Face

by Brighton, Bridget

  “It’s his version of please.” I explain. “Please, untamed. I just hand him to Mum, she’s his best mind-reader. She’s got the milk supply.”

  Cliff visibly squirms, I reckon it’s getting hot under his scarf.

  “Do you....have you...changed his nappy or anything?”

  “Yeah, it’s not so bad. It’s nothing like an adult’s poo.”

  Cliff’s grey eyes are calling for back-up.

  “...comes out in squirts of yellow.” I add, for my own entertainment.

  “Too much information.”

  “Shall I volunteer your services? Mum’s probably doing a nappy change any minute now. Go on, it’s a life-changing experience...”

  Cliff yanks the hat down so hard, one day he’ll just be a pair of feet.

  “Do you want a drink or something?” I say

  “No! stay here.”

  “Babies don’t bite. This one hasn’t even got teeth.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  The doorbell goes again.

  “Honestly, it’s like having a celebrity in the house.”

  I try to imagine Cliff’s expression under the scarf, the one that goes with his help-me eyes. It will be the type of tight, helpless face that forms under embarrassment. Kind of sweet on a boy.

  “Want to accompany me to the front door?” I say

  I offer Cliff my hand backwards like a parent and he takes it. We don’t look at each other. I concentrate on opening the door with my wrong hand.

  “Big sister True!”

  Seven hurtles through the door and I stumble backwards onto Cliff’s foot. I’m glad I can’t see her face change. Seven’s energy pulls Mum to the door with Daimon heavy-lidded in the crook of her arm, and Seven smacks her hand over her mouth.

  “Congratulations Mrs O’Reilly,” she whispers, theatrically loud. “I brought this from all of us. Mum says everyone brings something for the baby but it’s the mum who deserves the present because she did all the hard work!”

  Seven extends the bottle towards Mum who sways forward to collect it, rocking, rocking. Seven’s eyes graze the baby’s head, then settle on mine: not him again.

  “Tell your mother thank you very much. Fizz, lovely.” Mum says

  Silence. Why is everyone looking at me? Like I planned this gathering of friends that can’t stand the sight of each other.

  “True is obviously not going to introduce us,” Mum peers upwards, “so hello, I’m Adelaide.”

  “Cliff from school.” I say quickly.

  Cliff extends a hand, notes that Mum’s arms are busy, withdraws and finishes with a sort of stupid head-bow.

  “Congratulations by the way. He’s really cute.”

  Mum beams at him, she’s so easily won these days. Daimon’s got his distant philosopher’s stare on. Sleep is a possibility.

  Seven leads into the living room and I stiffly follow. We could all be avatars. I’d log off, log back on anywhere else in the world but here. I can still feel the pressure of Cliff’s fingers in mine, though they are long gone.

  “There’s something new about you, Seven, have you gone Maverick?” Mum says.

  “It’s not Maverick.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean...whatever it is, it looks great. Ignore me- I’m not getting enough sleep these days.”

  Seven has done the latest Merlot mouth, the downturned one. I opt for the baby as neutral ground.

  “Lucky you didn’t get here ten minutes ago,” I tell Seven. “Daimon was having a complete meltdown.”

  “Daimon- as in, the nanotech guy?” Seven says.

  “True thinks he should be called Daimon.” Mum says. “After the Natural who also happened to be a brilliant scientist. He’s Daimon or Chester, we haven’t decided.”

  I watch the confusion gather in Seven’s eyes. I’m busily logging out in my head.

  “I like Chester.” Seven says

  “Did True give you all the details? He was born in the car last Tuesday at 9.54pm, 8lb 3oz. He’s also EMS susceptible. We find out either way when he’s a year old, he’ll have the test.”

  Seven fixates on Mum’s lips like she can watch the words exit and advance.

  “Oh my God. I didn’t know.”

  Mum’s lips fix across her face, displeasure contained in a pout.

  “We kept it quiet. We’re only telling people now.”

  “They didn’t tell me either.” I add quickly.

  I can feel Cliff’s eyes upon me. What? It’s the truth. She didn’t tell me; he did.

