Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

It was like a fairy tale. Well, if fairy tales featured Yumi inhaling balloons and singing in falsetto, the Studs pogoing like demented ballerinas and Bunty belly dancing. She slipped and knocked over the cocktail jug. Josh summoned two functionals to clean up.

  “You speak Robot?” Ash asked after he’d let out a chain of clicks and whistles.

  Claire laid a hand on his elbow. The face this provoked made her wonder why she hadn’t done it before. Perhaps bots were sensitive in that area.

  “Spin the Bottle!” Bunty bawled.

  Claire agreed. Yumi and two of the Studs could barely stand. “Give me a while,” she hissed. The bottle was placed in the middle, everyone’s eyes riveted on it. As the one sober person left, Dot spun. Bunty kissed Abdul - they were really getting into it. Dot kissed Kyle - they seemed more embarrassed than turned on. Ash kissed Chris - Yumi looked murderous. As the two minutes ended, Ash went up to her. “It’s only a game.”

  Yumi stared, hardly daring to believe it. Going by the whistles and cheers, everybody else expected it, and a lot of puzzling things made sense. As the girls broke apart, Ash looked like a squiffy cherub. Yumi’s eyes shone like stars.

  Claire didn’t see how anything could top that, but Dot gestured it was time. The fluorescent bottle whirled, landing opposite Josh. If everything had been frantic and hyperreal before, now it slowed down. He helped Claire to her feet in courtly fashion. His hand went to her hair. Their lips met.

  There was a troubling moment when he halted, as though he expected something else. Closing her eyes, she leant into it. Mouths getting along, fingers lacing, the strange sensation of a heartbeat that wasn’t a heartbeat. The bell blared.

  The others roared their approval. Claire looked round the circle of tipsy faces and loved them: Abdul slumped against Bunty, Yumi and Ash holding hands, Dot punching the air, Chris and Kyle trying to break-dance. She even loved dreary Tim, who looked like he’d stayed up past his bedtime.

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” Josh asked.

  “Yes.” She nearly flew in her eagerness.

  The moon was enormous that night - “a gibbous moon,” Josh said. There was a rock where you could see a panorama of the island; they climbed it despite her heels. They pointed out memorable places.

  “That’s where we cooked that apple!”

  “There’s where Tim was sick.”

  “There’s the Golem!”

  She had conflicted feelings - part of her was impatient to begin a new life, but another saw this as their honeymoon island, somewhere irreplaceable.

  “So we’re getting married,” he said at last.

  It was what she wanted - but. After an emotional education ripped from Our Robotic Romance and Girls’ Love Weekly, she expected more. She should be asking, but they were an unconventional couple. And she was too drunk to be articulate.

  “Yes. If that’s what you want.”

  “Of course it is.” Better. “I’ve never met anybody like you, Claire. I feel like it’s meant to be.”

  This. Exactly this. The kisses, him letting down her hair, the excuse to touch wherever possible. Even his decision to wait - “I don’t want something so important to be filmed” - went according to her script.

  They parted on the stairs, one last painful kiss where she bumped her lips against his chin. For once she didn’t care about the cameras. She wanted them to witness the extraordinary thing that had happened to her. She felt transformed.

  Giggles from Bunty’s room. Sheesh, Yumi should close her door. Dot poked her head out.

  “Looks like I’m in a sex sandwich. How’d it go?”

  For answer Claire caught her up in a hug. They danced the length of the hall before Ash appeared in one of Yumi’s shirts.

  “Congrats!” she said, before shutting the door and returning to her girl.

  The next morning Josh made a call to Chimera. He took his beebo into the laundry room, the one part of the house that wasn’t filmed.

  Alfred didn’t answer for five minutes. At first Josh was relieved, thinking it could wait, but that graduated to worry and a conviction he had done something desperate. He was going to ring off when the line clicked.

  They blurted each other’s name. There was still the ghost of that kiss on the balcony, which nothing could wash away. To his dismay Alfred sounded tight. This early in the morning? Had he seen last night’s episode? As the pause turned into a lull, it became a certainty.

