The First Sense 4p2s4m

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2013 N.P. Postlethwaite

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author.

For more information about the author and The First Sense, visit: www.nppostlethwaite.com

ISBN: 9781483505022

Contents

Copyright Dedication Acknowledgments Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen About the Author

Dedication

This book is for you, Roy Postlethwaite, for making everything possible.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Anna Cleary for her beautiful and intuitive book cover design. For more information on Anna Cleary Graphic Design, visit: www.annacleary.co.uk

Thank you also to all the people who have (unintentionally) inspired the characters in this novel.

Prologue

I found my name when I was seven. My mother chose another name when I was a fern tip floating in her womb, but she would never get to say it, so as soon as I was yanked out into the cold air, my search began. I thought my name may be concealed in pictures, hidden in texts, or in the whispers that brushed across my ears as I slept; I searched the depths of eyes and the pauses in conversations, but my search was as endless as the sky. Then seven years on, on a blistering hot afternoon in October – after I’d turned everything I could think of, upside down and inside out - my name came to me. Just like that. I was at home in the kitchen and I’d flipped my homework onto the Hub, eagerly hoping for a ‘’ so I could escape outside, when my com turned itself off. I commanded the com to come back on but nothing happened. ‘That’s not right,’ I mumbled. Neither was what happened next. A digital, red butterfly appeared in the middle of the black screen; I clicked at it with my fingerMouse but it wouldn’t budge. So I spat on my shirt and rubbed the screen, but it wouldn’t go away. Defeated, I decided to give in and go outside, but suddenly, an explosion of sparkling white stars appeared on the screen, and I watched them twinkle away until the screen went back to black. Then to my complete horror, a red cut appeared across the top of the screen - as if an invisible knife had slashed it. Dark red blood oozed out of the wound and leaked across the screen. I tried to touch it, but it wasn’t wet - it was on the other side. I wondered whether to get help, and feared the com was in pain, after all, it could see, speak, listen and react to touch, but a state of calmness glided over me when my inner voice said ‘stranger things have happened.’ I watched the blood slowly creep into lines and curves until letters were formed, and they soon became the words: Every Individual Kills Order. My face burned. The red letters rolled off to the right of the screen, only for more to appear from the left. They read: Everything Inside Kicks Out. I swallowed a lump and watched the words roll away again. Next came, Erase Identity - Keep Open. I wondered if that message meant I should keep myself open to it, because I had only recently tried to shut it off. Then came: Early Instinct Knocks Opponents. I had already guessed that my unusual ‘instincts’ may be essential to my survival.

The room heaved like a lung. I stepped out of myself to watch the scene from the other side of the room, and if that sounds odd, well it wasn't the first time. My other-self hugged my other-knees – where I was precariously balanced on a stool, my other-face paler than pale with blood-red letters reflected onto my other-eyes. It was only then that I realised each message began with the same four letters. Another round of words confirmed this: Esoteric Intuitive Keen Outsider. I slammed back into myself with a thud. My body went cold as I realised all the messages were deeply personal and relevant to my life so far, but where had they come from? The last message was: Emotional Ironic Knowledgeable Orphan. A dog whined, it took more than a minute to realise it was me. I felt completely overwhelmed to receive affirmation of my life like that. I tore my eyes away from the screen as the room began to spin. I turned as sticky as the day, slipped onto the floor and held my rolling head in my hands until everything became still again. Eventually, I rubbed my eyes but yelped when I saw the four letters: E I K O singed onto the inside of my eyelids. After spending seven, long years lost in a dark, dense forest, I had stumbled into a clearing. My name was ‘Eiko.’

Chapter One

EIKO

I never knew the man that left me in my mother, and I hoped he hadn’t ed down any part of himself to me. That was wishful thinking, I now know. My mother, Mia, left me when she was twenty-seven years old and thirty-eight weeks pregnant. I was told she died from a ‘heart attack’ during labour, but that was not exactly true, I know her broken heart really finished her off. Mia died exactly three minutes before I was born. As a child, I’d often watch the seconds on a clock tick by for three minutes, and I was always surprised how easily they slipped by, when three not-to-be-taken-lightly-minutes stole my mother away from me. I also spent every birthday alone in my room; no amount of bribery lured me out because it didn’t feel right celebrating the date my mother died. Instead, each year, I wondered how much more like my mother I’d become. I saw in pictures that I had the same fierce blue eyes and prominent jaw, but I wanted to know if she would raise her left eyebrow, just to be insolent, but couldn’t raise the right one, or if she had trouble ing her nine-times table, so did her ten-times table instead, and worked backwards. I particularly wanted to know if her eyes ever dropped to the floor when she met new people, because she was drawn to their shadows instead of their faces. I never found out any of the answers to those questions, but I often heard her whispering to me with a voice as soft as butter. And once, while I slept, I felt her body heave under me while the tide of her breath washed over my face. My mother's only relative was her brother, Edward James, who I called ‘Uncle Eddie’ and he brought me up with sheer persistence. When I was growing up, I often begged Uncle Eddie to tell me about my mother’s death, because I was desperate to uncover more. Unwillingly he complied, but the story was always the same.

He had taken my mother to hospital, held her hand, and soothed her for seven hours as she sobbed and told him she couldn’t go on. Poor Uncle Eddie had been with her when her heart stopped, and then surrounded by a wall of faces, barking orders. A nurse tried to make him leave, but he wouldn't abandon his little sister; eventually he was moved outside and watched helplessly through a window as they tried to revive her. Although Uncle Eddie never actually said so, his eyes told me the scene had been violent and undignified as they worked over her body. After the longest three minutes Uncle Eddie had ever known, a surgeon pulled me out from a cut across my mother’s abdomen. Uncle Eddie's eyes usually glazed over at this point, or he would pretend to clear his throat, but I always caught the sob strangling in his breath. On my very first night in an incubator egg, Uncle Eddie watched over me through the night; every time my mouth threatened a wail, Uncle Eddie hummed and my cry never hit the surface. When I woke, my fresh eyes stumbled across the senseless shapes in the dim room and then I locked eyes with him - I saw things remarkably clearly even then - his eyes shone so brightly with love, that they almost detracted from the grief ravaging his face. As I searched Edward James’ eyes for the very first time, I knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Uncle Eddie called me ‘Li’l un’ and to the world I was ‘Lill Jansen.’ I accepted ‘Lill’ as a temporary name until I found my real one, but I was infuriated by people who assumed I was a ‘Lillian’ or ‘Lilliput.’ When I was around six, I was cornered in a school corridor by some older girls, the ring-leader said, ‘Lill is only half a name because orphans don’t deserve full ones.’ So I slapped her so hard, she burst into tears, because I was angry with her calling me an ‘orphan’ - Uncle Eddie was mountains more than any father could have been to me. Poor Uncle Eddie, he put up with a lot in my early years, I had terrible-twos right up to torturous-fives, what with screaming tantrums, sleepless nights and hiding from mealtimes, bedtimes, shower times, visitors and their shadows. I once refused to brush my teeth for a whole month when I was four, insisting I chew grass like next door’s dog. Uncle Eddie eventually gave in and even washed the grass for me, until I grew tired of the taste. It was times like those that Uncle Eddie’s ‘Li’l un’ became ‘Troubled un’, an insightful relegation, as

my bad behaviour was mainly due to me being disturbed by other people’s behaviour towards me. Many adults, as well as children, were visibly scared of me, and so I often found myself left on the peripheral of social situations. I suppose in my early years, I didn’t help things much - I reacted too easily to my uncanny interpretations of people and events. When I insisted my name was ‘Eiko,’ with little justification except for it being ‘my real name’, Uncle Eddie went to explain the name change to my head teacher, and he told her it was only right I had a name that I was truly happy with. Uncle Eddie unquestioning was constant when I was growing up, he allowed me to make a lot of strange decisions, while gently guiding me through my childhood, and that must have been a difficult balance to strike when he never knew what was at the root of my troubles. Ironically, Uncle Eddie still called me ‘Li’l un’, but only out of affection so I allowed it, but the rest of the school viewed my name change as confirmation that I was very strange.

Uncle Eddie never had a girlfriend after I was born, although he wasn’t short of opportunities, he was a handsome man - albeit weathered by his loss and the sea. Over the years, numerous single and attached neighbours popped round our house, to offer Uncle Eddie a hand as he raised his turbulent niece. They brought round home-cooked meals, old toys, books and hand-me-downs from their spurting kids. Uncle Eddie was always very grateful but he never showed any other interest. A children’s advisor from the council took an obvious shine to Uncle Eddie for about a year, but he just quickly showed her round on her bimonthly visits and politely ushered her out the door. If I ever asked Uncle Eddie why he didn’t have a girlfriend he’d reply, ‘One bloody-minded lass is enuff for me to deal with,’ and he gave me a wink. Years after I left home, I asked him the same question. He sadly muttered, ‘You just get used t’ dealing with the important things.’ Then as he went to make us another cup of tea, I realised that the worry I had caused him, left him no room for anything else. We lived on Well Bay in the North East and our terraced house looked out onto the grey North Sea, where Uncle Eddie sailed out to pot crabs and lobsters for a living. When I think of my time on Well Bay, the memories edge back and forth like the tide; I feel a gentle release inside and I want to weep for the past. Some

memories are strong, like the bitter North Sea wind pinching my limbs with icy fingers, or the damp sand caked between my toes as I searched the Bay, but for what I can’t . How it would all change - although I didn’t know it then – there would come the building of land onto the sea. As I nod away, I recall the ‘slip-slap’ sound of the waves against Uncle Eddie’s boat that was cream with a blue bow. I can almost feel the cool cotton of my favourite stripy dress; its pockets once housed a pair of sparrow chicks for a whole afternoon, they had fallen from the nest. I took the chicks home to Uncle Eddie, and he nursed them in a padded box under a lamp so they could grow strong enough to fly, but only one chick survived, the other one died, and the sight of its translucent skin over tiny feathers-flecks - that would never break the surface - made me cry until my eyes were as raw as steak. The memories ebb back and forth: dark mornings, where I forced myself awake by washing under freezing water, and tedious walks to school where the wind ravaged me to the bone. There was always spring to look forward to – it grew longer each year and summer spilled well into where autumn once was. Uncle Eddie had a lovely smell: a heady mix of warm wood and fresh air, and I used to breathe it in as deeply as my lungs would allow. Sometimes, we sat outside our house, untangling monofilament lines and attaching on light lures to catch us mackerel for tea. Occasionally, I ed him for a sail, and I was always fascinated by the tiger-striped mackerel that leapt onto the glowing lures as many as four or five at a time, as if they couldn’t wait to die. Those fish would beat an eerie death dance on his boat’s deck until Uncle Eddie called time with his priest. Whenever we returned home from a sail, I would warm up in the lounge where the walls emanated a soothing orange colour, although they were actually painted white. Sometimes, I’d count the seashells embedded in the room’s useless mantelpiece, that once framed a roaring fire, but I could still smell the wood burning in it. I loved that useless mantelpiece because it was home to a few photographs: one was of Uncle Eddie and my mother Mia, taken a year before their parents were killed in a car crash. In the photo, Uncle Eddie was eight and Mia nearly four, both were stood rigid in their school uniforms, and he had a hand gripped tightly around one of hers. Mia’s hair still held the soft whiteness of babyhood, Uncle Eddie wore a huge smile, and although I had seen him as proud, I had never seen him as happy.

On our fish-evenings, we would huddle on the sofa with plates of fried mackerel and mash - that tasted more like butter than potato - or we would eat the mackerel with tomatoes on toast and soft boiled eggs. After tea, Uncle Eddie played old songs from the ONY soundCell that once read SONY. Often, I’d sit up with him and read when I really should have been in bed. I was always enchanted by Uncle Eddie’s shadow; it would wrap itself around me like a blanket, or rock me back and forth in its arms. When I finally did go up to bed, I would lie awake under the sheets for hours, dreading the morning when the sanctuary of home became the harsh reality of school.

Chapter Two

THE OTHERS

School stank of urine, disinfectant and pheromones. The reek of stale urine is horrible enough but I could detect the smell of urine long gone, masked by disinfectant and paint, from decades of children. As for the smell of pheromones, I’m sure most people don’t pick this up, so imagine a metallic smell that catches at the back of your throat, before a musky cloud takes over. There was no obvious pattern to what I could smell or when, and that was the most frustrating thing; it wasn’t as if I could upgrade my ‘normal sense of smell’ to an ‘enhanced smell’ when I wanted to. Hidden smells revealed themselves to me, whereas, some of the strongest smells of the past lay forever dormant. That’s memories for you, some are deeply buried and forgotten, others reside near the surface of consciousness to tease your senses, and others are annoyingly repetitive. Anyway, school - I hated it and not just because it stank; I enjoyed the learning part as I was far from stupid, but it was the others that troubled me. I didn’t make friends with other kids, because they acted just like kids, and I didn’t relate to other adults because I easily unnerved them. Mr Simmonds, my behavioural science teacher, obviously didn’t understand his subject matter, because he once wrote in my report: Eiko Jansen is a highly intelligent and perceptive child, yet she uses these strengths to undermine authority, and this display of arrogance lets her down. Strong words for a seven-year-old child, don’t you think? The problem, and note I say the problem not my problem, was that I learnt way beyond what my teachers taught. And as shocking truths were revealed, my behaviour towards certain teachers changed. For example, I knew Miss Hassan - who taught life balance - was romantically involved with the euroHistory teacher, Mr Urswick, as I’d see their shadows

embrace when they walked past each other. Yet in the flesh, they would scuttle past each other - Miss Hassan’s face as bright as beetroot, and Mr Urswick’s eyes fixed a little too firmly on his papers. Then there was Mr Kuziemkowski – the Hungarian and Serbo-Croatian languages teacher - if he ever picked up a glass of water, the shadow of a wine glass fell from his hand, so it didn’t take a genius to work out he was an alcoholic. Those teachers’ secrets I kept to myself but other teachers weren't so lucky. One unlucky teacher was Mr Edwards, who taught me mathTech when I was ten; he hated teaching with a vengeance. How did I know? Well, just one glance at the heavy shadow dragging itself behind him, holding a silhouette of a golf bag, told me all I needed to know. Like many miserable people, Edwards made no attempt to hide his misery, probably in the hope that if he shared it, it would halve. At other times he would resort to that (ridiculous) miserable person’s logic:

Miserable person + Miserable Person Makes Other Person Miserable = Miserable person is less Miserable.

Enter the Other Person: Georgie Cooper. Georgie was already the primary target for the school bullies who made fun of his orange hair and extra weight; I only came second because Georgie never stood up for himself. One morning, we were sat in the comSuite waiting for Edwards to arrive, and when he did I knew he was more depressed than usual, because his shadow lurked behind the door and refused to come in. Throughout the lesson, Edwards was highly irritable, and he sighed and paced the floor like an addict. Then out of nowhere, Edwards threw a ridiculously hard maths problem to the class and it just floated over my head. But Edwards jabbed his index finger in Georgie’s direction as if stabbing him for the answer. Georgie’s face froze. ‘Come on!’ spat Edwards. Georgie blubbered, ‘But, I - I don’t know the answer, Sir.’

The class cackled. ‘You’re going to have to do better than that!’ Edwards drummed his desk with his bony fingers. Two pupils turned round in their seats and glared at Georgie as if he could make Edwards stop the torturous tapping. ‘I ... am ... waiting, Cooper.’ Edwards’ lips furled with sarcasm. ‘Come on, you’re a clever lad.’ Some of class sniggered and Edwards rapped the desk even harder. Georgie scrolled his finger back and forth across his comScreen, as if somehow the answer would miraculously appear. The waiting was painful. Edwards eventually ceased his terrible tapping. ‘Have you gone to sleep?’ Georgie quickly looked up. ‘No, Sir.’ Edwards grinned victoriously. ‘Then you must be the most stupid boy in class!’ The class jeered and I felt the fury rise in my throat, and before you could flatten a gnat, the following words charged out of my mouth: ‘For King's sake, stop picking on him, he can’t help the way he looks!’ The class erupted into vicious laughter and Georgie turned as orange as his hair. I had never meant the sentiment to come out like that. Edward’s smile drooped and his beady black eyes bulged out of his skull. ‘Quiet!’ he shouted at the class. Then, he turned to me and said, ‘Step outside.’ As the comSuite door closed behind us, I focused on the swirling patterns on the corridor floor and willed them to swirl me away from the impending onslaught, but Edwards didn’t shout. I finally lifted my eyes and then he spoke. ‘I can safely surmise you were suggesting one of two things with your little outburst: I single out Cooper, because I don’t like the way he looks, or you attribute his lack of intelligence to the way he looks. Which is it?’ Edward’s eyes narrowed.

I looked away, neither option was correct. I took a deep breath and explained to Edwards that I knew - although I didn’t say how I knew - he singled out Georgie and was mean to all us, because he hated his job and had to drag himself into school each day. Then I suggested he find himself a job that would make him happy, like one on a golf course. A bead of sweat rolled down Edward’s forehead. He took a moment to find his tongue and then he said quickly, ‘I don’t know what has got into you, Eiko, I don’t hate teaching or want to find another job - why you should even think that is... bizarre. Don’t interrupt my class again or use the King’s name in vain, otherwise you will be up to see the Head.’ Then Edward’s shadow appeared and pulled itself up behind Edwards, it placed a shadowy golf club across the back of its shoulders, hooked its arms over the ends and lazily swung its hands. ‘Do you understand me?’ Edwards asked more firmly. ‘I understand you completely, Sir,’ I glanced at the shadow, ‘I understand you’d rather be out playing a round of golf than telling me off.’ A bead of sweat slipped down the embankment of Edward’s nose and hung dangerously on the ledge. ‘I ...’ he shook his head and the sweat-bead launched itself onto his suit and bled into a dark dot. ‘Get back into class!’ he ordered. ‘At the end of class you’ll apologise to Cooper and you’ll not utter anymore nonsense about what I do or don’t like. Do you understand?’ ‘I understand,’ I said quietly, but I only understood that I had pranged a nerve. Edwards was never the same with me again. Instead of scowling at me as part of the masses, I’d often catch him staring at me, and when caught, he would quickly look away, but I could tell he was really rattled. Like most teachers, Edwards guessed there was something unusual about me but he could never work it out. Georgie blanked me from then on, even though I apologised for my comment. Before, he would give me the odd clumsy grin, and although we’d never been friends (I didn’t have any) we were silently united as outcasts. Anyway, Georgie didn’t have any more ‘bad afternoons,’ not in Edward’s company, at least. You would think I learnt to be more discreet about my keen sense of others, but

the lesson wasn’t really learnt, until the last teacher felt my wrath. Her name was Angela Liddle and she taught environmental science. Liddle was a pretty, strawberry blonde and quietly spoken; although in her midtwenties she dressed in leather-tweeds, box jeans and frilly collars (more suited to forty-somethings at the time.) Liddle also wore her hair in a somewhat ageing chignon. If one of Liddle’s strawberry curls ever made a bid for freedom, Liddle would glance nervously around the room, as if she’d given something away, excuse herself from class and then return with her hair neatly reset. Although Liddle looked immaculate, she actually smelled of stale male sweat and old beer, but the odours weren’t apparent to the rest of the class, as believe me, they would have been mentioned. Yet they were as obvious to me as if she had been physically plunged in the putrid liquids, and that was the first clue. The second clue came one Friday morning. As Liddle lit my Bunsen burner, her shadow fell across the desk, and it didn’t resemble her dressed as she was in a weave-blouse and baggy jodhpurs, but it appeared naked with its shadow breasts heaved high in its shadow hands. As if that wasn’t a shock enough, her shadow swayed its bottom provocatively back and forth in the lap of Tim Waite, who was sat opposite me and totally oblivious, although he would have been delighted if he’d known. I was mortified and feigned a coughing fit to hide the damage in my face. It didn’t stop there, Liddle’s shadow plucked a shadowy piece of paper out of Tim’s fleece pocket, folded the paper up and shoved it between its’ shadowy buttocks. I started to choke for real, and the real Liddle walked around to where I was sat, patted my back, and asked me if I was alright, her shadow, thankfully, disintegrating. I said I was fine but inside I felt quite nauseous because environmental science would never be the same again. Sweet, albeit stale-malesweat-and-old-beer-reeking-Liddle, my teacher, took her clothes off for money. It was as simple as that, or so I thought. I never intended to tell a soul, but it came out about a month later. I was sat at the back of the lab, as far as possible from Liddle and by then, her regularly appearing shadow. Sue Big the largest and scariest member of the class (who I secretly called ‘Sue Pig’) plonked herself to my left, and her sidekick, spotty Sarah Samson (who I secretly called ‘SS’) sat on my right. As they opened their books, they chuckled sinisterly to each other, and I knew there would be trouble but all the other seats were taken, so I couldn’t move.

It wasn’t long before Sue Pig struck: she grabbed my electronic diary and chucked it to SS. I tried to get it back, but they poked and shoved me like a piggy-in-the-middle, although Sue was a better fit. Then SS sat on my diary and smirked so hard, her spotty face threatened to crack. I managed to ease a corner of the diary from under her arse, but Sue Pig pinched me on the arm and kicked me hard in the shin. I didn’t cry out, despite the pain, instinctively, I grabbed my pen from the desk and jammed it into her fat pink trotter. Sue Pig squealed like a stuck pig. Although my shin angrily throbbed for a rub, all I could do was watch the Indian ink and Sue Pig’s blood pool onto the white desk. Sue Pig began squealing and pointing at me with her unstuck trotter, and Liddle rushed up to investigate. Liddle carefully pulled the pen from Sue Pig’s trotter, wrapped it in a cloth and raised it to stop the bleed. Then Liddle turned to face me, her pretty face contorted with rage. I had never seen her even mildly angry before. She shouted at me ‘You STUPID girl! What is wrong with you?’ The green walls of the lab glowed red with her anger. I tried to explain it all started with the theft of my diary, but SS had slyly slipped it in front of me. So by the time I got to how Sue Pig pinched and kicked me, Liddle didn’t believe a word. ‘You terrible, terrible liar!’ she shouted as Sue Pig smirked behind her tears. Liddle shook her head and two of her curls bounced free, but she didn’t notice that time. ‘You really surprise me, Eiko, I never thought you had such a dishonest and nasty streak. Go to Mrs Sanderson’s office at once and tell her what you’ve done - without telling anymore terrible lies.’ A liar I certainly wasn’t, so that insult amalgamated with my throbbing shin was akin to igniting a bomb. The redness of the room quickly deepened and I realised I had misread it as a sign of Liddle’s anger, when it was warning me of my own. So I blew up and I yelled at Liddle, ‘I’m not a “liar”, never mind a “terrible liar”! You’re the dirty liar, pretending to be all prim and proper when really, you take your clothes off for money!’ What can I say? Liddle turned a horrible shade of white as if the colour had been strangled right out of her. She dropped Sue Pig’s trotter and when it thudded onto the work bench, Sue Pig squealed, but Liddle didn’t hear an oink. ‘How on

earth – ’ she said, but quickly shut her mouth. I just stood up and hobbled the familiar route along the long corridor to Sanderson’s office, tears brimming in my eyes and my head heavy with shame. I knew I had disappointed Liddle, but I didn’t realise the extent of the damage. I just got a detention for stabbing Sue Pig because by the time I saw Sanderson, I had evidence of provocation: a boot-shaped bruise on my shin. I didn’t mention my other outburst to Sanderson as I’d said quite enough that day. Sue Pig also got a detention, but not until the day after, because she had to get the pen hole in her trotter glued up, but I was glad Sanderson punished her too. I think Sanderson liked me, because she always gave me a toffee before I left her office, even though I was only sent there to be told off. Sanderson must have liked Uncle Eddie too; he said she made a beeline for him at every parent’s evening and he went to every single one, even though he felt out of place. I can just imagine him queuing up to speak to the teachers and doing that foot shuffle thing he always did when he was nervous. At the last parent’s evening before I turned sixteen, Sanderson said to Uncle Eddie, ‘You must be really proud of Eiko, she is an extremely intuitive and gifted child that the education system cannot fully comprehend.’ I think Sanderson understood a lot more than she let on. She would have been deeply disappointed to know it was me that broke the story on Liddle. The school turned into a rumour mill after the incident with Liddle, but the gossips never named me as the primary source, of course, true gossips enjoy owning the scandal. For weeks afterwards, tales echoed through the school corridors: some pupils reported finding Liddle’s stripping video-cards in comBooths throughout the city, but of course, the evidence never surfaced; one pupil claimed he’d seen Liddle on the Hub on a sexPoint in our school uniform, and another said his grandfather had peeled off Liddle’s underwear with his false teeth at a strip club. The lies were relentless and poor Liddle tried to soldier on, but eventually she went off sick. Weeks later, Sanderson announced that Liddle was leaving the school, and later that day, I found out the truth and it was far too dull for the gossips. I was sat alone in the hidden stairwell that I favoured most at lunchtimes, when I overheard two teachers discussing Liddle. The first said Liddle had lap danced

years ago to finance her teacher training, and the second, added that Liddle was so traumatised by the gossip that she was quitting the teaching profession and area for good. I never forgave myself for humiliating Liddle, but she provided me with the most valuable lesson in my life: I had to keep my mouth shut about what my remarkable sense of others revealed, so not to destroy anyone. There were many things I learnt at school which were not on the curriculum: I learnt that the shadows I saw were usually part of a bigger picture and had to be interpreted in context and with care, like the smells which only I seemed to smell, the shadows belonged to no specific time and could relate to the past, present or future. So I learnt not to react unless there was an obvious danger; the strange colours I saw around me sometimes helped me decipher truths because they were always linked to the present. I also learnt to be more analytical and patient, and I learnt that I’d be learning every, single moment of the living day, but I would be no more knowledgeable than the last, because every answer would lead to another question... except for now.

Chapter Three

THORSEN

Mr Gidney thudded into The Edible Remedy on two sticks, he was a regular of the café but he had not been in for several weeks. Thorsen greeted him with warm relief, he was glad to see ninety-nine year old Mr Gidney still alive. As he helped Mr Gidney to a chair, he noticed a dark shadow fall across them and he traced it back to an elderly woman stood outside the glass door, glaring at the building; her lips were pursed together sourly and her arms tightly folded across her chest. ‘That, is my wife,’ panted Mr Gidney. Thorsen watched Mrs Gidney scroll through the window’s touchscreen menu with distaste. He said, ‘I didn’t realise you still had one.’ Mr Gidney rolled his pearly irises in his sockets. ‘Unfortunately I still do, but I try to leave the old hag at home as much as possible.’ Thorsen chuckled but quickly span this into a cough because he saw Mrs Gidney glaring at him through the glass. Thorsen tapped one of Mr Gidney’s sticks, ‘So how on earth are you?’ ‘Not too bad. I’ve had another robotic ankle replacement,’ he said tapping his left ankle with a stick. ‘It’s healing rather well,’ Mr Gidney’ voice dropped to a whisper, ‘but I’ve been stuck at home with that bloody woman.’ He shivered. ‘She’s driving me into the ground, Thorsen, not that I’m far from it. She’s always moaning and I forgot how relentless she could be, especially now I can’t walk away so easily.’ The door swung open, violently. Mrs Gidney strode in with her head held high and slowly rolled her eyes over the café. Thorsen felt instantly on edge. ‘So this is where you spend your lunchtimes,’ she snorted at Mr Gidney.

‘Why don’t you sit down and have some tea, dear? I’m sure Thorsen will have some bergamot,’ Mr Gidney offered. ‘Make sure the water’s boiling and it comes with pink lemon,’ she snapped in Thorsen’s direction. She regarded him with cold eyes, ‘You do have pink lemon?’ Thorsen nodded, she made her feel like a child. Poor Mr Gidney, married to that old trout, he thought sadly. ‘I’ll have one of my usual, warming coffees,’ Mr Gidney ordered with a smile. Thorsen nodded, “usual” meant with a large slug of brandy. Mrs Gidney clicked her tongue, ‘You never drink coffee at home.’ Mr Gidney shrugged. ‘Would you like something to eat dear - something sweet perhaps?’ Thorsen sighed. More like something to shut her up. ‘ Has he any cakes?’ Mrs Gidney asked her husband. ‘Although, I’m sure they won’t be very good.’ Thorsen intercepted firmly, ‘Would you like to try a slice of my award-winning, sugared-lemon cake?’ Mrs Gidney thought about his offer, then nodded and sat next to her husband. Then she began to moan. She moaned about the fashionable area of Water’s Edge and described it as ‘tacky and pretentious’, she complained about the hot weather and said loudly, ‘When Lakes City becomes riddled with inner-city viruses like all the others, this awful café will most likely be the first to close.’ Thorsen winced at Mrs Gidney’s grating voice and tried to shut it out. He opened his counter fridge and pulled out a large, Venetian glass box crammed with homemade delights. There were mini pears in walnut pastry, salt chocolate and toasted peanut muffins, ion fruit meringues and a buttery lemon cake. He placed a large slice of lemon cake onto a plate painted with cypress leaves, to add a little peace and quiet as cypress is an excellent antidote for over-

talkativeness, and he imagined Mrs Gidney stood right in front of him, moaning away, but he concentrated on her image until no sound came out of her mouth. Then slowly, Thorsen introduced images of colourful flowers pouring from her mouth and held on to that thought. Finally, he decorated the cake with a dollop of clotted cream and a sprinkle of lavender sugar, as lavender has strong sedative qualities (if used by the right hands.) Thorsen took a deep mind-cleansing breath and went to serve the Gidneys. Mr Gidney looked even more creased than normal in his wife’s company, but he thanked Thorsen warmly. The café door opened and two brightly-dressed girls stepped in; they ordered chocolate frappés and sat down in a corner. As Thorsen chopped the chocolate for their drinks, he watched Mrs Gidney out of the corner of his eye. Mrs Gidney cut a neat corner of the cake with a fork but managed to squeeze in another grumble, ‘Young people these days, no thought goes into their clothes!’ Thorsen glanced at the teenagers shamefully but they were too engrossed in conversation to notice. He saw Mrs Gidney hover the forkful of cake in front of her lips. Thorsen sighed. What are you waiting for woman? Mrs Gidney added, ‘Why do they always dress in the same horrendous fabrics? They look like they’re covered in plastic.’ Finally, she put the cake into her mouth and as she chewed and swallowed, her eyes grew wide. Then she parted her lips to pick up her rant but thought better of it and ate another forkful of cake instead. ‘De-licious!’ she said and took a quick sip of tea. Mr Gidney looked up in amazement; he had practically dozed off in his chair. He watched his wife demolish the cake with appreciate noises and scrape every last crumb off the plate. For a moment, Mrs Gidney appeared confused, but then her face lapsed back into its habitual scowl and her eyes flashed meanly, and whatever she was thinking must have got stuck, because all that came out of her mouth was a ‘hiccup.’ ‘Is everything ok, dear?’ Mr Gidney asked tentatively, he had never seen his wife so lost for words. ‘Are you unwell?’ ‘No... hiccup.’ She ed she was about to say the tea was not as good as her own, but the words would not form properly in her mouth and just

disintegrated into another ‘hiccup.’ ‘Perhaps you need a glass of water?’ Mr Gidney asked. ‘Hiccup, no. That cake, hiccup, was delicious.’ Mrs Gidney realised she had never meant to say that, but she felt strangely calm and had nothing to complain about apart from the hiccups. A warmth grew in her chest and it gently spread through her body. Then all of a sudden the hiccups stopped, and Mrs Gidney sat there feeling quite contented. Mr Gidney peered at her through squinted eyes. ‘Shall I get the bill?’ Mrs Gidney nodded and wandered towards a café window and gazed outside. Thorsen brought an iDyScanner to the table. ‘iDyCard or iDychip?’ ‘Chip,’ replied Mr Gidney holding out his right wrist. ‘Twenty-three creds please.’ ‘Make it thirty,’ Mr Gidney muttered, ‘that’s the first time my wife has enjoyed anything in a long time.’ ‘Thanks.’ Thorsen scanned Mr Gidney’s wrist. He glanced over at Mrs Gidney who was wearing a serene smile. He called over to her, ‘Would you like a piece of lemon cake to take home with you – on the house, of course?’ Mrs Gidney’ smile widened. ‘Yes, thank you - thank you very much.’ Thorsen hurried to the counter to fetch another parcel of special lemon cake. Before they left, Mr Gidney turned to Thorsen and said, ‘I shall be back soon, but without the old stick!’ He held up a walking stick but rolled his eyes towards his wife. ‘You do that.’ Thorsen chuckled; he knew the cake would guarantee Mr Gidney more than a month’s peace.

