Escape Velocity: The Anthology (44 page)

      
I know, I should have slapped him. Well I did, actually. But afterwards I started thinking about it, and I thought, why not? Looked pretty painless to me, and apparently you can get it on the NHS. So I went to the doctor and got an appointment to see a specialist. But first I had to see a dietician. Yeah, I know.

      
Well, she was a cow. Told me I had to lose some weight before they would even operate on me, and that afterwards, I’d have a stomach the size of an eggcup. An eggcup! I ask you! Stupid bitch. How does she think I’m going to eat a nice plate of fish and chips with a stomach that size? So that was that. No surgery for me, thank you very much.

      
But then I saw the specialist doctor bloke and he told me about a new thing that they’re doing. Apparently they used to do it in Victorian times – or was it the Romans? I dunno. Anyway, what they do is put this tapeworm inside you – yeah, I know, like, ew! – but it’s a nice, friendly tapeworm that eats all the rubbish for you, so as you don’t get fat. Half of Hollywood’s at it, apparently. Yeah, really. Says so in
Heat
. So if it’s good enough for that lot, it’s good enough for me. And it only stays in as long as you want it to. So once you’ve reached your target weight, out it comes.

      
I just knew you was going to ask that. Well, if you must know, the nurse puts on a rubber glove, puts a hand up me unmentionables, and whips it out. OK? Well, you did ask.

      
Anyway, turns out they’ve got a vacancy for a fitting a week later, so I sign on the dotted line. Yes, really. You just don’t know how desperate I was. You really don’t. And you got to admit, I look good, don’t I? So stop making faces. It’s only a worm.

So a week later I go along to the fitting. No big deal, just the nurse and me. And the worm. In a jar. Tiny thing. So I says to them what good’s that little fella going to do? Well, it turns out that it grows inside me until it fills the whole of my insides. And then the nurse asks me if I’ve got a name for it. She says it helps people to feel more at ease with it if it’s got a name. So I decide to call mine Trevor. Ha! You remember him, too? Yeah, well, he was definitely a worm, wasn’t he? Well, a few minutes later, Trevor’s inside me and that’s that. No fuss. No bother. And you know what? I felt slimmer already. All thanks to Trevor.

      
No, I couldn’t really feel him inside me – well, not at first. But he soon started growing, and then I began to get this really weird feeling – like butterflies – whenever I hadn’t eaten for a while. I thought it was just me feeling hungry at first, but then I realised that it was Trevor.
He
was getting hungry. So I started having to eat two more meals a day, just to keep him happy. I was losing weight, but the little bastard was eating me out of house and home.

      
Well, obviously, I went back to the doctor. Course he tries to give me the brush-off, doesn’t he? First of all, he says it’s just a normal reaction to a change in me metabolics, or something. Then he tries to say, well, it’s an experimental procedure so what do I expect? But you know what I’m like, I don’t put up with that, and I insist on him taking a proper look. Well, after he’s done that, he turns a funny colour, and makes me an appointment with the specialist straight away.

So the next day, I’m with the specialist and the nurse and they’re both looking at me kind of odd, like. And they explain that they’re going to have to take Trevor away from me, ‘cos he’s being bad. Turns out that every now and then they get a worm that doesn’t behave properly. Yes, I know, it would have been nice if they’d told me that to start with. So I tell them that, and then they show me a piece of paper that I don’t remember signing that says that all sorts of things that can go wrong, including worms with a bad attitude.

      
Anyway, Trevor’s got to go. So I’m up on the couch, face down with me bum in the air, trousers round me ankles, whilst they take it in turns to try and fish him out. And he’s not coming quietly. First of all, the nurse screams that she’s been bitten, so the specialist tells her not to be stupid. Then he pushes her aside, fiddles around for a couple of seconds, then yelps and runs out of the room, swearing like a trooper. So she takes over again. Meanwhile, I can feel all sorts going on inside me, and then I get this excruciating pain in my guts, and I have to shout out to tell her to stop.

      
The nurse has got this grim look on her face, and she mutters to me that that thing’s got teeth. And it’s true, her rubber glove’s in shreds and she’s got bite marks on her finger. So she leaves the room as well and I’m on my own. Well, I hang around for a while, but it’s obvious that no one’s coming back. So I put me clothes back on, and I set off home.

      
Halfway there, Trevor gets hungry, so I pull over for a sandwich. But as I’m walking into Greggs, I get this awful pain again. I step out, and it stops. I go back in again, and it starts up again. So I try another sandwich bar up the street, and the same thing happens. Marks and Sparks salad bar – same again. Turns out the only place I can go in is McDonalds, and the only thing I can order without collapsing on the floor is a supersize Big Mac and fries, with a bleeding monster coke on the side.

      
I know it sounds funny to you, but you try living with an outsized tapeworm with an appetite for burgers. And it’s not just the food. I’ve had to stop watching X Factor ’cos Trevor don’t like Simon Cowell. How do I know? Listen, you don’t know pain like it. You really don’t.

So what am I going to do? Well, the specialist says they can’t do nothing, for health and safety reasons. No, not my health and safety. Theirs, you idiot. So for the moment, I’m stuck with Trevor, for better or worse. But I do look good, don’t I? Even if all those burgers are playing havoc with me skin. Haven’t managed to get into this dress for years.

      
Oh, you want to know what happened with Shane? Well, in his case it wasn’t so much that Trevor didn’t like him particularly, it was more a case of outright jealousy. That’s what I think went wrong anyway. What happened – you’ve guessed it, haven’t you? – well, let’s just say that Shane is less of a man than he used to be. Last I remember seeing of him was when the ambulance men took him away.

