Love and Robotics

by Eyre, Rachael

  Josh knew he was going to hurt him. He wanted to be a good friend, show him he was on his side, but how could he balance it with betrayal? Thinking about it, why had Alfred fallen in love with him? Yes, he was clever, but so was every artificial. He looked at his face, his ‘perfect’ body, and found them bland. Alfred was far more appealing, with his scars, muscles and wonky grin.

  Maybe he felt sorry for him. Maybe he excited his chivalric instincts. There was no logic to the emotion and it disturbed him.

  A rare wedding free weekend. They were down at Claire’s mum’s - once a month she made a roast for family and hangers on. Josh offered to help but she shooed him away.

  Claire lay on the sofa, flipping through veebox stations. Zoe was on the tube gossiping. Mouse sat on the floor, making an amphitheatre for her homework. He gave her a hand.

  “Why’s Hammy here?”

  “He’s the lion,” she explained.

  “Don’t have Hammy on the floor. It’s dirty,” Claire said.

  “He’s not doing any harm.”

  “Mum’ll have a fit. Gods, I’m bored!”

  “You could help,” Josh said.

  “Yeah, right. Never liked history. Why don’t we learn what’s happenin’ now?”

  She flung the cushions from the sofa and went into the hall. She tugged at the stair cupboard door. Nothing happened. She rattled the handle.

  “Here, let me.” Josh stepped over ancient Farva and pulled on the handle. An avalanche gushed out: not just shoes and coats, but unopened bills, posters, snooker cues, racquets -

  “Mum! Were you goin’ to tidy this ever?”

  Joyce slunk into the hall. “I let things go when your dad died. Must be twelve years’ worth of crap in there.”

  “Operation Clean Up Cupboard!” Claire cried.

  She was less enthusiastic an hour later, when the tides of junk showed no sign of abating. “It’s magic. Don’t see how else it’d fit in such a tiny space. Ugh! Spider!”

  Why did a tiny, harmless creature reduce girls to jelly? Even Gwyn refused to go near them.

  “Drown it,” she said. “Flush it down the loo.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Josh put it through the window. “Anything else?”

  “Zoe’s diary. We’ve got to read it. School reports, wool - Ugh! Teeth!”

  He stared at the frail white things inside an old jewellery box. “Who keeps a box of teeth?”

  Claire explained the concept of the tooth fairy. He was none the wiser when she had finished.

  “Why collect teeth? Why not keep the money and, I don’t know, buy a summer home?”

  “Maybe they build it from teeth.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “You asked.”

  They’d picked out two bin bags: one for things they intended to keep, another for things they were throwing away. She pulled something out and shrieked.

  “Another spider?” Josh asked.

  “No, Mum’s porn stash. Gross!”

  It flipped open to show an oiled up man with a moustache, flexing his muscles and smirking. He looked familiar.

  “Lewis Sinclair?”

  “The explorer?” Claire gasped. “Must be one of those goofy calendars.” She showed him the back. “See, there’s twelve on the last one. It was probably okay then, but now it looks like a big gay orgy.”

  With a lurch Josh recognised the figure for August. Once Claire had stopped sniggering and gone in search of Joyce, he turned to that page. Alfred as he’d never seen him. Arms folded, chin up, a mischievous smile he knew by heart. The lines of his muscles, the rich auburn hair - he was wonderful.

  “Mum says it’s not hers!” Claire shouted. “As if!”

  Josh ripped out the page and stuffed it into his pocket.

  The wedding was an unstoppable beast. After months of preparations it had snuck up on them - now it was in ten days’ time. Josh dreamt he jumped through the stained glass windows or hung onto Claire’s train, yelling he wasn’t ready.

  Their latest venture was very hush-hush. They were collected from the flat in the small hours and taken for a two hour ride in a smoked glass vix.

  “Last night was amazin’,” Claire whispered.

  He’d fingered her half heartedly; she took him in her mouth. He hadn’t felt anything until he’d conjured the calendar, pretending it was Alfred beneath him.

