Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  “You haven’t given up, have you?”

  “I can’t keep Chimera up forever. Gwyn’s serious about her beau - there’ll be wedding bells soon. Nanny’s seventy seven next birthday. She’s got to retire sometime. A nice villa in Tio would suit me down to the ground.”

  “Won’t you visit?” Josh asked in a small voice.

  “Maybe once or twice a year. Nothing’s keeping me here.”

  He couldn’t ask, What about me? He understood what Alfred was doing. But he couldn’t believe how much it hurt.

  They were eating rock cakes from a jumble of crockery. One looked like a dog bowl, mint with splashy flowers. The other was a frail blue and white plate with dragons in flight. Alfred had told him the story: it purported to be an ancient myth about star-crossed lovers, when in fact it was a scam by the fabulously named Uriah Speed.

  “She’d rather be a dragon than marry the old mandarin?” Josh had asked. “That’s silly.”

  Now, looking over Josh’s shoulder, Alfred murmured, “Even old mandarins have their limit.”

  It had been said. It was out there. They carried on taking the Thingummy apart, each wanting to say sorry but too stubborn.

  “Coffee?”

  “Coffee.”

  They couldn’t stay mad at each other. It was as simple as that.

  ***

  Claire wanted them to be a “real couple”, to Josh’s consternation. They were state sanctioned. Strangers came up in the street and wished them luck. What could be realer than that? He’d bring her pink carnations - her favourite - and she’d sigh. He suggested a trip to the cinema and she said she’d prefer a night in. He bought her the latest Floella Flotsam and she banged out of the house in a huff!

  She had her faults, but cowardice wasn’t one of them. After a month of mystifying behaviour she put him in the picture. “Josh?”

  “Hmm?”

  He was staring out at the Howey’s garden. Claire came up behind him and wound an arm around his waist.

  “Nupa for them?”

  He had to admit, there were things she did that grated. How she’d sit painting her nails with her feet in his lap. How she picked her nose and sucked her thumb, often at the same time. And this “Nupa for them?” His thoughts were worth more than that.

  “Is everything okay? We’re engaged yet you’ve never -” She bobbed her head. “You know.”

  Oh. That? It wasn’t that he was putting it off, he just vaguely hoped he would wake up one day and find it already accomplished.

  “Relax,” she murmured. “It’s fun.”

  “Have you done it before?”

  “What do you think?”

  He could have said, Don’t answer a question with a question, but seeing her so intent, her dark eyes wide, the words died. She led him into her bedroom, off limits until now.

  It was a pink paradise: a whirligig of glitter, fairy lights and satin. He trailed after her, touched the glassy dressing table with nervous fingers. Hair spray, sugary face powder, lipstick every colour of the spectrum. Something inside him curled up tight.

  She made straight for the bed. He chose the stool by the dressing table. It was safer. “You’ve lots of trophies,” he said. “I like the ribbons.”

  “They’re rosettes. I was horse mad when I was little. I had an invisible pony called Peppermint.”

  “How ... unusual.” He thought of Gwyn, different in every way, but she’d had a pretend horse too.

  “Josh,” she said, “shut up.”

  She crawled onto his lap. He gasped as she kneed the most sensitive part of him.

  “Kiss me,” she said. He did it formally, turning his head so their noses didn’t collide. “Not like that. Tongues - let me show you -”

  Something wormed into his mouth. Her hands scrabbled at his buttons. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “What do you think?”

  Dots danced in front of his eyes. “I need air -”

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  “I need a moment.”

  He sat on the bathroom floor, face against the sink. He replayed Claire on top of him, fiddling with his buttons. A similar scene in a hotel room. Alfred had been gentler, more skilful. Lips grazing his ears, his throat.

  I didn’t know, didn’t understand -

  If she knew, it was inconceivable Alfred didn’t. If kisses and unbuttoning were preliminaries to sex, why? Why would Alfred have sex with him? Why would anybody, unless –

  Oh.

