by Guy Morpuss
Until Emily.
He first spotted her clearing a table on the pavement, her hands full of dirty plates and glasses. A gust of wind blew her dark hair across her face and a napkin flew off a plate and landed on the cobblestones at Alex’s feet. He bent to pick it up for her and his heart leaped inexplicably as he looked into her bright blue eyes.
She smiled. ‘Merci.’
‘Not … ah … not a problem,’ he muttered, and dropped the napkin back on the pile of plates.
‘Est-ce que— …’ she began, then stopped and smiled again. ‘Sorry. You speak English. Are you all right?’
Alex was confused. ‘What?’
‘Your hand,’ she said.
He looked down, and realised that the napkin had been covered in bright tomato sauce, which was now smeared across his hand and the cuff of his shirt.
‘Ah … it’s nothing,’ he said, and made to wipe it off on his trousers.
‘Don’t do that. Men,’ she muttered, shaking her head. ‘Wait there. Don’t move.’ She threaded her way through the tables, her load of plates carefully balanced, and disappeared into the café.
Alex stood confused. Enchanted. How long should he wait?
It was more than a minute before she emerged, holding a dishcloth in one hand. ‘Sorry, there’s always someone wanting something. Here, let me sort that out.’
She took his hand in hers, wiping it with the wet half of the cloth. She turned his hand over, drying his palm, then dabbed at the sauce on his cuff.
She grimaced. ‘Not much I can do about that. I’m just going to make it worse. Make sure you soak it as soon as you get home. All right?’ She released his hand.
‘Ah … yeah … great. Thanks,’ said Alex.
Someone shouted something in French. She flashed Alex a last smile, and turned away. ‘Sorry, I’d better get back to work.’
‘Ah … um …’ She was gone before Alex could think of anything else to say.
He walked slowly back to the flat. Grinning to himself. He couldn’t stop those blue eyes and her smile from intruding into his thoughts at random intervals. Not intruding. They were welcome.
He must have seemed a complete idiot. Why hadn’t they ever paid for a translation implant?
Despite that, the next evening he decided that rather than going to his usual bar by the canal he was going to have his drink at her café. He took a seat at one of the outdoor tables, beneath the shade of a large maple tree.
He was disappointed when the waiter who emerged was a middle-aged man who spoke little English, and seemed disdainful of Alex’s poor French. He ordered a beer and sat nursing it until what remained was lukewarm. Finally his efforts were rewarded as she emerged from the café looking flustered and tying her apron. She barely glanced at him and said something in French. He looked at her blankly.
‘Sorry. You were here yesterday, weren’t you?’ she said. ‘You speak English. It’s all a bit rushed today and I’m getting a hard time for being late out of college.’
‘No problem,’ Alex said. Her smile and her eyes were as bewitching as he had remembered them. ‘Could I have another beer please?’
‘Of course.’
As she went inside he surreptitiously scanned her. Her name was Emily. She was a worker. A student at a local college, aged twenty.
Alex knew that he was attractive to others – a tall man of mystery, with rock-hard abs and twinkling green eyes. But even after this long he felt like a fraud when he tried to chat people up. They couldn’t see it, but inside he was still the fat seventeen-year-old being laughed at and bullied. He had never left that behind. He always worried that at some point people would see through Mike’s body to the real him.
Besides, no normal person would go out with a schizo, and certainly not someone as pretty as Emily. She could no doubt have whoever she wanted.
Despite that, Alex abandoned his usual bar and, each evening for the next week, found himself at the same table waiting for Emily to appear, usually late from college. His meals became longer and his tips bigger. He began to worry he was coming across like some sort of stalker. But she seemed to enjoy their snatched conversations. Sometimes he found himself having to leave hurriedly and run back to his house to make the 21:00 curfew. Kate started complaining about the state he left them in, flopping hurriedly into bed. Eventually Alex shyly admitted what was happening, and she alternated teasing with encouragement.