  “Oh, you little love birds,” Sienna said. “Don’t you look a picture?”

  Unless that picture was entitled Groom Leaps From Moving Vehicle, Josh doubted it. Like Claire, Sienna talked to fill the silence. They stopped outside a pink and green building shaped like an ice cream cone.

  “You’re lucky to get a booking,” Sienna said. “Katya doesn’t dress just anyone.”

  Claire didn’t know the name but pretended she did. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

  A tall woman with a sweep of purple hair appeared, squinting at them through a lorgnette. Her dress was scalding yellow, as were her shoes and pigskin gloves.

  “I don’t do lovely, I do art. From these unpromising beginnings I will make gold.”

  Claire shrank, terrified. Josh met her gaze and refused to flinch. Wanker, Alfred murmured inside his head.

  Like everything else, the fitting revolved around Claire. She and Sienna expected him to be as thrilled about trying on a cargo of identical dresses as they were.

  “Oh, you look stunning!” You’d think Sienna was marrying off her own daughter, the way she dabbed her eyes.

  Claire twirled. “What do you think?”

  “Mmph.” It had been his response to the last ten dresses. He’d chosen his suit within the first hour.

  “Let’s not go for white. Too old fashioned.” Sienna lit up perilously close to the curtain.

  “Good idea. And,” Claire eyeballed Josh, “we haven’t any right to it.”

  “Oh, you naughty monkeys!”

  Josh stood up. Idle chatter he could endure, but swapping secrets of their sex life?

  “Ants in your pants, love?” Sienna barked.

  “I need head room -”

  He could hear her in the corridor. “It affects men like that. I remember my Ernie before we got hitched.”

  “He’s definitely interested?”

  “Pumpkin, how could he not be?”

  Josh wandered down the path, kicking pebbles. Katya had a strange fixation with yellow: most of the flowers were some shade and even the grass appeared to have been treated. It made your eyes skip.

  There was a sound of running water. He followed it. A verdigris wishing well, patterned with loveknots. A familiar figure was standing by it, staring into the water. He could sketch that head and shoulders with his eyes shut.

  Tiptoeing over, he tapped him.“How did you know where to find me?”

  Alfred turned, framed by rushing water. “I have my methods.” As Josh raised an eyebrow, “I asked Dr Sugar. - I always thought a fondness for yellow was a sign of insanity.”

  “Maybe she really likes custard.”

  It was a stupid joke but it thawed any awkwardness. They laughed for a moment, then sighed.

  “Why’ve you been avoiding me, Josh?”

  “I was waiting for you to apologise.”

  “Stubborn boy.”

  “Stubborn man.”

  The thoughts Josh had had over the past few days were oozing out of him. He was separated from that glorious body by a few inches of fabric - he stopped himself from reaching for his lapels. “Why are you here?”

  “I’ve come to rescue you.” As his insides jolted, “Not from your wedding, you dolt. I know you’d only enjoy a fitting if it was you in the dress. It’s not, is it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s not a displeasing idea. - We could go to Lowe and back before they notice you’re gone.”

  A trip to Lowe; Josh didn’t know what he liked best. Strolling along the pier? Trying peculiar ice creams? Eating oysters from the barrel? Climbing the rock f
ormations, giggling as they crashed into a pool? He handed over a coin to be turned into a souvenir disk. He watched the machinery as it munched it up and spat it out.

  “I don’t understand how you’re surrounded by impressive technology but like stuff like this,” Alfred said.

  “How do you know my insides don’t look like that?”

  “I’m sure they don’t.”

  “I’m a machine, aren’t I?”

  “What happens to your food after you eat? You don’t have to tell me,” Alfred added, as Josh crimsoned.

  “I can break it down only so far, then it drains into a dish. I empty it out and put it back in. It’s why I don’t eat much.”

  “Doesn’t it get -”

  “Boring? Yes.”

  They tried to look through a telescope but it spun out of their hands. They gave up and draped themselves over an iron bench.

  “I find boredom terrifying,” Alfred grimaced.