  “Things are looking positive right now for EMS kids, Seven. There’s going to be a change in the law. The automatic right to Enhancements in the same way they get medical treatments, under controlled conditions.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ve been led to believe it will happen soon, yes.”

  Cliff is regarding Seven oddly- like she’s an avatar, a temporary symbol of someone who exists elsewhere. He’s stiller than I ever remember him being able to sit, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing. He wants to bear witness to it all.

  “In the future nobody will know, either way.” Mum concludes, more to Daimon.

  Mum has checked out into World of Newborn and barely registers when Seven shifts to sit beside her.

  “You’re handling it really well.” Seven says to Mum.

  I will Daimon to stay asleep with everything I’ve got. I don’t want him to see Seven’s face filling his air with a tragedy that is all her own.

  “Cliff must have an opinion.” Seven says, without looking up.

  “Cliff’s not EMS.” I say quickly.

  “I prefer Daimon to Chester,” Cliff says slowly. “Or did you want my reaction to your latest face?” Seven widens her eyes at me, freak alert. “More Merlot face parts, this time a little bit sad?” Cliff continues, “...Yes. You really have found your face.”

  I take an intensive look at the carpet, a tiny wildflower pattern: reds, yellows and violet. After an eternity, someone gets the hint and stands. It’s Cliff.

  “Nice to meet you Adelaide. Daimon. Congratulations again.”

  “Oh, yes... congrat- I mean, see you Cliff.” Mum says

  “There’s a C.O.F protest tomorrow. Come with me?” Cliff is looking steadily at me, no mistaking the challenge.

  “What? Oh, um, I’ll text you later.”

  Mum raises her head to watch me follow Cliff to the front door. Cliff steps outside, but turns back to hand me a gift-wrapped package.

  “Here- I nearly forgot- for the baby.”

  Seven joins me in the hall, moving in closer as Cliff leaves. We listen to his running shoes smack the pavement as he jogs away.

  “What did he want you to do?” she says.

  “There’s some kind of protest. For people like my brother.”

  We both look down at the package that crackles in my fist. The rainbow-striped paper is meticulously sealed, each end rolled under and taped down. I pick at it with a fingernail until a flap comes free. Tilt it, a silky feather-light scarf tumbles out, teddy bear faces all in a line. Each teddy has a different expression: grinning, scowling, laughing, howling, snoozing, and repeat to the edge. It tickles my fingers but there is a hidden weight to it, a functionality. Newborn size. Seven lifts the scarf and with no face beneath, it flutters in the breeze from the wide open door. Her brown eyes well up with tears and she positions them in front of mine.

  “Oh True. Nobody will know how lovely he is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Not a bad turn-out.” Cliff says.

  I count seventeen. The headquarters of Ultiface sit over the road; I’ve passed it a thousand times. The road itself is restricted access, only self-drive vehicles allowed. Cliff tells me that this is because human drivers get distracted by the eyes of the massive, mobile faces on the front of the building- and car pile-ups fall short of their intended corporate message. The building itself is six storeys of beige, a nod to their Update masks, and cubed, with its vast frontage
to act as an advert. Merlot’s save-me smile dominates the building. Her face fades to give way to the happy, blond Ultiface family. The identical three: the cause of the protest.

  “So what’s wrong with the Family Resemblance Package?” I say

  “Oh nothing, Dad loves it. Evidence for his theory that we’re all coming back to Natural.”

  Sure enough a banner on a post is hoisted into the air: ‘Naturals for Natural Family Resemblance,’ curly words mounted in a fat red heart shape.

  “So...nobody needs to buy anything?” I say

  “That’s the one.”

  Cliff sounds pleased. We’re seated opposite each other in the window of the Van Gogh Cafe, directly opposite Ultiface Headquarters. There’s a pleasant buzz of human voices, and a smell of burnt toast, which disperses a little more every time the sunflower yellow door swings open. Cliff is assessing my ongoing reaction to the scene outside. But I’m used to his surveillance. The girl behind the counter keeps shooting glances at us and I return them whenever I catch her. She pretends to be interested in the protest outside, but her opal eyes give her away.

