by Nik Abnett
+It’s all okay… Honestly… I got it at school, in the first wave, and I never even knew there was anything wrong with me+
+It’s worse, now. They say it’s mutating+
+Stay away from your dad, then, and wait for the next batch of testing+
+No need to wait. Dad had to bring a testing kit home for me. I’ve already done it. It’s being picked up later, and I should know in a couple of days+
+So, stay away from your dad until you know for sure+
+He seems okay, right now… Worried, but okay. I don’t have to stay away from him, because he’s staying away from me+
+Good. That’s what he’s supposed to do+
+I know it sounds stupid, but I’m scared+
+It’s not stupid… It’d be stupid if you weren’t scared+
+They left boxes of gloves, masks, and about a gallon of sanitizer. I’ve done the whole house+
+Even less likely you’ll get it then. You’re gonna be fine+
+You make me feel better+
+It’ll be okay. You’re young and fit, and you’ve been isolated for a while+
+I’m more worried about Dad. He’s been working a lot of shifts. He’s tired, and run down. He’s lost weight, too+
+Everyone’s lost weight… You’ve been in the group chat… All those stupid girls talking about their gorgeous bodies+
+You’re gorgeous+
+I haven’t lost any weight. My mum grows food+
+I don’t care what size you are… I’m… Can I say that I’m crazy about you, or is that too corny+
+It’s too corny… I like it though+
+Gotta go check on Dad, if he’ll let me+
+Keep your distance from him, and use the protocols. Stay in touch. Text me any time… all the time+
+Promise+
+Quite like you, too X+
Twenty
“It’s Friday,” said Con, as he walked back into the cubicle with two cups of coffee. He put one down on Blythe’s workstation.
“Yeah,” said Blythe.
“The last day before Joy comes back and we lose that extra connection.”
“I know,” said Blythe.
“Is something the matter?”
“I just want to do as much as I can for the next forty minutes. I can’t seem to be able to read or write fast enough.”
Con sat at his station and checked his connection. He whooped and threw his arms in the air, making Blythe jump. She turned her chair to face him.
“What?” She asked.
“She’s only gone and done it. Dharma’s acknowledged my connection request and sent me text files from source!”
“That’s…”
“That’s brilliant!” said Con. “I can cross reference all the data, and we can be sure… At least as sure as we could ever be.”
“That is brilliant,” said Blythe. “But what if you find an anomaly?”
“Then, we’ll have to satisfy ourselves that at least you and I have formed a friendship over the past week.”
Blythe turned her chair back to her station.
“Yeah,” she said.
“You’re disappointed,” he said. “It’s okay, I’m used to being a disappointment.
“I know you want this connection,” he continued. “I know you want her to be your… what? Some sort of cousin, I suppose, but you can’t make it your whole life.”
“Why not?” said Blythe, still keying in as she spoke to him. “She’s made it her whole life, probably for weeks and weeks. She’s done all the work. Maybe she needs this even more than I do. I don’t want either of us to be disappointed.”
“You won’t be. You’ve made a connection with her, neither of you is going to give that up, even if it turns out that you don’t have a genetic relationship.”
“It would be amazing, though.”
“It would, and I’m going to spend some time trying to verify that for you, right now.”
“Thanks,” said Blythe, breaking off for a moment to smile at him.
“You do have a lovely smile,” he said
The smile turned to a scowl.
“Just saying.”
While he was working, Con took screen shots of the data, and uploaded them to his photo storage at home. It would give him something to do over the weekend, and, maybe, on Monday, he’d have some concrete news for Blythe, one way or the other.
Since their conversation the day before, Con had been thinking a lot about the value of connections. He didn’t value them at all. He had a connection that was permanently free, and he never used it, and had never assigned it. Most people who had mothers used their primary connections to keep in contact with them, often on a daily basis. He was fully aware of Joy’s connection to her mother, since the relationship was one of Joy’s favourite topics of conversation, and often wondered why she kept the connection going, since she never did anything but complain about it. But, that was Joy.
Con had used his primary connection to request a connection with Dharma, who clearly had a lot of capacity. She must work alone, and she must live alone, and she obviously wasn’t in contact with her mother. It stood to reason. Dharma obviously had an open internet connection, and she’d been using a connection exclusively for Blythe for the past week. Now she’d opened one up to Con that clearly didn’t reduce her capacity.
If that was the case, and he was almost sure it was, he’d leave the connection to Dharma open and see if she chose to close it. If the connection was still open when he got back to work on Monday morning, he could do even more for Blythe.
He liked her. He admitted it. He admitted it to himself, and he’d paid Blythe enough compliments for her to know that he liked her. She might become his first genuine friend. They could share jokes and stories, and just talk to each other about stuff, at least during office hours. He didn’t want to give that up, and he hoped that Joy wouldn’t get in the way of it. No, whatever happened he wouldn’t allow Joy to get in the way of his friendship with Blythe.
