clap ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Bonbon stared at the bottom without blinking: that meant that she was definitely going to get a humcoat.

  ‘Got it!’ Susan said, backing out and popping the Shaker in her handbag.

  At the entrance to Batch Mode, the doors parted and hot, strawberry-smelling air blew onto their heads. A screen formed over what was just normal air to reveal a woman in a long black humcoat. ‘Welcome to Batch Mode,’ she said as her black coat changed into a grey one then into a shiny white one with a funny collar. ‘An assistant will be with you shortly.’

  Bonbon took mouthfuls of the blowy, strawberry air.

  ‘Bonbon, look at that!’

  She swivelled around, mouth still open. There were three of them, just like her – but really like her; not broken and making noises like the ones she had seen the night before. Each one was arranged on a, a… What was that thing? A table? But there was nothing to keep it up, even though it was up. It seemed to turn around and the one that was just like her stood at its centre and turned around with it. All three of them had their own turny-tables.

  ‘What do you think of that one, Bonbon?’ Susan nodded to the one on the right.

  Bonbon looked at where the She-one was looking. It was weird. It just stood there, going around and around. Its face was weird too, it didn’t change at all. Bonbon waited for the face to come back around and showed her teeth to it. It ignored her.

  ‘Would you like a humcoat like that?’

  Bonbon looked down at the coat. It was nice… Black, like her one at home. Inside her head, she walked about in Blankey’s grey one.

  ‘We also have that one in khaki.’ A she-one appeared next to them. Bonbon held on to Susan’s coat and stared.

  ‘I think this is the same as the one I bought last year. I was hoping to go for something a bit, well, fancier.’

  ‘I see. Does Miss belong to a child?’ The woman nodded towards Bonbon.

  ‘No, why? Do you have a kids’ collection or something, like dolls’ clothes?’

  The woman, who up until this point had neatly stored her arms behind her back, shook them out and deployed two heavy-looking bat wings. Susan glanced from one to the other, then back up to the woman’s face. ‘Absolutely not,’ the woman said with one wing in the air; in its hand was what looked like a r
emote control. ‘Littlers are not dolls.’ The other hand gestured towards Bonbon. ‘This is why I’m asking you, actually. The safety of our customers is something we have to monitor.’ She folded her bat wings in front of her. ‘Safety is rooted in attitude.’

  ‘I’ve never treated Bonbon liked a doll.’

  The woman de-wrinkled her face and put her wings back into storage. ‘Bonbon is a littler. Littlers do not wear clothes because they are not people. However, they have to wear coats because they are not animals. I can understand you wanting to buy a chic model, but I just have to make sure that it’s for her benefit and not yours.’

  ‘Well… Why do you have better models on offer?’

  ‘Ah ha. Very good question. There are many reasons really, but the main one is skin sensitivity. You know… and allergens.’

  ‘Allergens?’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s to say that each model is designed for a different skin type. It’s a very well thought-out system.’

  ‘But you have different colours as well?’

  ‘Well, yes. Mainly to avoid confusion between coats in the home,’ said the woman. ‘But there are other reasons; black doesn’t stain, white doesn’t get too hot, khaki is good for camouflage.’

  Oh, Hamish would love this. ‘Very practical,’ Susan replied. ‘How about if I let Bonbon choose?’

  ‘That’s how we would recommend you do it. Of course, only if she’s capable. Let me show you the khaki model I was talking about.’ She unfolded one wing towards a button on the remote control and pressed it. A platform whirred towards them and stopped just next to the other three. ‘Here we are – what do you think of this one, Miss Bonbon?’

  Bonbon blinked. Yes, it was nice…

  ‘She’s staring. She likes it,’ said the woman, smiling.

  ‘Really? Bonbon, what about this one?’

  It was the black one again.

  Bonbon blinked. Yes, it was nice…

  ‘And this one?’

  Another black one. She looked closer then reached out and touched it. Made out of shoes. No. She didn’t like that one.

  ‘She touched that one,’ said the woman. ‘A good sign.’

  ‘She did, didn’t she?’ Susan turned, and looked at the other different-shaped floating platforms then back to the coat that Bonbon had touched. ‘We’ll probably go for this one then; yes, Bonbon? Would you like this one?’

  Bonbon’s eyes flicked from Susan to the shoe-coat and back again. No. She did not want that one.

  ‘What’s it made from?’

  ‘Leather.’

  ‘Ah. Where is the leather treated?’

  ‘Scotland.’

  ‘Good. Sorry to…’

  ‘Not at all. Most customers do ask. There are still a few places that outsource their factories. You can never be too careful.’ The woman started to take the coat off the display platform.

  No, Bonbon thought. No, she did not want that one! That one would be horrible to wear. And anyway, it belonged to the one-like-her who was wearing it, surely? But what was wrong with her? Why was she not moving while they took the humcoat off? Why didn’t she have any nipples? Bonbon leaned forward and touched its belly. It was cold and hard.

  ‘Oh, look at her! Yes, that’s right, this is for you, Miss Bonbon; she’s very eager, isn’t she?’

  ‘She seems to be,’ Susan laughed.

  No! She didn’t want this one! Bonbon clapped her hands. Both women turned to stare at her.

  ‘Ah, now, did you see that? She only does that when she really, really wants something,’ said Susan.

  But she didn’t want it at all. Not. One. Bit. She clapped her hands again.

  The woman hooked a finger over her lips and considered Bonbon. ‘Shall I wrap this for you?’ she said, straightening the finger and pointing at the leather coat.

  No, no, no! thought Bonbon. Clap-clap.