This had been going on for ten days when Emily, after he had settled his bill and was about to head off, lingered for a moment. She looked down at him thoughtfully.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Have I underpaid?’
‘The tip you’ve just given me would pay for two meals,’ she said. ‘I’m not complaining, but wouldn’t it be cheaper if you just asked me out?’
Alex blushed. ‘What … wha …’ he stammered. ‘No. It’s not that. Um … I like the food.’ Then he added, desperately, ‘And the beer.’
She tilted her head and frowned. ‘That’s just what a girl wants to hear.’
‘No. No, I didn’t mean …’ He was making a complete mess of this. He had done little else for the last ten days but plan what he wanted to tell her. Now she must think him a fool.
‘Why don’t we start again, Alex.’ She smiled, shaking her head. ‘You’re quite clueless, you know. It’s a good job I find it sweet. Let me make this easy for you. What are you doing tomorrow night?’
Was she asking him out? He froze. What should he do? This was going all wrong.
‘Honestly?’ he said. ‘I’ll probably be here ordering frites and beer from you.’
‘You won’t be. Tomorrow’s my day off,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a better idea. There’s a place I know in Little Italy. Handmade pasta that’s the best in Quebec, and half the price of anything here. Casa Danielle in Rue Drolet. Will you remember that? We could meet there at six.’
‘Sure. I mean – great. That would be wonderful,’ he said. Was this really happening? Did she mean a date? She must mean a date. A thought struck him. ‘You know what I am?’ he asked.
‘You’re not the only one who has been doing some surreptitious scanning.’
‘And it’s not a problem?’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. All I’m suggesting is that we try a conversation that extends to more than you ordering a beer and frites in your atrocious French.’ She pulled a face. ‘It was cute at first, but it’s beginning to grate. How can someone called Du Bois not speak French? As to the schizo thing, you’ve seen how busy my life is. I struggle to find four hours in the day to devote to anyone, let alone twenty-four.’
‘Great,’ he said, slightly stung by the comment about his French. He thought he had been impressing her. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then. Six o’clock, Rue Drolet.’
‘Casa Danielle,’ she repeated. ‘If you get lost I’ll think you’ve stood me up. I know you’re always rushing off by nine, so if it doesn’t work out at least we know it will be short.’
That reminded him. He had forgotten the time. It was 20:52.
‘I’ve got to run,’ he said. ‘Literally. Sorry. See you tomorrow.’
He jumped up and over the low barrier dividing the tables from the cobblestones, sprinting down Rue Charlevoix towards their house. This was going to be a good test of Mike’s fitness regime. He raced home, his mind in a spin. He barely made it through the door before dropping out, collapsed in the entrance hall with his keycard in one hand, still wearing his jacket. Kate told him off for that – but forgave him when he explained why.
•
The next two months were the happiest of Alex’s life. His four hours each day were spent almost entirely in Emily’s company. She had been right. She was the one who barely had time for him, what with her studies and her job.
She was studying microbiology and hydroponics at McGill University. Alex had never thought about it before, but someone had to programme the vast underground vats that had taken the place of traditional farms. S
omeone had to develop and tweak the new foods that were constantly being produced to tempt jaded palettes.
One day a week she worked in the experimental hydroponics plants in the converted grain elevators between the canal and the river. On those days she came back tired, with a unique sweet smell clinging to her. Emily no longer noticed it. To Alex it was sometimes the first thing that announced her presence. The thing that made his heart race.
He wanted to pay her to give up the waitressing. He wanted her to spend that time with him, not flirting with customers and dodging the wandering hands of the café owner. But he knew she was proud. He worried that she would react angrily. She might think that he was buying her.
Their time together was snatched, but Emily said that it was no worse than workers who paired, and who then had to find time between everything else in their lives. As the relationship moved on she didn’t seem fazed by the fact that he had to leave her bed, or she his, by 8:30 every evening.
She made him more confident, and he found that he could talk to her in ways that he never had talked to anyone else. Against all the odds, this might just work.