      
Sorry? Am I what? Well, the stupid sod had it coming to him, didn’t he? And you know what? I’m beginning to see Trevor’s point of view. I think he just wants me for himself, that’s all. And that’s nice for a girl to know, isn’t it? You want to know that there’s somebody for you. Yes, I know he’s a worm. Listen, have you got a problem? He can be quite tender sometimes, can Trevor. Every other night, he’ll pop his little head out, and I’ll stroke him and – no, listen!

      
Well if that’s the way you want it, fair enough. I was all set for lunch. Trevor fancied pasta today for a change. But your loss, not his. See ya.

It’s Easier to Pretend in the Dark

David Tallerman

Jefferson half awoke.

      
The bed was comfortably warm, and that seemed strange. Why should it be strange to be comfortable, to be warm? It didn't matter. This was how things ought to be. That was important.

      
He rolled over, flopped an arm over the body beside him, felt her ease closer. He manoeuvred until their shapes ran together, his front to her back, she leaning into him just slightly.

      
What day is today?

      
He pushed the thought aside. Pursuing it would wake him altogether. They were perfectly close. What right had any doubt to intrude?

      
His hand fell on the undulation of her stomach. “Henrietta,” he murmured. He eased his palm up. Her skin was impossibly smooth. His outstretched thumb glanced off the lowest curve of her breast, and she moaned softly. When had they last been this close? It had been so long that it seemed unreal.

      
With that realisation the illusion broke. But by then it was already far too late.

       “
You’re not her.”

       “
I know, but...”

       “
You’re
not
my wife.”

      
He stared at her. She was even starting to look like Henrietta. That expression, the wounded glint in her eyes, that was something she’d imitated. Then there was the dress, of course. It joined with the faint vanilla scent of perfume, image and odour tangling like a signature. “You shouldn’t be wearing that. If she saw you...”

       “
But...”

       “
It’s no use.” He was speaking mainly to himself. It was already such an awful situation, already beyond the pale. Jefferson had spent a large part of the morning hiding in his den, from it and from her. Then coming in to find her like this; it was as if he were saying these things to Henrietta, and the thought of saying anything like this to her made his stomach and his scrotum clench. “Jane, you can’t behave like her. You can’t wear her clothes. Don’t you understand?”

       “
But...”

       “
No.”

      
Why can't you just agree?

      
Then everything could go back to normal, as normal as it could be. It was impossible. It was beyond her. All she could manage was to look as if she’d cry at any moment: her dark eyes wide, her chin bobbing, and one hand hovering around her heart as if it was about to crack. All of that was Henrietta’s too – yet each affected mannerism seemed real now, full of meaning. Just like Henrietta, she didn’t cry. Unlike Henrietta, she didn’t argue either.

      
He had to get it out now. If he didn't, he never would. Because there were other things he wanted her to say, things equally or more impossible. “I have to send you away.”

      
Still, she didn't cry. He realised then that he wanted her to, because she looked as though the grief of it would tear her in two.

      
An ache snarled in his throat.

      
It struck him abruptly that Jane didn't even have tear ducts, and the thought made him almost throw up there and then.

The engineers arrived three hours later. Jefferson had avoided her in the meantime, and stayed out of the way while they took her out. Was he more afraid she wouldn’t have looked human, or that she would have?

      
One of them was waiting in the hallway. He said, “Good afternoon, sir. We just need a few details,” then, not allowing any interruption, “what’s its given name?”

       “
Her name is Jane.”

       “
And serial number?”

       “
It’s all on the forms.”

       “
We’ve got to check. 7345-0911-B?”

       “
That's right.”

      
The engineer dashed fingertips over the device worn on the glove of his left hand. “You said when you called that you wanted it reset?”

       “
Yes.”

       “
Then you want it back?”

       “
I said all this...”

       “
Yes, I have to check. The same unit?”

       “
I said.”

       “
Because, you understand that after a while the problem you reported ... the same thing will happen?”

      
Jefferson shook his head, not to that question specifically but to the whole grinding sequence. Realising that the gesture would be misread, he added, “I do know. Yes.”

       “
I have to ask. Because it’s important that you understand it isn’t a fault. This is how they learn. If they don’t emulate people then they won't learn.”

       “
I know it isn’t a fault.”

       “
That’s why most people use the exchange program. Because you train the first one and after that you’re getting them, so to speak, fully grown.”

       “
I understand. You see...”

       “
Yes?”

      
He struggled for something, anything, that might remove this man from his house. “It’s my wife. I don’t think she’d want another maid.”

       “
Oh? Because we could get your appliance back on its feet if you wanted to discuss it with her?”

       “
No ... no, thank you.”

       “
Well. It will be a couple of days.”

       “
The woman I talked to said...”

       “
We’re a little busier than expected.”

       “
Oh.” Henrietta would be back tomorrow. What could he possibly say?

       “
If that’s everything ... Android Interactive Domestics thanks you for your business.” The engineer gave him a disinterested nod, and – when Jefferson made no move to do so – let himself out.

      
Moments later, Jefferson heard the whirr of an engine. Jane would be in the back; foam-packed, laid out, inactive or comatose or whatever you’d call it. What would you call it?

      
What the hell word is there for that?

        
What could he say to Henrietta?

She was irritable when she got back, but he knew it was better to tell her straight away. After that, of course, she was downright angry; in her own way, though, like a caged storm, like bottled lightning. “What on Earth for?”

       “
She was acting strangely. I thought you’d noticed.”

       “
There was nothing to notice.”