  He’d always wondered why his friend never flirted, never noticed anybody. Even once he knew Alfred liked men, he hadn’t betrayed interest in anyone. He’d always been more concerned with what Josh was saying, what he was doing -

  Josh believed humans were off limits. They were his makers, it was sacrilege. Claire had fallen for him and she barely knew him. Alfred knew him inside out -

  His pain in the Experimental Garden, how his voice had broken. “You’ve a beautiful mind, a beautiful soul.” That furtive hand on the journey back, stroking his hair. The bashful way he’d told the story of the Emperor and his lover, turning away when Josh exclaimed, “How silly! Why would a man want a man?” The unmistakable responses of his body if he touched him -

  There was something else, something in the factory. It was like a frozen river breaking up - the memory returned with full force. He saw himself on top of Alfred, crying his name. He felt tears on his shoulder, heard a murmur of, “My dear boy.” Flowing into him, tongues and skin and kisses.

  He was - what did the girls in the Pond call it? A prick tease? So many times he must have cut his friend’s heart to pieces.

  “Is everything alright?” Claire called.

  “I’ll be out in five.”

  Hugging his knees to his chest, he made three discoveries:

  He didn’t return Alfred’s feelings.

  He didn’t want a romantic relationship with him.

  He didn’t think he did.

  He unlocked the door. Claire lay naked on the bed, the triangle between her legs very dark. He looked at this without surprise, without feeling anything much. He hung his shirt on the back of a chair and started to undress.

  Flames

  Chimera, two days later. Josh met Alfred strolling in Philosopher’s Walk, swinging his stick. He wondered if he looked different. He felt different, in some indefinable way.

  “Wotcher, Josh!” Alfred said. “I’ve got a nice knotty problem to tackle. Want to lend a hand?”

  “Can we talk first?”

  “Is something worrying you?”

  “Yes and no. Claire and I -” He couldn’t go on.

  Alfred stared at a statue on the path ahead. “I see.”

  “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  His friend swallowed, fidgeted with his cravat. “Did you like it?”

  Was there an acceptable answer? “It was nice.”

  “You’re still learning the ropes. I’m sure once you’re married -”

  “I didn’t say it was bad.” Irritated, “What was your first time like? Fireworks and dancing girls?”

  He’d gone too far. Alfred limped away as fast as he could, stick tearing up the lawn.

  “That was unpardonable and none of my business.”

  “Damn right.” He wasn’t mollified. “Is that why you dropped by? To brag about poking pudding?”

  “Alfred, you know I find talk like that disgusting! Here I am, wanting to tell you about my first time -”

  “Sorry to remind you, but you fucked me first. And you loved it. Deny it if you like, but it was real.”

  “If you can’t say anything nice -”

  Alfred’s voice softened. “Don’t go. I’ve missed you.”

  The Philosopher’s Walk ended with a plinth with nothing on it. There was enough room for two to perch comfortably. Alfred pulled him up.

  “There’s something I need to ask you.” Josh had thought about how to put it, and decided a direct approach was best. “Do you -
want me? Like a woman wants a man?”

  Alfred’s face contracted with pain. “It’s a little hell. Satisfied?”

  “You mean, all this time -”

  “It’s pointless discussing it.”

  “But when -” Josh blushed. “You know.”

  Alfred clutched his arms. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

  “I did for a while. I don’t know why.”

  “Or saw it as a one off - what happens on tour stays on tour -”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You should.” Alfred was near tears. “Robots pick up what people feel. You felt you had to play along -”

  “Everything I did, I did of my own free will.”

  They stared at each other. Alfred put his hand to Josh’s face. The artificial rubbed it against the sensitive fingers. As he pressed his lips to the palm, Gwyn came panting across the lawn. The hand vanished.

  “The Hanged Man’s on fire,” she cried. “Some dozy git dropped a fag in the rushes.”

  As they followed her over the fields, Alfred explained that as well as being JP, he headed Langton’s fire service. “You can be called out anywhere, anywhen. It’s why I have so many sets of pyjamas.”

  “Isn’t it frightening?”

  “The fire at the bakery was pretty hair raising. Like crossing a minefield.”