EIKO

The Suited Student never came to the lessons alone, he always brought some baggage; he’d appear in the pale flesh and his wife, well she’d appear in his sharp grey shirt and polished boots - she seemed to spend her life attending to the insignificant things in his. The wholeness of marriage - rare as it was, but even rarer for a student – isolated the Suited Student from the group. The Suited Student never smiled but a boyish mischief struggled to surface; I saw it suffocating in the Salamander Sam cartoon trapped in his tie and the scribbles on his hands. That day, as I studied the Suited Student under the glaring neon light of the lecture room, I appreciated the full weight of family pressure that had shackled him to marriage. Five shadows of people appeared and surrounded the Suited Student; never before had I seen so many shadows intrude one person’s space. Each shadow held on to a shadowy chain that was attached to the Suited Student’s body. One of these colossal weights was around the Suited Student’s neck and at the other end was a willowy shadow woman with a fuzzy nest of hair and sharp nose; this represented the Suited Student’s wife who I’d seen once in the flesh. Shadow chains were attached to each of the Suited Student’s wrists; one led to a shadow-man with no hair, the other to a shadow-woman with sloping shoulders. I guessed they were meant to be the Suited Student’s parents as each had a hand on his shoulder - as if posing for a macabre photo of their son-in-chains. I tried to interpret their facial expressions, but it wasn’t easy with shadows and usually only possible if the shadows turned their heads a certain angle, or had particularly prominent features. At the end of the day, the shadows were simply ‘black silhouettes,’ albeit the proverbial baggage of their hosts. The final two chains were attached to the Suited Student’s ankles and of course, anything attached to your ankles will either hinder you or trip you up. I guessed these ankle-weights were meant to be the Suited Student’s in-laws, as they were stood behind his shadow-wife and shared some of her least flattering features: the father had frizzy hair and the mother was far too thin. The poor Suited Student must have felt like a dog on five leads being pulled in all directions. I

should have been concentrating on the lecture about ‘Regulated Pay and the Decline of the Sports Star,’ but all I could think was, eventually, the Suited Student will be pulled to bits, and I felt quite sorry for him because he seemed to be caught in the middle of something big. Then the shadow of the Suited Student’s wife turned and I saw a swell in its stomach – she was pregnant! All four parent shadows turned and nodded in my direction. Then the mother-in-law stepped forward and pushed an index finger up to the Suited Student’s face. What’s her problem? I wondered. When the mother-in-law’s finger began to wag, I willed the Suited Student to knock it away, but of course she was only on his mind. The Suited Student sighed deeply. What did they want from him? He was employed as a historical data converter at one of the city’s museums and studying, most in-laws would have been proud of him, not haunting him. Then the Suited Student slipped his hand into his bag and pulled out an old journal and ballpoint pen; that did surprise me because most people used comPads and electronic pens. I watched him unravel the string from the journal and press open a magnolia page, and then he began to scribble away, furiously, and it certainly wasn’t the tutor saying anything so interesting to trigger such ionate writing. Suddenly, several book-shadows appeared – they were quite fat and flapped above the Suited Student like a flock of deranged black birds. He was oblivious to the spectacle but the shadow family cowered and several of them released their chains. The Suited Student’s shoulders relaxed and he almost smiled, as words flowed from his pen, and soon a healthy pink tinge flushed into his grey cheeks. Eventually, the shadows of the family faded. His wife’s shadow was the last to leave but a book-shadow flapped aggressively at her head and she quickly disappeared. All the links in the chains were broken. I felt slightly emotional watching the Suited Student dump his baggage. But what did it mean and what did his family want? I ed the words: Every Individual Kills Order. So, there was a pulse beneath his suit. Behind his quietly composed exterior was a mind running wild and he was spilling streams of colour onto the page. He was a writer of course, that’s what made him feel alive. What did he write about? I wondered. Was it fact or fiction? Did he write secret narratives of love and pain? Did his family disapprove of his calling? I would never know, but there was more to the man than I first thought.

The roboSpeak cut through my thoughts with an announcement. ‘Morning lessons are now over. Please collect your possessions. All students attending by outLink must disengage from the Hub and store their lessons.’ The Suited Student wound away his journal and the book-shadows closed in a succession of claps and disappeared into the ground. As the conscious of the class rustled up their belongings, those on the back row yawned out of their naps. The lecturer roared over the din to be heard, ‘You have a fortnight from now to complete your assignment! Those at the back, do you have any questions?’ A dreamer called Miles rubbed his sleepy eyes and replied, ‘I have.’ The lecturer grinned and said, ‘Well, tough! You should have asked them by now.’ As he bounded out of the lecture room, several students scrambled after him like rats.

Chapter Four

THORSEN

Thorsen waited for Eli to arrive. When he did, it was always after the start of his shift. ‘Eli-time’ was like no other time: slow and frustrating. On the upside, Eli would come in with little notice and Thorsen could send him home if the café was quiet. Then Eli would return to his basement to make choreBots out of old appliances for various household tasks; Eli proudly called this ‘converting trash to cash.’ As soon as Eli arrived, Thorsen headed to the kitchen because he could not ignore the pull of his stomach any longer. He caught his reflection as he ed the mirrored spirit shelf; fatigue was smudged under his eyes like the previous day’s mascara and the corners of his lips were anchored to the ground. I look fifty, not forty-four. Thorsen wrestled his lips into a smile and reminded himself to wear it all day. The kitchen was Thorsen’s pride and joy and equipped with the latest culinary gadgets and appliances. He had just installed a Sigor sink with voice-activated faucets, temperature commands and a compressor that turned vegetable waste into fertiliser pellets, and there was a large magnetised wall for storage, which Thorsen would throw metal cooking implements at to relieve times of stress. Two steel benches ran across the white walls, one had a heat dial for cooling pastry and emulsifying sauces, and the other was a larger empty canvas for him to turn his enchanting ideas into culinary creations. Thorsen opened a huge refrigerator, as he touched the handle, the comPatch on the door flashed: Butternut Squash Pâté: expires today. Thorsen took out the pâté and smeared a thick layer onto a slice of fennel bread. He made some vanilla tea and stretched his limbs until his bones cracked. Once fed, Thorsen set a large pan of water onto a heatPatch and threw in several ingredients, while he removed the ice-paper from a selection of fish from Fresh & Deep. First out was an octopus - the size of a football - its deflated head like a

sleeping drunk; it had glistened in the shop in the centre of a fish mosaic of boxjawed, red gurnard, check-tailed crayfish, razor-clams, a silver shoal of sprats, large crabs and various other fish. Thorsen unwrapped a bundle of razor clams, some salmon and halibut fillet to make his fish soup. He tenderised the octopus by bashing it around a basin, until it foamed at the mouth, then rinsed off the froth and eased it into the simmering pan until its pink tentacles coiled and darkened. His thoughts drifted. That morning, Sandy, the normally happy-go-lucky owner of Fresh & Deep, had been arguing on a call at the back of the shop. As Thorsen had waited, he could hear Sandy swearing and shouting. ‘Really? ... Honestly? Well, if that’s what you’re telling me ... but I’m not totally stupid ...’ there was a long pause. ‘OK, I have to go now too...’ another long pause. ‘Yes, you can “fuck off” too. Goodbye!’ When Sandy surfaced, he was red-cheeked and as ruffled as the golden locks that framed his handsome face. Many years ago, Thorsen had thought about that face with a desire that was now distant as a dream and it filled Thorsen with shame. Thorsen asked Sandy if everything was alright. Sandy replied, ‘Yes ...yes of course,’ then finally, ‘no, not at all ... it’s Chloe.’ Thorsen raised his eyes expectantly; Chloe was Sandy’s equally good-natured partner. It briefly crossed his mind he might be glad there was trouble with Sandy’s woman, but he was not the jealous type and felt concern instead. Suddenly, Sandy slammed his hands onto the counter. ‘I actually can’t believe what she’s -’ but then Sandy clammed up because a couple of customers waded into the shop. His eyes sank to the job in hand. Thorsen asked Sandy to drop by the café later for a ‘chat’ because he thought he may be able to help. But Sandy said he was tied up all day, but he would try to pop in the next. So, Thorsen had left none the wiser and he was still clueless as he finished prepping the soup. By two o’clock, the lunch rush had ended and there were two tables left occupied. Thorsen sent Eli home and he replenished the counter with sandwiches for the late afternoon trade. He topped squares of sesame bread with rare beef, cashew nut and coriander pesto, and rosemary focaccia with crayfish, flaked

salmon and citrus mayonnaise. He was splitting cumin flat breads when G waltzed through the door. G was short for ‘Gina,’ her great-grandmother’s favourite make of shoe. Aptly, G was wearing insanely high heels that day, and as she click-clocked through the café, the remaining customers turned their heads to her beat. G planted a huge kiss on Thorsen’s cheek and grinned. ‘Do I look different today?’ she gushed as her eyes fell to the sandwiches and quickly back up to Thorsen. ‘Different?’ Thorsen studied her. Every strand of her pale blonde hair was as smooth as glass and her emerald eyes sparkled like gems. There’s too much concealer around her eyes and that makes her look older than twenty-five, but she can’t mean that. Thorsen glanced at G’s clothes, she was wrapped in an ochre dress-suit and the cut of the material looked very expensive, but that was G’s standard. ‘There’s nothing different I can see.’ Thorsen stated suspiciously. G’s grin was still stapled to her face. ‘Except you have a silly smirk on your face.’ G shook her head and her shiny hair cracked out of its mould. ‘Well, you don’t look different at all.’ G clucked her tongue impatiently. ‘Come on, Thorsen.’ ‘Don’t tell me!’ said Thorsen with mock surprise, ‘you’ve had another shag?’ ‘Aw, Thorsen!’ G squealed and whacked him with her handbag. Two customers glanced up. Thorsen sniggered. G dropped her voice. ‘Come on, at least try?’ Thorsen was puzzled. If she hasn’t had a shag and she still looks like G, it can only mean one thing. ‘You swallowed your pride and ed Outrageous

Spenders Anonymous?’ ‘You’re rubbish!’ G snapped. ‘Don’t I look like - just a little like - I’m in love?’ ‘Oh, of course, how stupid of me - I didn’t see the sign flashing above your head.’ G giggled and glanced at a beef sandwich. ‘Would you like something to eat?’ ‘No - thank you.’ ‘So, spill the beans, what’s the poor bastard’s name?’ ‘His name is -’ ‘Actually, don’t bother, as soon as I it, you’ll be on to the next one.’ ‘Get lost, Thorsen!’ G whacked him again. ‘He’s the one I’ve been waiting for all this time.’ ‘Of course “he’s the one”,’ Thorsen grinned, ‘until next week.’ ‘I won’t tell you his name then. Actually, I tell you what, when we’ve still together in... three months’ time, then I’ll tell you his name, but only after you’ve made a grovelling, public apology.’ ‘Deal.’ Thorsen held out his hand. G shook it. ‘Deal.’ ‘So tell me about... The One, I’m all ears.’ ‘Well, when I began to tell him about you, he said he’d already heard that you’re a complete wanker and your food’s terrible.’ Thorsen belly-laughed and G chuckled. ‘Seriously Thorsen, I met - The One, at Oskar’s the other week, it was total kismet. Once our eyes met, neither of us could tear them away. He is ab-so-lute-

ly gorgeous. You’d find him handsome, I know, but he’s not a chocolate-fudger or loser.’ Thorsen winced, ‘thanks.’ ‘Don’t mention it. Anyway, he’s got dark curly hair and moody brown eyes, and guess what?’ ‘What?’ ‘He’s only twenty-six.’ ‘Now, that makes a change. So, what does The One do with himself?’ ‘He works in the city doing - oh, I don’t know what he does, but he does very well for himself, I could tell by his flat that night -’ ‘Oh, Gina! Do you have to get to know all of a man on the first night? Where’s your sense? He could be anyone!’ ‘He is not!’ G protested. ‘Anyway, I’m a really good judge of character and don’t call me “Gina”.’ A customer came up to the counter and ordered two beers. Thorsen mouthed ‘hang on’ to G. G eyed up an open cake dome on the counter, and scooped a crumb of honeycomb from the plate with her nail and tasted it. She rambled on. ‘We have a lot in common, we laugh at the same things and have similar interests, we even ordered the same cocktails that night -’ ‘Sorry, and a bowl of caramelised strips,’ interrupted the customer. Thorsen handed him the beers. ‘I’ll bring the snacks over.’ As Thorsen walked back up to the counter, he noticed G looked thinner than normal. ‘Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?’ G shook her head impatiently. ‘Well I’m going to make you a caramel coffee.’

G shrugged her shoulders. ‘So you and The One have “similar interests” - that means sex and shopping. He’s handsome and in your own generation - great, but you slept with him within the first twenty-four hours when it wasn’t even a date, and now you’re in love with him. I am really pleased for you, G, but this is starting to sound familiar: you’re in love with a one-night stand. You’ll get obsessed when he doesn’t return your calls until eventually, you’ll end up in a bloody mess about The One that wasn’t!’ G clicked her tongue with annoyance and crossed her arms. ‘Actually, he called me this lunchtime to see how I was, and he wants to meet up again. I didn’t have to “obsess” very long at all, Thorsen, did I?’ Thorsen poured some caramel cream into a whip-dish for G’s coffee and tapped the edge of the bowl. G quietly watched the cream spin around the bowl until it became thick and glossy. ‘I’m sorry,’ Thorsen finally said. ‘I’m not trying to burst your bubble, but it would be horrible for you to build up your hopes up like last time, or the times before that, only to fall apart again. But if you do, I’ll be right here for you. I just hope that this one really is The One.’ But G was not listening; she had an odd, dreamy look in her eyes. ‘G?’ ‘What?’ she jumped. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking... never mind.’ G touched Thorsen’s hand. ‘Look, I know you’re only looking out for me, but I’ve got to go. I’ll pop in later in the week, ok?’ Thorsen nodded and put away the cream. He watched G teeter out of the door. ‘Tread carefully!’ he called after her. Mind, in those shoes she’ll probably break her ankles.

ZACH

Shall I try Claire? Hmm, she is a bit coarse. Atlanta? Maybe too soon. Lucine? Nah, she’ll want to stay over. Now Rosa’s just annoying. Ah there’s Mona. How on earth could I forget Moan-a? Zach commanded, ‘Play.’ The threedimensional face of Mona streamed from his com onto his desk. Still looking husky and dusky. Mona’s recording crackled. ‘Hi, I’m not available to converse, please leave a message and I might call you back. If by any chance it’s you, Zach Coombes, you’re way too late.’ The stream dissolved. Zach shook his head. But she seemed like a no-strings-type-of-girl. The sudden ‘shlup’ sound of his office door opening, made Zach jump. He tapped open the company’s ISIS programme, as Jigi, the regional manager’s American PA, tiptoed into his office. Jigi was wearing polka-dot shorts and a sheer yellow blouse with a huge pussy bow at the neck. Zach considered her outfit. I’m sure her clothes are getting trashier each day. Jigi puffed her large chest out like a sea bird. ‘Aldo wants to see you.’ Zach winced, her baby-voice grated on him. ‘He needs this week’s workforce efficiently -’ ‘Efficiency,’ Zach corrected. Airhead. ‘Yeah...’ Jigi had lost track. Oh no. She tapped her electronic pen on her hip. ‘Err, Aldo wants the workforce stuff for... Surfico - that’s right! Aldo’s had their boss on the fone because he’s not received anything for more than a month.’ How did I miss that? Zach composed himself. ‘That’s strange, it must have got lost in the system. Is Surfico’s chief pissed?’ ‘I think so. Aldo’s not happy either; he says it has given him a pain in the gut.’ ‘That will be indigestion, Jigi, his diet is appalling. Look, can you smooth things over with Aldo, for half an hour? I’ve got to finish an urgent report.’ Zach flashed her one of his ravishing smiles. ‘I’d really appreciate it.’ ‘OK, Zach.’ Jigi accidentally dropped her pen. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Anything

for you, Zach, she thought to herself. ‘I’ll just get my pen.’ She bent down slowly to make sure Zach copped an eyeful of her behind. Zach watched her leave the room. She’ll do “anything” for me? Maybe I’ll have to put that to the test. He fought his mind back on to his job; he needed to correct the Surfico problem. Surfico was a global technology company that produced several media products including the sophisticated camEye, a discreet lens that could be worn over the human eye to relay broadcast-quality videoStreams of what the eye viewed. The camEye was popular with the Big-Six news channels and several film studios, and the British Ministry had ordered two-thousand units for numerous intelligence bases. Surfico also produced fashion lenses that changed colour according to light, reflective lenses and sun-protective lenses. Although Surfico was one of Advanced Monitoring System’s biggest clients, Zach had not monitored any of its workforce production data for the last four months; instead, he had produced an illegitimate virtualERun to do the work for him. Zach quickly checked his invention, it had produced the workforce data for the other companies in his care, but it had messed up Surfico’s data over the last few weeks. Zach bit the knuckles on his left hand. This is not good, not good at all. If anyone in AMS finds out what I’ve done, I’m screwed. I should have checked in more often, I better sort it - quick.

Forty minutes later, Zach entered Aldo’s office. Aldo was sat with his feet up on the desk with his shoes off, and his head was leant back against Jigi, who was standing behind him massaging his shoulders. Zach noticed her huge chest quivered over his bald head like two jellies. ‘About time,’ grunted Aldo. He wiped his sweaty brow with a sweatier hand and put his feet down, leaving two grimy smudges on the smooth surface. ‘You’re looking very cool on such a hot afternoon - especially under these circumstances.’ Aldo’s face darkened. ‘So where’s the data, Zach?’ You little rat. Zach raised his eyebrows. “Little rat?” That’s rich coming from such an irritant. He spun a curveChip across Aldo’s desk. ‘All there,’ he replied casually.

Aldo grabbed the chip, nudged Jigi out of the way, turned and slid the chip into a com on the wall. A huge list of figures and letters appeared on the screen. Aldo scrolled his finger up and down the list, studying the data carefully. Jigi blew out a silver gum bubble from her cherry lips. The gum popped and splattered onto her face; she quickly pulled it back into her mouth. She cringed. How stupid must Zach think I look? Zach tried not to laugh. Think you look? A bit of an under-exaggeration there, love. He yawned. ‘It’s all there, Aldo, I can’t understand why the data didn’t transfer to Surfico - there must be something up with the system.’ Aldo did not reply, but continued studying the data. Another four minutes ed. What the hell’s he looking for? Zach wondered. If only he’d turn slightly, I could hear what’s going on in his fat head. Jigi was vying for Zach’s attention. She lifted a leg onto a desk drawer and slowly pulled out a thigh. I could make him want me, she plotted. Zach’s eyes flickered up Jigi’s thigh and through a gap in her shorts where he saw a hint of her red underwear. Charming. I wish Zach would spend more time studying me, Jigi dreamed. Maybe if you kept your dumb mouth shut, I would, thought Zach. Aldo suddenly turned to face Zach; he followed Zach’s gaze to Jigi, who quickly put her leg down. Aldo snorted and rolled his chair in front of her. He turned his attention to Zach. Let’s see what he’s got to say for himself. ‘You’ve been working very hard.’ ‘Of course,’ Zach replied carefully. But you’ve slipped. Aldo’s eyes gleamed. ‘I should have never doubted your work.’ How have I “slipped”? Zach felt slightly hot. Aldo turned back to the screen and Zach could not hear what he was thinking. Zach was nervous. ‘Well, if it’s all there, I’ve really got to get back to work.’

Aldo span back around in his chair, stood up, and grabbed the front of his desk so hard that his knuckles turned white. ‘Tell me, Zachary, how you managed to collate data for the work progress of a producer called Jon Connolly, when Connolly left Surfico two weeks ago?’ Zach heard his heartbeat rise. ‘You’ve made these figures up, haven’t you?’ Jigi let out a little gasp. Zach felt unsteady on his feet; he had not anticipated this at all. He glanced at Jigi, she looked as if she was going to cry. ‘You’re lazy, Zach, a good for nothing waste of space!’ raged Aldo. Jigi gasped. Leave him alone, I love him. She loves me? Zach swallowed hard. Fucking hell. ‘You swan into work late and then sit at your desk and arrange your social life – yes, I know!’ Aldo yelled with such force, that he had to take a moment to breathe the air back into his lungs. ‘You’re far too concerned with where you’re going to put your little cock next, than this job!’ Leave him alone, just leave him alone! Jigi glared at Aldo. He’s not like you. ‘Your little cock rules your head, Zach, that’s your problem and it’s more important to you than this job, isn’t that right?’ Aldo crossed his arms in front of him. Jigi shook her head. Aldo’s such a hipposit, I’ve seen the hubStreams of naked girls with limps and underage dwarves stored on his com. Zach’s never hassled me for a sexual favour, but Aldo does, every single day. Zach’s jaw dropped. Really? Well, thank you, Jigi. Of course, Jigi had no idea of what she had given away. ‘Well?’ Aldo prompted, but before Zach could answer, he shouted, ‘You are

employed to monitor workforce efficiency and you look after one of AMS’ most important clients! The ironic thing is, your own work efficiency is absolute shite! Well I’ve got news for you - Atherton is going to be completely pissed about this!’ Zach gasped. Atherton was the CEO of AMS; he had personally recruited Zach, and it was well-known across the company’s nine UK offices that Zach was Atherton’s golden boy. This is bad, really bad, I cannot let this happen. ‘Ok,’ Zach held his hands up. ‘Ok, I’ve been using some company time for my personal business, I it that. But I think we should be completely honest here and lay all of our cards on the table. So, I want to know whether you intend to tell Atherton about your use of company resources for your fetish porn habit – sorry, your underage fetish porn habit?’ Aldo’s eyes grew wide and he sat back down. Zach smirked. ‘You are looking at the one person on site who could uncover any com’s ghost-trail – that’s if you’ve even managed to hide your tracks, and the one person - probably the only person in this company - who knows how to permanently erase those tracks.’ Zach shook his head in disgust, and then he calmly turned around and walked out of the office. Aldo’s a coward, all mouth and no balls, he’ll never risk his job. Aldo wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief and loosened his shirt. Jigi was speechless; she could not work out how Zach had seen the contents of Aldo’s com, as his office camera-lock only opened the door if viewing Aldo’s face or her own. That’s so weird, I’d just been thinking of those horrible hubStreams before Zach mentioned them. This is ugly, I need to go home. She glanced at the wall time-light; it was 4.52 pm and over an hour until home-time. Jigi began to clear the clutter from Aldo’s desk with shaking hands. Aldo watched her. ‘Everything OK, Jigi?’ Jigi nodded hastily. Aldo probed gently. ‘Have you discussed anything, you know, anything in this office with anyone else?’ ‘No, of course not, Aldo. I wouldn't do that.’

‘You know, what he just said is rubbish, don’t you? The little squirt’s trying to worm his way out of trouble.’ Jigi forced herself to nod even though Aldo was lying. Aldo rubbed his sweaty brow. Even if Jigi had come across my hubStreams, I doubt she would say anything - she really needs this job. Aldo felt a wave of anxiety engulf him and anxiety made him one of two things: hungry or horny. Aldo slapped Jigi's buttocks. ‘Are you hungry, Jigi?’ he questioned slyly. ‘Would you like anything to eat?’ ‘I have to go!’ Jigi snapped, moving away from the desk, ‘I have an eye review appointment with my orthodontist.’ Aldo watched Jigi put her on her blue jacket; she flashed him an empty smile and shot out of the door. It’s going to have to be a snack from Argentina Delicious then. After Aldo had ordered a roast T Bone steak, curried goat chops and maple pork ribs to be delivered, he sat at his desk and began to worry. There were three questions he could not answer and he kept rolling around his head. 1) What am I going to do about Zach? Atherton has already been notified bout Zach’s latest misdemeanour by Surfico. 2) How did Zach break into my com? 3) What the fuck is Jigi doing getting her eyes checked by a dentist?

EIKO

I was sat in a quiet room on the Consultation and Research floor, listening to the rain crashing down onto the Perspex roof, but there was nothing I wanted to consult on, or research. I’d had my comPad open for two unproductive hours, my head clouded with the past. The thought of cycling home - even on automatic - filled me with fatigue and anyway, I’d get wetter at full pelt. I sighed at the comPad and opened the notes from the historical economics lesson. Endless models and theories reeled across the screen and I dodged them one by one. I tapped the screen off and wondered what I was doing at university. I felt like

running away again. I was definitely a creature of habit, I knew that much, I was either searching for the unattainable, or running away from what I found. That was me, on a loop, until it got to the point where I couldn’t even what I was looking for, or running away from. So why was I at university? Well, one day, for the hell of it, I moved my finger over a course guide with my eyes shut, and when I opened them, I’d picked a two-year, higherCert in Modern History at Lakes University. It was lucky that I was fascinated by history, lucky that I was accepted onto the course within minutes of someone else turning the last place down, and lucky I had picked a place surrounded by lakes, when I much preferred captive lakes to the endless sea. But you can never be sure that luck is just that. So I decided to try the most spacious city in the country and hoped I may find myself there, or even be found out. Five months later, and I’d made no progress. When I first moved to Lakes City, I imagined myself to be estranged from a large family but always in their thoughts. The fantasy that there were people out there that cared about me staved off my loneliness, as sometimes whole days would and the only soul I’d speak to would be the man at the fruit press where I’d stop for a juice. I’d often walk to the top of Castle Mount and gaze at the newest British city in awe, and sad as it sounds, I’d turn words around my mouth for company like: ‘equivocal’, ‘anaesthetic’, ‘autumnal’ and ‘debauchery.’ Several times, I considered returning home to Uncle Eddie, but I knew I would become restless again and put him through fresh heartache. I had first flown the nest at sixteen to embark on a course in Art History at Newcastle Point. Uncle Eddie missed me terribly, even though I visited him every Sunday for lunch. I shared a tiny flat with a girl called Lara, paid for, by working five nights a week as a bar hand, but Lara and I soon became irritated living with each other in such a small space. Then my name came up for a subsidised flat. I ticked all the boxes: I was a young student from a single-parent family and on a low income. I got a flat on Newcastle-upon–Sea, the new land expansion that started at Shield Quay and spread out over thirty miles of the North Sea. The flat was just a room really,

with a foldaway kitchen and shared use of a bathroom, but it was my own, white thinking space. Uncle Eddie said, ‘Nuuwcastle-upon-Sea’s the second time the gov-u-ment’s caused calamity for d’ fishin' commu-oon-ity.’ (He said the first was back when Parliament slammed a five-year ban on deep sea fishing, leaving hundreds of trawler men jobless.) But Newcastle Point was suffocating with the expanding population and there was no other option but to build out onto the water. Uncle Eddie never actually tried to make me reconsider my choice of residence, but after every Sunday lunch as he watched me leave, the shadows of his arms appeared raised out in front of him, as if trying to pull me back home. Sometimes, I wanted to return, I certainly missed him, but the pull away was far stronger. Over the seven years that I lived on Newcastle-upon-Sea, it changed drastically. It was initially built for cheap overflow housing, but soon, rich city workers flocked there because it was easily accessible by the Sprint Underground or water taxi. Many affordable habitats were replaced with sky-high penthouses with seascape views. Soon followed a fuel research centre and oil age museum; I got a part-time job at the museum’s rotating cinema that showed gripping documentaries like, The End of the Reserves. But all the love I had for the North East lay with Uncle Eddie - the area was too raw a reminder of my failed relationships. I was unlucky in love because I could all too easily read between the lines, so I never allowed the layers of a relationship to naturally peel away with time. All I wanted was to find someone that would surprise me, someone I could get to know in an honest way, but my curiosity always got the better of me and I wanted to find out how genuine my lover was, and whether their inner soul matched their outward display. I usually found disparity and even the slightest difference would turn me off. Yes, I was a tough judge, but it was not as if I could avoid my lovers’ shadows, the glowing colours divulging their moods, or the scent of their intentions. Could you in the same situation? Imagine all those things you don’t want to know, but you could discover anyway because of your keen sense of others. The cruel thing was, I would rarely find anything out within the early stage of a relationship - it could take several wasted weeks or even months. The upside was, nobody ever cheated on me because I saved myself before my lovers were even consciously

aware they were going to betray me. But the worst thing was, to be on the verge of falling in love, only to find out a lover would let me down. So it became a choice: wait for the event, or leave. The last relationship that catapulted me from the North-East was with Ade, with whom I was with for a record twenty-one months. We moved into a spacious apartment with a walled garden on Newcastle-upon-Sea. Ade was a talented artist; the air would stream behind him in different colours, as if alive with his creativity. He was seven years older than me, but twenty years wiser, with an endless energy for life, art and nature. At first we were besotted with each other, but soon he became otherwise engaged, and I noticed when he looked into my eyes, the shadow of his face was turned away, as if searching for another inspiration. The final straw came about three a.m., one morning. We were asleep and securely fastened at the hips. Then I jolted awake in a panic - my head stuck with emotional needles like a pin cushion. I had been dreaming that I was lying on damp peat earth, terrified, as I realised everything in my past, present and future didn’t exist. Something deep inside me, told me that everything I had ever cared about was worthless, and I had to exist without meaning. I can smell that awful, grainy peat on my skin right now. In my dream, the ground was so cold, that I was frozen from the inside out, and my chest felt horribly empty. I shifted my aching head to look around, but I could see nothing but the black peat all around me and a dark empty sky. Then it came. It had never appeared to me in my dreams or life before, but suddenly it was lying beside me - as if it had always existed. My shadow. Although my shadow was shaped like me, it did not mirror my actions, and before I could draw my breath, it got up, staggered around the earth and turned its featureless face back down to me. Inside, I was absolutely screaming with fear, but I was unable to move a muscle. Then my shadow backed away from me, until it turned around and walked off into the darkness. An ear shattering scream erupted around me. Then, like a recording, I was jolted back to the beginning of the dream and the dream replayed over and over again, probably more than a dozen times. Sometimes, the dream would slow right down and my fear was endless, but other times, the dream would speed up so fast, it was like watching a series of still images.

When I finally woke up, I was absolutely drenched in sweat and the dark bedroom was stained red like a warning. I sat against the wall by the bed for hours, trembling away, trying to make sense of my dream’s meaning. Eventually, the redness of the room faded into morning white and I lay back down and hugged Ade. He stirred, then gently moved me off and got up. I reached for his arm and began to tell him about my terrifying dream. But Ade said, ‘You’re a little old for night terrors.’ I felt like I’d been punched in the face. I watched as he dressed and left for his studio, all the while, he didn’t see me. After he left, I sobbed into the sheets, while the smell of peat hung in the air. I didn’t go to work that day, instead I spent it working through my relationship and the dream in my head. That evening, when Ade returned, he cautiously peered at me through the open stable door where I was sat on the day bed. He commented, ‘You look lost in your own world.’ ‘I’m actually lost in yours,’ I replied. Ade thought about that and his eyes ran from my face to where my toes were hooked into the crease of the day bed, then he nodded, turned around and walked away, leaving the two parts of the door swinging out of sync. I got up and stormed after him. ‘I do so much for you!’ I yelled. ‘What?’ he said, as he paused in his tracks, but he didn’t turn around. ‘I do so much to me, for you,’ I whispered. He half-turned to look at me and flatly asked, ‘How?’ but he didn’t want an answer – he never did, unless it was about his fucking art. I answered anyway. ‘I’m like your crutch - I hold you up and you in everything you do, but if I’m the one that needs , you are not interested.’ Ade shouted, ‘Right!’ Then he purposefully walked to his car, like an adult leaving a child in tantrum, a child that could be seen everywhere: on his arm and in his pictures, but never, ever heard.

One of Ade’s friends once said to me, ‘Ade is like a steamroller - nothing ever gets in his way.’ I replied, ‘I do, and yes, he rolls right over me.’