  Forest is easy to spot, he’s the only unmasked one, but I’d know him anywhere. He’s in a state of high excitement, stampeding around and directing the small crowd like it’s the rehearsal of a play. He steers them into groups of three, arms around shoulders. The real people are dwarfed by the advert running on the beige facade behind: the cute blond girl runs to her Daddy and is lifted into his waiting arms, Mummy appears to his other side; the girl is lifted so that their faces line up and you’ve never seen so many straight whites crammed in together. (It’s a while since I’ve been able to fake it like that.) Daughter looks like Daddy and Daddy looks like Mummy. The pack comes with two masks; somebody gets to be the starting template, the other two Update. Below them, the masked protesters mimic their pose. It’s a perfect parody of the packaging family, right down to the final thumbs up.

  My phone beeps a text:

  I’m worried about you. I miss your proper face- get it back! Cliff will leave you alone. Seven xXx

  “Anything juicy? Cliff says

  “Nothing important.”

  I put my phone away. It’s weird to think Seven doesn’t yet know that I have no stored Face History. I haven’t told anyone. I could tell Cliff.

  “Actually, it was Seven kindly reminding me to Reverse my face.”

  “Back to what? Don’t tell me. More like Seven.”

  “We did do the same Merlot Update last year, but Seven never stops talking, whereas me, my face just sits like this. I’m always going to be me.”

  “Not many people could get mistaken for Seven.”

  I turn away from the sneer in his voice. Look back to the protesters.

  “Should we go over there?” I say

  “Nah. I’m not in the mood today.”

  I check his mood. He’s leaning back in the hard plastic chair, long legs out and crossed at the ankle. He’s forced to pull them in each time somebody tries to leave, or enter the cafe.

  “I don’t see any families.” I say

  “The kids are in the pictures on the t-shirts.”

  Each C.O.F member wears a t-shirt with a face of an Original parent beside an Original child. Their degree of resemblance is hard to assess from this far back, even though I press my face right up against the glass- searching for Cliff.

  “Who’s your dad wearing?”

  “Hah, not me. He’s modelling the pair that resemble each other the most, a mother and daughter. I’ve met them.”

  “I could wear Daimon one day- if he ever starts to look like me. Mum says he looks like I did as a newborn, but less irritated. I was born frowning. I can’t see it at all, the genetics thing. He’s all scrunched, there’s no real feature shape yet... Mum says he’s chilled out.”

  “Objection! That is not a chilled kid.”

  Cliff tips his slab of strawberry sponge cake over and stabs it with his fork. He loosens his scarf, I glimpse dark circles under his eyes. What if my Smile Blocker turns out to be worse than what’s underneath? Stupid. He’d take it off.

  “I’ve got a confession to make,” I say, helping myself to some of his cake. “I have the Ultiface: Family Resemblance Package waiting for me in the bathroom at home.”

  Cliff does not look up from his cake.

  “Planning to use it?”

  “Uh-uh. Seven gave it to me at my house that day, after you’d gone.”

  I couldn’t exactly give it to you when he was here, could I?

  “Not the most tactful present.”

  “She didn’t know about Daimon. Seven always gets the latest stuff. The packaging is a bit creepy.”

  I do my best impression of the blond Ultiface family, by scraping my chair around to Cliff’s side and hooking an arm around him. My real smile comes, too dented to be Ultiface. I scrape my chair back around to my side. The eyes of a stranger across the cafe linger but when I try to take on his stare, they’ve gone. The stranger’s small child is hissed at: stop staring. Cliff has a black scarf on today, same colour as the protesters. The little girl was entertained by my dent.

  “So, do you reckon Seven chose it for you as a celebration of your Dad moving back in?” Cliff says, “O’Reillys reunited?”

  “Why would I want to look like him when I can’t even look him in the eye?”

  “So it’s gotta be your Mum.”

  “Actually, Mum would go for it with Daimon, the way she is with him at the moment: look everybody, it’s a piece of me! Like nobody knows. They’re virtually attached.”

  “Dad always says: start with the profit. Consider it as financial planning. Sowing the seeds of a new trend in fifteen years time; Ultiface: My Face: The Opposite of Yours. Upload your parents’ templates, we deconstruct from there.”

