Love and Robotics (53 page)

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.

“Who’s done this before?” he bawled.

Dean had, and a few of the Studs.

“We split into two teams. I lead one, Josh the other.” He picked Dean and the fitter Studs, leaving Josh with Pip, Ravi and the rest. “It’s war, gentlemen!”

He punched the air, throwing everybody breast plates and a laser gun. They passed through into a huge dark chamber, pierced by the occasional shaft of fluorescent light. “Stick together. Shoot to kill.”

“Is he a squaddie?” Pip asked.

“Two years’ national service,” Simon boasted. “Never saw action, sadly.”

Josh caught Dean’s eye. He had. Funny how real soldiers never mentioned it.

“Okay, guys! To the death!”

Josh’s platoon hurried to the end of the chamber. It seemed to be an advanced version of the Thingummy, the knight and dragon replaced with targets and the other team. Ravi was really getting into it, accidentally taking out two team mates.

“Y’okay?” Pip asked.

“Funny game, grown men pretending to be soldiers.”

“Most do it the first chance they get.”

“Why don’t I?”

“Maybe the doctors wanted y’ to be more sensitive?”

He’d never considered this. “Do I only like or do certain things because they say so?”

Her face flared out of the darkness. It wore an expression he’d never seen: affection and solidarity, but compassion too.

“Shut up, you’ll give us away,” a Stud hissed. Pip squeezed Josh’s hand as they sidled along the back wall.

It was only in situations like this - peril, or the appearance of it - he appreciated his reflexes. He flung himself on the ground, rolled to avoid Dean’s line of fire. Ravi was knocked out, then the other Studs. Within twenty five minutes only he and Pip were left.

“Got your back,” he murmured.

“Got y’rs.”

Playing, they were only playing. For some people this was the most exciting thing that would happen to them. They didn’t have an Alfred to take them on adventures.

Pip’s gun stuttered. “That’s me done. Give ‘em hell, Josh.”

He braced against the wall. There was only Simon and a Stud left on the opposite team. Meaning they had won, unless he made an effort. Why were humans so competitive?

He heard somebody move. He fired without looking. One down. Three seconds later he was facing Simon.

“So. You and me.”

“Hello, Simon.”

“Want a piece of me?”

“Not particularly.”

“Don’t be a pussy.”

Josh laid his gun on the ground. “I’m out.”

“What’s the matter? You chicken?”

“I’m bored.”

Simon was saying appalling things under his breath. He didn’t care.

“C’mon, guys. Let’s try somewhere else.”

They stuffed themselves at the buffet, gambled at the tables, danced. Pip nudged Ravi in the ribs. “What about those sexy moves, buster?”

“I’ll show you what I can do.”

The first two floors were rejected as ‘meh’. Josh and Pip squealed when they saw the third. “This is it.” Panelled with dark wood, gilded paintings, a chequered floor and chandeliers.

“It’s like a stately home!” Kyle the Stud said.

Josh blushed. Pip noticed.

“Nah, too posh,” Ravi said.

“Free bar, though,” Dean pointed out.

Josh and Pip sat on high stools, watching the boys pogo. “Try this.” She pushed over a jug of something frothy and pink. He sipped it and closed his eyes. “Bliss in a glass.”

              “Like drinkin’ a cake.”

“I love this room. It’s so operatic.”

“Operatic?” she giggled. “Know what y’ mean, though. Y’ keep expectin’ someone fantastic to walk in.”

“Anyone special?”

“Oh, I’ve got someone. What about y’?”

“Claire, of course.”

“Y’ sure?”

Perhaps it was the decor. Perhaps it was the rum amidst the cocktail’s other ingredients. But as Josh looked at the double doors and imagined them opening, he saw Alfred in the red shirt, one of his suits. He caught Josh’s eye and winked. He approached the stool, held out his hand -

“Are y’ alright?”

“This stuff goes to your head, doesn’t it?”