I shut Ade out in the end. I wrapped myself up in an invisible, emotional shield, to stop his life touching mine. Maybe I hoped he would break through and show me that I mattered; all he had to say was that he needed me, for the shield to come off. But he continued with his ever-mounting priorities, and so I watched from a distance. Although we still lived under the same roof, we became totally independent from each other. I still loved him, but I began to love him the way a person may ire a painting they would never own, and eventually, I knew the painting would lose its appeal. It took four months to cleanse Ade from my system. Each day over four months, I was reminded more of what I didn’t want and what I didn’t need. The light became brighter, my own space whiter and I grew stronger, as he faded from my life. Eventually, I noticed when Ade entered a room, the air remained as blank as a canvas. His colour was lost. After I left, Ade wrote me a letter. He said that in the last few weeks we were together, he had cried every single day: he cried in his studio, on the beach, in the rain and in his car, he even cried in the shower. He cried because he knew we were broken, and he cried for the end, because he knew I would call it. All my life, I wondered why he hadn’t told me how much he cared when it mattered because I could have saved us. There were many things I learnt through relationships. I learnt my lovers did not see, feel, or react as deeply as I did, but their feelings were just as fragile. I learnt my life was ultimately mine and I could not live for love. I learnt to hold on to many secrets that would be painful if revealed. Yet I managed to speak of the most devastating secret, as a final act of pride. There were many things I learnt in my life, but only now I know what they really mean.

ZACH

Zach boarded the solarTram for City Peripheral West. He was still shaken up about the incident at work, and did not conduct his usual eavesdrop on his fellow engers’ thoughts; he termed this pastime ‘tram-dropping’ and Zach had heard it all. Some engers would mull over intimate secrets and that fascinated Zach, as did engers who had inappropriate thoughts about their fellow engers. Zach loved to listen to engers’ ‘tram-commentaries’ about each other and their misconceptions, generalisations or uncannily, accurate hunches. However, Zach found tram-dropping tourist’s thoughts mostly tedious, if they were not thinking in a foreign language, their thought-trains were broken with ‘What’s that?’ or ‘Where am I?’ Yes, Zach found tram life generally fascinating, it provided a captive insight into human life and affirmation that other people could criticise, gloat and be just as ruthless as he. Yet this journey home was the first, in a very long time, where Zach concentrated purely on his own thoughts. He was bitterly disappointed he had been caught out at work and he knew it was arrogance that had made him careless. The first thing he planned to do the next day was thoroughly check the virtualERun programme and fix any errors. He shook his head. As for Aldo, he’s a buffoon. I’ll show him who’s in charge. I may turn in late again tomorrow what can he do? What I know about him, is much worse than what he’s got on me. The tram approached Fell Street, two stops before Zach’s own. Zach decided to jump off and visit his friend, Mervin. Mervin’s flat was in a former tile factory. Zach smiled up at the recognition camera and the metal shutters rolled up. He stepped inside. Mervin’s flat was long and lofty, its huge walls washed in battleship grey, and several redundant steel brackets were embedded in the ceiling. Although the factory had not turned out tiles for years, the smell of clay still hung in the air. An iron book shelf stretched across the back wall, stacked with hundreds of books on every scientific and factual subject imaginable, from Edible Mushrooms of the British Isles, to The Death of Political Correctness and How to Speak Uyghur. These were books Mervin had bought, salvaged or been given; they were not shelved by author or subject, but in Mervin’s superSavant style: in the chronological order of their publishing dates, and these were dates that were locked in Mervin’s head. Many times, Zach had challenged Mervin to locate a specific title, and Mervin never failed to disappoint him.

Mervin’s clothes were hung on a clothes rack in order of colour, from the darkest shade to the lightest. His bed was high up on a platform, accessible by a thin step ladder. Stored under the bed were dozens of boxes of varying sizes, each with a digital label of contents. Mervin kept all his other possessions in these boxes: shoes, underwear, art pencils, magnetised socks, toothpick collections, sweets, wash items, cutlery and curveChips. The curveChips contained footage of Mervin talking aged one, reading aged two and studying at three, after that Mervin demanded his parents never recorded or photographed him again. There were boxes for everything, and even boxes for boxes. Mervin was sat on the floor in a corner of the room, his bony limbs encased in a bright blue material. He was hunched over a pile of old postcards, and he moved over them like a spider with extraordinary speed, slicing out random squares with a liteBlade and attaching them onto an adhesive canvas. As Zach walked closer, he studied the canvas carefully. It was a mass of chaotic colour and dashes which did not show anything specific. On a whim, Zach turned his head to the right and saw the canvas depicted a blurred street-scene of people walking past buildings; some people were walking into each other and amalgamating. ‘I let myself in,’ Zach said quietly. Mervin nodded, but he did not look up. He worked for some time and Zach watched him. As well as Mervin’s ability to memorise huge quantities of information, he could turn whole sentences into anagrams, and this usually happened when he was worried or excited. Mervin’s worry could quickly escalate into full-blown panic, but Zach was used to calming him down. In all the years of their friendship, Zach was never sure Mervin intended to be witty or ironic, but often he was. Like many superSavants, Mervin had several afflictions as well as astonishing skills; he could be painfully aloof, brutally honest and quite childlike at times. He was also easily overloaded and he had to take regular medication inserted into a mediBracelet to stop him having convulsions. If Mervin forgot to medicate - despite his capacity for ing realms of information, he could forget the simplest tasks - the mediBracelet sensor would sound out an alarm to remind him.

When Mervin was firing from all cylinders, he was an extraordinary artist. He was in his third-year of Integrated Arts at Lakes University, and one of only two students who had an honorary bursary to cover his entire course fees and living expenses. Mervin had gained the bursary aged fourteen, but his fits had not been managed enough for him to leave home until he was nineteen. Zach scrutinized Mervin’s outfit. ‘You’re looking very... blue.’ ‘Thank you,’ Mervin replied, his eyes fixed on his work. ‘I am working through a series of blues this week.’ Zach glanced at the clothes rail and saw four more blue outfits. ‘Your picture’s different. What exactly is it?’ Mervin scratched his head. ‘It is a piece for the Synagogue Gallery on Cattle Street, they have a large wall and asked me to “liven it up, please”. I think a mural of lots of people colliding and crashing into each on a busy street, will liven up their blank wall, would you say so?’ He finally looked up. ‘It’s very effective.’ The thing Zach liked most about Mervin was he had no hidden agenda; he said what he thought and he did not lie or exaggerate. Therefore when Mervin spoke, he rarely had any other thoughts filling the spaces, and Mervin provided Zach with company without the constant and laborious thought-processing that came with other people. However, there was one thing that went on in Mervin’s mind that caused Zach great irritation. Mervin embarked on extensive object counting when in unfamiliar environments; with a visual sweep he would tally away anything from wall tiles to a reoccurring pattern in the floor. Mervin would then apply a mental ‘tick’ for every object that surmounted to a burring ‘tick-tick-tick’. Zach had to endure the ‘ticking’ if Mervin was in Zach’s visual peripheral, or try to turn his back on Mervin or leave, as the ‘ticking’ would give Zach a headache. Mervin looked at his watch and then at Zach suspiciously. He carefully put the liteBlade down. ‘You finish work at seven.’ Zach shrugged his shoulders. ‘But it is twenty-past-six and you’re here.’ Mervin glanced up at his own eyebrows. ‘Do you have another date?’ ‘No.’

Mervin scratched his nose. ‘Are you feeling ill?’ Zach laughed. ‘No.’ Mervin scratched his chin. ‘Then how did you get here so fast?’ Zach shook his head. ‘You sound like my mother.’ He exhaled a lungful of air. ‘It’s been a difficult day at work, so I knocked off early. I deserve it. But that’s not why I’m here.’ Mervin cocked his head to one side. ‘I’ve come to ask if you want to come to a club on Saturday night?’ Mervin blinked hard. ‘No. If I go out late and stand up for a long time - when I should be horizontal - my feet hurt, and the next morning, I wake up at the wrong time and think it is earlier than it is, all day.’ Zach took a moment to catch up. ‘O-K. I realise a club’s past your bedtime but you’ve got to let loose sometimes. Just think of all the pretty girls in a club.’ Mervin’s face lit up. ‘What time shall we go?’ Zach smiled. ‘Come to mine for nine p.m.’ Mervin frowned. ‘I cannot.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I do not know where to come to, now that you have moved.’ ‘Oh, yes. It’s time you visited my new pad. Get on the solarTram West and get off on the second stop at Gate Way, you’ll see a news-point on the opposite street, cross over and take the first street on the left, then take the second street on the right, it’s called – I’ll send it to you – what am I talking about? You’ll it - 215c Brook Place. OK?’ Mervin nodded and scratched his chin. ‘You’ll love my new place.’

‘Can I wear blue?’ Zach smiled. ‘You can wear any shade you want, it’s dark in the club.’

EIKO

A voice sang in my ear like birdsong in the breeze, ‘Hey-hey.’ I turned my cheek and was faced with Faith, appropriately named as she was full of it, although she hadn’t named herself. Faith’s golden hair was gathered into a messy bun and I could see the usual, faint white glow above her head - like a halo. I was lucky I had found Faith; she was one of my two only friends in Lakes City. Faith was in the first year of her medical therapy doctorate, she called it her “Zen year”, as it covered the human psyche, psychosomatic illnesses and holistic medicine. She called the second year “the vomit year”, as it involved synthetic flesh, blood and bodily fluids, and the third and fourth years were “the years of final enlightenment”, because students got to learn about roboSurgeries and geneticMeds. I thought Faith would make a fantastic doctor; she was certainly my Doctor Feelgood. Sometimes Faith smelled as fresh as cut grass, but that evening a faint orange scent surrounded her that was warm and cheery. Her shadow rarely appeared but only to reinforce her good spirit: she was who she said she was and acted accordingly. Faith pulled a wet tail of my hair from my mouth - that I hadn’t realised I was shredding - and curled it around my ear. ‘Have you lost the plot?’ she whispered. ‘Hmm?’ I vacantly stared at the glowing light around her head. Have you come to rescue me? ‘It’s six-thirty, I thought you finished your lessons at three on Thursdays, but you’re still here.’

I nodded. ‘Have you heard of home-time? It usually pops up once a day?’ Faith gathered up my things. ‘What’s wrong with you? It’s the weekend.’ ‘It’s not the weekend,’ I retorted, ‘it’s only Thursday.’ ‘Nearly the weekend.’ I nodded towards my comPad, ‘I’ve got to finish an assignment – ’ Faith sniggered. I had forgotten that I’d turned the comPad off. ‘Looks like you haven’t even started it. Come on, Eiko, let’s go to mine and chill. There’s a great new dine-delivery near me that everyone’s railing about, and if you buy two fondues, you get a free litre of frozen cocktail.’ I shook my head. ‘Come on, my treat, we’ve only got tomorrow to muddle through, then it’s the real weekend!’ I considered her proposal, I didn’t feel like doing anything, but Faith’s hazel eyes were daring me to object. ‘No point arguing,’ I mumbled under my breath. ‘It would be utterly pointless anyway,’ she said as she led me away. ‘Your doctor knows best.’

Chapter Five

EIKO

I spent the morning with the Chief Executive of The Fresh Water Company. He arrived in sky-blue plastic overalls over his flannel suit, his face an unhealthy bronze, and his eyes the same shade as his product’s packaging, the narcissist. The Chief announced, ‘We were to first company to place our fresh water distilleries in every Third World country, and now they’re popping up in the Fourth. I’ve just returned from the Sahara, where my team has installed the most advanced, underground water-filtering system ever built!’ The Chief struggled to loosen his tie beneath the plastic sheath, and Sahara sand that had been residing in its folds, sprayed me in the face. ‘Do you want to taste our product?’ he asked. Suddenly, a glass appeared in my hand and I realised my mouth was bone-dry. I licked my lips and raised the glass to my mouth. ‘Are you listening?’ shot the Chief and I jumped, spilling water all over my quilt. ‘Sorry!’ he nodded towards my empty glass. I refilled the glass from the blue carton by my bed. ‘We have a new trade exchange programme - I suppose you know how expensive manufacturing space is in the UK?’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Well it is and we have natives in Uganda, India and Kenya manufacturing our products to export back to us in exchange for water recycling equipment. And guess what?’ He poked me in the shoulder. ‘What?’ My voice sounded croaky. ‘Everyone is happy - happy as pigs in shit! We have been pivotal in reducing fourth world debt, and abolishing those awful charity concerts that plagued the last century. This is a simple and fair solution – they need clean water, we need production; it’s a very clean arrangement, don’t you think?’

I nodded, although I wasn’t sure of anything except my tongue was lolling out of my mouth. I raised the glass to my parched lips, but there was no stopping the Chief. He grabbed my arm. ‘Of course, we’ll take other products in exchange for our equipment!’ He sat down on the bed next to me. I groaned and placed the glass – that had become oddly empty - on my bedside table. ‘I don’t just mean bananas, but textiles, minerals and gems! It’s a fair trade – The Fresh Water Company is empowering these people and getting them off their lazy village backsides and making a real difference to the globe.’ I winced. The Chief’s eyes turned wild and glassy. ‘Don’t you get it?’ ‘No’ I replied. I glanced at my empty glass. ‘We create jobs – I create jobs. I’ve taken something completely unsanitary like their filthy, shitty water and made it useable – well, reusable.’ I shook my head at him in disgust. As he patted down his sheath, I seized the opportunity to refill my glass, and then I sarcastically toasted the Chief. ‘Yes, please, enjoy!’ But just as I was about to take a sip, I noticed the water inside the glass was a murky brown, although I could have sworn it was crystal-clear when poured. By then, my thirst was raging and all I needed was one mouthful of water. I gently tapped the glass to settle the sediment but I saw something moving in the bottom of the glass. ‘Is there a problem?’ The Chief quickly stood up. I couldn’t answer him because my throat was paper-dry. My lack of response seemed to upset the Chief who violently snatched the glass from my hand. ‘Of course, what is good enough for those poor bastards is not

good enough for you!’ I tried to protest that it was not like that at all, but I couldn’t get a word out. As the Chief scowled down at me, my head ached with dehydration. Then the Chief really snapped. It wasn’t very chiefly of him, but he threw the glass of water in my face. I woke up startled. I was laid diagonal across my bed, fully dressed. Strips of sunlight seared my face through the blinds, and I could hear water gushing into the bath. I waited until the taps beeped off - they did that at eight-thirty a.m., and then I hauled myself up from my bed. My brain chucked itself around my skull. I staggered to the kitchen and greedily gulped down a tub of energy juice and two restorative vitamins. Cinko, my stripey street cat, dusted my ankles with her fawn and black fur and purred loudly; I picked her up, turned her over like baby, and held her close to my face so her furry belly tickled my skin. She looked me in the left eye with her right, and sent me a shot of crazy cat love, crackling with hunger. I fed her and returned to the bathroom. I dipped my foot into the bath water; the mineral tester beeped and spouted out a torrent of dark green crystals; crystals I hadn’t seen for a while. The lite on the bath flashed: Detox AlgVertTM12, that was probably a detoxing prescription of algae, green tea and mush. I waited for the air-jets to blast the crystals into a fizz and stepped in. The water temperature was perfect. Unlike most people who used showered and speed-dried, I started each morning gently, in a tub of hot water because I usually woke up tired – my sleep shot to pieces by my vivid dreams. As I unwound in the water, I watched the bathroom’s aqua walls turn pollen yellow and the room became as warming and stimulating as the sun. Once my grogginess dissipated, the room turned white again. I felt reconnected me to myself, although I half expected the Chief to appear and reprimand me for my extravagance. I recollected the previous night’s events in images melted together like the pots of cheese and seafood fondue that Faith and I had shared, as we sipped and spilled guava cocktails. I gathered glimpses of our giggles, clips of chit-chat and chunks of camaraderie; I had been sprawled across two loungers, setting the

world to rights and then suddenly flat on the floor, laughing myself stupid. We rambled like idiots for hours; prawn heads on our fingers and fondue forks in our hair. I was captivated by Faith’s laughter which fired out in front of her in golden sparks; her soul was truly alive. Our sipping turned into swigging and swigging into dribbling. Then I stumbling into a solarTram, but little after that. Even after the bath, my throbbing head wouldn’t forgive me. I pulled open my mock-walnut wardrobe that was crammed to bursting with clothes. I had a couple of sharply-cut outfits alongside several retro pieces from markets and swopShops, these fought for space with my own doctored items and creations. I had always preferred real material to the intelliWear and synthetic clothing that clothed the masses, and my favourite materials: wool, cotton, leather and silk, were natural and honest. Besides, my old clothes had lives before me and stories to tell, and as I rolled them on, I felt reacquainted with old friends. Yet deciding what to wear each morning was a challenge. My hands roamed over a blouse in gun-metal denim, then to black paper culottes, but their strong and serious hues clouded me. I considered a favourite aubergine skirt in heavy cotton with camel leather pleats and I pressed it to my face, but it felt too heavy for the day. I eventually settled for an invigorating pale-orange top and some tan vintage jeans that were sheared at the knee. I took a deep breath and finally felt like I could face the day.

THORSEN

It was a curious morning. Thorsen had sensed something up at dawn as he plodded down his usual route, gathering groceries. The hot morning sun, spun gold down every dark alley he turned, but he felt a cold pinch at his nostrils, the sort of pinch others would miss, but not Thorsen. This was a pinch he had not been pinched by since his childhood in Denmark. It was the pinch of an icestorm. Thorsen washed the sticky pineapple juice from his hands. He peered out of the kitchen window at the sun-drenched water of the marina. Canal Point Marina was at the head of the English canal system; barges were moored at the large

isleMoor in the centre like spokes off a wheel. One barge was fashioned entirely from clear fibreglass and Thorsen could just see inside. Most of the others were electrical, apart from two Dutch barges with solar s. Most of the barge occupants were out in the sun. Thorsen shook his head. At the drop of a pin, I’ve seen the temperature fall by twenty degrees, but an ice-storm today? Inconceivable. His eyes were drawn to the sculpture of a rainbow; its seven golden arcs curved right over the marina and glowed in the sun. Several gold-coloured coins, as big as plates, were embedded in the opposite pavement where the rainbow landed. The sculpture was called ‘The Gold of Lakes City,’ and Thorsen thought its positioning very apt, as the area had prospered since the restoration of the old canal and marina development, eleven years ago. The area had filled with cafés, boutiques, gift shops, bars and restaurants. By night, several warehouse clubs sprang to life where the vibrant gay scene gathered. Thorsen’s café sat snugly amongst the refined eateries and elegant shops on Water’s Edge, but it was more conspicuous than its understated neighbours. His café embraced the modern architecture of Canal Point but was stamped with eclecticism, as Thorsen had added several features of days gone by. The café had a mahogany front with three curved windows, the middle window etched with: The Edible Remedy: Food for Thought, written in elaborate gold scribbles. In the evening, each pane was shielded by ornamental, blue copper shutter; the metal had been intricately worked into delicate leaves, plump raspberries, fat grapes and twisting vines. There was a heavy oak table in each window, as well as several others throughout his café. Above each table hung a small, low chandelier cut from coloured crystal in green, purple or blue. The café was like an antiquarian shop. Dark wood shelves were stocked with large glass jars of spices, mysterious herbs, and black, fruit and floral teas. There were jars of crystal sugars such as mint, vanilla and violet, and more jars packed with homemade conserves, preserved fruits and marinated vegetables in oil. A whole Parma ham hock dangled from a wooden beam; alongside it were ribbons of cured rabbit sausages, Jalapeno beef salamis, and New Spot Pork puddings. Thorsen was most proud of the two shelves above the counter, filled with bottles of spirits. These were ‘not any old spirits’ - he was always quick to point out, but the finest alcohol infused with his ideas, such as rhubarb and ginger, blackcurrant and liquorice, and chocolate and blueberry. Thorsen invented a new

infusion every couple of weeks, and initially he turned the jars in the cellar, until the spirits were opulent and heady, before straining and displaying them. Behind the counter sat several imported spirits in coloured orbs of recycled glass and bottles, and these were Thorsen’s favourite friends. Each evening, he would sup a few shorts to blur away the edges. As he poured two measures of nut rum into a small jug, he cleared away the previous night’s tumbler - a cruel reminder of his solitude. Back in his kitchen, Thorsen puréed fresh pineapple with the nut rum, adding a teaspoon of chili oil and the juice of a lime. He threw in a handful of grated coconut, some chopped mint and coriander leaves, but accidentally tipped in some unease. ‘Damn!’ he scolded as he concentrated on extracting his unease. When he had done this, he poured the pineapple mixture over a tray of tilapia fillets to poach the fish, but splashed some on the floor. Why am I being so careless today? He wondered. I guess I’m on edge. But why am I on edge? Thorsen realised it not just the hint of an ice-storm that had spooked him, but several other ingredients which on their own were unnoticeable, but when combined: unusual. Still, Thorsen could not quite fathom what was cooking. That morning, Thorsen had thought Kaylea, the owner of the cheese shop, Curds & Whey, had been acting very strangely. Usually, she would talk about insignificant things and Thorsen would act like he was interested, but that morning she had been verging on hysteria as she shredded through a morning news story, and she had drawn the wire so savagely through his fruit feta that it crumbled all over the board. ‘This is the fourth chip-rip in the city in three months!’ she had gabbled. ‘Stealing your iDyCard is one thing, but to have your iDychip ripped from your wrist?’ Kaylea had shuddered violently and rubbed her wrist, and Thorsen had considered it bizarre how she personalised such brutality. ‘Apparently, this time they didn’t even knock the poor sod out before gauging out his chip with a screwdriver! It’s crazy, Thorsen, crazy! These animals are shopping in selfServe stores with the stolen iDychips - probably still dripping in blood - and using them to enter their victims’ homes.’ Kaylea banged her second attempt of the fruit feta on the counter and bits of cheese flew off it. ‘What’s happening to our lovely Lakes City? We may as well root up and move to crazy London Main, at

this rate. It’s horrific, bloody horrific!’ Thorsen had just nodded; he thought it was ‘bloody’ and ‘horrific’ but too early in the morning for either. ‘A kilo of Little Lime Leaf, as well,’ he asked, but his request seemed to evaporate. ‘Apparently, all the creditBooth companies are adding those biometric finger scanners in their booths to back up the iDychips. What’s the bloody point?’ Kaylea raged, taking in a quick lungful of air. ‘What’s to stop these animals hacking a whole bloody arm off? The crime will just get more brutal.’ She brushed away a tear with her plump hand. Thorsen sighed. Now, she is being hysterical. Shall I explain to her that those scanners detect body heat and a severed body part won’t have any, or is that a little condescending? ‘Was it Lime Green or Little Lime Leaf?’ ‘Little Lime Leaf,’ Thorsen replied weakly. He was in desperate need of his morning coffee and Kaylea was prolonging the wait. Then she insisted on carefully wrapping his battered cheese. Thorsen shook his head impatiently. What is wrong with her today? Kaylea dumped the cheese onto the counter in front of him. She turned around to wash her knives without the usual, ‘See you tomorrow, love.’ Thorsen left the shop and wove his way through The Auld Quarter onto Fresh & Deep, but there was no Sandy to be seen, just the van boy carelessly hacking away at a pile of sea bream. The boy had not known where Sandy was, and that Thorsen found really bizarre as Sandy never left his shop when it was open. Thorsen bought a selection of fish from the boy, but he insisted on taking it back whole, to fillet himself. The hiSpeed oven beeped and Thorsen removed a tray of swollen rosewater and cardamom buns. He shook his head. I’m being oversensitive, I know. He knew all too well he was most comfortable with consistency and his morning rounds were his rituals of the day. He would always visit the herb stall first, followed by the butchers, the cheese shop and finally the fish shop - he had everything else delivered - and Thorsen would wind his way around the same route of complex yards and lanes as he went. When he was finished, he would spend ten minutes

at the Café Di Romana stand on Low Arch Walk, and sip an alcoholic caffé corretto. Thorsen knew if things strayed too far from the unexpected, he would feel on edge. He did not think his morning shopping rituals were ‘obsessive’ but ‘preventive,’ and they kept his head from unpinning throughout the day, due to the unpredictable people who strode into his café bringing chaos. He was simply resetting the structure to his life each morning. He found remedying his customers a whole lot more exhausting than serving ‘tea and sympathy,’ and by nightfall, he was good for nothing; the day’s emotions would linger in his bones and he would have to endure those aches alone. ‘I’m being oversensitive,’ he said out loud, but he was still not convinced he was. He recalled his mother always telling him, “It is better to be oversensitive than ignorant”. Thorsen decided something was definitely amiss. Something is brewing – something big. He unlocked the café door. There’s a black cloud hanging over everything. No, that is too big. Perhaps it’s a black cloud hanging over me again. Thorsen stepped outside his café, looked up at the clear sky and took a deep breath. It was not just an impending ice-storm pinching at his nostrils, of that he was certain.

G

G peered into the gemstone cabinet but took a step back to observe her reflection in the glass. My skin looks glossy today. ‘Can I help you?’ G turned to face an assistant who was immaculately dressed in a Hasserby ribbon and vinyl dress with a matching jacket. G’s eyes fluttered to the assistant’s feet, she recognised the girl’s pumps by Frella B. Must be worth her salt if she can afford to wear those to work. ‘Yes, you can help me, I’m looking for a gift... for a man. It has to be special - very special, something that says...’ G struggled to find the words.

‘It all?’ ‘Yes,’ replied G with a smile, ‘something that says just that.’ ‘I think I have just the piece.’ The assistant glided over the purple marble floor to a tall, black cabinet with a gold crest-shaped lock on the front; G followed. When the assistant opened the cabinet, she spoke quietly as if not to disturb the contents. ‘This is very special and very rare.’ She slipped her small hands between black velvet curtains and pulled out a gold chain; it had heavy rectangular links studded with square diamonds and yellow sapphires. The assistant slipped the chain onto G’s hands. ‘Take a closer look.’ G’s hands buckled under the weight of the chain. She rubbed her thumbs gently over the necklace, it was very beautiful but masculine. Just like The One. ‘It is made out of deep sea gold.’ G shrugged her shoulders. ‘“Deep sea gold”?’ ‘Yes. It was commissioned by Prince Kas Maher of Oman, but sold on. It has an unusual hallmark to reflect the gold source, you see?’ She pointed to the clasp engraved with a tiny circle with two small waves through its middle. ‘I see.’ G handed the necklace back to the assistant. ‘I’ll take it. Can you gift wrap it?’ The assistant gasped. ‘Don’t you want to know how much it costs?’ G smiled. ‘I think he’s worth it.’

EIKO

I cycled from my flat in Bow Town to uni. The first leg of the journey was

through the winding and luminous green Kent Wood; it was a cool relief from the morning heat. As I rode along, I was dazzled by crystals of sunlight caught in the leaves of the oak, birch and expatriate eucalyptus trees. I glided over Devil’s Brook that flowed out to The Burnt Quarter, the notorious residence of the synthH addicts who had been relegated from north Waterside several years ago, their flats ripped down to make way for luxury apartments. The synth-H heads haunted The Burnt Quarter like concrete-encapsulated ghouls, rarely venturing out of their dangerous playground, and the City Board ensured they stayed put, by delivering their synth-H to them along with other, basic supplies. As I climbed the steep track out of the park, my legs began to ache - my fitness eroded by the previous night’s alcohol. I knocked my bike into automatic and let it push me up the climb; as the fatigue drained from my thighs, I flew past a couple jogging up the path with smug, sweaty Vs on their backs. The second leg of my journey was through Pope Park, an open green cut by a river and with a disused viaduct across the far end. I took ownership of the pedals on the turf and rode alongside the snaking river. Further down by a bend, I spotted a strange black haze. The particles of air were charged and angry. As I slowed down my speed, the haze disappeared to reveal a man beating his dog with a metal pipe. My cycle crumpled beneath me. I staggered off the bike unhurt, keeping my eyes on The Dog and The Monster, they were several yards away. The Monster turned, the rusty weapon raised above his head. I noticed he had crudely cut hair and his face was a map of dark shadows. All three of us stood frozen as time ticked by, but the Monster’s dark eyes slowly picked away at my heart until it felt like it had clambered into my mouth to hide. I glanced around the green, but I already knew here was not a soul about. The Dog whined. Why was The Dog still there? I wondered; he was not held by a lead. The Dog was midsized and coal black, not a breed but a mixture, but he was true dog alright: little self-respect, flattened ears and pitiful eyes. The metal pipe shocked me as it came back down hard onto The Dog’s back, and the poor creature howled pitifully. I felt a scream lodge in my jaw but I gasped it away. ‘Leave him alone!’ I shouted at The Monster, my voice compressed with fear. But The Monster ignored me and hit The Dog once more. Then The Monster

looked up at me with trembling lips. I realised he was playing a sick game when his lips edged into a smile. As The Monster held my eyes with his own, he smashed the metal pipe back down onto The Dog’s back. I flinched at the dull thud as The Dog howled in pain, but I remained put. I used all my inner strength to pull The Dog’s eyes to mine and my hands began to shake. The Dog eventually looked up at me and his eyes appeared to weep. Dog is big! I told him with my eyes, Dog is clever, Dog is strong. The Dog cocked his head to one side. Dog can run. Dog is quick. Run Dog, run! Suddenly, The Dog stole his moment, and he skilfully pulled the pipe away from The Monster with his black jaws. In a split second, The Dog had jumped up at The Monster and one end of the bar jammed into The Monster’s right eye socket. ‘Whoa,’ I said. The Monster collapsed onto the grass with dark blood pouring from his eye. He tried to catch his breath, but he only emitted a gurgling wheeze. But the Monster came to his senses far too swiftly. He found himself flat on the ground with the metal pipe still in his hand and The Dog still cowering next to him. The Monster dropped the pipe, as if it was scorching hot and felt his eye with his hand. There was no blood there, no pain nor Dog-retaliation. The Monster looked confused and he rubbed his face with his hands. The Dog glanced at me, then he quietly stole away and soon made a lop-sided run across the green, far into the distance. Poor Dog. ‘Fuck!’ cried The Monster as he struggled to pick himself up off the ground, but he could not stand upright. ‘What the fuck did you do to me?’ he cried, his eyes wild. ‘You fucking bitch!’ I said nothing but I did not retract my gaze. ‘You’re a freak!’ he shouted but his voice was laced with terror more than threat, ‘Leave me alone - I’ll not touch the dog again!’ He began to plead, ‘I’ll not touch any dog again. Please, leave me alone!’ I considered The Monster and how the power of two minds never ceased to amaze me. The Monster had simply seen what The Dog and I both wanted him to see, but we couldn’t make happen, yet it had the desired effect. As the sun

edged under a cloud, The Monster’s shadow appeared on the grass, and it was the shadow of a large fox with a bushy tail. I heard a faint hunting horn, and the chorus of hounds like a distant memory of a life long gone, probably a lost chapter in The Monster’s book. I didn’t mean to be patronising, but I suppose I was when I said, ‘Two wrongs really don’t make a right.’ Then I picked up my bike. I saw a glimmer of realisation in The Monster’s eyes. He finally found the strength to stand up and he brushed off his clothes, watching me all the while. Then he turned and walked down the river, glancing back at me several times, while his shadow scuttled back into the undergrowth.

G

G shifted on the chair so Sissy, the Cherie-Me consultant, could spray the right side of her face. G lifted up her arm and checked her watch. She thought The One would have called her by now. He must be busy at work. I’ll just have to drop by tonight to surprise him. G glanced at the gold jewellery bag by her feet, and she fought away an image of Thorsen saying it was too early for such a gesture. This one’s different to all the other ones, he knows how I want to be treated and he’s a man of his own means. G smiled to herself. ‘Please, keep still,’ Sissy pleaded. ‘Sorry,’ G replied through clenched teeth. She checked her watch again, she had over two hours before she was due to meet her father. He was flying in from the south with his latest girlfriend to spend the weekend in a mountain cabin. Just enough time for a spot of shopping, G decided. Sissy held a heart-shaped mirror up to G’s face. G scrutinised the work. ‘Can you contour my cheeks to lose the plumpness?’ Sissy snorted. ‘Your cheeks look fat-free to me, but whatever the lady wants.’