  I flick my Smile Blocker at Cliff, but not in the way you think. It’s this thing I’ve discovered and it only works on Cliff. I win his gaze back from the cake. Help myself to another bit, my prize.

  “So now you know what my dad gets up to. How about your lot?” Cliff says

  “Mum goes for all the government-sponsored personal-growth stuff. Transcendental meditation, pottery, last thing before Daimon was beginners’ Mandarin. It’s like the whole programme was designed for her. Dad, plotting his escape I guess. Moving his belongings out, and back in again. Principled, time-consuming stuff- just like yours.”

  A figure looms into our light and a muscled forearm extends, making the rap of knuckles on the front window. I lean away from Cliff, I know this man.

  “It’s Otis- he’s our neighbour.” I say

  Otis is Belle’s husband, but there is no family in tow today. Otis’ expression is distant and I hope he’s just reading the menu. Does he know about Daimon yet? He waves and I realise he is going to come in. A polite smile will catch, so I orient my whole self towards the door. Cliff flies out of his chair and barges past Otis in the doorway. Otis’ mild, masculine face startles, replaced by annoyance, but Cliff is in the road and he’s dodging between the cars.

  Forest has a new face, it’s flatter and covered with blood. He grasps his nose to staunch the flow, and the blood runs through his fingers and pools on the pavement. Red over the faces on his t-shirt, over the mother and daughter.

  Otis and I venture out onto the pavement in front of the cafe and it’s like we’re watching the violent climax to a play. Over the road, four angry, unmasked faces have penetrated the protest, which is no more. Black scarves turn towards the twisting faces, arms are pulled, stragglers back away, the banner clatters to the ground. A group of passers-by, young males, stand alert but do not intervene. Who are the trouble-makers here? Some are hiding their faces. Otis is fast and strong and stands well back from the pavement edge, as the scene unfolds.

  Only Cliff arrives on stage in time to get his dad under the arms, and haul him to his feet. Forest stumbles, Cliff manoeuvres to take his weight and that’s when it happens: one cruel symmetrical face co
mes up behind Cliff, goes for the knot at the back of his head, snatches and pulls. The black scarf crumples to the ground under foot and the fedora flies through the air as Cliff’s hands close over his naked face.

  I whip my gaze above and beyond the scene, conjuring an urgent need to check on Merlot, sad-smiling down on us all. The Ultiface main entrance is half-open. It sweeps open wide, here come Security in full riot gear and the criminals move fast, lashing out as they run. A protester falls to his knees, clutching at kicked ribs. Cliff is still on his feet, but exposed. I make a point of studying the gridlines of solar pavement and restricted-access road converging against a forgettable sky. Is it over? My eyes continue to skit about; Forest’s head is bowed, he’s bleeding into the palms of his hands. All of the cars on the road between us have gone. Cliff squares up to me on his edge of the pavement, so I turn my back to him in an obvious way, giving plenty of time for the knot to be re- tied, the scarf hoisted. Finally Cliff is replacing the fedora with a downwards tug. He is safe. It’s a relief when counter girl comes outside and my gaze can settle at last, on her opal eyes of tiny rainbows and disgust.

  “What’s going on?” Otis asks her.

  “I don’t wanna know.” Counter girl says, handing me the bill. “They’re always at it, the Naturals. Gross, is that blood on the pavement?”

  I go back inside to retrieve my money card and pay. Afterwards, I cross the road at an angle aiming directly for Cliff. My determined approach provokes nervous glances so I lower my face to the blood on the pavement. I don’t have the right face or the right t-shirt to be here, so I hover on the outskirts. Besides, I’m not sure I can handle Forest’s squished face up close. I count three spatters of blood, three bust faces, but only Forest’s is on display. At the moment of my arrival, Cliff turns his back to help Forest into the car. He’s one of a crowd of helpers, the rest talk in lowered voices, closing in around Forest. Forest moans in pain. Another man is leaning over, clutching his ribs. I watch the knot at the back of Cliff’s head as he fiddles with the car’s navigation system, I hear him curse under his breath as he searches for the hospital. Eventually, Cliff turns to glare pointedly at the sky and the pavement and the air all around me. He climbs into the car behind his father and the engine starts.