  The Hanged Man lay ahead, smoke streaming from the upstairs windows. A gang of scarlet jacketed figures sweated over the water cannons. Josh recognised Glover, Alfred’s valet, as well as a handful of village boys and Cory the blacksmith.

  “There you are, m’lud!” Glover said. “We thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Rubbish. Gwyn, help Dick. Budge up, Adam.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Alfred primed the cannon while Glover directed the spray. It was hot, exhausting work. Glover rolled up his sleeves and Alfred copied him. Glover was something of a ladies’ man; Alfred teased him about his behaviour at the barn dance. Josh felt an irrational twinge of jealousy towards this man who laid out Alfred’s clothes and bantered with him so familiarly.

  “Can I help?”

  “You could fill these buckets.”

  As he walked away, Glover whispered in Alfred’s ear. He blushed while the other chuckled. Josh tried not to lose his temper. He filled six buckets at the pump and dumped one by each cannon. Gwyn was in her element: jacket buttoned up, hat at an angle, she doused the remaining flames.

  “Anybody thirsty?” Harry Bailey waddled by, a tray of punch on his arm.

  “Nice little blaze, Harry.”

  “Shut up, Langton.” He poured Alfred an extra large glass. “I should start one every day. It’s cracking for business.”

  Harry gave each of the fire fighters a glass, hesitating when he reached Josh. “Can bots drink booze?”

  “Of course we can.” He poured himself a double before anyone could stop him.

  They sighed. The fire was out, it was a pleasant day, the alcohol was hitting their bloodstreams. The men reminisced about a boy years ago who was addicted to starting fires. Bins, sandpits, the village school - nothing could stop him.

  “He was in Lux nick, last I heard,” Glover said. “Yet he came from a good family. Goes to show.”

  They prepared to go home. Alfred and Gwyn were arranging to house Harry when Alphonsia ran up to them. Wild eyed, mascara dripping down her face, she was so frantic she couldn’t speak.

  “What’s the matter, love?” her husband asked.

  “Holly. I can’t find her.”

  “I thought she was in the garden.” His eyes travelled upwards. “Lady, no.”

  Dropping his tray, he bolted down the path. As he pushed at the door a beam fell, scattering plaster and dust. Stray sparks must have caught - before long the first gable was engulfed.

  “Harry, don’t!” Gwyn cried. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “My daughter’s in there!” he roared. He tried the door again but a torrent of bricks came down, blocking the entrance. He punched the wall. “Holly!”

  “I can’t bear this,” Alfred said. Snatching a fire axe, he headed round the back. Josh, Gwyn and Glover chased after him.

  “Grizzly, don’t!”

  “Don’t do it, sir. No sense in losing two lives.”

  “Who’s the head of this fire brigade?” Alfred demanded.

  “You, sir -”

  “Let me. That’s an order.”

  Glover stepped back. Alfred kissed Gwyn’s forehead and turned to Josh. “I have to.”

  “I know,” he said quietly.

  They touched knuckles. Josh joined Gwyn and Glover, his anguish reflected on their faces. Harry and Alphonsia stared up at their home.

  “I don’t care about the pub,” he whispered. “The whole thing could burn down -”

  “As long as she’s safe,” she finished.

  Gwyn was remembering her first fire aged seven: how Alfred plonked a helmet on her head and drove her to the scene. Glover was lost in a soliloquy about what a great man his master was. Josh wished they would shut up.

  If he doesn’t make it -

  Of course he would. Alfred saved people. It’s what he did.

  I’ll do anything. Please.

  A terrible groan, like the earth cracking. The old timbered building collapsed. Gwyn buried her face in Glover’s chest. The brigade bowed their heads.

  “He was my best friend,” Gwyn whispered. “I loved him more than anyone in the world.”

  Glover patted her shoulder. Josh sank to the ground.

  “Mr Foster?” Cory’s kind, simple face swam over him. “Are you alright?”

  “Leave me alone.” He dragged his nails across his face. It was a relief to give his pain visible form. Somewhere above him Gwyn gasped.