After getting her make-up set, G went to a -only store that had over eighty designer pre-collections. As G touched the escalator handrail, her iDychip buzzed and relayed her measurements to the store hub. G uttered smugly to herself, ‘Chest: 32c, waist: 23, hips: 30, inside leg: 12.5.’ G glanced across the vast room. To the left, several, giant metal half-cocoons were suspended from the ceiling and contained casual clothing. To the right, more cocoons were encased in green velvet and contained evening wear. With the help of an assistant, G picked out a pair of gold-paper tros and a midnight-blue blouse with organza ruffles at the neck. Then she headed into a dressing booth. The blouse fit G perfectly. She pulled on the tros but they only came up to her hips. G tried to unfasten the ribbon side-ties and sucked in her breath but there was no give; she glared at her reflection in disbelief. She pressed the flipMirror switch on the wall. The camera behind her buzzed into action and the mirror displayed her back reflection. To her horror, G saw the tros were caught under her buttocks. ‘Oh, God!’ wailed G with disgust. She punched the service button on the wall. By the time the attendant knocked on the door, which was two minutes later, G was fuming. She opened the door and threw the tros in his face. ‘Wrong size! I need 23, 30!’ She regarded the attendant suspiciously, noticing his eyebrows looked over-plucked. The attendant ran a scanner over the tros, cocked one hand on his hip and handed them back. ‘They are 23, 30. Perhaps Madam needs a rescan?’ G burst into tears. ‘Dear, dear,’ comforted the attendant; he pulled the display handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and handed it over to her. ‘Dry your eyes. You’ll ruin your lovely make-up. We have them in other sizes, you know.’ ‘It’s not that!’ G screeched, blowing her nose into the starched handkerchief. It hurt her nostrils and she sobbed even harder. ‘It d-d-doesn’t fit and that m-m-

means I’m fat. Anyway, m-my make-up’s fixed and I-I can cry if I want to.’ ‘Cry as much as you want, dear.’ The attendant gave her back a little rub. ‘You’ve a gorgeous figure, in fact you’re tiny! Everyone’s weight fluctuates a little, it’s quite normal and those tros are a snug fit. Here, take my hand and let’s go to the scanBooth for a rescan. We’ll find you the exact fit.’ G nodded and went with the attendant. When G’s bodyscan results appeared on screen, the attendant smiled with relief. ‘Your hips are 31 and a half. That’s not much to cry about is it? I’ll reprogramme your chip and get you another pair.’ ‘T-thank you.’ G handed the handkerchief back to attendant. He took it from her, discreetly dropped it into a bin under the counter and went to pick up her tros. After G had settled up, her driver came to pick her up. She was still rolling ‘31 and a half inches,’ around her mouth in disgust, as she got into the car.

THORSEN

The morning ed like a flash in the pan; the café hummed with hot customers and Thorsen had sold clean out of ice-shakes and frappés. But despite the chaos, he had managed to slip in a bit of silent therapy. A regular he only knew as ‘Ken,’ who sold lifeSkills insurance, had popped in for an early lunch. Ken was normally quite chirpy, but that morning he was down in the mouth. Thorsen, the unintentional priest, had given Ken a sympathetic smile and Ken had grabbed onto it like a life-line. ‘Your café does alright, doesn’t it?’ Ken asked, glancing around. Thorsen nodded. ‘You’re a good business man.’

Thorsen shrugged off the compliment, ‘Well, I don’t know about that.’ ‘Do you have any advice for someone with no job satisfaction? A poor, stupid sod who is bored beyond belief at work and stuck in a rut, but doesn’t have any other ambition in life?’ Before Thorsen could answer, Ken answered his own question, ‘Of course you don’t, ‘cause you’re content in your job and doing alright. Fair play to you.’ Ken dropped his eyes to the counter. ‘I suppose I better have a double espresso and a sandwich of some sort, what d’ you recommend?’ Thorsen recommended a flaxseed baguette with oriental duck, as flaxseed was good for boosting low moods. As Thorsen prepared Ken’s sandwich, he added a little extra chili to the duck for fire and some orange zest – good for drive. All the while Thorsen thought, wake your imagination up. He set Ken’s sandwich on a plate painted with a geranium print – the flower of inspiration - and shot darts of creative thought into the food, by conjuring up a mental picture of a maze, only the maze was soft and fluid like the brain. Thorsen imagined the blood inside Ken firing through his veins with all the force of the sea, and he quietly muttered, ‘Un-tap your potential. Flush out the waste.’ Then Thorsen served the sandwich to Ken. He said nothing more and slipped away.

EIKO

As I strolled through the university foyer, my watch retrieved the following reminder from the Hub: for course trip by 17:00. The ‘trip’ was round Lakes City’s principal museums, negligible of ittance fees. I was keen to visit The Clothing Museum and took my place in a queue in front of the ‘Welcome Desk.’ Three females in front of me flanked the desk advisors and slapped them with insolence. As I waited, I watched an advert stream onto the university front, delivered by a good-looking presenter. He said, ‘Do you want to work in industry? Perhaps you are already employed in

the industrial sector, but have no formal qualifications and want to get ahead of the game? At Lakes University, we can unlock your potential.’ I noticed his eyes were slightly flat and his face was far too symmetrical. He was another soulless simulation, increasingly used by the media. The argument for simulations over people were they were done in a single take, never late for work, didn’t need to be paid, and their hair colour, eye colour, make-up – whatever - could be altered in less than a second (or by the audience in interactive productions.) The simulation said, ‘We offer all the latest euroVocational courses and have funding available for courses in Industrial Science, Robotic Engineering and Mountain Sports Education.’ He flashed a dazzling smile with far too much sparkle. ‘Currently undersubscribed courses include The Turbine Engineering Programme with a remunerating placement at The Energy Bridge, or The Water Production Programme with a placement at The Fresh Water Company in Uganda ...’ My ears pricked up. I wondered if my morning dream been a premonition? I certainly hadn’t heard of The Fresh Water Company before its Chief threw a glass of dirty water over me. Perhaps it was a sign I should switch courses, but I was sure a water production course wasn’t for me. As the simulation faded, it was my turn to be served. The poor advisor looked harassed and pouted at me miserably; I smiled at her as I ed for the trip. Then I bolted up to political history with lecturer Timothy Inputson. Inputson was just awkward. Although I was the first to it that what he lacked in coolness he compensated for in intelligence, he thought this made him ‘a catch,’ and perhaps he was, to a similarly awkward and badly-dressed-individual. Inputson’s shadow swaggered behind him, and it was that of a tall and muscular man, with a perfect profile. When Inputson talked politics to the class, his shadow flexed his biceps. When Inputson addressed a female student, his shadow slid onto the unsuspecting girl’s desk and blew her kisses or licked its lips, (once it even fingered a girl’s décolletage). The one time Inputson’s shadow had appeared on my own desk, I excused myself and shot out the room. I could only ever concentrate on the lesson if I avoided eye with Inputson and ignored his shadow.

That day, Inputson’s lecture was about the switch from ‘parliament’ to ‘publiPoll.’ Uncle Eddie used to say this was “so every daft bugger could have a go.” Inputson recapped that Parliament was first replaced by The Governing Board, constituted of eight who researched and presented political directives on everything from the budget to local and national laws. Then every (legal) adult citizen got to vote on their preferred directives via the Hub, eBoards, eVision and several other means. Inputson announced we would be writing an essay on the subject and the class groaned. The essay was to explore the pros and cons of the publiPoll and its diplomacy in practice. I recalled that when I had been growing up, the press was dominated with stories of publiPoll objectors who ePestered, mailMobbed or contaminated electronics so they could influence others or damage the system. It was easy back then to infiltrate technology. Eventually, the technology became break-proof and punishments severe for those who tried to interfere. Inputson suggested we explore if the Governing Board had educated all sectors of society to make ‘informed political decisions.’ He asked us to begin our research on our coms while he wandered round to answer questions (and arch his biceps.) I surveyed the class. The back row slump had four dreamers that day, their shadows hung over their heads in a mangled mass, and the smell of hot wood dust drifted in from them. Thinking was obviously labour intensive for the four, because they all looked bored as board. ‘What about the Wasterfarians?’ piped up Tit, who was sat to the left of me, on his left was sat his girlfriend. I called this pair ‘Tit and Tat.’ They were two lovebirds that had ed the course just to be together. Inputson eyebrows rose. ‘Wasterfarians, Chad?’ (Tit’s real name). ‘How about you try again, in English?’ ‘You know, man!’ snorted Tit and I knew Tit was about to make a tit of himself as usual.

‘What about those smelly scruffs that live on the edge of the city and eat our waste, they don’t vote, do they? They just shag each other’s birds.’ A few chortles erupted from the group. Inputson silenced the class with a hand. ‘I think you are crudely referring to the optOuters?’ he glanced down at Tit. Tit nodded. ‘Well, the optOuters choose not to enlist in the publiPoll or iDyntiRules and are a movement that definitely should be explored. By ‘opting out’ of general society, they do not receive basic medical care, sanitisation or clean water. I think you were trying to say they survive on our waste food, well, they also recycle waste materials for building their homes with and to barter with.’ Inputson scratched his bald spot, ‘The optOuters are famously known to say “wasting waste wastes life.” Perhaps they are right in some ways. We all have a purpose to play whether we choose to live within society or not – you should that, Chad.’ Tit’s cheeks turned red as beetroot and he glued his fingers back into Tat’s, I saw they each had a foot entwined under their desk. When I looked at Tit and Tat together, I’d often see a sunset glow around them - they really seemed to be in love. Whenever they were apart for any length of time, each would be left with a murky grey aura, as if lost in smoke. Tit and Tat were probably OK if you ever managed to penetrate their bubble and have a proper conversation with them, but the couple of times I’d tried, I’d just got “Tit says (this)”, or “Tat says (that)”, and I soon gave up. I suddenly ed the Suited Student and looked around him, but he was absent from the class. My eyes accidentally fell upon Sten who was sat several desks away from me; he met my gaze and I looked away, but I could still feel him staring. There were two things I disliked about Sten. The first was that he looked like a boyfriend I once dumped - a boyfriend who didn’t deserve to be dumped called ‘Fran.’

• Fran’s favourite film was: The Man Who Wasn’t There

• Favourite food: baked ham and Old Amsterdam cheese on tarragon toast

• Favourite tipple: Red Peruvian lager (in a bottle, not carton)

• Favourite greeting: “now then” (a contradiction in itself)

And facts like those – facts I didn’t even try to , ed me. I had jumped up on the pedestal the first time Fran pulled it out - he was so utterly adoring, and I thought I adored him too, but I soon realised I just wanted to be adored and unconditionally at that. What did that say about me? I obviously had low self-esteem and poor judgment. I realised letting Fran go - in the long-run was best for him. So I ruthlessly dumped him, and I was really unkind about it so he knew I meant it. On the day-of-the-dump, I hoped Fran would respond with anger - it certainly would have made me feel a lot less guilty, but he didn’t. After the dump, Fran turned up on my doorstep more than a dozen times, and he was sent away by me, my friends, neighbours and even the rubbish man. So Fran resigned himself to sending me letters begging me to reconsider our relationship and those letters came for ages afterwards, until I moved home. Fast forward five years, and there was Sten who seemed to exist just to haunt me about Fran, because his resemblance to him was so uncanny. He shared Fran’s pale-grey eyes, oval face and dimple in his chin, and he was about the same height with a four-lettered name in a single syllable. His hair was different though, Fran’s had been light brown and wavy, but Sten’s was dark blonde and poker-straight. Their shadows were even more different, Fran’s shadow had been that of a playful boy, but Sten’s shadow was much more sinister and when it appeared it was not behind him or in front of him, but actually on top of him. Sten’s shadow mimicked him apart from its claw-like hands and face that extended from his jaw with a twitching nose and whiskers. The shadow’s round ears sat on top of Sten’s skull and they also twitched and listened to everything,

like a crafty weasel. Although Sten resembled Fran in the flesh, he was several rungs down the ladder. That leads me nicely to the second thing I disliked about Sten: he had to do better than everyone else. He used underhand tactics to rise through imaginary ranks. The ironic thing was, Sten never did anything well – he wasn’t very bright but he maintained an arrogance. With Sten, I rarely had to watch the weasel-shadow to ascertain what he was thinking, it was apparent in the way his eyes faltered from people’s faces down to their clothes; I could tell he thought every student was beneath him, but he took a particular dislike to me. Why? I was never quite sure, perhaps he knew I had him sussed. If I contributed to lectures such as fashion or music history, this would wind Sten right up; his weasel nose would twitch and he would launch into a coughing fit to throw me off. So to antagonise him, I contributed more and more, in fact whenever possible - even on subjects I had little interest in. Sten would then try to brown nose the lecturer by jumping in with some completely off-the-mark opinion, he was desperate to reinstate his imaginary position to the top of the hierarchy. The guy was such a dick. I glanced over at him. He was still watching me.

G

John Haxen-Bourg disembarked from his private solarJet onto skyRise Level 5, followed by his girlfriend Millicent. Level 5 was exclusively used for private flights, helicopters and practise flights and was one of four, air-suspended runways attached to Lakeside Airplate, designed to conserve ground landing space. Haxen-Bourg strode towards a chauffeur with not as much as a ‘hello,’ pushing his briefcase into the man’s chest. The chauffeur grabbed the briefcase. ‘This way, Sir.’ As they entered the enger lift, Millicent released a huge sigh.

Haxen-Bourg grunted. ‘We are not getting married. Enough now. I am not entering that mad institution for the fourth time.’ The chauffeur’s ears perked up but he kept his eyes on the floor. ‘Ow, honey!’ wailed Millicent, pushing her bottom lip out and looping her arm through Haxen-Bourg’s. ‘Baby’s only asking.’ ‘No more silly talk,’ scolded Haxen-Bourg, but when he glanced at Millicent’s puppy-dog eyes, his heart melted. He stroked her left cheek with the back of his hand. ‘We might talk about it in the New Year. I have too much on at the moment.’ Millicent sulked. When haven’t you? The Chauffeur led them through ‘Arrivals’ and they scanned their iDychips to exit. G saw them before they saw her; she carefully studied her father’s latest conquest. Another voluptuous brunette and nothing like my mother. G’s mother was blonde, cold and business-like, whereas her father’s other exwives and girlfriends were curvy, cute and doll-like. G shook her head. What’s her name again? Mildred? Mildew? Oh, yes, Milli. Well, she looks like a Silly-Milli to me and younger than me, I bet. Shall I call her ‘Mummy?’ G raised an eyebrow at the peach leather carrier on Millicent’s arm. Nice Hulgar - paid for by Daddy, I bet. Her father came up to her. ‘Darling, Gina!’ G went to hug him, but he placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Gina, this is Milli, Milli, Gina.’ Haxen-Bourg stepped back to open up a floor space. ‘Millicent,’ corrected his girlfriend, she held out a gloved hand. ‘G’ traded G, as she cautiously took Millicent’s hand. So he gets our names wrong, well that’s about all we have in common.

‘I thought we could lunch at the Mountain Cable Restaurant?’ suggested HaxenBourg. ‘Have you eaten there, Gina?’ G shook her head and looked at the floor; she knew that the restaurant in the pinnacle of Lamb Top Mountain was quite famous, but G had little appetite; she would only go to please her father. She muttered to him, ‘That will be fine.’ But Haxen-Bourg was already striding towards his limousine with Millicent rushing to keep up with him. G got in the car next to her father, Millicent was on his other side. Within minutes they were driving through winding country roads. As Millicent gazed out of the window, G studied her from the corner of her eye, searching for imperfections in her flawless skin. At one point, Millicent slipped her hand onto Haxen-Bourg’s knee and Haxen-Bourg smiled at her, but Millicent realised G was watching them, and carefully withdrew her hand and turned back to the window.

In the restaurant, they were seated in view of an alcove grill, with G sat opposite her father and Millicent. The conversation was deadly slow. G watched her father shove forkfuls of horse-mince bolognase in his mouth and scroll through his handComp, while Millicent delicately chewed her rare impala steak and kept her eyes on her plate. ‘Are you OK for money, Gina?’ Haxen-Bourg asked without looking up. ‘Yes,’ G replied, her cheeks burning. She avoided looking at Millicent. After another long silence, G declared, ‘I heard from Mummy last week.’ G watched Millicent’s face freeze as she finished her lie, ‘she asked about you, Daddy.’ Her father looked up at G and down at her plate disapprovingly. ‘You’re still not a vegetarian are you? Milli loves her meat, don’t you, Milli?’ Millicent nodded awkwardly. ‘A bit of meat won’t hurt you, Gina.’ G sighed. I haven’t been a vegetarian since I was about eight. G looked at her

food, she was trying to stick to the Alphabet Diet that had so far been unappetising, but at least she had lost her appetite. She was currently on the letter ‘r,’ and had in front of her, a plate of rocket, radish and radicchio salad with a touch of red wine vinaigrette. Well, at least you have your huge appetites in common, G mused. Occasionally, Millicent met G’s gaze and smiled, but G thought this far too friendly and grimaced back at her. G glared at her father. I am so fed up with these painful lunches and he always brings a totally unsuitable partner. He’s more interested in his bloody figures than me and she... G glanced at Millicent, she is sat there like an evil doll, chomping on a chunk of bloody Bambi. G topped up her wine glass for the third time, dropped her head back in despair and looked up at the restaurant ceiling. It was fifty-feet high and exposed the pinnacle of Lamb Top Mountain through an acrylic-resin roof. Cable wires were visible against the bright blue sky, and every couple of minutes, a cable car cast a monstrous shadow over the walls of the restaurant. G sipped at her wine and considered her father through sad eyes. He only asks if I have enough money. I can’t him ever asking me, ‘How are you G?’ or ‘What have you been doing recently?’ I don’t think we’ve ever had a proper conversation. He loves his bloody horses more than he loves me. Whenever I see him, he’s got a trophy woman on his arm and like a bloody shield between us. Millicent dabbed away a drop of bolognase from Haxen-Bourg’s chin with her napkin. G shook her head, it was sickening. She felt like ramming the napkin down Millicent’s throat, but she decided to break the ice with her father. ‘Daddy, I’ve met someone... someone special.’ Millicent looked up with interest. Her father clicked his fingers in the air. ‘Waiter?’ The Maître d' rushed over. Haxen-Bourg pointed to his side plate. ‘More bread.’ ‘Did you even fucking hear me, Daddy?’ G asked in her sweetest voice. Millicent drew her eyes into her lap.

‘Sorry, yes,’ her father replied, moving his attention back to his handComp. ‘You want something special. I’ll transfer some funds into your . How much?’ G felt tears of frustration sting her eyes. She excused herself, rushed into the bathroom and locked herself in a toilet cubicle, and then she let the tears spill freely. She held her hand under the toilet roll dispenser, but nothing came out. G hit the dispenser several times, ‘Just give me some fucking loo roll!’ The dispenser shot out a stream of toilet paper onto the floor. G realised she had snapped a nail. ‘Bugger!’ She tore a piece of toilet paper from the pile and pressed it against her face. Stop crying, you fool. After a good sob, G managed to compose herself. She came out of the cubicle and straightened up her clothes in front of a tall mirror, but her eyes dropped to her hips. ‘31 and a half inches... disgusting,’ she muttered. The bathroom door opened. It was Millicent. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked tentatively. G pulled out her compact and pretended to adjust her perfectly-fixed makeup. ‘Oh, G,’ Millicent sighed, ‘your father loves you, you know.’ G wanted to say, ‘Well he sure as hell doesn’t show it, and it’s got fuck-all to do with you,’ but she kept her mouth shut. Millicent persisted, ‘Your father doesn’t know how to be show affection, not easily, but he cares about you so, so much.’ ‘Whatever.’ G dabbed at a tear edging from the corner of her eye. Millicent shifted uncomfortable on her heels. ‘You said you’d met someone special?’ G saw her own eyes light up in her compact mirror, she dampened them down again and snapped the compact shut. ‘Yes,’ she turned to look at Millicent, ‘someone very special, I’m meeting him later.’ ‘Great!’ Millicent smiled. G saw her eyes were genuine.

‘Your father is interested, you know, he’s just got a lot -’ ‘Look!’ G shot, ‘I don’t mean to be harsh, but the only thing you and I have got in common is my father’s bank balance, so cut the bullshit!’ Millicent’s forehead creased up. ‘No, you’re wrong, I love your father.’ ‘So do I!’ laughed G ironically, ‘but money is all he’s got to give. I’m sure you’ll cope.’ ‘Look G, I don't mean to be harsh either,’ and indeed Millicent’s tone was gentle, ‘I know you didn’t have the best childhood and your father wasn't there when you needed him - he knows that too, but he loves you - in his own way and the only way he knows how. Your childhood is over now and outside that door your father is waiting - waiting for you, he has come to see you.’ G pushed past Millicent and stomped out of the door. Who the fuck does she think she is? Millicent followed her. She shrugged her shoulders at Haxen-Bourg and mouthed a silent ‘I tried.’ Haxen-Bourg smiled at G. ‘You two getting to know each other?’ ‘About as much as you and I know each other,’ G replied, but her words were masked by a deafening screech. Everyone in the restaurant looked up. A cable car had jammed over the clear roof; it rocked violently side to side and cast dark shadows over the restaurant. With another screech, the cable churned back into action and the car jolted away. Then everyone gasped as huge lumps of ice fell from the sky and bounced off the roof. It was an ice-storm. G eyes slipped back down to her father. He was looking at his watch.

THORSEN

The café had muted down by a quarter past three. Thorsen peered through the kitchen door, there was a couple left at a window table, they were sharing a dessert and watching the ice-storm. Eli had gone home, and Thorsen was about to return to his kitchen chores when the café door opened with a rush of cold air. In stepped fish-shop Sandy who quickly shut the door behind him. He brushed the ice off his overalls. Thorsen was pleased to see Sandy but shocked to see him looking so unusually dishevelled. Sandy wore a dark shadow of stubble, his golden curls were pulled back from his face with a crude piece of elastic, and his shoulders sloped, belying his height of six-foot four. ‘Are you ok, mate?’ Thorsen asked. Sandy plonked himself down on a stool at the counter, with an empty smile. He pulled his elbows up onto the counter as if they were heavy weights and dropped his chin into his hands. ‘I’ve had the worst week of my life.’ ‘Is it Chloe?’ Sandy shut his eyes but he did not answer. ‘You can talk to me,’ Thorsen pressed gently. Sandy looked up at Thorsen. He saw an open door. ‘You’re not like my other mates, are you?’ Thorsen shook his head meekly. ‘I mean you’re not the sort to take the piss, not because you’re gay.’ Sandy chuckled weakly. Thorsen smiled. ‘I’m certainly not the piss-taking type.’ ‘It won’t go any further?’ ‘Of course,’ Thorsen replied earnestly. Sandy glanced around the café, and then he spoke quietly. ‘It’s Chloe. Chloe, Chloe, Chloe...’ he echoed sadly. ‘She has - well, she hasn’t had - I mean, she hasn’t exactly had, but she has almost had ... or soon could be having an affair.’

‘“Hasn’t”? “Had”? Or “having”?’ ‘She hasn’t yet. It’s this bloke where she works – if I see him, I’ll kill him,’ Sandy hissed, ‘... and Chloe she’s... she’s been intimate with him, without being intimate - if you know what I mean.’ Thorsen shook his head. ‘You know - talking and stuff, flirting with each other, talking...’ Sandy’s face creased up in pain, ‘...talking intimately with each other, everything you might say without actually -’ ‘I see. How did you find out?’ Sandy snivelled and his eyes turned glassy. ‘She told me. I suppose I’m pleased she told me, but not best pleased with what she’s said. I feel sickened that my Chloe has been seconds away from sleeping with another bloke. I can’t understand why she’s told me though, especially when she says they still might ...’ Sandy shook his head. ‘Maybe she wants you to stop her,’ Thorsen offered gently. Sandy blinked back the tears. ‘I dunno.’ Thorsen squeezed his shoulder. ‘You two are solid - you have been for years that doesn’t just disappear into thin air.’ Sandy nodded. Thorsen glanced out of the window, the ice-storm had stopped and the sky flooded with sunshine. Sandy found his voice again, ‘We were solid, but I’ve been off, you know - off that for a while. It’s not that I can’t, or because I don’t fancy her, I just don’t feel... you know.’ Thorsen nodded sympathetically. Sandy blinked hard. ‘I’ve had so much on my mind lately, my mum’s not well, I’ve lost my best shop lad, and I’ve got the new warehouse opening. Business is there for the taking, yet everything’s happened at once. When I go home I feel like ...’ he shrugged.

‘Everything’s taken out of you?’ ‘Everything’s smacked out of me, more like. And Chloe, she thinks it her - it’s not her, I love her more than anything. How could she even consider doing it with that - that prick?’ Thorsen shook his head. ‘You need a drink, how about something strong?’ Sandy nodded. ‘Thanks.’ Thorsen poured a shot of raspberry vodka into a red tumbler. Under the counter, Thorsen rolled the glass in his hands. He imagined Sandy’s heart beating gently and the beat growing stronger. ‘Maybe Chloe is getting ready to jump before she thinks she’ll get pushed. She’s what, thirtythree?’ Sandy shook his head, ‘Thirty-four. Why?’ Thorsen envisaged Sandy’s heart beating harder and faster as he rolled the glass. ‘Well, at that age, she could be thinking of having a family and stuff, and she probably needs to know that you’re the one for her, forever.’ ‘Yeah, I guess,’ said Sandy as he chewed on Thorsen’s words. Thorsen pictured Sandy’s adrenalin sparking throughout Sandy’s blood. He put the glass down on the counter and grabbed a perfectly-plump-peach from the fruit drawer. He juiced it and strained the liquid into the glass. ‘Everything will be peachy,’ he muttered as he imagined waves of uplifting red and orange flowing up from Sandy’s heart to his brain. ‘What?’ ‘Everything’s not always peachy,’ Thorsen answered quickly. ‘These days there’s a lot of pressure on a relationship. In your early twenties, you’re expected to know all the answers to love and life,’ he said, tipping a libido-boosting cherry liqueur into the glass. ‘And if you don’t know the answers, you can just pop a pill to make yourself believe you’ve got it sorted. There are countless ways to sort out your relationship - coaching, counselling, couples hypnotherapy, cognitive therapy, regenerative therapy, etcetera, etcetera, but perhaps Chloe is trying to sort it out herself - the old fashioned way.’

‘Which is?’ ‘By talking.’ Thorsen quickly visualised waves of red energy pulsing through Sandy, from the soles of his feet up to his beating heart and to his brain, and then he pictured Sandy’s fatigue drop to the floor and disperse. He poured these images into the glass. ‘Chloe’s probably testing the water. She may not realise you're under pressure. She could be thinking, you don’t find her attractive because you’re not – you know, but things will soon return to normal, once you talk.’ ‘How can you be so sure?’ Sandy asked. Thorsen felt the tumbler grow hot in his hands and he quickly put it onto the counter. ‘I have a strong feeling,’ he replied, scooping some ice crystals from a drawer and dropping them into the glass. He placed it in front of Sandy. ‘On the house.’ ‘Cheers.’ ‘Anyway, Chloe hasn’t actually done anything has she? And she’s talking to you?’ Sandy nodded. ‘Well, now you’re aware of the problem, you need to keep talking, and push yourself to - you know.’ Sandy picked up the glass. ‘What’s this then?’ He smelled the liquid. ‘It smells nice.’ ‘It’s one of my new cocktails – unnamed as yet. I’ve been looking for a guinea pig to try it on.’ Sandy took a sip of the drink just as the café door opened with a cough. In stepped Mrs Claret, a little lady in her seventies who popped in every Friday afternoon for a pot of Assam tea and a slice of cake. Mrs Claret always wore a lavender scent and a hat, and that day she had on a waterproof green beret, and a cream mac that swamped her petite frame. She held a large black umbrella in her hand. She coughed again, as she walked up to the counter.

‘Hello, Thorsen, dear. A pot of Assam tea and a nice slice of...’ she peered into the glass cake box on the counter. ‘Is that carrot cake?’ ‘It’s carrot, orange and date.’ ‘A slice of that will be lovely.’ She took a seat next to Sandy. As Thorsen made the tea, Mrs Claret watched Sandy drink his cocktail out of the corner of her eye. ‘That was awesome!’ exclaimed Sandy, draining the glass. His circulation was revving up like an engine and he felt full of energy. ‘Another?’ Thorsen asked, feeling Mrs Claret’s eyes on his face, he smiled at her meekly. ‘Um, no,’ Sandy said excitedly as the colour began to seep back into his face. ‘I better not, I need to see Chloe. Thanks for the chat, mate.’ ‘You’re welcome.’ Before Sandy stepped out of the café, he turned and shouted, ‘Head Rush!’ ‘You what?’ asked Thorsen. ‘Head Rush – that’s what you should call your new cocktail!’ Thorsen smiled and nodded. Mrs Claret’s watched Thorsen as he cut her cake and she began to hum a tune. Thorsen placed a teapot in front of her. Mrs Claret suddenly stopped humming and a second later, heavy rain began to pour from the sky, followed by the howl of a gale. ‘There it is,’ she muttered to herself with a smile without turning around - as if she had ordered the storm herself. She rolled the handle of her umbrella in the palm of her hand. Thorsen almost dropped a china cup and saucer in front of her and it clattered. ‘Sorry.’ ‘Don’t apologise.’ She leant her umbrella by the counter. ‘With such late

autumns and warm winters, one expects random storms. Eventually there will be no distinction between the final throes of winter and the beginning of spring – it will be one, long season.’ She coughed again and rubbed her chest. ‘That’s a bad cough you have there. ’ ‘Self-induced,’ she said with a smile, as she cleared her throat. Her voice dropped to a whisper and there was a gleam in her eye, ‘I’ve been smoking cigarettes!’ Thorsen raised his eyebrows, ‘Real cigarettes?’ She nodded. ‘I cannot stand those ghastly vitaRettes – they are simply horrid. My husband would turn in his grave if he knew people inhaled vitamins with their smokeless nicotine. Where’s the fun in replacing something taboo with something that’s good for you? I am enjoying this cough, I tell you, Thorsen, and I plan to keep it for as long as possible,’ she said triumphantly. Thorsen chuckled. ‘Where did you get these cigarettes?’ ‘I bullied my poor grandson to fetch them – he’s such a sweet, sweet boy. Off he toddled to the black market on the edge of The Burnt Quarter where they are smuggled in from the Continent.’ Thorsen shook his head with a grin, Mrs Claret seemed such a demure old lady but she was more clued up than most. ‘I don’t know why they ever moved all the addicts to The Burnt Quarter,’ she said her eyes lost somewhere in the past. ‘Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose, but it’s taken the edge away. At least you had space to walk down the river when the addicts lived nearby, they kept themselves to themselves. Now you simply can’t move for all the tourists and shoppers.’ ‘They bring in the business though.’ ‘Of course,’ Mrs Claret nodded, ‘and how is business?’ ‘Fine,’ Thorsen replied. Mrs Claret’s eyes were expectant but he did not know what else to add.

‘You work very hard, Thorsen, to think you manage this place on your own and with no-one to share it with.’ Thorsen's eyes dropped to his hands. Do I appear that sad? ‘Well,’ said Mrs Claret gently, holding a small forkful of cake to her mouth. ‘I very much ire you and your cakes are divine, you have quite a talent with food.’ ‘Thanks.’ When the couple from the window table left, Thorsen watched them wrap an arm around each other and rush through the storm, laughing. Then Thorsen's eyes were pulled to a lone figure zigzagging towards his café. It was a thin wet girl, struggling to hold an even thinner coat above her head, and she looked exhausted by the gale. She used all her energy to pull open the café door, as the wind pushed it back. Just as Thorsen was about to go over and help, she made it through. She sloshed her way up to the counter, her bare arms like chicken skin, her jaw juddering and her cheeks red from where they had been pinched by the cold. She let out a huge gasp of relief. Thorsen shook his head. ‘You look like a drowned rat.’

EIKO

Thorsen threw me a tea-towel. I squeezed the ends of my hair with it, wiped my face, and threw it back. An elderly lady sat at the bar, slipped me a sympathetic look; she was suitably armed with an oversized mac and large umbrella. She had a mysterious purple glow around her head – a colour acquainted with innate wisdom, and she reminded me of Mary Poppins. I smiled at her and averted my eyes; I was slightly embarrassed by how I must have looked. Thorsen instantly picked up on this. ‘Aside from looking like a drowned rat, what on earth are they? Didn’t they go out with coal?’ he asked, pointing at my trainers.