  “Good party?” Alfred said at last.

  “As parties go.”

  “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

  “It was part of the show -”

  “Down to where you proposed?”

  Josh found himself growing angry. “You knew it would happen.”

  He expected an explosion. Instead Alfred was restrained. “I never dreamt you’d go through with it.”

  “Do you have any objections to Claire?”

  “She’s pretty.” It was in what he didn’t say.

  “Who should I have chosen instead?”

  “You’re only going to hurt her.”

  “Thank you for your concern.”

  “Josh, I know you’re in there somewhere. What’s happened to your conscience?”

  “It’s clear.”

  “My lad would never have said that.”

  “I’m not your lad! Stop making this so hard!”

  Alfred had passed the first stage of drunkenness : railing against fate, aiming the bottle at the bin and swearing when it missed. Now he was in the dispassionate phase.

  “If you care about anyone - me, Claire - you won’t go through with it.”

  “If you had any feelings for me, you’d realise I’ve no choice.”

  “Remember who you are before it’s too late.”

  The tube clicked off. Josh felt worse than if he’d wept or ranted. He stared at the beebo in his hand, expecting a sequel, but none came.

  ***

  The day they left the island was, as Sienna declared, “a triumphant return to civilisation.” The Golem was decorated with balloons and flowers. At each stop on the route they paraded, had pictures taken, interviews about their experience. And, of course, Josh and Claire. Everyone wanted a piece of them, a window of their time. Such a beautiful couple! So in love!

  Any religious types who tried to stir up trouble were carted away. They were having talks in the Forum; Jerry Etruscus was quoted as saying that if bots wanted to be bally miserable like everybody else, let them. The Prime Minister was sour and silent.

  Claire loved it. When she was a little girl she had pretended to be a princess on long journeys; now she practised her smile and stately wave. Josh seemed subdued. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “I’m used to it.” Maybe he had misheard.

  One thing that wasn’t so nice: he couldn’t come home with her. She loved the thought of showing him off to the village, imagined Zoe’s envy. He could live in her bedroom before they found a place of their own. But Sienna’s rule was absolute: he had to stay in Lux. They couldn’t live together until after the honeymoon - and who knew when the wedding would be.

  “It’s like pretending to be engaged,” she complained.

  She didn’t sulk for long. Having seen the others off - Bunty sobbing, Dot hugging everyone, Ash jittering because she was introducing Yumi to her parents - they swept into Central Station.

  Banners, ticker tape, avid faces. Josh took one look and staggered back. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispered. Claire put his arm through hers. “We’re a team.”

  Out they stepped. More lights, autographs and photo calls. Claire lapped it up. Josh scanned the crowds.

  “Who are you looking for?” He’d never take a good picture with a mug like that.

  “No one,” he said.

  Back to the Mainland

  A month after the show ended, Josh felt out of sorts.

  He had everything he could want in his apartment. He visited Claire every weekend; she was warm and affect
ionate. He only had to check in with CER twice a week. He was constantly working. Voiceovers, photo shoots, a campaign to encourage young people into robotics. He’d only have time to shut down for a few hours before it started all over again.

  “I don’t know what it is,” he said to Ozols one afternoon. He’d developed the habit of talking to the behaviouralist. “I feel like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what.”

  “When was the last time you saw Pip?”

  “She’s seeing - someone.” Gwyn didn’t want anyone to know. He couldn’t think why.

  “Mandy?”

  “She bursts into tears whenever I go near her.”

  “Lord Langton?” If he’d listened closely, he might have noticed how tentatively she said it, as though she was pressing on a bruise.

  “I miss him.” It crept upon him so unexpectedly, he knew it was true. “Can I see him?”

  CER must have been sure of its victory to be so magnanimous.“Take tomorrow off. I’ll get permission from Shuggy.”

  Langton in autumn had a sombre beauty. The russet leaves, the air peppered with wood smoke, the parched fields and berries on the bushes - it all contributed to a powerful melancholy. It was as though the landscape was reproaching him for deserting it. Josh found himself stopping at favourite places and whispering, “I’m sorry.”