The evenings became darker and the trees along the canal turned beautiful shades of red and gold that Alex had never seen before. As they walked along the towpath one evening, hand in hand, he turned to her.
‘Emily, does it ever bother you – the others, I mean?’
‘I try not to think about them,’ she said. ‘If I did, I suppose it might. I don’t want to share you.’ Her grip tightened. ‘If you’re asking whether I ever expected to date a schizo, the answer’s no. Would I take you home and introduce you to my mother? Probably not. She wouldn’t understand. She never likes my boyfriends anyway. But if you’re asking if this could work long term, then maybe. I don’t know. We’ve only known each other for two months. I didn’t choose you with my head.’ She leaned into him. ‘We shouldn’t be thinking about these things yet.’
‘You’re right.’ He turned and kissed her. ‘I just don’t want this to end.’
‘What about you?’ she said. ‘Have you told the others about me?’
He hesitated. He regretted raising this now. Talking to Emily about the others felt weird. ‘I’ve told some of them. They’re all very different. They’d react differently.’
Kate had known from the start. He’d asked her for advice. She teased him about it and asked for details that were more explicit than he wanted to share. ‘But it’s my body too,’ she would say. ‘I was there.’
Later he had told Ben and Mike as well. He had to admit that it was partly because he wanted to show off. Him, Alex, with the hot girlfriend. It seemed unreal. Ben was quietly impressed, particularly when Alex shared a photo of Emily. Mike didn’t seem all that interested. Alex was sure he’d had more than enough relationships of his own, so this was probably nothing special to him.
But this was different. This was Emily. Alex wanted to tell everyone.
Well, not quite everyone. Not Sierra. He knew what would happen if he did. She would pretend to be happy for him but then make some bitchy remark intended to undermine his confidence. She seemed to take pleasure in hurting people. Besides, as time passed Sierra was getting more and more grumpy about staying in Montreal. She said that she was clean and wanted to return to her old life. If she knew that Alex had a reason for staying she would become even more difficult.
‘You never talk about them,’ said Emily.
‘It’s partly to protect myself,’ he said. ‘To keep my own identity. We may share a body but in some ways we’re further apart than anyone can be. They’re the only people in the world I can never talk to directly. I guess I also worry that it’d seem weird to anyone else to talk about them. People find schizos difficult to understand.’
‘OK,’ she said. She snuggled into his chest, her hair tickling his nose. He breathed in her scent. The evening sunlight through the golden leaves made her face glow. ‘Enough heavy talk for one night. We should just be enjoying the time we’ve got together.’
‘It doesn’t get much better than this,’ said Alex. He gestured to the maple leaves lining the canal. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite so stunning.’
‘This?’ Emily looked surprised. ‘This is nothing. Haven’t you been out of the city and seen what it’s like further north? Hill after hill after hill of these colours. We Québécois tend to forget just how gorgeous it is. We see it every year.’ She paused, then said excitedly, ‘This is the perfect week to go. Why don’t I take you? They owe me time off at the café. We could have the whole weekend.’
To Alex it sounded great. It sounded scary. And he didn’t see how it could work.
She stopped walking when he didn’t react, and looked up at him. He seemed so serious. ‘Don’t you want to?’
‘I’d love to,’ he said. ‘I’d love to be with you. It’s the others that are the problem. Travel is difficult when you’re a schizo. And it’s even more difficult for us, after what happened.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘It’s a bit of a story,’ he said. ‘Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you.’
They found a patch of grass under the trees, dappled light flickering over them. Alex sat leaning against one of the maples. Emily lay on her back with her head in his lap. He toyed with her hair while he talked.
‘I’ve never really told you how we ended up in Montreal. It wasn’t out of choice. Because we share a body there are rules – protocols, they are called – that are there to protect us, to make sure that we treat the host properly. Probably half the protocols are about how and when you hand over the body after your four hours. The key thing is to keep the host safe. You can’t control when you drop out but you can control where it happens. You’re meant to be in a locked room, lying down, with food and water available for the next person, because it can be quite disorientating waking up. That first night when you asked me out, I broke all the rules. You remember I had to run back?’