‘They’re vintage!’ I retaliated. ‘Anyway, I thought this was a coffee shop not a fashion house.’ ‘Café,’ he corrected. ‘So, can I have a cappuccino or just fashion critique?’ ‘Today, both,’ he said shaking his head at my trainers. He began to make my drink. ‘Recycling has been fashionable for decades.’ ‘And footwear usually gets recycled into building materials, not on your feet. So really, you don’t have to put yourself through this.’ I shook my head, Thorsen didn’t get fashion – well, not my fashion.

After Mary Poppins left, I moved to a table with my second cappuccino, and a steaming bowl of apple pie and ginger custard. I watched Thorsen clear up and as he ambled about, his aroma wafted around the room; it was like freshly baked bread and onions caramelising in butter, underpinned with a not-so-pleasant smell of a hot engine, like an afterthought. Thorsen often carried his shadow behind him, and it was that of a huge sack filled with stones. He had all the signs of someone working themselves into the ground and burning out, and the sack seemed to be getting bigger each time I saw him. I hadn’t found Thorsen, Thorsen had found me. A couple of weeks after I’d arrived in Lakes City and after a bad night’s sleep, I got up at dawn for a cycle, and ended up in Low Arch Park. As the morning grew warmer, I sat under a silver birch tree and watched the early risers; I was finding out what Lakes City people were made of, by comparing them to their shadows. I soon realised Lakes City people were like other city people: a mixture of different breeds, except they also carried an air of contentment which probably came from living in a green city with its mountain backdrop, a city that was truly beautiful, whatever the weather. As I was sat under that tree, Thorsen was stood at a coffee stand, sipping one of his alcoholic caffè correttos. He told me afterwards, that when he first set eyes

on me, he had been so shocked that he had dropped his coffee cup onto the pavement. Eventually, he came over to my tree and said, ‘Please, can I speak with you?’ At first I thought he might be a weirdo, but then I noticed the intriguing depths of his eyes, so I agreed. Then Thorsen quietly said he could tell I had an extraordinary gift, and I was only the fourth person he had met with one. What was even more amazing was Thorsen was the first person I had met with his own unusual gift, until then, I had begun to think I was an anomaly. Meeting Thorsen was a huge relief, not to mention, he was the first friend I made in Lakes City. So there we were in his café, completely at ease in each other’s silence. It had stopped raining outside but the wind was howling. Eventually, Thorsen put down his sweeping brush and yawned loudly. ‘Have you cured any customers today?’ I asked. ‘One or two needed a helping hand, the norm.’ ‘Nothing interesting?’ Thorsen didn’t reply. He brought over a bottle of cognac and poured a large amber slug into his coffee cup. He tapped my cappuccino cup with the bottle. ‘Just a little.’ Thorsen’s eyes looked heavy as he slumped down next to me. Something was on his mind. We sat quietly for some time, drinking our coffees. Then Thorsen said, ‘Do you think I seem ...?’ he sighed, as if the next word was painful. ‘What?’ I asked with concern. ‘Lonely?’ ‘No,’ I answered in surprise. ‘I’m the one who’s lonely. You know lots of people.’ His face was blank and I realised that was not what he meant. ‘Do you feel lonely?’

‘Not really, I was just asking what you thought. I think other people see me as lonely.’ ‘You have me - I’m your friend.’ I quickly regretted sounding corny. ‘I know,’ he said, smiling for the first time. He rested his head precariously on the ornament shelf behind him, and I hoped no ornaments would tumble down on us. He sighed again. ‘We are born with chords attached from us - they’re invisible to the naked eye - and other people with whom we have, or we are supposed to have, a connection in life. Some people have many chords, others just a few. Without consciously realising it, most people can accept the alliances at the other end of their chords, or ignore them. Sometimes we cut them off ourselves, or they are cut from us. But cut chords remain open – like wounds to the soul.’ ‘Do we always find the people at the other end of our chords?’ ‘I think we’re always given a chance.’ He turned to look at me. ‘We don’t necessarily take it though. You and me, we have a very different type of chord, it is stronger than any others I have seen.’ ‘Really?’ I asked, impressed. ‘Can you see it, like now?’ ‘Yes. But I didn’t always see the chords and I definitely don’t see them all. The first time it happened, I was in my early twenties in this Dutch club called “Het is Geen Dag.” It was one of those clubs where so much flesh was on offer, you didn’t want any of it, but it was also a great music venue with some brilliant digital punk, and home of Bang Orchestra.’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘You should know about Bang Orchestra if you’re studying modern history. Ask one of your lecturers. Bang Orchestra were the first act to use senSor, instead of virtual mixing. Anyway, that night I had been totally inebriated when I noticed the first chord.’ ‘What did it look like?’ ‘Like a pale, translucent light in a thin wire, and it appeared between two men who were at opposite corners of the club. I thought it was the drugs at first, but

later on, they came together and kissed. I saw a few more chords that night: between a girl walking up to meet a friend, between couples getting off -’ ‘Did you see any chords attached to you?’ ‘Not that night, but soon enough,’ Thorsen’s eyes grew sad. ‘It was on a train about a week later.’ ‘With who?’ ‘With who? With who? Who with?’ he asked himself quietly. ‘Well, with who not would be easier to answer. I had chords with just about everyone in the carriage, Eiko, there must have been over forty people, all of them strangers.’ I gasped. ‘That means you must have had a connection with everybody.’ ‘I understood it as I should be there to help everybody, and that is how I still feel. Sometimes, I really want to help others, other times I don’t, but I can’t help myself.’ ‘And nobody ever helps you.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t need help.’ He didn’t sound convincing. ‘Maybe helping so many people is draining everything out of you,’ I said casually, putting a spoon of pie in my mouth. He sighed. ‘It’s just what I do and what I am.’ ‘Do you think there are other people like you, doing what you do?’ ‘I don’t know, perhaps in different ways.’ ‘And what about me? Are they people like me, sensing what I sense?’ ‘There are definitely more people like us, but perhaps their senses or gifts whatever you want to call them - work in different ways.’ Thorsen scratched his head. ‘I think people like us have more developed brains than other people. Perhaps we are just using our brains completely, in the way they were designed to be used.’ Thorsen poured himself another cognac.

‘You told me I was the fourth person you had met with an “extraordinary gift”, what about the other three?’ ‘I meant “met” as in I had actually talked to them about it. I have suspected many more people of having such a gift. One of the guys I spoke to was called Jimo and he could see with his fingers, in the dark, behind walls, under skin, it was extraordinary. Jimo described people like us as, “the most efficiently conformed creatures to our environment.” He believed our unusual gifts had evolved genetically, enabling us to adapt to society and our environment, and they could be ed on through our blood lines.’ I dropped my spoon back into my bowl. ‘Do you believe that?’ Thorsen shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘I’ll never know with my parents, but what about yours?’ He shook his head. ‘My father was nothing like me. I suppose my mother was quite intuitive, in fact, sometimes strangely intuitive. I’ve actually come across people and not realised they had gifts or unusual senses, but then realised it later on, after ing something they said or did. I don’t always have the ability to always see it in others, but I think it gets easier the older I get.’ ‘But you knew me straight away!’ ‘Yes, I knew you, Eiko.’ He tapped my head. ‘But then I always see troubled waters and you, my dear, were making great waves.’ ‘Says you,’ I huffed. ‘I can see you carrying the woes of the world on your shoulders.’ ‘Hmm.’ I ate another spoonful of apple pie. ‘Nice pie.’ ‘Skirting around the issue?’ ‘Ok,’ I crossed my arms. ‘I am still finding out who I am, I mean that’s normal for someone my age. I never knew my parents – so I don’t know where I came from, and then I have this overpowering sense of other people that makes me

feel alienated and weird. Then there’s the fact I can’t hold down a relationship, because I always see too much, and so I’ll never be in a happy relationship.’ I pushed the plate of pie away. ‘You asked a question about you, but the truth is, it applies to me as well.’ To my irritation, my voice began to break. ‘I am lonely, Thorsen, I have always felt lonely, and I don’t want to live my life alone.’ Thorsen placed an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. ‘It’s not always necessary to find the love of your life to stop feeling lonely. You need to be comfortable in your own skin and share your life with people who give you different things. You should live in the present, Eiko, if you keep looking for that perfect love, time will just slip by and ...’ he went quiet. I don’t know why, but his words made me angry. I pulled myself away from him. ‘You might be happy taking on everyone else’s crap and staying lonely, but I’m not doing that.’ Thorsen flinched and I instantly regretted my words. ‘That’s not true,’ he said quietly. ‘I know it’s not, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.’ I gave him a hug. ‘It’s OK. The truth is, we all need a big love affair in our life at some point, and that is what makes us all the same. I just don’t want you to waste time looking, when you should enjoy here and now. I am just used to not needing that special person anymore, I’m forty-four for Christ’s sake, I have to get on with my life the way it is.’ ‘So, have you ever met “that special person”?’ He ignored my question. ‘You could end up with someone totally wrong for you and I’ve done that a few times. I once had a relationship with this guy called Efan, about six years ago. We were like chalk and cheese but somehow we complimented each other - he was a good guy. But he became a hygienaphobe and it was difficult.’ ‘A what?’ ‘A hygienaphobe, he had a fear of cleanliness. Hygienaphobes are terrified that hygiene could leave them with no immunity to illnesses or diseases, and it

affects a lot of intelligent people who are usually under a lot of pressure. Efan fit the bill. He was very bright and had a lot of stressful things going on at work. When his illness started, he had therapy that helped him initially, and I tried to help him, but a cure was out of my remit because his illness just kept developing in many complex ways.’ Thorsen sighed. ‘And the worse Efan got, the crazier his behaviour got.’ ‘How?’ Thorsen threw his eyes to the air. ‘Where do I begin? Well, his personal hygiene slipped and obviously, that wasn’t nice, and then he started doing things like coming into the café during busy lunchtimes and throwing food over himself and other people.’ I tried to stop myself, but I started to giggle at the thought. ‘I’m sorry.’ Thorsen didn’t seem to mind. ‘The last straw was when we were at the So Club, and right in the middle of the dance floor...’ Thorsen sniggered, ‘... Efan took a dump. Then he rolled around in it like an animal.’ This time we both burst out laughing. ‘Really, it was awful. Eventually we split up.’ Thorsen stretched his arms in front of him and cracked his knuckles. ‘And since then, you’ve stayed miserably single?’ ‘Don’t be a bitch,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not. Don’t you want to settle down, and be loved up with a gorgeous man who can take care of you, instead of you always taking care of everybody else?’ ‘I wear the tros in all my relationships,’ he said a little too quickly. I saw a sadness in his eyes, so I shut up and ate the rest of my pie. Eventually, Thorsen spoke up. ‘Sorting out other people, just takes over. My customised foods don’t heal me, so I’ve kind of got used to feeling empty, but I can’t leave other people in pain - even if I don’t have the energy - I have to at least try to help them.’

‘When you share another person’s pain, does it halve the pain? Or double the pain, because it’s felt by both of you?’ Thorsen smiled. ‘I don’t know, Eiko, only you could think of that. All I know is I have a gift that can usually take away emotional pain, solve problems and cure mysterious psychological illnesses. It’s easy for people like us to read into others’ situations. Yet our weaknesses are our sophisticated minds may not solve the problems of those closest to us, or understand our own enigmas.’ Thorsen - as always - was talking sense. But there was something else causing Thorsen’s pain that he was not telling me about because I could see dark shadows flickering in his eyes, but I didn’t understand what they meant, not then. I grabbed the cognac bottle and poured us both a drink.

ZACH

Zach waited under a doorway opposite his street for the heavy rain to . He checked his watch and chuckled, as he had not been due to finish work for another hour. Zach had also arrived late to work that morning, causing Aldo to wear a face like thunder all day, but Aldo did not reprimand Zach, instead he moaned about his indigestion while Jigi fussed over him. Zach shook his head. She’s like a fly to shit. Jigi had kept out of Zach's way all day, and all he had picked up from her head was ‘he’s bad news.’ Zach was pleased she was out of his face. The heavy rain withdrew to a light shower. Zach pulled up his collar and crossed the road. He collided with a girl. He tutted at her. Silly mare. ‘Zach?’ said the girl. Zach looked up. The girl was petite and was wearing a short red cagoule. Don't know her, unless it’s Little Red Riding Hood. ‘Don't you recognise me?’ The girl laughed nervously. ‘It’s Marisse.’ Maybe he doesn’t recognise me with lighter hair, she thought. Zach played along. ‘Ah, Marisse! I didn’t recognise you, your hair is different.’

‘Yes,’ she smiled, ‘I went back to my roots. You ... you look great. Do you live here?’ ‘Over there.’ Zach pointed across the street. As Marisse followed the direction of his finger, Zach took the opportunity to study her. She is cute and vaguely familiar. Marisse turned back to him. ‘I come here often to visit my sister; she lives on the next street. Hey, you should call me sometime.’ She removed her fone from her cagoule. ‘We should go for a drink.’ And have great sex again. She pulled her wet fringe from her face. Zach raised his eyes. I've shagged her? I must have been wrecked, it’s hard to keep track sometimes. Marisse held out her fone. Zach touched it with his wrist to update his iDychip. ‘OK, Marisse, I’ll call you soon.’ I hope you do. ‘Goodbye, Zach. It’s lovely to see you.’ Zach watched her cross the street and walk away. Actually, she is really cute, shame I can't if she was any good in the sack. Zach made his way to his flat, but as he drew nearer, he saw a dark figure under an umbrella reading the nameplate on the door. ‘Who the hell is that?’ he mumbled. Only Zach and his landlady lived in the building and nobody ever visited her. The figure turned around and moved the umbrella to reveal wide childlike eyes. ‘G.’ Zach tried to hide his shock. ‘What a surprise. What are you doing here?’ ‘I thought I’d pop by,’ G replied casually. Thank God you’re here. I couldn't wait to see you. Couldn’t wait? wondered Zach. When I said we'd meet up again, I didn't mean so soon. ‘Well, you better come in.’

Once inside his flat, Zach excused himself to change out of his wet clothes. G removed her coat and arranged herself on Zach's mesh sofa. She lay across one sofa arm, but decided to sit up straight and pulled her hair to one side. She finally moved her arms over the back of the sofa, pulled in her stomach and pushed out her chest. ‘I’m trying too hard,’ she said to herself. She picked up a newsConsole from the coffee table, thinking she would look sophisticated viewing the day’s news, but when she turned it on, a music video blasted out from a holoProjector onto the coffee table; a miniature hologram of the D' Rise Girls grooved and thrust around the empty coffee cups. G quickly knocked the console off. She reclined back onto the sofa and looked around. The first time she had been at the flat, she had been far too engrossed in Zach to notice the décor. She craned her neck to get a better view of the balcony outside the glass patio door. The balcony was covered in light-reactive pebbles glowing shades of blue and green in the rain, with a few potted plants dotted around. She glanced around the minimalist living room; it was tiled in large squares of slate and ceramic. Another sofa was positioned against a wall, and a muscle toning machine stood in the corner. The lounge had a kitchenette at one end, with a large transparent fridge. Inside the fridge, G could see beer cartons, a vodka bottle, eggs, fruit and milk. She smiled. Typical bachelor: not as much as a bottle of purple champagne in there. Suddenly, Zach appeared in front of G. He was only wearing a pair of dark blue slacks. He rubbed his dark hair with a towel and threw the towel over the muscle toning machine. G ran her eyes over Zach’s defined torso; he had a raised scar on the lower right side of his abdomen, and she had not noticed it the last time. The scar looked like it was pointing towards his pelvis, and G felt herself go weak. Zach grinned. His eyes wandered over her in her snug gold tros and sheer blouse, spread out on his sofa. G shut her eyes briefly. I feel so nervous, I feel sick. I should just give it to him now. She’s keen, Zach surmised. G fumbled in her bag and pulled out a black box. I hope he doesn’t hate it. ‘I –

err... I bought you a gift.’ O-K, thought Zach. ‘Well, why don't you come over here and give it to me?’ G stood up and handed him the box. Zach flipped open the lid to reveal a spectacular gold necklace. Fucking hell, this looks first-class. G watched his face. I can tell he likes it. She glanced at the necklace. Deep sea gold was an excellent choice. Zach soaked this up with amazement. He knew it was time to impress her. ‘It’s awesome, G, I don’t know what to say – I mean, thank you – thank you, so much.’ He ran his fingers over the chain. ‘I could swear - no, it can't be ...’ he looked at her sideways, ‘I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but is this made out of deep sea gold?’ ‘Oh, my God!’ G held her hands up with excitement. ‘It is, fancy you knowing that, Zach, you are so knowledgeable!’ And you are very extravagant, noted Zach. ‘Well, you really shouldn’t have.’ G pointed at the gems in the chain, but quickly withdrew her finger. He’ll know they’re sapphires and diamonds. ‘Here, let me put it on for you.’ G undid the clasp. Zach stared at the gems in amazement. I didn’t realise they were real. ‘Wow, G, the mix of diamonds and sapphires is stunning, this is such a huge, huge gift.’ G could not stop smiling. He’s such a man of class. Zach had to stop himself laughing. She is too easy. G moved behind Zach to fasten the necklace and took a moment to smell the skin of his back. Zach turned around, his face inches from hers. ‘Thank you, babe.’ As G straightened the necklace on his collarbone, she felt slightly dizzy. Oh

God, being this close to him is overwhelming. Zach ran his eyes down her décolletage and before G could move away, Zach had a hand behind her neck. He paused to look into her eyes – he knew it was all in the eyes and the easiest way to fake emotion - then he kissed her. G melted under his touch. As Zach roughly ripped her blouse from her, G began to protest, but he pulled her lips into his own. Never mind, he heard her sigh, I can always buy another one.

Zach and G lay knotted in his sheets. Zach was snoozing. G was wide awake; her head perched on one hand, marvelling at him. Your face is so perfect and so completely symmetrical. I think I’m in love with you, but I can't say it, in case you don’t love me back because I’m not pretty enough or my hips are too wide. ‘Are you ok?’ Zach said drowsily as he pushed away her thoughts. ‘Yes, shhh go back to sleep.’ He is so handsome, more handsome then I from our first night, and so clever. It would be amazing if he loved me back. If he doesn’t, I'll make him love me. I'll do anything he wants. Zach turned around because G's sentimental ramblings were drilling holes into his dreams. He tried to go back to sleep, but he could not. Eventually, he got up and put his slacks back on. He decided it was better if G did not get too comfortable, or she would think she could stay over whenever she wanted. He bent down to kiss her on her shoulder and then her lips. He whispered, ‘You are going to have to go, babe.’ ‘Go?’ Surely he’s joking. ‘I’m sorry, but I have a work colleague coming over soon to check a project before tomorrow morning’s presentation.’ Zach sighed convincingly. ‘Oh... OK.’ G forced a smile but inside she felt crushed. I mustn’t act clingy, she told herself. Zach noticed not even a frown dented her perfect face. I already know you’re

clingy, but you’re also one hot and rich chick. ‘Look, babe, I’ll call you tomorrow. We can go out tomorrow night and do something special.’ ‘Yes,’ G felt slightly better. ‘I haven’t got anything planned, I mean - I don’t think so,’ she added as an afterthought so not to sound desperate. G changed as Zach tidied up. She was about to put on her knickers, but decided to leave them on the floor to remind him of her. Zach showed G to the door, gave her a long ionate kiss and peered into her clear eyes. ‘I love you, babe’ he whispered. G swallowed a lump in her throat. Is this really happening? He loves me? ‘I am so sorry you have to go.’ Zach opened the door. G felt the traces of her earlier disappointment evaporate. He said he loves me, wow. As G walked out the door, Zach slapped her behind playfully. ‘You’re perfect,’ he declared, knowing this was another one of her insecurities he could put away. G turned and blew him a sultry kiss. As Zach closed the door behind her, G stood at the top of the stairs and held onto the banister to steady herself. She replayed what had just happened over and over in her head. He said he loves me. She shook her head in wonder and glanced at the door before she left. ‘I love you too, Zach’ she muttered, tears free-falling down her face. ‘I really, really love you.’ As Zach returned to his bedroom, he caught his reflection in the mirrored wall. He touched the gold necklace; it looked even more stunning against his tanned skin. Quite a piece, but really, is it any wonder G has fallen in love with me? I’m strong, suave, sexy and self-assured. In fact, I’m fucking irresistible. He glanced at the bed, straightened the covers and without looking down, picked up G's knickers and dumped them in a bin. Then he took a long shower and got dressed. Zach dived onto his bed with his fone. Now I’m really in the mood. He pressed

his fone screen against his wrist and a picture of Marisse popped up on the screen. Time to invite you over, baby.

Chapter Six

EIKO

She stood before me like a twelve-foot tall angel, dazzling and fierce, towering yet fallen. Her feet were at least two metres apart and rooted firmly into the ground; her muscular calves like pillars astride my own puny knees. My head didn't even reach the boulders of her knees. I sat mesmerised by her wings; they climbed up from her back like black flames, and curled and snapped at me, the tips like snarling dragon heads. My vision was split, as a dazzling blade swung dangerously close to my face. Light reflected off the blade and ricocheted around my eyes. ‘YOU WILL COME WITH ME!’ she demanded. ‘You could say “please”!’ I dropped my head back onto my bed and groaned. The daunting twelve-foot shadow of Faith ebbed away, leaving five-foot-four Faith behind. ‘But even if you did, it wouldn't matter. I don’t feel like a flipping magnum run, I don't know why you hired the damn boots.’ ‘It’s mag-net not “mag-num,” you poop. I hired the boots to make sure you’d come out with me, and if you don’t, you’re wasting my money.’ I pushed the bladed boot back towards her. It swung on its chord and nearly smacked her in the face. She quickly stopped it with her hand. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘Look, Faith, you don’t understand, I want to mope. I couldn’t be more miserable if I tried, so I may as well indulge myself in this shitty feeling, and who knows? I might even begin to enjoy it.’ She dropped the boot onto the floor with the others and grabbed her forehead in mock pain. ‘Wh-wh-why is my life so shit?’ She was mocking me alright, but I didn't bite.

‘Why not?’ she asked again like an adult, so I decided to answer her. I shut my eyes as I recalled my dream. ‘I woke up this morning, and for a while I thought I was next to Ade - my ex, but I was just dreaming, and then I really woke up and I ed...’ ‘ed what?’ ‘I’m alone. I will always be alone and unhappy.’ ‘That’s ridiculous. Anyway, I thought Ade didn’t make you happy?’ she asked. How she was asking I couldn't tell, so I opened one eye. Faith looked far too amused for her own good. ‘Yeah!’ I replied sarcastically, opening my other eye, ‘But at least I was with someone and I was happier than I am now, waking up alone in a huge fucking bed, in a huge stupid city. Maybe it’s better being unhappy with someone else than being unhappy on your own.’ Faith was trying not to laugh. ‘And I have to ask myself, what the hell would I be even thinking, going on a magnum – bloody magnet - run with a friend who laughs at my misery? So I’ll stay here - all day if I want, eat crap and drink myself to death in my HUGE FUCKING BED!’ Faith burst out laughing. She laughed so hard, she fell to the floor. I sat up when she didn’t get up. Faith was rolling around on the floor with the magnet boots, Cinko my cat, and my dirty clothing. Cinko thought it was a game and began swatting the beads in Faith’s hair. I tried to stay angry, but the amalgamation of strip-stripes, tangled hair, giggles and loud purrs was ridiculous, and I couldn’t help laughing. Faith untangled Cinko’s paws from her hair, gave the puss a kiss on her dark orange nose, and got up from the floor. She grabbed my hands and tried to pull me up. ‘Come on, this is why we should go for a magnet run, it’s an evil buzz. It will cheer you up no end, never mind the fresh air and sunshine. Have you even seen how gorgeous the weather is?’ I glanced at the window and shook my head.

‘We can go to The Pudding and Tipple after we’ve burned off some energy and have wine and cake. You know Matt was meant to come up this weekend but he’s working, so if you don’t come with me, I’ll be as miserable as you, and we’ll have to get fat and pissed together in your huge bed. Did I tell you I fidget? Well I do, terribly, so we’ll never even get to the death stage before you kick me out, so we’ll just end up fat with alcohol poisoning, then you’ll never ever get a boyfriend, Matt will dump me, and we’ll have to find another way to die.’ Faith sighed. ‘The next attempt could be messy.’ I considered how rambling and pig-headed Faith was, then realised she had similar traits to me. I was defeated. I pulled off my slippers and threw them against the wall one by one and plodded into the bathroom to reheat the bath water. Faith grinned. ‘I’ll make you some coffee.’

ZACH

Zach yawned loudly from where he was slumped against a tram window. Marisse had kept him up until six a.m. He shook his head. Last night was ambitious and she was insatiable, how could I have not ed her? And she was a piss-cart. He sighed at the thought of his depleted wine cupboard. Zach glanced at the town hall clock through the tram window; it was 11:15am. Zach was not worried that he was over two hours late for work, because Aldo was on holiday. Before his stop, Zach struggled to get up from the seat. Then he nearly fell out of the tram door. He groaned with fatigue as he walked to his office. He entered the floor of his office. Zach could see Jigi across the landing behind a glass screen. She glanced up at him, and her tense thoughts flew at him like darts. Zach stopped in his tracks. Jigi was sat on the edge of her chair. She nervously pulled her fringe from her face and nodded to someone on her right, who Zach could not see. He wondered who it was; he doubted it was Aldo, because she would not be so edgy. Zach could not stand the suspense any longer

and purposefully strode towards her. As the glass screen slid open, a voice boomed, ‘So glad you could us, Mr Coombes.’ Panic rose through Zach’s body. Atherton, the company’s boss stepped in front of him like a pissed-off, pinstriped-box. Zach shook his head. Of all bloody days. Atherton crossed his thick arms across his wide chest, his face wrinkled by years of stress. The boy better speak up. ‘Sir,’ murmured Zach. ‘Err - I had a flood in my flat.’ Atherton's forehead creased up. ‘Do not take me for a fool, Coombes. I’ve been running this business for thirty-four years and I know bullshit when I hear it. I am very disappointed you’ve turned up this late. ‘Sorry, Sir,’ Zach replied meekly. Atherton uncrossed his arms and sat on the edge of Jigi's desk. ‘It was highlighted by one of our clients that your service has been pretty slack recently. So, that led me to speak to some of the other clients in your portfolio, and at least three of them told me they have received some very unusual data from you.’ Atherton took a moment to gage Zach's reaction. Zach blinked hard. The virtualERun programme must have generated more errors than I thought. ‘So I dropped by this morning, to talk to your regional manager, but Jigi tells me he's on leave. And what do I find?’ Atherton raised his heavy eyebrows. ‘Well, you can’t be bothered to turn up to work on time, or for that matter, stay at work until it's time to leave. I'm very disappointed, especially when I think of what I’m paying you.’ Zach's felt very unwell. He wondered who had told Atherton he had been leaving work early and was vaguely aware of Jigi wrestling with her conscience. He cocked his head towards her to listen and picked up from her mind, I just told him what he knew anyway. Poor Zach. Zach glared at Jigi, she quickly looked away. Not so fucking dumb after all, he

thought. ‘Well, Coombes? Have you anything to say?’ prompted Atherton. Zach felt numb. What can I say that will make a difference? I know what's coming. He shook his head. Atherton stood up again and crossed his arms. ‘I am very sad, Coombes,’ his eyes softened, ‘you had such great potential - you’re a very bright young man.’ Atherton paused to consider his next words, but Zach heard them being arranged before they were spoken. ‘I’ll try to make this easy for you, because I don’t want to ruin your future, so you can resign with immediate effect. Otherwise, you’ll face an automatic dismissal for gross performance and you know that will be recorded on your iDychip.’ ‘I’ll resign,’ Zach said weakly. He thought he heard Jigi wail and glanced at her. Her mouth was closed - it had come from within. ‘I’ll resign,’ he said again, more to confirm it to himself than anything. Atherton nodded slowly. ‘Well, I am sure you will learn from this experience. I am very sad about this, Coombes, but I cannot accept your bad behaviour and poor performance. Go and collect your personal belongings, bring them back here for me to check before you leave.’ For the first time in a very long time, Zach did not know what to do, so he just did what he was told. He was frightened - frightened of what he had just lost, but even worse, terrified of the future. He never conceived in his wildest dreams that this might happen to him, he always managed to avoid the bad things because he could hear them coming. But he had not seen this coming at all and he realised he had become complacent and careless. As he stepped into his office he reprimanded himself, ‘You stupid, stupid fool.’

EIKO

Faith led me to The Serpentine - a magnet run in the north of the City. I was very nervous; I had only ever seen the sport broadcast and the combination of metal-

on-metal and breakneck-speed was not very appealing. Faith reassured me until I put the boots on and earplugs in. I took her hand and she led me onto the magnetised run that extended before us like a river of steel. Faith showed me how to slide one leg in front of the other and as I did so, the magnets in the run were activated and pulled me across the metal, towards The Serpentine’s labyrinth. Whenever I tried to speed up or stop, the run read my boot’s sensors and allowed this, and I found I was safer than I first thought. Faith strode on ahead of me, but I quickly gained my confidence and caught her up. We wove in and out of The Serpentine’s glittering forest and uphill through gardens of flowers and tropical plants. We rode over a long viaduct, and I could see three other magnet-runners ahead who wove around each other under a waterfall, plaiting paths with delight, while their energy bounced off the metal like a rainbow. My mood was lifted so high, I felt exhilarated and kept laughing, and Faith laughed with me. We swung under a waterfall that looked like fuzzy moving glass and got lightly sprayed with water. We ran down to a long bridge over a swirling pool where the two Lakes City rivers collided, then we glided around a lake that was packed with huge lily pads. Finally, we strode back up to the starting point and as I slowed down, I felt the weight of my body in my legs. The magnets released us, and Faith and I collapsed onto a bench, gleaming with perspiration. ‘So was I right or was I just right?’ Faith was breathless. ‘I think you were actually right. I promise not to argue with you, ever again. That was brilliant - I feel like I’ve run a marathon!’ ‘Exactly.’ She wiped her face with her T-shirt. ‘Are we going to have some booze and cake to undo all the good work?’ I laughed. ‘It would be rude not to.’

ZACH

Zach could not his journey home. He climbed the stairs to his flat in a

daze, only to find his landlady, Miss Cottam, banging on his front door. Miss Cottam was draped in a stained and tatty dressing gown that half exposed a chest that was wrinkled as old leather. Zach adverted his eyes, he felt slightly nauseated, although more so by the fact he owed her money. ‘Zashary, darrrling,’ Miss Cottam slurred, her breathe pickled in alcohol. ‘My hasssn't been credished for agesh - you're a naawty, naawty boy.’ She waved a crooked finger at him and stepped closer. ‘Why don't you come here and give me a big kisssh?’ Zach took a large step back and Miss Cottam almost fell over, and she struggled to steady herself. When Zach had first viewed his flat, he had picked up Miss Cottam’s crude thoughts about him, so he turned on his charm and played up to her flirtations, just enough for her to believe she may have a chance with him. He found if he took the time to talk to her and pretend he was interested in her nonsense, he sometimes managed to dodge paying rent, and she easily lost track of which months had been paid for. Zach did not find it easy flirting with Miss Cottam; she was wearing hard into her late forties and her face and body were ravaged by alcohol. Sometimes, his interest and flattery was not enough and Miss Cottam pressed for more, so Zach would buy her a couple of bottles of cheap spirits, and then she would retreat into her flat - where all the days rolled into one - drink herself into a stupor and forget about Zach and the rent. That day, Zach did not have the energy to play games. He glanced up and down Miss Cottam’s withered body with disgust and pushed past her. ‘You’ll get last month’s rent by Monday,’ he said before he slammed the door in her face. Miss Cottam wobbled by his door as she tried to soak up what had just happened. She could not believe that Zachary, her sweet, darling Zachary, had treated her like that. A mixture of anger and self-pity slipped down her throat and it made her shake. Eventually, she managed to find her voice and she hammered on his door with her thin fists. ‘Make shure you have my money by Monday, that ish it!’ She gave the door a kick but stubbed her toe through her thin slipper and wailed in pain. She staggered back down to the basement to sob into a bottle. Zach waited by the other side of his door until he heard her leave. He felt a

flicker of guilt, but he quickly put it out. He got himself a beer, flicked on his com and brought up his bank summary. He knew his would not be great, but he did not expect it to be as bad as it was. He had three recent bank fines caused by laziness more than anything because he never paid anything on time. As he glanced down the last month’s transactions, he ed he had bought two bespoke suits, a grey leather tube coat, and he had several expensive nights knocking back champagne cocktails. There was nowhere near the five thousand creds he needed for the previous month’s rent, just enough to see him through the week at a push. If he had not lost his job, he would have received twenty thousand creds at the end of the month. There was a knock on the door. Zach tried to pick up the visitor’s thoughts through the heavy wood, but they were not forthcoming. If it’s Miss Cottam, I’ve some serious brown nosing to do, as I can’t pay her. He took a deep breath and opened the door, but he was met with a wall of navy. It was Mervin. Zach smiled, ‘Boy, am I glad it’s you.’ Mervin raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you would expect me today. You said we were going to find lots of pretty girls for me to impress.’ Mervin screwed up his nose. ‘I did not think the one that let me in was very pretty.’ Zach sniggered. ‘That's my landlady. I completely forgot going out, but it’s fine, although your about five hours too early to head to a club.’ Mervin scratched his head. ‘I came early because I have not been to where you live and perhaps it is time I had a look around your flat.’ ‘Of course,’ Zach frowned. ‘Although I doubt I’ll be living here for much longer.’