  Susan looked at her.

  Clap-clap, again.

  ‘She just said “no”!’

  Clap-clap.

  ‘She’s saying “no”. Once for “yes”, twice for “no”. She’s got it! She understood!’

  ‘Interesting…’ said the woman.

  ‘Bonbon. Do you want this coat?’

  Clap-clap.

  ‘You see? Did you see that? Bonbon, do you want a different coat?’

  Bonbon thought for a moment then: clap.

  ‘Ah!’ Susan cried. ‘Did you see that?’

  The woman stood with her mouth open. ‘I did.’ She slit her eyes at Bonbon. ‘Would you like some flakes?’

  Bonbon looked right at her. Clap.

  The woman shut her mouth, swallowed, turned and strode over to another floaty thing that hovered underneath a ‘Please Pay Here’ sign.

  ‘I have to report this. And if it’s what I think it is…’ The woman tailed off as she retrieved a telephone handset from a nook somewhere inside the floaty thing.

  ‘What?’ said Susan.

  ‘Littlers aren’t meant to communicate. They are not people. I’m obliged to report any anomalies.’

  ‘Oh… But… Whatdoesthatinvolve?’ Susan blurted.

  ‘Oh hello? Yes, Batch Mode, yes, that’s right. I’d like to report a case of successful communication. What’s that? Nope, no speech – through clapping. Uh-ha.’ The woman fixed Susan with her stare. ‘Oh really? Right. Ten minutes? Okay. I’ll tell the owner to wait. Thank you, have a good day.’ She hung up. ‘You have to wait here now.’

  ‘Have to?’

  ‘Well, no, but you are strongly advised to.’

  ‘I really can’t. I just wanted to stop off here quickly. I should be gone by now, really.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t take very long, you should probably stay.’

  Susan took a step back. ‘Tell whoever-it-is that I really couldn’t stay.’ She turned and strode towards the doors.

  ‘It won’t take very long, Madam…’

  The doors parted, the strawberry air blew her out into the car park. She bundled Bonbon into the car. ‘That woman was weird,’ she said.

  Clap, came the reply.

  ‘You understand “weird”?’

  Clap.

  Susan giggled at her in the rear-view mirror, then thought for a while. What was the big deal about communication? Apes and chimps and gorillas did it without any hassle from anyone… Susan leaned forward and pressed the ignition button. And dolphins. And parrots… ‘Mini-Me’s,’ she said to the WayToGo. They probably wanted to ask a few questions. Maybe just to see if she was all right; they weren’t allowed to take any chances now, not after the Toe Biter of Michigan.

  ‘First destination: Mini-Me’s,’ said the WayToGo.

  ‘Okay, Bonbon. Let’s try again; somewhere different.’

  CHAPTER 5

  ‘I lost my brother when I was twenty-two.’

  ‘Lost him?’ Hamish stopped the smile just in time. Shopping mall in the twentieth, he was sure. Susan had lost her sister in there once.

  ‘He died.’

  His eyebrows sprang upwards.

  ‘He was only nineteen.’

  Nineteen? Was it even possible to die at nineteen? ‘I’m sorry… you’ve thoroughly startled me,’ he said, his voice high and weird. Nineteen. Nineteen! But this wasn’t 2017! People could be cured of anything, vaccinated against anything, brought back to life within hours of dying, have any body part replaced…

  ‘Burned to a skeleton. They couldn’t bring him back, there was nothing to work with.’

  Hamish gulped, wanting to wail ‘how’ but choosing instead: ‘Would you like to explain what happened?’

  ‘He fell onto a bonfire, drunk. Camping out on the cliffs in the South with a friend. The friend had passed out too…but not in the bonfire.’

  Hamish covered his mouth. She was too calm… ‘Steely’ was the word. He imagined the fibres that linked her thoughts, thickened and frayed by the fact that death had happened. He’d only ever read about what it was like to lose someone. His gaze floated
up to the reflection of the window in a framed brainful of cogs that hung on the wall behind her. The outside world shone between the cogs, super-rises, post-drones and advertisements beaming off clouds; rows of people on escalators, crossing roads, in cars, completely ignorant of their own precariousness.

  ‘I’m quite sensitive about death,’ she added, as if she were quite sensitive to the cold.

  Jinx had spent ages arranging her hair so that it was all around her shoulders. She had used the dining-room doors to watch herself doing this. Big blue birds with long green, spiky tails traipsed through her head.

  She closed her eyes and watched them for a minute.

  Her hair had given her something to do and it meant that her shoulders were now warm. She had been standing outside for what seemed like hours and the rest of her was bumpy and shaking.

  ‘Chips,’ she mewed again, looking at the fence. ‘Come back, Chips.’

  Nothing. Except more blue birds, walking and turning and walking again.

  She turned around, looking at herself as much as she could in the glass doors. A weird thing had happened on the inside of her head since she had slept next to Chips like that. Every time she thought of him she, sort of, forgot that she was cold and her stomach went all bubbly. This was good because thinking of him kept her warm. But the inside of her head was doing even weirder things than sending out blue birds and making bubbly stomachs. It kept playing back a bit of the night when she had been sleeping under his chin and it was all warm and Chips-smelling and then, all of a sudden, his arms had pulled her really close so that his chest was pressed against her cheek and her breasts were against the top of his stomach and his stomach was against the top of her stomach and his thing was against her belly button and their legs were all kicked over and under each other, right down to the toes. Jinx had liked that. She could have spent the whole day like that; warm and lovely. Her mind played and replayed this bit of the night, from the moment he had pulled her close to the moment she had fallen right to sleep.