  “Mr Foster?” Cory again. “If you’d stand up -”

  “Go away.”

  “If you’d look -”

  Alfred was picking over the rubble, carrying Holly Bailey. The little girl was fast asleep. The next few minutes were filled with laughter, relief and tears. Alphonsia kissed Alfred, Gwyn kissed him, Harry looked as though he might but settled for a bear hug.

  No wonder he was swaying. “Glover, take her to the hospital,” he croaked.

  Josh pushed through the throng and propped him up. He wished he could be like the women and kiss him without a second thought. “What did I say about heroics?” he whispered.

  “I couldn’t leave her.” Alfred raised his voice. “Gwyn, help Nanny set up the gatehouse. Lads, I’ll see you at the station.”

  Leaning on Josh’s arm, he let him walk him back to the house. Tiredness didn’t overtake him until they were safely inside the library.

  “I need a drink.” When Josh handed him a tumbler, he downed it and said, “Another.”

  “You should have gone to hospital.”

  “What are you saying? I’m bosticated?”

  “I thought Nanny was going to hug you to death.”

  “If flames and fumes don’t finish me off, Lulu’s bosom will.” Alfred reached for the glass but missed. “What’s the matter with me?”

  “Shock.”

  “Haven’t time for collywobbles.” He trembled violently. Josh drew him into his arms. “Whatever you smell of, you should bottle it and sell it.”

  “Engine oil?”

  “Why not? I smell like a kipper.”

  Josh sniffed. “More mackerel.”

  “Thanks.”

  They lay like that for a long time, Josh playing with his hair.

  “Sorry if I gave you a scare.”

  “I’m used to it. Gwyn isn’t, though.”

  “Tough as old boots, that girl.” Alfred looked up at him. “Are you staying over?”

  Josh thought of the lawn, the unspoken promise. He panicked. “I’m seeing Claire. Meeting her mates.”

  “Ah. Your lady friend.” He sat up. “Can’t compete with the fascinations of a poodle crimper.”

  “Don’t be unkind.”

>   “Maybe it’s just as well. I’ve a homeless family to put up and a report to write. Go on, fuck off.”

  Josh pulled on his jacket, stung. Alfred lay on his back, blowing smoke rings into the air.

  “Do you love her?”

  “What?”

  “It’s not a trick question.”

  “I’m marrying her, aren’t I?”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Well, yes, but -”

  Alfred was devastated but tried to put a brave face on it. “As a friend. Okay. That’s all I needed to know.”

  Day Trip

  Josh was tormented by thoughts of Alfred in the weeks that followed. They hadn’t spoken, never mind met. Whenever he relented, he remembered the wayward behaviour and hurtful comments. He wouldn’t apologise. It was up to Alfred to make the first move. He carried on missing him, too proud to admit it.

  Everybody had succumbed to wedding fever. Every time he walked through a door he found Claire, a squad of girls and any number of organisers, dressmakers and photographers. The ceremony would be at the town hall. Josh liked its age old elegance and hundred candled chandeliers, but that was washed away by rehearsals. Every move they made, every word they said was choreographed. Their vows seemed so meaningless, they might have been reciting the two times table.

  “Oof!” Claire sighed as they finished up at her house or the flat. They’d watch films, chat about nothing. He preferred this version of her, wearing cut off shorts and a baggy top. Next day she’d be a wedding fiend, plotting with Sienna as though it was a political assassination.

  “You want something classic, something that says ‘fairy tale romance’,” the guru rasped.

  “You know, those are exactly the words I was lookin’ for? I want to show every girl it doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from. Every girl should get to be a princess for the day.”

  “Oh, that’s fantastic.”

  They’d collaborate on a piece of copy. Claire smiled for a bevy of reporters and showed off her diamond.

  “Reach for your dreams,” she said. “I was never good at school; my teachers said I’d never be anything. Then I met Josh -”

  There didn’t seem to be room for the groom in a fairy tale wedding. All he had to do was put a hand on her shoulder and gawp adoringly. With his days plotted, his mind was free to wander. One question came up over and over. What was he going to do about Alfred?