EIKO

The Pudding and Tipple was in a huge hexagonal building with walls of swirling red crystal and black stone, Faith called it ‘raspberry-granite.’ A slate bar dissected the hexagon room and behind it stretched an impressive wall of

suspended wine bottles. As I lifted my aching legs onto a burgundy bar chair, large warm hands pressed against my backside. I yelped. ‘Oh, the seats are gripLeather.’ Faith chuckled as she ed me a menu. ‘It’s good for your posture and of course, it keeps you sat longer.’ Several silver speakerOrbs floated above us like planets and they streamed down relaxing music. Aromas of coffee and hot caramel drifted around, but I could smell something less enticing behind the sugary mask: a scent with a coppery edge, so I tipped back my head to unravel the source. To my surprise, tiny black raindrops fell onto my face, but when I touched my skin, it was dry. I turned to Faith. Her head was buried in a menu, unaware that she too was being showered with mysterious, black shadow-rain. ‘Wine?’ a male voice asked from my left. ‘Yes,’ I replied, not really noticing him. The coppery smell was growing stronger by the second. ‘Which one?’ he asked. I turned to him and watched the black drops pitter-patter onto his face then disappear. I gasped as I suddenly realised what the smell was. ‘Blood!’ The black rain stopped. ‘Sorry?’ The waiter’s accent had a Danish edge. ‘I don't know that wine - do you mean a heavy red?’ I regarded I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine carefully, he had jet-black hair and grey eyes set in a fine face. He wore a long T-shirt, studded with black crystals and his skinny legs were encased in distressed pipes. Faith prodded me and I answered. ‘Um yes, a heavy red - surprise me.’ ‘Perhaps a liquorice Cabernet?’ he smiled slowly. ‘I have a special one in the cellar, just for you.’ I nodded. ‘I'll have the same,’ Faith added. I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine winked at me and off he went.

‘Was he flirting with you or what?’ giggled Faith. ‘I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed - if I was single, of course.’ I felt her hand grip my arm. ‘Are you listening? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ I felt like I had, because as my eyes followed I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine, my blood turned cold. His shadow trailed behind him clumsily, clothed in a long tattered tunic that swept along the floor, leaving a gleaming black slick on the stone flags. Although the slick was just a shadow, it was unmistakeably blood, unmistakeably, because even if I had not recognised the coppery smell trailing from the slick, I certainly recognised the large axe swinging in the shadow's right arm. I watched in horror as I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine and his shadow disappeared down the steps at the end of the bar. My throat felt tight as I surmised we were being waited on by a murderer - maybe a murderer in a past life, but possibly one in the present, or future. The black rain could be suggesting that The Pudding and Tipple was - or could be - the setting of I-Don’t-KnowThat-Wine’s murderous acts. He hadn't been flirting with me at all, he was probably sizing me up like a slab of flesh, and he probably wanted to chop me up. ‘I don’t think you look too good.’ Faith touched my hand with hers. ‘Wow, your skin is really cold, maybe you need to eat something.’ Faith’s halo was spinning gently over her head and the concern in her face was temporarily grounding. I wondered if I was wrong and the horror belonged to the past. But what if I said nothing and the waiter was a killer? ‘Actually, I’m not OK.’ I struggled to find a subtle way to broach the subject. ‘I hearing something strange about this place - it’s got a weird past, hasn’t it?’ Faith sighed with relief. ‘Is that it? I thought you had magnet-running trauma.’ ‘You can get “magnet running trauma”?’ I gasped in disbelief. ‘It just makes you feel sick, but it soon es.’ ‘Well I don't feel sick. I just ed there was something really strange about this place.’ ‘But that was years ago.’

I was slightly relieved that whatever ‘it’ was appeared to be in the past. ‘It’s quite eerie though, isn't it?’ ‘I suppose so, if you’re squeamish,’ Faith rolled her eyes, ‘but I don’t think it is. As a doctor in training, I have to practically bathe in blood, shit and guts. Death doesn’t shock me and although this place has seen a lot of death, it was well over a century ago.’ I suddenly did feel quite sick. I was also shocked that sweet, angelic Faith - my lovely friend - didn’t give a toss about relaxing in a wine bar that was the former setting of numerous murders. To make it worse, I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine came trudging back towards us with two fishbowl glasses of dark red wine, his shadow looming behind him. As he set the glasses in front of us, the evil murderer albeit evil murderer in another life - winked at me, and I had to use all my will to stop myself gagging. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ he asked, his grey eyes smiling. He didn't fool me. ‘Not for me.’ I laughed sarcastically. ‘Somehow, I’ve lost my appetite.’ Faith gasped. ‘Are you sure? The puddings and cakes here are first class.’ I shook my head. Faith smiled at I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine. ‘Well, I’ll have the pear in hazelnut crumb with red chocolate.’ She handed him back her menu. I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine waited for a moment, as if I was going to change my mind, then he had the bloody cheek of flirting with me by slowly moving his gaze from my eyes to my lips – as if I was going to be tempted by the murdering bastard. I was repulsed. I shook my head angrily at him. He shrugged his shoulders as nonchalantly as he probably did when he cut through all that flesh with his axe. Off he went to get Faith’s pudding, his shadow raising the axe behind him as if it was going to cut Faith's cake with the huge blade. Faith muttered harshly in my ear, ‘All that fuss about cake and now you don't want any, but that's no reason to be so rude to the waiter! What is up with you, today?’

‘I couldn’t eat if I tried!’ I protested. ‘I just can’t, and I don't know how you can eat in this place after knowing so much blood has been shed here. To even bring me here is gross!’ ‘Oh, come on, you eat meat don’t you?’ ‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’ ‘You can’t pretend that animals don’t die to get on your plate - they’ve got to die somewhere!’ ‘What?’ It was like a brick landed onto my thick skull and cracked some sense into me. ‘You brought me to a slaughter house?’ ‘A former slaughter house, it was well over a century ago.’ Faith sighed loudly. ‘Oh, I give up!’ I dropped my head into my hands. ‘I thought - I - oh, it doesn't matter, just forget it!’ I giggled and then I laughed until I was almost hysterical. I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine returned with Faith’s pudding, and I smiled at him and even ordered an orange-crackle tart. It was not bad - not bad at all - flirting with a good-looking, former slaughterman. Faith shook her head at me, so I reined in my manic laughter. ‘Seriously, Eiko, I don’t get you sometimes, if I didn’t know you better I’d say you're on drugs.’ ‘Never had any.’ I pinched a spoonful of her pear pudding. ‘Well perhaps that’s your problem, you have no outlet for release and you’re highly-strung.’ ‘Cheers.’ Faith considered me carefully. ‘Have you’ve not had anything, ever?’ I shook my head as I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine reappeared with my tart. He placed it in front of me, winked at me and left. I giggled. Faith was staring at me

for an answer. ‘Never. I’ve never taken anything, ever’ ‘Wow.’ ‘It’s not like I’ve consciously told myself “I’m never going to take drugs”, it’s just that they’ve not been around me, and I’ve never thought about whether I wanted to experiment with them.’ I wanted to explain to Faith that on any normal day, my brain felt opened up in the way I’d heard drugs made other people feel, but of course I didn't say anything. I’d done her head in enough for one day. ‘I bet that’s why you sometimes feel like your head caves in and you can't cope, like this morning.’ ‘What and you think getting off-my-head is the answer?’ ‘Maybe. For some people it can be an occasional release - like a cerebral spring clean.’ ‘And what about you?’ ‘I’m no angel.’ She shook her head and her halo quivered disputably. ‘When I was in my late teens, my older cousin had one of those hypherCocaine vaporisers on prescription for his nasal polyps, and I'd have a hoot on that every now and then. It was fabulous - fine gaseous cocaine – minimum blockage. That was my first flirtation with anything. But he cancelled his prescription after six months because he said he felt like a dog on a continuous walk.’ ‘What does that mean?’ ‘He’d constantly need to poo, run around and he’d have a hard on – sometimes at the same time.’ ‘Gross.’ I placed my spoon back on my plate ‘Sorry’ she replied meekly. ‘So what else have you tried, Dr. Faith?’

‘Distilled Cannabis – but it made me moody, synth-H – just once - but it made me sick, hariphorum and serenzium - they’re fairly palatable pharmaceutical highs, and ampAcid a few times, all in the name of research, of course. ’ ‘That last one sounds like something for indigestion.’ ‘ampAcid's a psychedelic stimulant.’ ‘Is that everything?’ I laughed. ‘You can’t train to be a doctor and not know what you’re dealing with, besides, all the stuff I tried was legal, so it was quality controlled and I wasn’t doing anything illegal.’ ‘It isn’t just about quality,’ said a voice, we both looked up at I-Don’t-KnowThat-Wine. ‘The best thing the government did by legalising those drugs was taking away the hassle of finding a good dealer.’ ‘Right.’ I nodded, trying to look like I knew what he was on about. I-Don’t-Know-That-Wine smiled at me before he moved across the bar to serve another customer. ‘Anyway, I don't do drugs like that now,’ Faith added. ‘Nor am I suggesting you should - there are always some health risks. However, I would never say never to the super-safe drugNarratives on the market, like situX or alter8, where you take your mind to another place for as long you want. My drug of choice would be the MMS group.’ ‘What’s that?’ ‘Music-Media-Stimulants, like Revlit180 – they are syntheDrugs you can party hard with, without any side effects. They’re quite effective if you need your head swept out.’ ‘What?’ I attempted another mouthful of orange tart. ‘Never mind.’ Her eyes lit up, ‘I’ve got an idea. Let’s finish here, then head down to one of the smartBooths on King’s Reach, we should get something to take your mind off things and my mind off you, and then we should go out!’

‘Oh, I'm not sure,’ I protested. ‘Trust me,’ Faith promised, grabbing my hand in hers. ‘I'm the doctor ? Besides...’ she paused. ‘I’m waiting.’ ‘You said you'd never argue with me again.’ I groaned as I ed that I had.

ZACH

Mervin was sat cross-legged on Zach’s floor, tallying up the flat’s contents in his head with a mental ‘tick’ for every object. Zach was laid on his couch rubbing his temples; he could feel the onset of a headache, so he rolled towards the back of the couch to shut out Mervin’s ticks. Mervin finally finished counting up one hundred and thirty-six tiles, two hundred and fifty-six circles on the rug, and eight energy sockets. Suddenly, he screeched, ‘Spunky steel scourgers!’ ‘What?’ spluttered Zach. Mervin began to pant and bubbles of perspiration appeared on his forehead. ‘Uuh-huh spunky ste-uh-huh-el scourgers.’ Zach sat up. ‘Have you been taking your meds recently?’ Mervin nodded. ‘Spun-huh-ky ste-he-heel scoo-hu-hurgers,’ he repeated weakly as he tried to catch his breath. Zach gate-crashed Mervin’s thoughts, but he could only pick up scrambled letters and numbers. ‘Is “spunky steel scourgers” an anagram?’

Mervin nodded weakly and shut his eyes. ‘Ok, you need to calm down,’ coaxed Zach, moving in front of him. ‘Open your eyes and look at me.’ Mervin opened his eyes and eventually stopped hyperventilating, but his face was panic-stricken. Zach knew that once Mervin managed to convey what he really meant, the panic would go. ‘Now, why don't you tell me what is worrying you? We can sort it. What is “spunky steel scourgers”?’ ‘Spunky steel scourgers!’ Mervin replied. ‘I know that, but what does it mean? Can you unscramble it?’ Mervin did not answer, but Zach managed to pluck the words right out of his head. ‘Surplus energy sockets?’ ‘Yes,’ Mervin nodded, he began to feel better. ‘“Surplus energy sockets”!’ Zach raised an eyebrow, ‘I don’t understand.’ Mervin slowly pointed to each energy socket in the lounge and kitchenette. ‘You have eight of them - that is banned, the maximum is six in a space. Don’t you know the advert: “ the slick-six, have a conscience - cut your consumption”?’ Zach shook his head. Mervin got worked up about the smallest things. ‘If it’s banned, I’ll have a word with the landlady and sort it, OK?’ Mervin nodded. Zach went to the fridge to get another beer. Mervin frowned. ‘Are you annoyed with me, Zach?’ Zach quickly turned around. ‘No - not at all.’ Mervin looked perplexed.

‘I’m not annoyed with you - you’re my mate.’ Mervin scratched his head. ‘Then why are your eyebrows closer to your eyes than normal?’ ‘I’ve just had a bad day,’ Zach replied, handing Mervin a beer. Mervin shook his head. ‘No, thank you. Can I have some euthanasia tea?’ ‘I hope you mean Echinacea.’ Mervin nodded. ‘I only have black tea.’ Mervin scratched his nose. ‘OK.’ Zach put a tea-ball into a mug and poured on boiling tap water. ‘So, why is today “a bad day”?’ asked Mervin. Zach handed him the tea. ‘Today’s a really bad, bad day.’ He dropped onto his sofa like a dead weight. ‘I was forced to resign from my job.’ ‘Oh,’ said Mervin quietly, ‘did you do your job badly?’ ‘Well, I did quite a few things badly, I suppose. So now I’m jobless and I can’t afford my rent, and I have to give my landlady five thousand creds for last month. So unless I want to be homeless, I am going to have to go back home with my tail between my legs, and we both know that is not a good idea.’ ‘No, it is not.’ Mervin suddenly gasped. ‘I can pay your rent, Zach, I have a lot of savings in my .’ ‘No, mate!’ Zach protested, feeling ashamed. ‘I can’t take your money, Mervin, you’re my mate - my best mate.’ ‘That is why you should take my money, only you will not really be taking it, because I will want it back – all of it, but not yet.’ He pulled up a sleeve and exposed his iDychip. ‘I can lend you another five thousand creds to cover next month’s rent too.’

Zach thought about the offer, he knew he had no other option. ‘You’re amazing, Mervin, I will pay you back, every credit, I promise.’ ‘By the end of the year will do.’ ‘Ah, that’s absolutely fantastic, thanks, mate.’ Zach logged onto his com. Mervin scanned his chip onto the com’s port to transfer the funds. ‘Shall we look for another job before we go out?’ suggested Mervin. Zach laughed. ‘It will take longer than that to find me a job - I don’t even know what I should be looking for. All I can do is data analysis and programme development, and to be honest, it bores the crap out of me. Maybe that’s why I messed around at work most of the time.’ Mervin scratched his chin. ‘So, change.’ ‘It’s not easy Mervin, I’m not like you. You can turn your mind to anything you want, but I have no experience of anything else. I wouldn’t know where to start.’ ‘Why don’t you go to university to learn something new?’ Mervin’s eyes lit up. ‘You could come to my university!’ ‘With what? I left school at sixteen.’ ‘It does not matter. I saw an advert at my university, I know it, listen.’ Mervin’s eyes went dead and his voice deepened. ‘“Do you want to work in industry? Perhaps you are already employed in the industrial sector, but have no formal qualifications and want to get ahead of the game? At Lakes University, we can unlock your potential. We offer all the latest euroVocational courses and have funding available for courses in Industrial Science, Robotic Engineering and Mountain Sports Education. Currently undersubscribed courses include The Turbine Engineering Programme with a remunerating placement at The Energy Bridge, or The Water Production Programme with a placement at The Fresh Water Company in Uganda”.’ Mervin flashed a dazzling smile and Zach almost choked on his beer. ‘You ed that advert?’

Mervin’s eyes softened again. ‘I all the adverts. You should for a course at my university; I think you would get in.’ ‘Funny enough, I have thought about engineering in the past. That Energy Bridge is pretty cool – I mean, powering two cities through water and traffic is damn clever. So, I can get paid to do a course?’ ‘That’s what “remunerating” means.’ Zach got up from the sofa. ‘You know, I can see myself at university, I think it would suit me. What’s the talent like?’ Mervin cocked his head to one side. ‘Who’s?’ ‘Girls, Mervin, girls, surely there are some of those at your university?’ Mervin shut his eyes to think. ‘Fifty-five per cent of the students are girls.’ ‘And how many is that?’ ‘Two hundred and sixty-four.’ ‘Well!’ gasped Zach, sitting back down on the sofa, ‘That’s more than enough. You’ve come up trumps this time, mate.’ ‘So, are we going out to the club to meet some girls?’ Zach stood up again. ‘Yes, we have plenty of time, but I need a shower and something to eat. Why don’t you choose a takeaway for us, use my com.’ ‘Can I pick pizza?’ ‘You might as well, you’ve sorted out my finances and career.’ He took off his shirt and put it inside the steamClean machine in the kitchenette. He realised Mervin was staring at his torso with a worried look on his face. A bead of sweat rolled down Mervin’s forehead. ‘U chased scraped?’ he muttered. ‘It’s OK, it’s an old wound.’

Mervin unravelled his words, ‘Such a deep scar!’ ‘It’s healed now, mate.’ Mervin nodded and relaxed. ‘“It has healed now”,’ he said to himself. Zach rubbed the scar. ‘Suspected appendicitis.’ Mervin scratched his ear. ‘Appendicitis scars are short and small. I do not you having that operation.’ ‘I was six - we hadn’t even met then, and I did say “suspected.” While I was on holiday in Tanzania with my mum, I was rushed into this crappy hospital with a nasty fever. I was in excruciating pain, in fact, I puking all over a nurse because I was in that much pain. I was operated on, but when the surgeon opened me up, he couldn’t find my appendix. I didn’t have one in me, can you believe it? My illness was something else - Merrick's something or other.’ ‘Meckel’s diverticulitis!’ piped up Mervin. ‘Yes, that’s it.’ ‘The diverticulum is a small out-pouch of the small intestine in the abdomen, near the appendix. When the diverticulum becomes inflamed, it breaks open or ruptures. It can be mixed up with appendicitis.’ ‘I bet that’s straight out of one of your books.’ Mervin nodded. ‘Well, something did rupture and they removed a chunk of it. As for my appendix, apparently I had never had one. The weird thing is, years later, when my father had some scans, he found out he didn’t have an appendix either.’ Mervin’s eyes grew wide. ‘He didn’t?’ ‘No, they just found his battered liver, which he then had replaced three times with synthetic livers until he died, but he just kept pickling them in alcohol.’ Mervin nodded. ‘I know.’ He carefully glanced at the empty beer cartons on

Zach’s table. ‘A missing appendix is the only thing I had in common with that lazy fucker,’ Zach said bitterly. Mervin scratched his knee. ‘Yes, it seems you inherited the missing appendix defect from “that lazy fucker”.’ Zach smiled to himself because Mervin never swore, but he had inadvertently done so. ‘Appendices are supposed to be useless anyway.’ Mervin cocked his head to one side. ‘The vermiform appendix means “wormlike appendage.” It is a small worm-like tube with a closed end attached to the beginning of the colon. It is pretty useless and likely to be the withered remnants of our large intestine from our human ancestors. People who have an appendectomy can exist without their appendix but other people become susceptible to certain diseases. In your own and “that lazy fucker’s” case, it is likely your creator took the initiative and did not give you several inches of useless worm-tubing like normal people have.’ Mervin scratched his other knee. Mervin’s words sat uncomfortably with Zach. Zach did not believe in a ‘creator’ and Mervin was implying if there was one, his creator would be very different to “normal” people’s. Mervin knew Zach could mind-read and he had always accepted this without question, but now he felt that Mervin was expressing he was significantly different. ‘What do you mean by “my creator”? Do you believe in all that God crap?’ Mervin shook his head. ‘So, why do I have to have my own “creator”?’ Mervin was unfazed. ‘Just a figure of speech: your creator, my creator, no creator. None of us know if we have a creator, or whether there is more than one. You are definitely human - perhaps a new and improved type of man.’ Zach studied Mervin carefully; it was unlikely he was trying to be funny. ‘Of course I’m “human” and yes, maybe my mind and missing appendix means I have evolved as an “improved type of man”. Maybe my father was the crash test dummy; his life certainly was a car crash, he had so much wrong with him:

alcoholism, a lack of conscience, oppressive parenting and that’s only a few things. Perhaps I am a new breed without any of the old defects.’ Zach grinned. ‘I like that.’ Mervin scratched his toe. ‘Shall I order a curried antelope and pineapple pizza for us - it’s my favourite?’ Zach shook his head. Great move Zach, you get to eat Mervin pizza.

EIKO

Arm in arm we skipped to King’s Reach, the hedonist doctor and her willing patient, both giddy with wine. The smartBooth was in one of the purple metal domes I had seen dotted around the city, but I had mistaken them for public toilets. This dome had green lattice plastic-work over the purple metal, yet no sign on the exterior hinted at the contents. Faith placed her wrist against the iDyScanner at the front of the booth and the triangular entrance slid open. We stepped inside the dark space and as the door closed behind us, the booth lit up in an eerie, ultra-violet light. The interior was intricate, with a network of metal and rubber piping, metal boxes, buttons, wires, and s of streaming numbers and flashing lights. A curved screen was in the centre of the space, with an iDyScanner on the left, and a metal dispensary chute underneath. I felt like we were in an old, science-fiction film. ‘Here we go!’ announced Faith as the screen came to life with a man’s face. The man had a shaved head, a bright blue liteRing through his septum, and stubble cut into a maze pattern. Maze Face was not a simulation. He had a small scar above his right eye, but as no energy radiated from his eyes, I knew he was a recording. ‘Please, scan in your iDychip,’ he requested. Faith obliged and nudged me. ‘Shall I skip the introduction?’

‘Absolutely not, I want to know what I am letting myself in for.’ Maze Face began, ‘Welcome back to alphaSmart, the smartBooth that tailors its syntheDrug experiences to you. If you want to enhance your mood, experience an amazing high, or take the fantasy journey that you have always dreamt about, you have come to the right smartBooth. , you decide how long you ride! At alphaSmart, we guarantee our syntheDrugs have no side effects when used as advised or with other alphaSmart products, but be warned, we cannot guarantee your safety if alphaSmart products are combined with any other stimulant or prescription drug. You must be in good physical and mental health if you intend to use our products, and please do not share our products with anyone who has not visited one of our smartBooths. For your safety, do not use any of our experience products for more than twenty-four hours in any four-day period. So , if you want to be alpha smarter instead of a beta blow-out, less is definitely more!’ I winced and Faith sniggered. Maze Face’s nose liteRing turned red. ‘Please select your alphaSmart experience from the following options. Option one is for “alphaScape,” our narrative SyntheDrug to take you on your secret adventure for up to eight hours. Perhaps you would like to escape to a luxury retreat, spend the night with the person of your dreams, fly like a bird, or be a famous person of your choice. We can also provide you with several other ideas for your narrative if you require. , for optimum safety and enjoyment, we recommend you use alphaScape in the comfort of your own home. Do you wish to order?’ ‘No, thanks,’ answered Faith. ‘Option two is for “alphaParty,” a syntheDrug of the MMS group, to boost your mood and enhance external sensory stimuli. AlphaParty is a highly interactive and sensory experience and it is suitable for use in a public place. Do you wish to order?’ ‘Not yet.’ Faith winked at me. ‘There’s more?’ I whispered to her. Faith nodded.

‘Option three is “alphaNap,” if you take any of our syntheDrugs overnight, an alphaNap pill will rejuvenate you with all the physical and mental benefits of you having had eight hours sleep. Do you wish to order?’ ‘No, thanks,’ Faith yawned loudly. I giggled. ‘Our final option is the “alphaDox Drink,” it will help you detox and recuperate from any toxic substances in your system from other branded syntheDrugs, pharmaceutical medicines, narcotics and alcohol. The alphaDox drink is equivalent to a seven-day, detox plan. Do you wish to order?’ ‘Not today, thanks.’ Faith touched the screen to pause it and turned to me. ‘Heard enough?’ ‘I think so.’ ‘Well let’s order two alphaParty pills - my treat - then we’ll get spruced up and go out.’ I sighed. ‘Are you sure about this?’ ‘Yes, an alphaParty experience is really cool, you’ll feel totally uplifted, I promise you, and you’ll have no crappy hangover afterwards.’ I was intrigued but nervous. ‘OK, then.’ Faith tapped her fingers on her lips. ‘I’d normally take about a nine-hour long alphaParty, but as it’s your first time, let’s just do five hours each.’ ‘Sounds sensible.’ After Faith paid for the syntheDrugs, Maze Face’s nose liteRing turned green and he said, ‘Have a great, safe party and , alphaSmart is the intelligent choice.’ Faith smiled. ‘Even he knows I’m intelligent.’ I rolled my eyes as a plastic box dropped down the metal chute. Inside the box

were two glowing turquoise pills, each embossed with an orange A. ‘Is this what ten hours of joy really looks like?’ I asked my guide, sincerely hoping it was not a case of the blind leading the blind. ‘It certainly is.’ Faith put on a cut-glass accent, ‘Now my dear, shall we return to your abode? My people tell me you are in possession of a handsome wardrobe.’ ‘I certainly am.’ ‘I suggest we ask your people to fit us up and then we find a venue truly worthy of our attributes.’ Faith looped her arm through mine, and I noticed she smelled like a garden of roses.

Chapter Seven

ZACH

‘Stop ticking,’ Zach hissed in Mervin’s ear as they stood in the twitching queue, outside the Fuel Club. Mervin had ticked-up that it was taking an average of five seconds for each male to get through the club’s bodyScan turnstile and eleven seconds for each female, as most of the women stalled to adjust their make-up or clothes. ‘Welcome to Fuel, please step forward’ prompted a bodyScan to a woman. As she obliged, it confirmed, ‘Security ed, please enter.’ Mervin mimicked the computerised voice for the forty-third time. ‘You’re not a parrot!’ Zach snapped at him. His watch buzzed against his wrist. Zach muttered into his lapel’s foneMic, ‘Accept.’ ‘Zach?’ the voice in his earpiece was female. ‘Zach? Thank God.’ ‘Who is this?’ Zach asked irritably. ‘“Security ed, please enter”,’ Mervin repeated as another person entered the club. Zach elbowed Mervin in the ribs. ‘Can’t you hear me?’ The voice screeched in the earpiece, ‘It’s G!’ ‘G, how’s it going?’ Zach ran his hand over the gold chain around his neck. ‘Fine – fine, I guess,’ G paused, ‘I thought we were going to meet up tonight?’ ‘Tonight? Yes - about tonight, I’ve got to -’ Zach was about to say ‘work’, but G

interrupted him. ‘Is that music I can hear in the background?’ ‘“Security ed, please enter”,’ piped up Mervin. ‘Hang on, G, I can’t hear you.’ Zach sidestepped from the queue. He had no success picking up what she was thinking over the phone, and racked his brain for an excuse. ‘G, can you hear me now?’ ‘Yes, Zach.’ ‘I am at a colleague’s promotion do – my company’s only gone and thrown him a surprise party. I only found out later today because I was in a client meeting. I’ve got to show my face here, especially as Mick – that’s my colleague – is going to be my new boss.’ ‘Oh,’ the word dropped from G’s mouth. ‘Well, can I meet you later?’ Zach moved back into the queue ‘What? Sorry, what was that, G? You’re breaking up.’ ‘I said, can we meet later?’ ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you,’ Zach lied. ‘Look, I’ll call you tomorrow - we can do dinner.’ Zach eyed up a blonde in tutu-shorts as she walked up the queue and ed another girl. G did not reply. ‘Dinner tomorrow, G? Not sure you can hear me because I can’t hear you.’ ‘OK, Zach, call me,’ G said flatly and hung up. Zach re-ed the queue. Mervin had tired of impersonating the bodyScan. He said excitedly, ‘It is nearly our turn!’ Zach nodded. He discreetly opened a small tub of cocaine balm and smeared a finger of it onto his gums. Then he craned his neck to look at the girl in the tutu-

shorts, and ran his eyes over her sugar-coated body. It was her turn to go through the bodyScan, but as she stepped forward, it beeped loudly and announced, ‘Underage recipient, please step back. Underage recipient - management has been alerted, please step back!’ Mervin scratched his head and said, ‘Oh-oh.’ Shame, thought Zach. The girl in the tutu-shorts grabbed her friend’s arm and rushed past the queue, covering her face with her hand.

Inside the club, Mervin followed Zach down a circular tunnel; media images streamed onto the walls with fragments of Fuel’s life, clips of musical acts and audiences mingled with listings. Mervin clapped his hands with glee and started spinning around. Zach grabbed his sleeve and led him into ‘The Lubricant Room’ that had numerous food and drink counters, and seated booths. Mervin stalled in front of a hyperJuice cocktail bar and commenced his ticking. Zach considered whether he had made a mistake inviting Mervin along, but when he saw the huge grin on Mervin’s face, he felt guilty thinking that. He decided to let Mervin get on with it. Mervin would soon tire of his ticking once he had adjusted to his surroundings. Zach scanned his iDychip at a slotBar, selected a double brandy and soda, and watched his friend. Mervin notched up all the different super-juices in the hyperJuice bar, the highball glasses, and two hundred and sixty-four yellow sequins on the waistcoat of the buxom hyperGirl, serving the drinks. A green roboArm attached to a skateboard, skimmed across the top shelf of the bar, and handed the hyperGirl bottles of super-juices for her to mix. Occasionally, a pair of glass lips on the front of the skateboard lit up in red, and wolf-whistled at the hyperGirl. The hyperGirl turned to Mervin and she considered him. He’s wearing a lot of blue, but he’s extremely cute. ‘What can I get you, honey?’ Zach was watching and chuckled to himself. The hyperGirl winked at Mervin.