“What happens on Monday?” Con asked, as they both switched their screens back to Anley Corp data.
“I don’t know,” said Blythe. “How far did you get, checking the documents?”
“There are a lot to check. It’s going to take me a while.”
He saw how crestfallen she was.
“Sorry,” he said. “At least all the data’s downloaded, so we can take a look at it together, next week.”
“I just won’t be able to send and receive e-mails directly with Dharma,” said Blythe
“Unless you give her one of your connections.”
“I would, but there’s a thing.”
“What kind of a thing?” Asked Con.
Blythe hesitated.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “You use that connection two weeks out of three to talk to someone.”
“Not really,” said Blythe. “It’s just someone I used to work with. He was kind to me, and, after he retired, he was moved to a senior’s place. He’s lonely, is all.”
“Funny, a nice smile, and kind,” said Con, “although you’d never know it by the way you treat me.”
Blythe batted at him with her hands, but didn’t touch him.
“I treat you the way you deserve.”
“So, we’re not friends, yet, then?”
“Of course we’re friends. Do you think I’d trust you with all this stuff if we weren’t friends?”
“Yes, I think you would,” said Con, “because you’re desperate, and you need me.”
“Fair point,” said Blythe, and they smiled at each other.
They went back to work for the rest of the day, but all the time, Con was hoping that Dharma really didn’t have anyone, and that she’d keep the connection open between them.
If Blythe couldn’t talk to her, Con certainly could.
Twenty-one
Verity hit the refresh button on her latest test results. They were delivered, alphabetically, by household, and she knew that her parents had alread
y had theirs. They were clear. Charity no longer needed to be tested, because she’d survived the Deluge.
She waited a moment and then hit the refresh button again. The results came up, but she was distracted by a large red box-out, halfway down the screen, so she didn’t see whether she had tested positive for the pathogen.
She turned pale, and could feel sweat beads forming under her arms.
“Sage,” she called. “Sage!”
Pax heard the cry, and then heard Sage thundering up the stairs. Then Faith and Charity both appeared.
“What’s going on, Mum?” Charity called down the stairs.
“No idea,” said her mother, as she went up, with Pax following her.
“Are you okay, darling?” Pax asked through the bedroom door, which Sage had closed behind him.
“It’s fine,” Sage told Verity. “The important thing is that you’re healthy. You haven’t been exposed to the pathogen.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” said Verity.
“I shouldn’t really be in here until I get my results,” said Sage.
“I need you,” said Verity.
“It’s just a formality, anyway. We all live pretty close together, so, if everyone else is clear there’s no chance I’ve got it.”
“No. But what about this?” she asked, pointing at the box-out. “This can’t be true.”
Charity put her ear against the door, trying to hear what was going on inside.
“Charity!” said her father, and the teenager backed away.
“Well, something’s going on, Pa, and if it affects us, we ought to know about it.”
“Give them a minute,” said Pa. “They’re allowed some privacy.”
Two or three minutes later, Pa knocked on the bedroom door.
“If you two are okay, I’m going to go and put the kettle on. Come down when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Pax,” said Sage, loudly enough to be heard by the little gathering on the landing.
“Come on, you two,” said Pax, ushering his wife and daughter down the stairs. “Whatever it is, we’ll all feel better for a nice cup of tea.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been a pharmacist for decades and you still believe in the restorative properties of tea,” said Faith.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” said Pax, walking into the kitchen, and filling the kettle.
“You’re not wrong,” said Faith. “Stop twitching, Charity; if there’s something going on we’ll all know about it soon enough.”
“I’ll make a pot,” said Pax.
“Clearly, the government is testing for more than just the pathogen,” said Sage.
“But what if it’s true?” asked Verity.
“Could it be true?” asked Sage, smiling at Verity, and putting his arms around her.
“Check your status first, while I try to work it out.”
Sage reached across Verity, and called up his own medical forms. He refreshed the page twice, and his new results showed up on the second click.
“All clear,” he said.
Verity threw her arms around his neck.
“We knew I would be,” said Sage. “It’s hardly a surprise.”
“I’m happy, though. I won’t have to go through this without you. You have to stay healthy! You have to promise me.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Sage.
“Swear!” said Verity.
“Okay, I swear… You think it’s true?”
“Things have been really complicated,” said Verity. “The isolation on campus, then coming back here… I’ve just realised how much time has passed.”
“Tell me about it. It’s almost April already. I promised I’d help Faith with all the spring planting, and weeding. We’re doing a lot more, this year.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Verity. “I meant, I didn’t realise I was past my renewal date.”
“Your renewal date? For your contraceptive implant?”
“I should have had it at least six weeks ago, maybe longer. I’m so sorry, Sage. I should never have let this happen.”
Sage scooped her up in his arms again, and kissed her.
“You know what that means?” he said.
“That I’m pregnant?” Verity asked.
“No… Well, yes. But it also means we’ll have to get married.”
“You’re excited?”