‘How could I forget?’ said Emily. ‘When you ask a boy out and the first thing he does is tell you he was only there for the beer, and then turns and runs away. You’re lucky you got it right the next night.’
‘Sorry about that. It was all new to me. It still is,’ he admitted. ‘Anyway, I barely made it home. Kate was pretty cross at first. She comes next in the cycle. Normally I’m careful, unlike Sierra. She just doesn’t bother. I’ve woken in all sorts of places. The worst was a few months ago. I woke up in a pool of vomit with a seagull trying to peck out one of my eyes. It turned out Sierra had been drinking vodka with a Kazahk sea captain, and instead of getting off the ship before it sailed, she had collapsed on the deck in a drunken stupor. The crew thought she’d left, so by the time I woke they were under way to Montreal. Without that I wouldn’t have met you, so I suppose I should be grateful. But we were all pretty pissed off at the time. We made it a rule that we don’t go anywhere without a majority vote. Any breach of that and it’s an automatic fine of a full week’s time.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Emily.
‘Anyone who breaches it loses all their hours for a whole week, and they’re shared amongst the rest of us. One week is pretty severe. Time is important to schizos since we have so little of it each day. Very occasionally we trade it amongst ourselves, if one of us needs more time for something. But fines are rare. Normally a fine won’t be more than half an hour, or maybe an hour. A week is exceptional. But we were all pretty steamed up about that.’
‘Getting away for the weekend might be too much trouble then,’ said Emily. She reached up and held the hand that had been stroking her hair. ‘That’s a shame. It would have been fun.’
‘No,’ said Alex. ‘It would be brilliant if we could do it. Let me see what I can do with the others. I might be able to persuade them. I’ll let you know.’
•
Kate, I need your help. Emily wants to go up north for the weekend, into the woods. That means taking you lot with me. I don’t want to have
to tell Sierra about Emily, but can’t really avoid it. What do you think? Alex x.
A. You have to. We could all outvote her, but then she will just cause trouble when we get there. Your choice. Keep it from S or have your dirty weekend. You can’t do both. K. x
All. I’ve got a favour to ask. For the last few weeks I’ve been seeing someone here. Her name’s Emily. She and I want to go away for the weekend – up north – but I’ll need your agreement. It’s a place called Mont Tremblant, up in the woods. There is loads of space to run and walk. You should have fun. I will pay. Please let me know by end of cycle. Thanks, Alex.
Hey, nice one Alex. Fine by me. Kate.
Me too. I’ve found a ten-mile loop round a lake. M.
Alex doesn’t want to be running round a lake, Mike. He has other ‘exercises’ planned with Emily. It gets my vote. Ben.
Is this why we’ve been hanging around in Dullsville for so long? I’m bored here. Send me a photo of her Alex and I’ll consider it. But only if I like her, and can we agree that after Alex has had his weekend we get out of here for good and go home? Lesnichy has sent me details of two ships leaving in the next month. At least one of them has promised to take us for free. I’m not staying here just so Alex can get his rocks off. S.
Sierra, we are going anyway. Everyone has agreed. But I’d like you to agree as well. Here’s a photo of Emily. Please just say yes and be nice about this for once. Alex.
Woah! Does no one else think it’s weird that Alex is screwing Kate? Remember Kate at seventeen!? Same hair, same eyes, same body. I’m not sure if this counts as incest but it’s weird. I’m only saying what we’re all thinking. S.
Shut it, Sierra. We both have dark hair and blue eyes, and that’s about it. Stop trying to stir things up. Don’t make this bad for Alex. We’ve had a vote and you’re coming. For once in your life try to do something for someone else. I’m in no rush to leave Quebec. If you want to leave get the others to vote for it. Otherwise shut up. Kate.