Mervin turned clammy. He scratched his head impulsively, as he tried to choose from the list of super-juice names rolling across the counter. He looked up at the hyperGirl’s sequined bosom, and eventually some jumbled-up words came out of his mouth, ‘Mine place, her type, I adore a mellowy lennon. Need a Slap!’ Never heard that line before, thought the hyperGirl. She winked at Mervin. ‘Ok, honey, I’ll you after I’ve finished at the bar. But do you want a drink?’ Mervin was confused, he looked around for Zach with wide eyes and a trickle of sweat slipped down his diagonal parting. Zach nodded to him and mouthed, ‘She likes you – unravel it.’ Mervin took a couple of deep breaths, and turned around to face the hyperGirl. He scratched his nose. ‘I need o-o-ne apple, a-a-a- cherry, a y-y-y-yellow melon and m-m-int p-p-please.’ She giggled. ‘In the same glass?’ ‘Same glass,’ replied Mervin relieved he had got his words out. ‘Well, anything goes!’ I do love a man who stutters. Zach shook his head. That boy can pull without trying. Mervin watched the roboArm hand the hyperGirl the different bottles. ‘Mix, mix!’ he said as she shook the juices together. ‘Pick a colour: green, pink or yellow?’ she asked. ‘Just one?’ Mervin knotted his eyebrows together and scratched his chin. ‘Just one, honey-cheeks.’ Mervin’s eyes fell to her bosom. ‘Yellow, like your sequins!’ Then he grinned at her. Zach laughed. He had never seen Mervin at such ease in a new environment. The power of a pretty girl. The hyperGirl tapped the bottom of Mervin’s highball glass and bright yellow

light span around the glass. She strained in the juice, popped in a fibre-lit straw and pressed it into Mervin’s hand. ‘You can have that one on me.’ She winked at him. ‘Hope to see you later, just before closing time - I’ll be waiting.’ ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Mervin, he turned around and saw Zach. He held the glass in front of him. ‘Nano-nano, Zach, nano-nano yellow.’ He took a huge slurp. ‘I think she likes you, Mervin.’ Mervin slurped even harder on his straw and scratched his ear. He cautiously glanced back at the hyperGirl who smiled back at him. ‘I need another drink.’ Zach nodded. ‘Go for it.’ Mervin headed back to the counter. Zach helped himself to another brandy and soda, then a finger of cocaine balm. He caught a girl’s thoughts drifting towards him. The guy by the pillar’s quite gorgeous. Zach turned to his left. A short distance away, a beautiful girl was leant against the wall; she had long silvery-pink hair and wore a tunic, split at the side to expose a glossy thigh. He met her gaze and she looked away. Zach chuckled. Playing hard to get? Well I can play games too. Zach wandered up to her, but he heard another thought in the same soft accent, drifting in from his right. I’ll offer him something sensual, like a chocolate margarita. Zach turned and saw the owner of the thought was a chubby girl, wearing a strapless suit that was far too tight for her. Zach turned his face away. Go away, Miss Piggy. The girl stopped in front of him. Suck your stomach in Renée and be confident, she told herself. She smiled at him. ‘Hi.’ Zach put on a saccharin smile. ‘Don’t tell me...’ he said with exaggerated interest, he glanced at the ceiling, ‘... you’re a chocolate margarita type-of-girl?’ How did he know that? Its fate! ‘That is massively impressive intuition. I am just that “type-of-girl” and I would love one.’

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ Zach prodded her round stomach with his finger. ‘They go straight to your gut.’ The girl gasped in embarrassment and quickly walked away. Zach was still laughing when Mervin returned with two glasses in his hand, one glass swirled in green light and the other in yellow. ‘A tasting?’ he offered the green-lit glass to Zach. ‘Nah, let’s go and listen to some music. , keep calm and enjoy it, just think of the girls!’ Zach led Mervin back through the snaking corridors towards The Engine Room in the heart of the club. The corridors were packed with people wandering around, cooling off or hanging around. Zach caught slips of private thoughts as he scanned the faces. Amongst the glances Zach read between the lines, as people observed others with hope, desperation, jealousy and trivia. Zach heard himself commented in both men and women’s thoughts as ‘fit,’ ‘good-looking,’ ‘shag-candy’, ‘tasty,’ ‘gorgeous,’ ‘delicious’ and ‘hunky’ – all comments Zach had come to expect. Of course, he was also dismissed, others thought him ‘arrogant,’ ‘not-my-type, ‘tacky necklace,’ ‘up-his-arse’ and ‘pretty boy,’ – and those comments he brushed-off. Zach walked past a pretty woman getting her face chewed off by an older man, she kept her eyes focused on Zach as he walked past, imagining it was him slurping into her mouth instead of the man. Zach did not generally help in such matters, when he walked past straight and gay couples he would often make lingering eye with one of the pair, enjoying it if their partner clung on to them, or moved them away. Some people’s attention lingered on Mervin, momentarily curious whether Mervin was Zach’s ‘mate?’ ‘nothing to do with him?’ ‘the taker?’ ‘the giver?’ or, ‘to make him look better?’ Mervin was deemed by some as ‘cool,’ ‘unusual and ‘kitsch.’ Yet he was also judged as ‘odd,’ ‘nerdy’ and ‘a freak’ – words that uncomfortably lodged in Zach’s skull, and so he rushed Mervin through the corridor. Finally, they found themselves in The Engine Room. There was a wide stage at one end, where four male drummers, thrashed out beats onto drum patches

wrapped around their thighs. Two female dancers moved around them, circuiting flaming boomerangs over the audience. A male dancer dressed in a black costume, cartwheeled across the stage with bright spiraLight lasers spinning out from his chest across the room. A triDigital vocal section boomed from the speakers. Mervin was frozen against a wall, his mouth agape, and eyes fixed on two blonde girls gyrating on the dance floor in front of him, before a sea of bodies. He scratched his knee. ‘Are you OK here, or do you want to move on?’ Zach asked. Mervin nodded furiously, ‘I like it, Zach, I like it.’ Zach quickly slicked another finger of cocaine balm across his gums and watched the crowd dancing. He thought all the women worth noticing were far too aware of themselves and the power they held. They cast their nets out, drawing in whatever iration and attention in that they could. They love to be exploited, he thought. They are so, so obvious – it’s easier than choosing meat from a counter. ‘Lots of pretty girlies – how do I impress them?’ Mervin shouted into Zach’s ear. ‘Just keep your cool. Let’s watch the act for a bit, then we’ll have a scout.’ Mervin scratched his other knee. ‘Well, I’ll go to the bathroom then, I’ve had too much juice!’ yelled Mervin. He hiked an arm high above his head and pointed to the toilet sign across the room. ‘Are you OK through the crowd?’ Zach asked him. Mervin nodded. ‘I’ll be right here.’ ‘I like this place - there is a lot to look at.’ Mervin eyes followed the two blondes jiggling about in front of him. Mervin left and Zach watched while the drumming climaxed and the crowd’s dancing became more frantic amongst whistles and cheers. The drum beat

dropped to cymbals, then out. The boomerang dancers moved back from the stage to make way for a tall muscular man with a bare chest, shaved head and heavy kohl around his eyes. He pressed the buttons of a huge Arabic synthPipe and it emitted a beautiful sound as a heavy bass track pulsed from the speakers. Zach watched the crowd move. Some girls split from the dance floor to reapply their make-up and others danced more slowly and provocatively. The dancer with the spiraLights climbed onto a platform at the side of the stage, folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. Then he snapped his eyes open and held his arms out in front of him, while tubular rays of light shot out from his chest onto the audience, bathing them in blue. Then Zach saw her. The most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life appeared, like a mermaid rising out of the deep-blue sea. Her eyes were set into a porcelain face like petrol-blue gems and they were lined with shimmering gold. He watched her touch her jet-black hair. It was softly feathered and stopped at the nape of her neck. As she swayed with the music, she shut her eyes and massaged the back of her neck with her hand, and then her fingers moved slowly down her neck and across her clavicle. Her eyes fluttered open, as she rode in and out of the sound, her dark lashes curled like fine feathers. When her eyes closed again, he noticed her eyes move gently under shimmering lids, as fragile looking as gold-paper. Zach felt a sudden surge of longing for this beautiful creature. She was very different to any other woman he had wanted, yet she held his attention like no other woman ever had. She wore a plain charcoal-grey dress, and he could see a red and gold butterfly tattoo at the top of one arm, so skilfully done, that the butterfly appeared to flutter as she moved. Her dress was slashed across the other shoulder - a delectable sentiment, exposing a strip of pale skin as smooth as marble. This girl was a beacon of light in the crowd and totally unaware she was commanding the floor with her presence. Zach could stand watching no more. He walked towards her, totally devoid of a plan. She was facing him, but her eyes were shut, and he was vaguely aware he had not heard a murmur from her mind, although she looked wrapped up in thoughts. As he drew nearer, he saw her crushed-berry stained lips part to breathe out warm air. He glanced at the dew drops of perspiration on her face and neck and he longed to touch her skin. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and looked straight across at Zach. Her lips grew into a smile, a smile empty of

intention, but warm and true. Then she closed her eyes again. Here you are! The words appeared in Zach’s head, and at first he thought they belonged to her. He soon realised it was the thought of a girl nearby, handing her friend a drink. Zach turned back to the beautiful creature, but still not a murmur betrayed her thoughts. He watched her for a while, longing for her eyes to return to his. He moved so he was just a step away from her, and she turned to him. For a moment, Zach was pulled into her stunning blue eyes and he felt like his heart might stop. He raised a hand to touch her, if only to see if she was real, but she tore her gaze away and stepped back, the curves of her face contorted in anguish. She winced in pain, grabbed her hair with her hands, and moved back into the crowd. Zach tried to reach her, to speak to her and reassure her, but she moved away too quickly. He sieved through the faces to find her, frantically parting the crowd, and pushing past hot bodies, but the beautiful creature – if she had been real at all - disappeared without a trace.

HELP ME!

Smacking door on my hip - door gone – long face standing, waiting – blurred – one long face is many faces. Watching, waiting, blurring. Cubicle, cubicle, find cubicle, push past, blur, push past faces, push a door. What’s that smell? Dark smell, smell that smell. Cubicle white, cubicle safe, hip throbs, where is floor? Slide down – onto cold. Thick smell, smell that smell, head rolls back, eyes sting. Coarse damp, know that smell. Smells of peat - peat smell - in my mouth. IN MY MOUTH? CHOKING ME, CHOKING ME, CHOKE, CHOKE, CHOKE. Find fingers, put in mouth – fingers in! Pull it out, pull it out! PULL IT OUT! Pull out peat, before I choke. No more peat! No more peat! Not in mouth, but still that smell. Arrrrgh, no, fist clenching, in my stomach, knotting, twisting, crushing tight. ‘Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!’ Can’t stand this. ‘AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHH!’ Door vibrating, door shaking, someone banging. Leave me be, leave me be, LEAVE ME! Retching peat, but there’s no peat. Retching nothing, gruelling pain,

stomach crushing, burning cramp, cramp down leg, cramp down arm – where am I? Still on floor. Someone banging, someone shouting – keep them out. Insects, insects, all over my hands, I can feel them, GO AWAY! I can feel them, feel them - pull them off, crawling out from peat. Brush them off, pull them off! No peat, there’s no peat, no crawlers, just itchy sweat, sweat in eyes, heat up back. Banging door, stop that banging. Stop banging. Stop shouting. Please go. Fist in stomach, twisting stomach, feel sick, sick, lean head on cold, onto seat toilet seat. Fist in stomach, crushing me. Sick, sick, into bowl, shoot out, smells of peat, puke out. Puke is clear – water sick, shooting out – onto floor. Sit on floor, floor is cold. In the peat? There’s no peat, floor is white like toilet seat, white door, door is shaking. Throat is sore, throat is dry. Stop that banging. ‘Let me in! A voice shouts. ‘Eiko?’ I am Eiko. That is me. Can they help? Pull myself up from floor, stretch, stretch, reach for button, press the button, press, press, door opens, it’s a girl. Her name’s Faith, she is here. Pushes drink in my hand. ‘Drink this, please!’ Faith says drink. Drink I do, tastes sweet. Waits with me. Drink the drink, drink I do. Arms under mine, pulls me straight, out of white. Stagger out, back’s rubbed. ‘Steady, steady now.’ Steady me, me to sink, sink cracked. Voices move, all around, murmur, murmur, chat, chat. Drink the drink, drink is sweet, cools throat. Face in mirror, it’s my face? Looks bad. Black hair wet, wet with sweat - rat tails, gold smeared eyes down to cheek. Haunted eyes, once were blue, now are black, black like night. Faith’s face stuck in mirror. Soft face, softly blurred. ‘I’m sorry, Eiko.’ Is she sad? What is wrong? Faith is sad. Wets towel, wipes my brow, then my neck, cools me down, feels better. Faith’s eyes smeared on face – dark shadows just like mine. Towel cools - cools me down – nice, nice. All around, white bright light. Women’s voices, murmur, chat, murmur, chat - too intense. ‘Drink more.’ Faith’s voice. ‘It will help.’

Bottle pressed in my hand. Faith sad. Strokes my face. I drink the drink. ‘Poor Eiko,’ Faith says. I look around. Many faces looking back at me. Toilets busy. Too intense. Don’t look Eiko, don’t look at them.

ZACH

Zach chewed on a manicured thumb nail as he waited by the club exit. He noted every girl that left. Mervin waited patiently besides him. ‘Did you ask her what her name was called?’ Mervin asked. Zach’s jaw crunched with frustration. ‘We never spoke.’ ‘I have a friend I could hook you up with,’ purred a voice behind them. Zach swivelled around to see the hyperGirl. She put on her coat. He turned the other way. She shrugged. Won’t bother then. She nudged Mervin. ‘Weren’t you going to show me your place?’ Mervin leant down and scratched his toe. ‘Do you want to look at my artwork?’ ‘Yes, I would,’ giggled the hyperGirl. I knew it. ‘I would luuurve to look at your artwork.’ Mervin hesitantly looked at Zach. ‘Go, Mervin,’ Zach said, ‘go have a good night, I’m going to wait here – she must still be inside.’ Mervin nodded. ‘I hope you find her and manage to ask her what her name was. I will say goodbye. Goodbye!’

Zach watched the hyperGirl slip an enthusiastic arm through Mervin’s rigid arm and lead him away. Zach stood there for what seemed like forever, watching the human contents of the club drain away, to leave the dregs. He suspected his waiting was futile; the stunning beauty with the silent thoughts must have gone, and he had no clue to who she was, or why she had ran away from him. ‘Time to go, sonny,’ a bouncer signalled the door to Zach. As Zach stepped outside, he turned to look back at the club, but only a few worse-for-wear stragglers were left. Outside, the night air was cool. It was fivepast-four in the morning. Zach shook his head. I still feel half cut and I’m dying for a piss. He ambled up a path behind the club. He undid his tros and fired hot, dark urine onto the wall. ‘Do not relieve yourself on Fuel property!’ a piercing voice ordered him. Zach clenched his pelvic floor muscles and looked around, there was no-one there. He tilted his head back to survey the huge wall in front of him and saw a camera-ball robot rolling across the top. ‘Fucking hell!’ he shouted at it. He turned around and finished urinating into a hedge. A female’s thoughts drifted towards him. This is fucking shit, they can’t have just left me - I’ll have to check right round. Zach did himself up and peered around the hedge. A girl appeared on the path. She had dark brown curls trailing onto her tanned shoulders, and she wore a wisp of a dress made out of crinkly lemon material. The girl raised a weary hand to her head. I am going to kill those two bitches, they’ve been gone hours. I can’t be arsed with this - I’m really cold. She stopped suddenly. There’s a dirty tramp in the hedge. Zach stepped out and walked back up the path. He looks alright, thought the girl. She nodded at Zach and started walking again.

As they drew closer, Zach noticed the girl was quite pretty with dark brown eyes and the plump cheeks of youth. He smiled at her. ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’ She shrugged her shoulders. That’s original. ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘In the club,’ Zach signalled his eyes towards the building, ‘you can’t exactly miss it.’ Thinks he’s a fucking comedian. ‘Where else could I have been? I’m hardly out for a morning jog.’ So cynical, for someone so young. She can’t be more than eighteen. Should be easy to play. ‘Sorry, I noticed you with two other girls - that’s all.’ He has seen me. ‘Yes, I was with Jenna and Tania, my so-called mates. They’ve lost me. You haven’t - ’ ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Zach interrupted, he pretended to think, ‘I saw them about half an hour ago, they left with two guys from that main band in the club. There must be an after-party somewhere.’ ‘They did?’ the girl’s voice began to break. ‘I can’t believe they fucking left me, Tania was meant to drive us back to Bolt End Key.’ Bolt End Key? Urgh. Zach shook his head sympathetically. ‘Someone from the club might know where the after-party is - if you can get try to get back in. But, maybe it’s just as well your friend left if she was supposed to be driving you, both girls looked pretty wrecked,’ he gambled glancing at her slim brown legs. ‘Really?’ the girl tried to look surprised. ‘I didn’t think she was.’ But I’d rather be driven home by Tania wrecked, then left out on the street. What do I do now? I don’t have either of their numbers. I’m fucked. Zach kept a straight face. ‘Can’t you call your friends? Do you need to use my fone?’ He watched the girl’s eyes well up with tears. ‘I don’t have the details on my chip – stupid, I know, but we were meant to stay together all night.’ The tears erupted.

Zach took a tissue from his pocket and handed it over. ‘Thanks.’ As she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, Zach sized up her curves underneath the flimsy crinkles of her dress. She’s definitely a 34c maybe even a lucky d and youthfully pert. She’s not going anywhere. The girl rubbed her cold arms. I’m as cold as fucking ice and dying for a Vitarette. She’s got a dirty mouth, I wonder if it extends any further? Zach pulled a packet of Vitarettes from his jacket pocket and slipped one into his mouth, and then he looked up at the girl. ‘Sorry, do you want one?’ He pointed the packet at her. ‘You’re a star, I was absolutely gagging for one.’ She smiled. He’s quite nice. I bet a Vitarette is not all you’re gagging for. He watched the girl pull a Vitarette from the packet, and flick off its suction lid with a turquoise nail and slowly suck on the tube with her sparkly pink lips. A curl of dark hair fell onto her cleavage. She looks as sweet as an angel but she has a mouth like a sewer - I wonder if she’s up for corruption or already corrupted? Time to wrap it up. ‘Anyway, nice to meet you, err -’ ‘Sara.’ ‘Sara. Sweet name. Well, I’m Zach and I’ve afraid I’ve got to go, I’m dying for a hot shower, cup of tea and a good sleep.’ Aw, her baby eyes are crumbling again. Sara sniffed. What am I going to do now? I’ve hardly any creds left. I’m fucked. Zach smiled warmly. ‘Bye then.’ He started walking away and began the count. One .... she’s putty in my hands. Two... I’m an evil bastard. Three... I haven’t got all morning. Four... what else is the silly mare going to do? Five... I’m not even going to give her a six. ‘Wait!’ she called after him. Zach turned round and looked confused. ‘Sorry - of course, you’ll need

directions. Well, if you continue down this path and turn left at the end, it’s a forty minute walk to the speedRail that takes you to the southBound Station, and I think you can catch a train to Bolt End Key from there.’ Of course, you could get the tram across the road to the station in five minutes, but I’m not about to tell you that, sweetheart. Oh, fuck, I can’t walk all that way on my own like this, I’ll get jumped. I’ll just have to ask him – I think he’s OK. ‘Look, Zach, you wouldn’t have someplace I could have a rest for a bit, just until later in the morning - then I can get a train. I just don’t want to walk all that way at this time, and I’m really cold. I know we’ve only met, but I really don’t know what else to do.’ She bit her lip to stop herself crying again. Zach scratched his head and pretended to think. He looked up at her. She looked even more attractive now she was putty in his hands. ‘OK then, but my landlady lives on the floor beneath my flat, and she won’t appreciate any noise – not on a Sunday morn -’ ‘I will be quiet as fuck, really, I can be quiet as a mouse. I just need to get warm and get my head down for a few hours. Thank you. Thank you, so much, I really appreciate it, Zach.’ Thank God. Zach smirked to himself. I’ll get you warm baby, and God’s nothing to do with it.

Half an hour later, Zach and Sara entered his building. As he was about to shut the front door, Miss Cottam came in behind them. She nudged her way past them, and struggled down the stairs to her flat with a large shopper that was clanging with bottles. ‘Morning,’ greeted Zach. Miss Cottam looked up, her jaw trembling. ‘I switched the rent into your , yesterday,’ he said. ‘Good!’ she barked. She looked Sara up and down. Stupid little slut.

That’s rich coming from an old, desperate hag, thought Zach. Once in his flat, Zach put Sara at ease. ‘If you want a hot shower, there’s a spare bathrobe in the bathroom cupboard, and a pack of toothChews on the shelf. I’ll pull out the sofa bed for you, and make some tea and toast, when you’re done. Sara smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you.’ She glanced towards the bathroom. ‘Err, you have a really nice flat,’ she said awkwardly.

Sara leant against the shower tiles with her eyes closed, and let the hot power jets pulse away her dancing aches and pains. With a huge yawn, she got out and wrapped herself in the clean bathrobe. Then she wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror with a towelled arm. Her eyes were ringed with fatigue and her lips were chapped. She rubbed the dead skin off her lips with a tissue and applied on a smear of pink lipMelt, to soothe them, and then she popped a toothChew in her mouth. She considered putting her underwear back on to sleep, but she felt nice and clean, so she tightened the robe around her instead, and decided to sleep in that. Sara slipped into the lounge; her toes shrank back from the cold tiles. She saw the sofa bed had been made up with a white pillow and large, soft grey blanket. There was no sign of Zach. The door of another room was ajar. Maybe he’s gone to bed. Wonder if it’s alright to make myself some tea and toast. She moved her head back to peer through the gap in the door and saw an empty kingside bed. He must have popped out for milk or something, she decided. As she walked towards the lounge bed, she felt a chill on her legs. It was coming from a gap in the glass door, leading onto a balcony. She wondered if he was out there, but she could not see him. Sara opened the balcony door and stepped onto smooth cold pebbles, glowing pink, orange and red. The balcony was empty, apart from a few plants, and it curved right around the building. Sara leant against the balcony rail and studied the walled park below in the dim light. Suddenly, Zach stepped out from around the corner of the building. He grabbed Sara and pushed her against the reinforced glass of the balcony door. As Sara shrieked, he sealed her mouth with his own. I know you want me, he told himself confidently, as she pushed against his chest with his fists. What is he doing? What the fuck does he think... but Sara’s resistance

evaporated as Zach parted her lips with his tongue. Although, she felt scared, she also felt excited. She stopped pushing him and her body melted in his hands. Zach pulled open the belt around her waist and opened her dressing gown. He ran his hands over her, and he could feel her heart thumping hard. He moved a hand down over her torso, but drew back to move her hair off her shoulders and view her tight brown skin, yet he imagined her skin as alabaster white and smooth as marble. He pulled himself up to her nervous dark eyes, but instead, he saw them as bright blue and lined with gold. Then he slid his hand between her legs. ‘Oh, hell!’ Sara moaned. I’ve not done this before, she wanted to say, but she could not. ‘You’ll be fine, I promise,’ Zach whispered into her mouth. Sara gasped because he seemed to know it was her first time. As Zach kissed her hard, he closed his eyes and in his mind, her lips were stained like a crushed berry, and her hair was shorter and black. Her breathing became heavier and laboured as he touched her. Zach felt justified in taking her. The beautiful creature had torn herself away from him, but he would have her now, even if only in his imagination. As Zach roughly pulled Sara’s thighs apart, she tried not to cry out.

Chapter Eight

THORSEN

The sky spat another warning, as Thorsen surfaced from the cover of the butcher’s shop. He craned his neck up, there was a sombre cloud looming above, threatening an angry torrent of rain. Thorsen pulled up the hood of his funnel jacket and yanked the yellow toggle to change it from ventilated to waterproof. He twisted the toggle dial to heat the fabric up a notch, grabbed his bags of bread and meat, and scurried towards the grey lanes. As the spit turned to a pour, Thorsen’s strides became a sprint. He splashed past Curds & Whey - he had enough cheeses left from the previous day - then he wound his way through the lanes, up to Halgate’s Cross, where a couple of kids were kicking a ball across the cobbles, despite getting soaked. Then he headed up to the next street. As Thorsen ran up the street, he noticed a familiar man’s face behind the orange glass of the Vitalife Insurance building. The man was sitting at a desk in a roomful of other people. He was conversing with a women standing in front of him, while everyone else appeared to be concentrating on their screens. As Thorsen slowed to a trot, he recognised the man as Ken, the chirpy insurance man he had remedied in his café. That morning, Ken did not look very chirpy at all, and his face was more a furious orange than rosy pink. Thorsen stopped still, when he saw Ken was arguing with the woman and she was shaking her orange head back at him. Suddenly, Ken smacked his fists onto his desk and as the desk bounced up, all the orange faces in the room turned to look at Ken. The woman placed her hand on Ken’s sleeve to placate him, but Ken brushed it off, then he walked out of the room and out of Thorsen’s view. The woman’s face grew a darker shade of orange. She threw her hands up into the air before resting them back onto her hips. She barked something to the office floor and everybody turned back to their screens. As Thorsen started on his way again, he saw Ken reappear in the orange foyer of

the building, storm past a bemused receptionist and onto the street, leaving his orange complexion behind. Ken stopped in the rain as if shell-shocked and then he broke into a laugh. He raised his hands above his head and turned his face to the lashing sky as if embracing glorious sunshine. Thorsen swallowed hard, he wondered if his remedy had helped catapult Ken from his job. Thorsen had to Ken to reach the stone steps up to Abbott Street, on his morning circuit, and he considered turning back, but he quickly dismissed the idea, as disrupting his routine would muddle his day. So he pulled his hood over his face, and quickly walked past Ken with his head down. It was no good, Ken spotted him. ‘Hey, Thorsen?’ Thorsen looked up blankly. ‘You know me - I come into your café.’ ‘I do?’ Ken looked at him strangely. Thorsen abandoned the act. ‘Yes, I do know you, of course. Sorry, I was a million miles away. You look... wet.’ ‘Yes!’ Ken laughed. ‘Isn’t it great? I never have to wear this flaming suit again.’ Ken dramatically flung his hands into the air. ‘I just quit my job!’ ‘You did?’ Thorsen tried to look surprised. Ken grinned and nodded manically. ‘Is that a good thing?’ ‘Hell, yes, it’s a bloody excellent thing. Today is the two-hundred-and-thirtythird weekend I’ve worked with those unappreciative sheep! I no longer follow! I am no longer a sheep!’ Ken shut his eyes and raised his face to the sky again. He turned back to Thorsen. ‘Tomorrow I will begin something creative, something with meaning. I’m no longer a “yes-man.” I am going to be my own boss!’

‘Great,’ nodded Thorsen, suddenly aware his face was burning despite the cold rain. ‘Well, I hope things work out very well for you. I really must get on.’ Ken stepped in front of him. ‘I need to thank you, Thorsen!’ ‘Thank me?’ Thorsen felt a slick of horror creep up his spine. Does he know what I did? ‘Yes, thank you for all those lovely sandwiches – they were the only nice moments in the week when I worked for Vitashite.’ ‘You’re welcome, that’s what I do.’ He smiled with relief. ‘See you around, Ken!’ and with that Thorsen stepped around Ken and accelerated up the steep steps to Abbott Street, despite his heavy bags and his stomach spinning fast. Ken is elated, he reasoned with himself. That’s a good result. But Thorsen had felt edgy playing the innocent bystander on the verge of Ken’s new life. Especially as... Thorsen stopped at the top of the steps. Especially as what? he asked himself again. Especially as... especially as I am drowning. That’s what it feels like. Drowning in my life, drowning with my knowledge, and drowning in guilt because I know what’s coming around again. The guilt has followed me around for years and now a fresh wedge of it is hanging over me as I wait for it to happen again. Indeed Thorsen’s guilt had followed him that morning like an angry cloud, soaking him to the tissue and he felt torn. Thorsen walked across Abbott Bridge and over the River Sprint. He felt like his heart would split with the slightest scratch and his soul would come flooding out like the river. Thorsen wiped the cold rain and hot tears from his face. The water beneath the bridge moved quickly and habitually like his mood, but despite the heavy rain, the river was still not as high or fast as he had seen previously - it had been much more dark and sinister in the past. He recalled a night the previous September when the river flooded its banks and raped the course with a torrent of murky black water, ripping up plants and shrubs and plastering them in mud. The silent black wreckage had carried waves of litter with it, including paper bags, odd shoes, pieces of metal, the odd park bin and life buoy, branches and shrubs, and then vomited its hoard down at Crow Bank. It was an expulsion of dirty rage on the picturesque bend, where salmon could be seen jumping in the setting September sun. The next day, The Old Shoe Factory at Crow Bank was three-foot deep in muddy water, and the factory squatters jumped ship overnight.

As for the river, it claimed several inches of extra width and never gave it back. Thorsen walked towards Café Di Romana for his morning caffè corretto, but Ella was clo. ‘Sorry, Thorsen, I have to go. I have a guest coming today,’ she said. ‘Can I not have a quick drink?’ Ella shook her dark ponytail. ‘Coffee machine is off. I go home now to cook. I have mother-in-law from San Marino, she come for dinner. I am divorced three years now but she rings every Sunday – now she come to see me. I make ravioli with squash, then sausage and polenta – so much to do – maybe also bake a cake.’ Thorsen watched Ella pack up her trailer and drive away. What should have been a small disruption to his morning felt paramount. It was there - of that he was sure and there was no mistaking it - a sense of dread. A sense of things going wrong. But it was always there – was it not? Lurking beneath his skin like an itch: the dread of the day, the dread of life and loss, made worse by the fact he did know when the end would come again. When Thorsen felt like this, all he could do was set his face into a mask – the mask of someone holding it together despite the infinite dread inside him. He worried that if anyone came too close, they would see his cracks, when they needed him to repair their own. Thorsen told himself this day was like every other one; he would have to do his best and at the end of it, he would feel like his life had some meaning and purpose – if only for a short time. Then when that feeling wore off, he would numb himself with alcohol and think about Eiko.

ZACH

Zach woke up with a hollow stomach. He found himself sprawled across his sofa bed with a girl fitted into his body like a jigsaw piece, clinging onto him for dear life. He recalled her name was something like ‘Lara.’ It was 1.35 p.m. but through the blinds the stormy sky resembled the onset of dusk. As Zach shifted,

the girl clung onto him like a dead weight. Zach drew her dream out from her mind. Amongst snippets of her night at the club, came flashes of a pony on a moor, a family home, and a voice of contentment. Zach peeled away the girl’s sleeping body, got up, and went to the bathroom. He pottered around for a while, munched on some fruit and bread, and tidied up, before returning to the sofa bed with a steaming mug of coffee. He leant over the sleeping girl and gently nudged her awake. Sara opened her eyes and then smiled at him coyly. Her head felt dull but her soul was cartwheeling with happiness. She knew things were different that day: Sara Bello was no longer an inexperienced girl, she was a woman. Zach took a sip of his coffee. ‘Get up,’ he ordered coolly. He watched her smile disintegrate. ‘Your taxi will be here in ten minutes.’

G

G threw her foneCompact against a wall as hard as she could and took a deep breath. It was just as well the compact was shatterproof as it was the fifth time she had thrown it that day. He’s still not been in touch about dinner, and it’s three o’clock. How the hell am I meant to know when to get ready, if he’s not picking up his fone? G had hardly slept the previous night, because she was too excited about seeing Zach, but now she was desperate. She hated all the waiting around and politeness that came with new relationships. She knew Zach was addictive and the less she saw of him, the more she wanted him. I must stay cool. He said he loves me. He will call. She sat down on her bed and then stood up again. Damn it, I’m going round to his flat. After turning over most of the contents of her walk-in wardrobe, G finally pulled on a grey tweed jumpsuit. It had silver stitching at the seams and a subtle split at the front of the top that she thought looked seductive but not trashy. She slipped on some pumps and grabbed a waterproof leather coat, and then she headed out the door.