  “I know you do.”

  It was a wet, misty day. They edged closer to one another for warmth. Josh laid with his head in Alfred’s lap, breathing in his coat, his tobacco. A spicy, mannish smell. He felt the hand go to his hair and let it rest.

  “How do you know humans aren’t robots made so long ago everyone’s forgotten?”

  “Whoa. You’ve committed six heresies there!”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Thanks to the mist, they didn’t see a couple walking their dog until they were on top of them. A typical elderly pair, grey and insignificant.

  “Afternoon,” Alfred said. As they registered Josh lying across his lap, their faces became ugly with disapproval. They towed the dog away as though he might catch something.

  What was that about? Was it because they were a human and a robot? A young man and an older man?

  “Come on.” The humour had drained from Alfred’s voice. “Let’s go.”

  Neither of them liked public transport, but it was a good way of getting to know Lux. “Keep hold of your ticket,” Alfred murmured. “And watch for pickpockets.”

  Derdyts had a special flavour all their own. To begin with, they were faster, rocketing through tunnels at knuckle whitening speeds. They were standing room only, meaning you clung to a harness. There was no limit to how many passengers they could carry, resulting in collisions with briefcases, elbows and groins.

  “Hold on.” Alfred gripped a harness, Josh wrapped himself around the metal bar.

  “Do you think anyone lives down here?”

  “Nanny used to say it was the gateway to hell. You’d see hairy men in chains if you squinted.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t grow up traumatised.”

  “No, that happened later.”

  It was a joke, but Josh wanted to know more about the sadness at the core of Alfred’s life. A man doesn’t shut himself away from the world just because his sister died. He caught sight of his reflection - and Alfred, looking at him with such desire it made him tremble.

  Josh turned, very slowly. He expected his friend to cough or examine the ceiling, but Alfred shrugged. His feelings were his feelings, he couldn’t change them. His gaze deepened, drew Josh in. He smiled softly, not touching him but clearly wanting to.

  Josh stumbled. Now they were pressed against each other, their faces inches apart. Their eyes met. He couldn’t pull away. He was growing hard; he felt Alfred doing the same. A pleasurable shudder passed through his body.

  Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes,” he managed faintly.

  “Get a room,” a woman muttered. She quailed beneath Alfred’s most withering glance.

  Did his friend strut as they left the station, or was it his imagination?

  They’d been out hours later than planned. Alfred dropped him off at Margravina Road. “See you,” he mumbled, ruffling Josh’s hair.

  “Please do.” A thought occurred to him. “What did you wish for earlier?”

  “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  Josh stood on the landing and watched him go. Once Alfred had turned the corner, he let himself in. He urgently needed a wash. Sienna was in his favourite chair, stinking the flat out with her cigarettes.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Listen, sunshine.” She kicked off her shoes and planted scaly feet on the coffee table. “Girls like Claire don’t grow on trees. Buck your ideas up or you’ll lose her.”

  “You’re overreacting -”

  “You were gone five hours. What was she supposed to think?” As he shrugged, “She thought you’d jilted her.”

  “Sorry -”

  “Say it to her, not me. Get on that tube.”

  “I can’t do it with you listening.”

  “Always excuses! You can’t be arsed to help your girl pick a wedding dress, but you’ll go gallivanting with Lord Langton.”

  She produced a photograph of them on the bench, his head in Alfred’s lap as he stroked his hair. He tried to grab it but she tucked it into her bra.

  “You’ve no right to spy on me.”

  “Don’t you care how it looks? Messing around with that demented sod -”

  “Don’t talk about him like that!”

  “Josh, Josh, Josh.” She blew a plume of smoke into his face. “What is it you want? You’ve a home, a lovely lass, a career -”

  “He gets me. I can be myself with him.”

  “It’s an embarrassment. You can’t have an old geezer running after you with his tongue out. It’s terrible for funding.”

  “The last time I looked, he was the funding.”

  “I’m telling you for your own good.” She pulled on her fur coat. “See it as a friendly warning. Any more and we’ll take extreme measures.”