  It was quieter, stiller. The sheep no longer grazed, the woods were stripped of their finery. Even the great house seemed to be sleeping. A tall figure in a hat and longcoat slouched by a stile, feeding the pigs.

  “Alfred!”

  His bitterness when Gwyn looked up! A movement in her cheek as she swallowed her gum. She wasn’t thrilled to see him either. “Before you ask, he’s not in.”

  “It’s not Wednesday, is it?”

  “He’s still in the village.”Judging she’d tormented him enough, “At the library.”

  “Thanks.” Perhaps it was rude to scamper off, but she showed no sign of wanting his company. It was only when he’d gone ten feet he wheeled round and asked, “Does he mention me?”

  She scratched her chin. “Can’t say he does.”

  Langton Library was a squat sandstone building like every other in the high street. Save the word ‘Library’ scrolling over the doorway and the pots of bright shrubs, you’d miss it entirely. Oh, and the lion sunning herself on the lawn.

  Josh approached warily. He was convinced Puss would turn her back on him. Or try to eat him, like the old days. Instead the yellow eyes squinted, like she was puzzling something out. The ears twitched. You couldn’t read an expression on the flat feline face but there was a comforting rumble. She clapped her paws around his waist, danced with him across the lawn.

  “Calm down! I’m pleased to see you too.” She tired of this game and pulled him onto the grass, licking his face.

  Inside the library was more inviting. A large circular room, painted cosy yellow and lined with oak shelves. A teak counter was covered with stamps, a ticketing machine and other paraphernalia. He recognised the librarian, Gwyn’s friend Estelle. Twenty children were sitting towards the back of the room, aged between seven and ten. They were listening to somebody, spellbound.

  Josh knew the voice at once. Alfred, telling them about the animals he’d met on his travels. Niko the panda, who had a mania for candy floss. (“She’d catch a thread of it and - whoof! - pinch it right off the stick.”) Or Bobo the orang-utan, a “devilishly clever tyke”. He’d fashioned a key and escaped, joyriding the Chief’s car. Or Euterpe the foul mouthed parrot. Each animal, he somehow became. His passion was infectious.

  Listening to his stories, Josh was there too. The charmed cobra’s sinuous dance, the musical elephant, the timid giraffe. He was a magician, with as many tales to his fingertips as Princess Azita. Josh wondered what he had been doing, to be away from his friend all this time. Then he remembered he’d been getting engaged.

  “Animals are fascinating,” Alfred was saying. “Nicer than humans, and infinitely more loyal. They never let you down.”

  “Is it true you’ve got a pet lion?” a girl with bunches asked.

  “She’s outside,” one of the boys cut in.

  Alfred moved towards the window. Josh flattened himself against the wall. “Puss, you rapscallion! Go home at once!”

  You can’t reason with several tonnes of lion. Puss tilted her head haughtily and wouldn’t shift.

  “Very well. Kids, do you want to meet her?”

  Estelle came out from behind her counter. “Lord Langton, are you sure -?”

  “It’s under control.”

  They didn’t come out through the entrance but a fire exit. Out they filed: the librarian, the children (boys drawing back, girls pressing forward) and, finally, Alfred.

  “She’s eating that man!”

  “Isn’t he -?”

  “Josh Foster?”

  Even with this warning, Alfred wasn’t prepared. He halted, his eyes sparked. Josh felt foolish with Puss coiled around him and stood up. “Hello, Alfred.”

  Estelle took charge. Each child could go and see Puss, but not too close. She led by example, patting the warm muzzle and giggling when the lion licked her palm.

  Now they could look at one another. Josh was aghast. A few more grey hairs he could accept, but Alfred was as thin and battered as when they first met. He looked at Josh in sips, making up for all the times they hadn’t met.

  “You go first,” Alfred said.

  “No, you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “CER gave me the day off.”

  They stood next to the gate post, elbows touching. “I liked Bobo,” Josh said.

  “Owed me a fortune in bananas, the thieving git.”