He hadn’t paid much attention to the band in the pit. Coco and the Digits, they were called. Now there was an eerie wail, an electronic beat. The song playing when they’d kissed in that hotel room. Him sighing, Alfred’s breath growing heavy. Lips in the hollow of his throat. He knew what to do, knew what to say. Why stop at buttons?

He wanted him over him. He wanted him underneath him. To feel that firm hard body pressed against the length of his own, his mouth and his hands everywhere. He wanted to be held and kissed, touched and tasted. That way Alfred had of looking at him, as though nothing else mattered -

I want you
.

The realisation made heat fly to his cheeks. He couldn’t look at Pip. He couldn’t look at anyone. The cocktail must have been stronger than he thought. He almost toppled the stool. He found the doors to the roof garden and lurched out.

Dean came over with a tray of shots. “What’s eating him?”

Pip sucked up the last of her drink. “Light dawnin’. Give us a mo.”

“Josh?”

She’d pretend she hadn’t seen him. Funny how even the smartest people thought topiary could camouflage. She trotted up and down, liking the musical notes the tiles made. As she turned her back they played a different tune. Josh had joined her.

“What’s up, silver balls?” She did a fair imitation of Simon’s drawl.

“Platinum, actually. More expensive.”

“Too much info.” Though at least he was making jokes. “C’mon. Spill.”

“Telling it makes it real.”

“Leavin’ it’s worse.”

“You know.”

“Always known, hen.”

She’d seen Mandy the day Langton first visited the Centre, the grief in her eyes. She wouldn’t speak to anybody, ate cream cakes in strange places. After a week of this Pip collared her in the loos.

“Mandy, I’m worried. We all are.”

“ I’ll get over it.”

“Y’ must’ve known it wouldn’t work. He’s a robot, y’re human. And - I dinna think he’s capable.”

Mandy let out a strangled laugh. “Josh hasn’t got feelings? Pip, where’ve you
been
?”

The night of the launch, she’d watched him with Langton. The sympathy and love were palpable. Josh behaved like a teenager with his first crush. It was so obvious she wondered why it hadn’t occurred to anyone. Well, possibly Fisk. She always looked like she’d swallowed a mouthful of vinegar when she saw them together.

She didn’t say anything. She watched it flourish, saw them come out of their shells. She didn’t know what was more moving: a robot learning how to feel, or someone as damaged as Langton falling in love. When she saw them abroad, there wasn’t room for doubt. They were soul mates.

It was around that time she began to feel a deep disillusionment with CER. Once she’d loved her job, believed they were creating something extraordinary. She’d had a toy bot as a little girl - a lump of metal on a string. She squealed the day she won a place on the graduate scheme. It was three years since Adrian had taken over. He’d ruined everything.

“I don’t know what it is,” Josh was saying. “I look at him and I get this feeling in my chest. When Claire and I have sex, I wish I could be with him instead.” He banged his head against the railings. “How can I make it stop?”

“What if y’ don’t marry her?”

“I’ve got to.”

“Listen.” She squeezed his elbow. “It’s shitty, but sometimes the right way’s hardest. She’ll get over it. She can marry someone else, and y’ -”

“I can’t see them allowing it.”

“Who says they have to?”

“I’ve drunk too much. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and gnash my teeth.”

“But now we dance.”

He shook his head, she insisted. She whirled him into a tone deaf gavotte.

“I mean it. Follow y’ heart.” When he didn’t respond, “Josh! Didn’t y’ hear what I said?”

“You’re a good friend, Pip. Who was
your
door person?”

“Gwyn, if y’ must know.”

“Gwyn!”

“I’m serious. Stop laughin’!”

He couldn’t.

Josh woke late the next morning. A feather boa wiggled across the carpet and somebody had pinched a ‘Beware: Mutant Ducks’ sign. He splashed on the oil he kept on his bedside table.

At least he was back in one piece. He wound through the images from the night before: dancing with Pip, that marvellous cocktail, shutting Simon up. At the centre, cloudiness. He had a strange melancholy but couldn’t place it. A half eaten kebab was on the window sill. Somebody had scrawled across the mirror in lipstick: ‘DON’T DO IT!’ He scrubbed it off with a face wipe.