  “Like what?” he asked the swinging door. “You can’t do anything to us.”

  He’d speak to Claire in the morning. Right now he only wanted to sleep.

  Bachelor Party 1

  Josh sat in the back of the vix, wondering when his ordeal would end. The glass was smoked so he couldn’t see out, the driver professionally taciturn. He wished he had a quiet space to think in. Unfortunately the lighting, dance floor and salutes of bottle corks made that impossible.

  “Bachelor Do 2164!”

  Something sweaty and half naked bounced from one wall to another. This vision harassed Dean and Ravi, busy debating whether blood books were a legitimate art form. Next it made overtures to the Studs, the hangers on from The Bachelor.

  “Come on, silver balls! You’re marrying my sister in a week’s time!”

  “Sister in law.” This was what stopped Josh from hurling himself through the windscreen: there was no official relationship between him and Simon Schreiber.

  He might have known there’d be a catch. Family gatherings, meeting her friends, spending time with Claire - that had all been fine. While their conversations didn’t always gel, at least they didn’t bore each other. Then Zoe showed up with her husband.

  He hated Simon on sight. The knuckle crunching handshake, the boisterous laugh, his way of standing as though there was an invisible horse between his legs. He lobbed grenades into conversations, unhappy unless they revolved around him. A restaurant wasn’t worth visiting unless he’d patronised it, a suit couldn’t be worn without his approval. As soon as the subject of bachelor parties came up, he appointed himself organiser. “I’m a veteran. I know what I’m doing.”

  When Josh intimated he’d like something quiet - Alfred, Pip, maybe Derkins - he roared: “You marrying a poof, Clarita? His friends all seem to be old men or girls!”

  The party was at a “top secret location” and promised to be a “belter”. He set the tone by appearing on the doorstep with a colossal metal penis and Clockwork Bachelor shirts. “Put it on, Joshy boyo!”

  “I’m not wearing a shirt with my face on it. It’s conceited.” Josh binned both shirt and member as soon as his back was turned.
/>   “Alright, Studs?!” Simon’s voice was five decibels too loud. “Are you ready to RUMBLE?!!!”

  He turned to Pip, the one concession to his guest list. “Sorry about this.”

  “It’s not too bad. It’s got a bubble machine.”

  “Really?” They took turns pressing the buttons. “Bet I can pop more than you.”

  “Bet y’ can’t. Who is that wanker?”

  “My brother in law.”

  “Congrats.”

  “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “Free stuff!” Dean cried. His arms overflowed with Rocket bars and Meaty Munches. “Ravi’s got a bet on with the Studs. The first to pull ten lasses gets to drive this all day tomorrow.”

  Josh looked at Ravi - podgy, bald, maniacal grin - then the Studs.“Bit of a foregone conclusion.”

  “You doubt the R Man?” Ravi shoved six biscuits into his mouth. “I’m legendary with the ladies.”

  “Since when?” Dean asked. “You’ve had that lucky rubber in your pocket as long as I’ve known you.”

  “So lucky I’ve never used it,” he preened. “I’m a stevedore in the bedroom, a guru on the dance floor -”

  Josh felt Pip’s shoulders shake. They creased up on the floor by the speakers, bubbles and popcorn and glitter sticking to them. “What’s so funny?” Ravi demanded.

  “You.” Something occurred to him. “Does anyone know how to turn this off?”

  “Shit! What do we do?”

  Bubbles continued to pump, soaking the furry walls. Panic reigned as everyone crawled on hands and knees, searching for an off switch. The exception was Simon, talking loudly about the time he’d had an assault rifle pointed at his head. He poured himself punch, oblivious to the fact no one was listening.

  The party had started as it meant to go on.

  They got out at a large, spikily impressive building on the outskirts. Basilicas, weeping trees, fountains. Inside it was less imposing. Six halls were linked by chains: a food hall, a night club with several floors, four gaming areas. Simon herded them into one called Cyber Quest.