  “Can I -”

  “Yes.” Running a hand through his hair, “If you’re not too busy -”

  The lopsided smile told Josh several things. Estelle was watching. Parents were arriving so they’d have to make themselves scarce. Most of all, Claire was not to be mentioned.

  One of the kids tapped his arm. “Mr Foster, may I have your autograph?”

  Talking. Josh had missed it. It was rationed on the island, or, more accurately, filtered so it only covered topics that didn’t matter. They went up rutted paths littered with pine cones, beneath the hood of conifers, their scent potent from the last rainfall. Puss couldn’t be trusted to behave; she kept breaking away to pounce on shadows. She ran all the way up to a squirrel - it streaked up a tree. Alfred pressed his face against the bark, helpless with laughter.

  The walk was demanding in autumn - swathes of leaves, shriven branches, stringy weeds - but they climbed over and above the mossy stumps and boggy puddles, chatting all the time. As the trees petered out they reached a familiar landmark: the Dog Cemetery.

  Alfred removed his hat. Josh followed him down the row. Some were weathered stone, their epitaphs grown over, others stark and fresh. On the far end was a great boulder, surrounded by jagged rocks.

  “Who’s this?” Josh asked. “She doesn’t have an inscription.”

  “She’s the one who started it. Sasha, the third Earl’s hunting hound. She’s in those murals in the dining room, the big silvery dog with a duck in her teeth. Lovely beast. She was clever, too - she brought the Earl and her husband together.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “The Earl had recently given birth, a fine boy. Her doctors ordered her to rest but she was mad for the hunt. Sasha was equally determined to mind the baby. When the Earl came home the nursery was in uproar. The cradle was overturned, the baby missing. She followed a trail of blood to find Sasha, muzzle streaked with gore. She didn’t think twice: she took the sword down from the fireplace and killed the hound on the spot. It was only as she sat weeping, as much for her misplaced confidence as her child, that she heard a cry. Her son was beneath the cradle, alive and well. Beside him lay a wolf with its throat torn out. Sasha had killed it defending her master.”

  “Poor Sasha! If she’d looked -
”

  “I would’ve done the same. She gave Sasha a hero’s burial and never hunted again.”

  “We should give her something,” Josh said. “For being such a good friend.”

  The few flowers in the Cemetery were faded and tattered. Josh plaited them around a branch decorated with berries and finished the whole with ivy. “I hope she isn’t offended.”

  “She isn’t at all.”

  Puss curled beneath their feet. Alfred kept sneaking her biscuits, though he knew he shouldn’t. All was well in her world. She couldn’t stop purring.

  Josh frowned as he puzzled something out. “If Sasha had died of old age, you wouldn’t know about her. It’s been passed down because it’s sad. Lots of human things are like that. Why?”

  “Perhaps happy times don’t make good stories.”

  Josh shook his head. “All my times with you have been happy. I’d rather tell stories like that.”

  As they’d walked and talked, Josh had persuaded himself they could re-establish their relationship on a normal footing. As Alfred faced him now, reining his emotions in, he saw it wouldn’t be easy.

  “That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me.”

  He had Claire now. He had to keep reminding himself.

  Now he’d been granted permission, Josh saw Alfred whenever he could. It helped during the long wait until the wedding, convinced him his days weren’t empty. Their friendship was still the most meaningful connection in his life.

  Dr Sugar regretted his generosity but never withdrew it. Josh wished he could say the same for Malik and Fisk. While he expected Malik’s gibes, he found Fisk’s passive aggressive disappointment irritating. He wasn’t her son. She had no right to expect anything of him.

  Alfred’s guards had gone back up. He didn’t want Josh to glimpse the vulnerability he’d shown in the Dog Cemetery. He made sure they always had a full itinerary: making stained glass windows, winding down the farm for the winter, helping with the annual cleanout. More and more rooms at Chimera were being put beneath dust sheets, their contents packed into steamer trunks. The afternoon Alfred wanted to dismantle Thingummy, Josh knew something was wrong.