“We should both be excited. We’re going to have a Deluge baby. What could be more perfect than that? What could be more perfect than repopulating the Earth with gorgeous babies… our gorgeous babies?”
“Oh God!”
“What?” said Sage, suddenly concerned, cupping Verity’s face in his hands. “What, V?”
“Babies,” said Verity. “I really hope it’s only one baby.”
Pax, Faith and Charity, had drunk their tea, and Pax had topped up the pot. Two empty mugs sat on the table, while they waited for Sage and Verity to come down the stairs.
“Do you think one of them’s sick?” asked Charity.
“No,” said Pax. “Not possible.”
“Do you think they’re splitting up?” asked Charity. “Do you think one of them’s cheating?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Faith. “How could they possibly cheat when we’re all in isolation together?”
“The internet,” said Charity. “People talk on the internet, they make friends, one thing leads to another, and before you know it, they’re having remote sex.”
“Charity!” said Pax.
“The Deluge has made stuff real, Pa, you’d better get used to it.”
“I’m sure no such thing has happened,” said Pa. “You’ve seen them together. They’re happy and playful, and they don’t fall out very often. They’re cooped up here with the three of us, and limited privacy, and they still seem happy to me.”
“You like to see the best of everything, Pa.”
“While preparing for the worst,” said Faith.
“You see. Mum agrees with me.”
Pax started to pour more tea into Faith’s mug.
“That’s it,” said Charity, “I’m going up there before you drown me in tea.”
She ran up the stairs, before either of her parents could talk her out of it. They were both anxious to know what was happening, and Pa was already dreaming up contingency plans, in case something was going wrong with his lockdown.
Charity knocked on the door.
“Hey, V, what’s going on? You need to come down, Pa’s drowning us in tea, and I can’t stand it… And I’ve got to pee!”
“Go pee, then,” said Sage. “We’ll be down in a minute.”
“Promise?” asked Charity.
“Promise,” said Sage.
Verity wiped her eyes, and ran her fingers through her hair, which had grown out curlier since her mother had cut it for her.
“Do I look okay?” she asked.
“Beautiful as ever,” said Sage. “Now let’s get downstairs, you know how Charity is about promises.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay.”
Charity was walking back into the kitchen as they came down the stairs.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Why have you been crying?”
“Sit down, Charity,” said Pa, pouring tea for Verity and Sage. “I’m sure they’ll tell us all about it.”
Once the five of them were sitting around the table, Verity squeezing Sage’s hand under it, Sage began.
“First of all,” he said. “You should know that we’re all still healthy. We both tested clear.
“The bad news’s coming,” said Charity, putting both elbows on the table, and cradling her face.
“Actually,” said Sage. “It’s good news… We’re engaged, we’ve decided to get married.”
Faith stood, and reached across the table to hug Verity.
“Congratulations,” she said. “That’s lovely.”
“It is lovely,” said Pa. “Of course it is, but are you planning a l
ong engagement, or should we be looking at the logistics of a Deluge wedding?”
“We’ll be having a short engagement,” said Verity. “We’re getting married because I’m pregnant, and apparently Sage is more old-fashioned than I thought.”
Everyone stood, and everyone made a lot of noise, all of a sudden.
“Hold it!” yelled Sage, waving his arms at right angles to his body to signal that people should be quiet.
“We’re not getting married because Verity’s pregnant,” he said, as everyone quietened down. “We’re getting married, because we love each other. I just want to make that clear… Now you can make some noise.”
Twenty-two
Dharma checked Sage and Verity’s marriage certificate when she got home. She found it hard to believe that they’d managed to have any kind of wedding during the Deluge, but clearly they had. There was the certificate to prove it. She could hardly be more sure that these really were her grandparents, and that her grandmother’s tall stories had proven to be true.
Not for the first time, Verity wished that she could remember more of the stories, more of the details that would fill the gaps. She wished she’d listened more to her mother, but from a kid’s perspective her mother had lived too much in the past, in things that Dharma didn’t know about or understand or have any interest in.
She understood her mother much better now than she ever had. She wished she could tell her that. It didn’t matter; they’d had a good relationship. They’d loved each other.
Dharma turned to the second marriage certificate. It was for Charity Grace Mott and a man called Able Dole. The address wasn’t Engleheart Road, but it was Catford SE6. They had been married on the 10th of March 2043.
Surely that couldn’t be right.
Dharma looked again at Charity’s birth certificate. She was born in September 2023. She couldn’t possibly have got married at the age of nineteen. It seemed crazy. This couldn’t be the right girl. Dharma had to have made a mistake somewhere along the line.
She checked the details on the marriage certificate, and Pax Mott was listed as Charity’s father, and he was listed as a pharmacist. Surely, there couldn’t be two pharmacists called Pax Mott in Catford in 2043. Charity’s name was also there, in full, on the certificate, and her age was given as nineteen. The boy, Able Valor Dole, was also only nineteen years old.