FAITH

Faith ripped off the lid from the foil tray and sprinkled the Sunday Special Powder over the raw lamb and vegetables; they immediately fizzed and white foam rose up from the tray. She grabbed the instructions and read out, ‘Replace tray lid immediately and in forty-five minutes time, your roast will be ready. Oops!’ Faith quickly replaced the lid and wrapped the foil tray in a large cloth, and then she carefully placed it into a bag. She sat down, turned on her com and asked for the link to a mediHelpProfessional. A mediHelpProfessional advisor appeared on screen. ‘Can I have your , please?’ ‘Princesspill4081’ The advisor smiled. ‘Welcome back, Miss Helier, my name is Dr. Hem, how can I help you?’ ‘I’m currently researching the syntheDrug market for my course, and I’ve completed numerous surveys with students who have used various syntheDrug products.’ Faith scratched her head. ‘One student described using a syntheDrug by alphaSmart called “alphaParty” and reported having quite severe side-effects. I thought alphaSmart d their products as causing no side-effects, right? I just wanted to check if any other problems have been reported with this product?’ ‘What side-effects did the student mention having?’ ‘Severe paranoia, hallucinations, nausea and stomach cramps.’ ‘Please wait one moment.’ Faith chewed her lip nervously while the doctor sourced some information. The

bag containing the food tray started to fizz loudly on the table, so she moved it under the desk. ‘Miss Helier?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘alphaSmart ed all Medicine Bureau Standards at grade one – their last audit was in January of this year and included tests on their product “alphaParty.” I can confirm this product has no known side-effects when ingested with alcohol, however, there are no studies for this product’s combined use with other syntheDrugs, narcotics or pharmaceutical drugs; that is common for this type of product as the potential combinations are endless. However, alphaSmart adhere to Medicine Bureau guidelines by warning customers about the potential dangers of combining their products with other substances, and even alcohol where there is no risk. Could the student have taken this product with any another substance?’ ‘They didn’t take – I mean mention anything else.’ ‘Then there must be another explanation.’ Faith rubbed a mark on the table. She felt awful thinking it, but she had to ask the question. ‘What if the reaction was caused by the state of the student’s mental health?’ ‘You mean, if the student was depressed or mentally unbalanced in some way?’ Faith nodded. ‘There is a risk that any syntheDrug that stimulates the brain can also trigger a negative reaction in an individual who has some sort of mental illness. If some mental instability exists, the syntheDrug can knock the individual right out-ofsync. It’s hard to predict how individuals with existing mental illnesses might react, as mental illnesses are becoming increasingly complex. If the individual is taking any medication for their illness, this might also react with a syntheDrug.’ Faith thought about Eiko. She does go off on bizarre tangents - but so do lots of creative and intelligent people.

‘Is there anything else I can help you with, Miss Helier?’ ‘No, Dr. Hem, thank you for your help.’ As Faith put her coat on, she shamefully considered if doubting the mental stability of her friend was a way of easing her conscience.

G

G stepped into Zach’s flat, he was wearing a towel around his waist and his hair was wet. G swallowed hard. Oh, my. ‘I couldn’t get through on your fone, so I thought I’d stop by.’ And you promised me dinner. Oops I forgot, glad I put away the sofa bed. ‘I’m sorry, babe, I slept in - it was a bit of a late one last night with work. I was about to call you – but you got to me first – and by the way you look bloody gorgeous.’ G blushed. She fluttered her eyes over Zach’s naked torso and back up to his face. ‘So, you still want to do dinner?’ ‘I want to do you - then dinner,’ grinned Zach pulling her into him.

EIKO

I rolled onto my left side, yanked the covers from under me and rolled onto my back. My body felt cold but my face and feet were burning. I glanced hazily around the room; the whitewashed walls emanated a dull grey and dark shapeless shadows loomed over me from outside. It was raining heavily, but the storm felt like it was inside me. I felt dank. The room smelled like an empty kettle on boil but I knew the smell was mine. Cinko gave her strip-stripes a shake, crept under my duvet, padded herself down

onto stomach and covered my fingers in spiky cat licks. I didn’t deserve such unconditional cat comfort, so I shamefully put a pillow over my head and cringed. Cinko stretched her front paws onto my belly, she rubbed her head onto my hand and yawned, sensing my self-loathing and coaxing me to ‘get-a-grip.’ ‘Easier said than done.’ I mumbled. Then I asked myself for the millionth time. ‘Did I really tell Faith to “fuck off”?’ I analysed the end of the night again. In my confused state I had believed Faith was trying to hurt me. My mind had been smashed to pieces and I’d been so consumed with fear that just recollecting the whole ordeal made me shiver in bed. Of course, I knew Faith was my dear friend and she had been trying to help me, but at the time... I groaned as I recalled the rest. After I swore at Faith, I screamed at her to get out of my flat, but she wouldn’t leave. So, I told her that I hated her and I never wanted to see her again. Faith had been calm at first, telling me that I didn’t know what I was saying. But when I physically tried to push her out of the door, she started to cry and she was still sobbing when I shut the door in her face. I was racked with guilt. How could I have ever acted like that to sweet, beautiful Faith? That wasn’t me at all - I had clashed with her on my lowest ebb. I tried to work out how to apologise and I decided that I would grovel as if my life depended on it, but that might not be enough. My poor, dear friend - I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I thought about the things I’d learnt from that night: (1) With regards to taking syntheDrugs, I may as well stick needles in my eyes and those of my friend. (2) My mind was very sensitive and certainly not under my complete control; it had its limitations and would betray me if I pushed it too far. (3) While I was awake I could experience nightmares like no nightmare I had ever had asleep. With that last lesson, I drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

I woke with a start to loud knocking. I stumbled out of bed, patted my hair down and went to open the door. Faith was stood there and she seemed smaller than ever. She looked a bit unsure of herself and then she gave me a half-smile. Her halo was very faint and she smelled like old flowers, the smell of melancholy. ‘I’ve woken you,’ she said apologetically.

‘No, you haven’t,’ I said quickly, ‘I mean, yes, I was sleeping, but I was only drifting.’ There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence where we both looked at the floor and then I said, ‘It’s really good to see you.’ What I really meant was: I can’t believe you came to see me. I pulled the door open and Faith stepped in gingerly. She was carrying a blue canvas bag that smelled a bit funky. ‘Faith,’ I said. ‘Eiko,’ she said, at the same time. ‘You go,’ we both said in unison. Faith giggled and I stole the opportunity. ‘Faith, I am so, so sorry, you don’t know how sorry I am. I don’t know what I was saying or doing last night! I didn’t mean any of it, it was just complete... crap pouring out of mouth. I know I have really hurt you and then I even pushed you -’ ‘Stop,’ she touched my arm. ‘You don’t have to apologise.’ I blinked away the tears, her empathy was overwhelming. I tried not to cry, as it was me who was meant to be comforting her, after striking her down with my vicious words. ‘I can’t believe I said “I hate you”,’ my voice cracked, ‘where the fuck did that come from? I can’t believe ...’ it was no good, tears streamed down my face. ‘I should be the one saying sorry,’ she said and before I could object, she gave me a hug.

G

G stretched her slim limbs under the pillows and sighed. I feel like the luckiest girl alive. It just gets better every time. She rolled out of the bed, wrapped a sheet around her and headed to the shower room to Zach. In the bathroom mirror, she saw that she looked radiant. I like the effect he has on me, my skin is glowing.

Zach heard her thought and felt pleased with himself. This classy babe has not only fallen hard for me, but thinks I have a part of play in her natural beauty. I can see the advert now: ‘Zach Coombes not just good in bed, but good for your skin.’ G gathered her hair into a loose bun and splashed some cold water on her face; she paused when she saw an alien-looking object lodged under the bathroom mirror. It was a small pink pot. She carefully pulled the pot out and turned it over, it was labelled: lipMelt – 15. G felt her heartbeat rise as she opened the lid. A half-used lip gloss sparkled smugly at her. Who would use such tacky lip gloss and what the hell is it doing in Zach’s bathroom? ‘Fuck,’ Zach mutttered in the shower. That stupid girl must have left that. He took a deep breath and swung open the shower door. ‘Are you coming in or what?’ He saw G close her fist around the object and hide it under her sheet. ‘I wouldn’t use that, babe, it belongs to my little sis and she gets nasty cold sores.’ ‘Oh. Yes, I was going to borrow a bit.’ How embarrassing. She carefully placed the pot back on the bathroom top. ‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’ Zach smiled. That’s ‘cause I don’t. ‘Yes, Serena, she lives down South but occasionally comes up and uses my flat like a flaming hotel. So are you coming in or what? We need to get some food soon, I’m starving.’ G nodded, dropped the sheet to the floor and stepped in the shower. Zach gently breathed out a sigh of relief and kissed her neck.

EIKO

Faith and I were sat on my floor, eating Sunday dinner. I licked lamb sauce off my fingers. ‘This is totally yum - I thought you couldn’t cook?’ ‘I can’t - it cooked itself.’ Faith put her fork down. ‘As I was saying, you had such a bad reaction to that alphaParty - I would never have suggested it if I had any idea what would happen.’

‘No more apologising, ? Anyway, I decided to take it and I must accept the consequences - it’s as simple as that, but I certainly won’t be touching any other drug again.’ Faith was looking at me strangely. ‘I still don’t understand why you had such awful side-effects, it’s very rare.’ I was surprised. ‘I thought I’d just had a bad drug ride.’ Faith shook her head. ‘Not off a syntheDrug. I did some research today and checked out the makers of alphaParty, they ed the licensing and quality tests at the highest level and those tests are rigorous.’ She picked up her fork and moved a chunk of parsnip around her plate. ‘Although apparently, serious sideeffects can be caused if it’s combined with another drug.’ She glanced up at me. ‘Well you know I hadn’t had anything else.’ Faith’s eyes were still questioning me. I was a little taken back. ‘Faith, I don’t do drugs, you know that was the first time.’ ‘I know, I’m not saying you do, but maybe someone slipped you something in the club and you can’t .’ ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Are you taking any prescribed medication?’ I detected a tremble in Faith’s voice. To my surprise, Faith’s shadow suddenly appeared behind her, perched on the sofa with a notebook and pen in its hands. I thought she was playing at Dr. Faith. ‘Eiko?’ ‘What?’ ‘Are you taking any prescribed medication?’ ‘No.’ ‘Do you feel well in yourself?’ Her shadow tilted its head confidently to one side in anticipation of an answer, but Faith sounded nervous. There was something

she wasn’t telling me. ‘Well, apart from the trauma of last night and having a bit of a headache today, I am absolutely fine. I am sure my vitals are back to normal.’ I popped a piece of lamb into my mouth to block the conversation. ‘I mean, how do you feel?’ I munched the lamb and some got stuck in my teeth. I picked it out. ‘Generally, fine.’ ‘And you feel...’ her voice lowered, ‘you know, happy in yourself?’ I regarded her shadow again; I realised she was playing the psychiatrist not doctor. ‘Look, Faith, I’m fine, apart from a few episodes of self-pity now and then. What are you getting at?’ ‘Nothing,’ she replied a little too quickly. Her shadow disappeared. I popped the last pink carrot into my mouth. 'I was just exploring why the alphaParty affected you like it did, it’s all very odd.’ She sighed. ‘You must have a unique brain pattern that doesn’t follow the normal path of us lesser-souls.’ I tell you, at that moment the carrot nearly choked me, because I thought Faith had found me out, but she just shrugged her shoulders and returned to her meal. She was just being fanciful, but she was very close to the truth. She suddenly declared, ‘Last night will just have to remain a mystery, forever.’

G

Zach and G stepped out of the electric citiTuc onto Sash Street.

‘Watch your step, babe!’ Zach warned as he pulled her away from a puddle. ‘Thanks.’ G smiled to herself and contemplated how considerate Zach could be, once she was actually with him. ‘Have you been to the Eastern Block before?’ he asked her. G shook her head, she never even knew this part of the city existed; she always visited the same sort of eateries with her father, or occasionally she went for oysters and champagne with her cousin Sia. Generally, G avoiding eating out if she could help it, she was paranoid everyone was watching how much she ate and what she was eating. A huge, red iron fan rose before them with various animals etched onto the metal, this was the entrance to the Eastern Block. Zach took G’s hand and they stepped through the mouth of a tiger onto a colourful street. G’s eyes grew wide; several pink, red and gold fabrics stretched from building to building, billowing and shimmering in the breeze, all the way down the street. The place was bustling with couples, groups and restaurant workers wandering in and out of doorways adorned with twinkling lights and incense flowers. Delicious smells poured out onto the street from various eateries, some offered traditional Japanese, Indonesian, Vietnamese and Sri Lankan foods, others: dutchThai, angloIndian, chinesEnglish and madagaRopean fusion foods. The windows were packed with roast meats, fragrant salads, glossy dumplings, steaming noodles and fat pastries. Other windows contained rotating sticks crammed with glossy pieces of fish, chicken and lamb, seafood plates, simmering soup pots, piles of stuffed pancakes and coloured crackers. Several restaurants had colour changing tanks full of lobsters, local crayfish and imported conch. There was so much to see, G did not know where to look. ‘Wow,’ she kept saying over and over again. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ Zach smiled at her. ‘Like being in Asia.’ G peered through several restaurant windows to watch chefs rolling pancakes, carving sticky meat onto dinner plates, smoking fish in straw baskets, and spinning eggs on hotplates, while waitresses poured streams of hot tea from impossible heights into china cups, and carried trays of beer and sake to tables. G felt hungry and wondered how she was supposed to watch her diet. She was onto letter t’ of the Alphabet Diet and had hoped to find a restaurant serving a

simple plate of tomatoes, turnip or turbot, but the only ‘t’ she suspected she would get here was a cup of the stuff. ‘Are you OK there?’ asked Zach gripping her hand tighter. G smiled at Zach and was a little surprised because it was as if he sensed her unease. She noticed he was in touch with the slightest change in her mood. She squeezed his hand and let him lead her into a restaurant named Nook. It was very dark inside the restaurant; the only things lit were the round glass tables, glowing in white light. Most of the tables were full of customers and their voices sounded muted in the dark. An elegant Asian waitress in a silk trodress, showed G and Zach to a table; G noticed she had a silver dragon tattooed on the inside of her wrist that glowed in the table light. A soft voice asked, ‘Can I take your coat, Madam?’ Before G could reply, her coat disappeared from her shoulders, and a fragrant cocktail was pressed into her hand by someone who moved in the dark like a magician. At their table, two digital orange carp appeared on the top and chased each other around the table before morphing into menus. G took a sip of her cocktail. ‘Any good?’ asked Zach ‘Delicious. This place is quite a find.’ ‘Only the best for you.’ Zach winked at her and scrolled through his menu. G followed suit. She read through entrées such as: Sautéed Clams in Goji Butter, Teal Eggs Three Ways, Braised Pork in Rice Wafers Cones, Oysters in Assam Tea and Sea Urchin Soufflé - the list went on with interesting but unfamiliar dishes. G noticed the dishes’ nutrition contents were nowhere to be found, and guessed she would have to ask for a separate list, but she hated to make a fuss in front of Zach. She wished she had brought her discreet nutriPen with her so she could dip it into her food to display the breakdown of content, for damage limitation. G was suddenly aware that Zach was watching her. ‘Why don’t you let me order for us? I’ll choose something delicious – you’ve

burnt off quite a bit of energy this afternoon,’ he said. G saw a naughty gleam in his eye and smiled back, but inside she felt uneasy. She wanted to refuse his offer because no-one had ever ordered for her; it was scary enough for her eating unusual food without a nutritional content’s list. However, G found herself replying, ‘OK - thanks.’ It was incredibly hard to say ‘no’ to the gorgeous man in front of her, especially as he was so incredibly thoughtful. When the waitress reappeared out of nowhere, Zach ordered them Steamed Chicken in Caramel Parcels, Langoustines in Chermoula Butter, and Pan-fried Squash and Angel-hair Noodles. After another cocktail, the conversation flowed easily between them. G found Zach extremely engaging, he put her completely at ease and she even managed to eat her whole starter. Zach enjoyed G hanging onto his every word; she was easy to talk to, appreciative and good company, despite her obvious insecurities. Zach made sure to tell G how stressful his job was and he mentioned he was getting tired of his management being so pushy. ‘For example, last night, we all had to go out and drink ourselves stupid - it’s macho bullshit, but if you don’t go, you don’t fit in, and then you become isolated at work.’ ‘That’s terrible,’ sympathised G. Zach is so not macho, she thought. ‘It is “terrible”. I would love to set up my own company.’ ‘Really?’ G sat up. He is so clever. ‘Not straight away, but in a couple of years. I have recently been pursued by Lakes University. They want me to their Engineering division as a research student as soon as possible – an opportunity only offered to a select few. I’m very tempted... it would add another string to my bow and give me an excellent foundation for the future. I’m deliberating about enrolling, but it means giving up the day job, and a good salary for basic living expenses.’ ‘You should enrol, you must,’ encouraged G as their main course arrived. She looked over her plate of food. Looks like a lot.

Zach touched her arm to move her attention away from her plate and onto him. ‘Do you really think I should?’ ‘Yes. Yes I do. It’s fantastic that you have been asked.’ On impulse, G called over a waitress and asked her for a bottle of champagne. She turned back to Zach, ‘We should celebrate your offer - I really hope you accept it.’ It would be nice if at least one of us had a university education. ‘Have you been to university?’ G shook her head. ‘I wish I had now, but I had already spent fourteen years at boarding schools around half of Europe. I suppose I learnt to speak German, French, Russian and Italian, but I had enough of education at the time, to then go to university.’ ‘Jeez, I never realised you spoke so many languages, you’re amazing.’ G shrugged off the compliment but smiled inside. ‘But G, do you really think university at my age is a good idea? Not to mention giving up a well-paid job?’ ‘Yes, why not?’ she replied, studying the six langoustines and pot of noodles in front of her. I suppose I better get stuck into this then. ‘Right.’ Zach was surprised G was not worried about dating an older student without a job. But it was different for her; she was wealthy and did not have to worry about money and work. He knew he would have to survive on meagre funds if he went on the course. He watched her pick up a small forkful of langoustine flesh and carefully put it into her mouth. G looked up when she realised he was watching her again. ‘Is it OK?’ ‘It’s lovely,’ she smiled. It really is. The champagne arrived. G proposed a toast. ‘To the cleverest and most gorgeous man I know.’

Zach smiled. ‘Thanks, G.’ ‘You know, I am really pleased for you Zach. Don’t worry about giving up your job, this course sounds like it will secure your future. You will manage, I’m sure.’ I’ll make sure he can afford it, she told herself, but she did not divulge this to Zach in case she appeared forward or pushy. She wanted him to follow his dream and she decided to help him financially as much as she could. It will give me a purpose and what a gorgeous purpose he is. Zach had to stop his eyes popping out from his head. He was stunned G was thinking about helping him. She is one useful chick that I must not - under any circumstances - piss off. I will play along with the girlfriend/boyfriend thing. No more avoiding her fone calls or forgetting our dates, I am going to be the perfect boyfriend. Then Zach did what he never did, but he knew it would score a big tick with G. ‘After dinner, let’s go back to mine. I hope you can stay over because I want you in my arms all night.’ G beamed at him and a feeling of euphoria welled up inside of her and opened up like an unfurling flower. She was so happy that she did what she never did: she cleared her plate. Zach topped up her champagne glass and declared a toast, ‘To the most beautiful woman in the world.’ ‘Thank you, Zach. I am having the most wonderful time. Did you enjoy your meal?’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘It was fantastic.’ ‘Good, because it’s on me.’

Chapter Nine

THORSEN

Kaylea meticulously wrapped up the lady’s cheeses. Thorsen sighed. He glanced sympathetically at the customer behind him. This is painful. Kaylea has no concept of time but you cannot tell her how to do anything. At least she’s relinquished her habit of reciting the morning news - it’s been almost three days without her sloppy seconds. Kaylea finally handed the lady her cheeses. ‘So how are things?’ the lady asked. Kaylea took a deep breath as she thought about her answer. The customer behind Thorsen grunted loudly and walked away. Thorsen shook his head. That customer won’t be back will he? She needs to learn about customer service is she wants to keep her trade. ‘I suppose I’m ok.’ Kaylea replied. ‘And little Mac?’ Come on, Thorsen willed her. Kaylea shook her hair over her face. Thorsen saw her face grow dark under the mass of red curls. ‘He’s not going to make it to Christmas, Mrs P,’ Kaylea said quietly. ‘He’s in the final stages; we’ve been through every available treatment. He only just survived a heart scrape and that was traumatic enough, but now it’s his liver that’s scarred and his lungs are showing signs of the same. Gary’s at the hospice every day - I -

I can’t face it,’ she whimpered. The colour drained from Thorsen's face. Isn’t her husband called “Gary?” So who is “little Mac”? The lady looked uncertain for a moment and then said, ‘You must give both of them my love. You take care, Kaylea. I’ll say a prayer for all of you.’ The lady turned. She gave Thorsen a sad smile before walking away. Kaylea cleared her throat and shook her hair from her face. ‘Hi Thorsen, what will it be today?’ Thorsen stepped closer to the counter. ‘A kilo of buffalo curd.’ He watched Kaylea wipe her cheese knife and reach for the cheese. As she placed the cheese on the board, he intercepted. ‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help hearing your conversation about “little Mac.” Is he - your - um - ’ ‘My son.’ Kaylea smiled feebly. ‘Do you mind if I ask what’s wrong with him?’ Kaylea took a deep breath. ‘Mac is five years, three months and thirteen days old, he has strawberry blonde hair – just like his father - and at the last count he had seventeen freckles on his cheeks. He can be cheeky as a chimp and calls me “Love-Mum” - that’s what’s right with him. As for “what’s wrong” - well, where do I start? He only weighs thirty-five pounds, he loves watching football and rugby – but he’s never played either because he can’t run, and he stopped walking last November. He used to love peanut-cookie milkshakes and Mary’s Cheddar Rolls when he could chew solids, and he could draw castles and motorbikes until his fingers curled up like claws and went numb. It’s called “advanced scleroderma.” That’s what is wrong with him.’ Thorsen shook his head. ‘Is there anything I can...’ He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Kaylea grabbed the counter to steady herself. ‘Perhaps, if you can stop the disease tightening his skin and throttling the life out of him. Maybe you could grow him a new heart that’s immune from the bitch. If you can work out any

way you can give me back my beautiful, beautiful Mac and make him perfect again like he was when he first came into this damn world, I will give you everything... everything I have.’ Kaylea dropped her head down under her curls and began to weep. ‘I am so, so sorry.’ Thorsen, put his hands on hers. ‘I am so sorry, Kaylea.’ Thorsen was truly sorry for Kaylea and her family, but he was also sorry for every single time he had felt even mildly irritated by her. Kaylea looked up through the tears. ‘You know, I haven’t seen my son in the hospital for nearly two weeks. Gary is beside himself – but I just can’t do it anymore.’ A customer came up to the counter. Thorsen shook his head at him. The customer glanced at Kaylea, nodded at Thorsen and walked away. Thorsen squeezed her hands. ‘Don’t you want to see your son?’ ‘Of course I want to. But I can’t do it - I can’t bear to watch that bloody disease strangle every bit of life out my boy. I come to work – not just because I need to, but to take my mind off everything. I want to Mac how he used to be – giving me a big smile and hug every morning. Now he can hardly move. I need to hold onto that image, Thorsen, it’s all I have left.’ Thorsen shook his head. ‘You and Gary are all Mac has left. That little boy must need his mother - more now, than ever.’ Kaylea shook her head and straightened her apron, but Thorsen could tell she was listening. ‘Don’t you think Mac is wondering why you’re not coming to see him? I’m sorry, but he could be blaming himself. You need to be strong for him, Kaylea, or...’ Thorsen swallowed hard. ‘Or what?’ ‘You’ll never forgive yourself, Kaylea. It’s a short fix avoiding him now, but you will have to suffer guilt on top of all the other pain you have, and you can’t rewind time. You will never be able to make it right.’ He saw the light of realisation fill her eyes. ‘Go and share today with him and the next, before it’s

too late.’ Kaylea nodded through the tears. ‘Thank you, Thorsen - you’re completely right, I’ll go to him straight away. I just needed to be told.’ She wiped her eyes with a tissue. ‘Oh, I’ll get your cheese first.’ As Kaylea carefully washed her hands, slowly cut and wrapped up the cheese, Thorsen realised how grateful he was for her care and attention.

ZACH

‘What does your raiserArt say?’ asked Zach, gently touching the branded lettering on Petuna’s arm. Hmm, she smells like coconut. Petuna pouted and dropped her kohl-winged eyes to the Japanese symbol on her arm. An opportunist - I’ll give him that, but not a bad looking one, and there is no-one else in the queue. ‘It says: screw me,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Does it really?’ grinned Zach. Dirty little slapper. He didn’t even flinch. ‘It doesn’t really.’ Zach gave her one of his winning smiles. ‘So what does your raiserArt really say? Now I am intrigued.’ ‘Mind your own fucking business.’ Zach pushed himself up from where he had been leaning on the counter. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ She shook her head. ‘You haven’t, it says: mind your own fucking business.’ Petuna nearly smiled but decided to pout instead. Zach grinned. ‘You really are something and a very attractive... twentysomething-year-old.’

I’m in my thirties and it’s obvious, but it’s nice to get a flirter than the usual shit. She held out her hand and said, ‘Petuna.’ She gave him her best pout. Zach shook her hand. Her skin was soft and her nails shone a reflective blue. ‘I’m Zach,’ he said. He held onto her hand until she slowly took it away. Petuna was still pouting. He must be the new science lecturer - he’s way too smart for a student. Bet he’s married. ‘So, Zach, apart from chatting up receptionists, what are you after?’ Zach glanced at the other receptionist behind Petuna - an overweight woman in her forties, wearing a garish flowery suit. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say I was doing that, exactly,’ he replied, returning his eyes to Petuna. Witty too. Petuna touched the side of her neck, self-consciously. Zach considered her full lips and then his eyes climbed back up to her long purple eyelashes. ‘But I do need a gorgeous woman to tell me how to sign up for a place on The Turbine Engineering Programme.’ Petuna blushed. So he is a student - potentially anyway. I better help him get in. ‘OK...’ she brought up the course details on her screen ‘...this industrial engineering course started three weeks ago, but it’s been recently re-d because it’s undersubscribed. It’s over two years’ full-time study and includes a six-month placement at The Energy Bridge, course fees are covered, as well as a contribution to living expenses, but if you leave the course, all monies are to be refunded. The course leader is Paul McManus – he is in another lecture for...’ Petuna glanced at a clock, ‘... fifty-five minutes, but I’ll put a meeting in for you.’ Petuna shoved a data pad in front of Zach. ‘Swipe your details on there and I’ll show you where his office is, you can go straight there at ten-twenty. Don’t be late – he hates lateness.’ Petuna pouted again. ‘Good at your job too,’ Zach commented as he touched his iDychip onto the pad. Petuna signalled to her colleague she was leaving the desk. ‘Follow me,’ she breathed to Zach. As Petuna walked ahead of him, Zach thought that she could have been poured into her snug green top and pencil skirt. She had a perfect hourglass figure and her shapely calves teetered precariously on her metal heels.

Petuna wove him through the student traffic. ‘Excuse me!’ she repeated authoritatively to the students, and occasionally she commanded, ‘Move!’ Once or twice, Petuna turned and pouted at Zach. He heard her think, I know where his eyes are, as she wiggled her hips to full effect. Petuna stopped suddenly, as three students barged past her. She scowled at them. Total waste of space. Zach sniggered. For a woman who works with students, she doesn’t seem to like them very much. They kept walking and eventually Petuna stopped at an empty corridor. ‘These are where the lecturers’ offices are,’ she said gesturing to the doors, ‘Paul McManus’s office is second from the end. You’ll need to come back here in forty minutes but you can wait in one of the cafés until then, I’ll show you where.’ She pouted at him. ‘Thanks.’ Zach noticed a bathroom behind them and a camera ball rolling across the wall in the other direction. ‘Maybe you could show me where the bathroom is?’ He stepped closer towards Petuna. ‘It’s just behind you,’ she said and then she spotted the glazed look in Zach’s eyes. Is he seducing me? She soon got her answer. Zach’s hands moved onto her hips and pushed her gently back into the toilets. ‘Did you say forty minutes?’ Zach asked. ‘You have thirty-nine left.’ Petuna finally smiled.

THORSEN

It should have been like any other morning in Thorsen’s life, familiar faces wandered in and out of the shadows until the city slipped into Technicolor. Thorsen had routed his way through the usual lanes and yards to organise his

head, but now he felt unbalanced; the episode with Kaylea had thrown him right off-track. He was finally stood at Café Di Romana, drinking his coffee and gazing up at the sky, when Ella piped up in her charming, broken English, ‘So quiet this day - thinking hard, Thorsen?’ She gently nudged him with her hip. Thorsen took another sip of coffee. ‘I was wondering if it might rain again.’ Ella squinted up at the blue sky; it was filled with clouds that looked like cappuccino foam. ‘No, Thorsen, like home today!’ she turned her small palms up towards the sky. ‘No shitty English rain, I bet my chance on it.’ Thorsen pointed at the clouds and said, ‘Cumulus congestus - they look innocent enough but they cause a downpour.’ Ella shook her head with disbelief and ‘hummed’ and ‘haa-ed’ with Thorsen before serving another customer. Thorsen’s thoughts returned to Kaylea. It was ironic he had thought of her as a ‘chatterbox’ wrapped up in life’s trivia, when he had not an inkling what had been really going on in her life, nor the tragedy the trivia masked. It was more cruelly ironic that Kaylea was in desperate need of help for her son, but there was nothing he could do – no cure he could offer and no miraculous relief. As for all the ailments of the mind Thorsen could appease, he could not heal one physical disease of the body. It was so unfair. ‘M’sta Thorsen,’ interrupted a raspy voice. Thorsen turned. The voice belonged to Dreaded Jed, an old Jamaican streetseller. Thorsen noticed Jed’s chunky silver dreads looked stunning against his smooth treacle skin in the light. Jed was in his mid-seventies, but he looked around fifty. He had an old wooden wine-box hung from his neck and the box’s contents changed nearly every day. Thorsen peered in and saw it was filled with baseball caps. Dreaded Jed turned his head sideways and Thorsen saw the one he wore had Lakes City Football Club embroidered on the side in gold. ‘Dees are great hats f’r sale. Ye going to d’ Lakes City versus Praga game this

weeken’ ?’ ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time.’ Thorsen actually hated football but he did not want to hurt Jed’s feelings. ‘Shame.’ Jed shook his dreadlocks. ‘I’ll b’ there. I gotta whole lotta footie caps to shift b’fore d’ game - much more than dees. Dey ain’t any ol’ footie caps y’ know, dey got dose massage kalmPatches on d’ inside which relieve al’ de tension dat come wit’ screamin’ for y’ team on d’ green.’ Dreaded Jed did a little jive on the spot and Thorsen laughed. Dreaded-Jed gave him a little nod and zigzagged up the street. It was time for him to go. Thorsen mouthed a silent goodbye to Ella and swooped up his shoppers. Thorsen wandered through the Auld Quarter until he came to Fresh & Deep. Sandy was whistling away at the counter as he stripped scales off a large char. ‘Hello, mate!’ greeted Sandy. ‘Bloody lovely day isn’t it? The calm after yesterday’s storm.’ Thorsen put his bags down. ‘I doubt it’ll last. You look much better than the last time I saw you.’ ‘Yep, everything’s grand.’ Sandy’s voice dropped to a whisper despite the fact no-one else was in the shop. ‘Chloe and me are doing just fine, in fact, more than fine. I got my mojo back. It’s just like when we first met.’ Thorsen tried to look surprised. ‘That’s great.’ ‘I’ve realised what’s most important to me. I’m taking it easier at work and letting Dan work the afternoons so I can get off home. I don’t know why I didn’t kick back before and spend more quality time with Chloe. Thorsen, thanks for listening to me whingeing the other day.’ ‘Anytime, you know where I am.’ ‘Well, look at that!’ gasped Sandy.

Thorsen followed Sandy’s eyes to the shop window, where a downpour had begun, despite the glorious sunshine.

ZACH

Café 1 was Mervin’s favourite eatery in the university because it had thirty-six white tables with immobile benches, fixed to the floor in rows of six, and because the furniture did not change, Mervin could relax. Mervin also liked the fact that Café 1’s assistants prepared him any sandwich filling he wanted, whereas Café 2’s fresh foods were robotically pre-assembled onto a conveyer belt, and Café 3’s hot meals came out of a vending machine. As Mervin waited for his salami and lemon curd toastie, he glanced over at his friend who was reclining on a bench in front of an uneaten bowl of pasta. Zach was reflecting on the morning’s events until a stone skidded across his pool of thought. Who’s that hot hunk? He looked around the room for the recipient and saw a plain girl on another table staring at him. She quickly looked away and thought, he’s noticed me. Zach turned away, hardly. His thoughts returned to the morning. After having a good rumble in the toilets with Petuna, he had been interrogated for forty-five minutes by the course tutor, Paul McManus. Zach had given him an impressive although exaggerated - work history. He had answered Paul’s questions more than adequately, as Zach could gage from Paul’s thoughts what he pretty much wanted to hear. Zach noticed a redhead saunter past his table. Then Mervin appeared in his line of vision and sat down in front of him. Zach watched him unwrap his toastie. ‘And how are you?’ ‘I am very good, Zach. Did you get on the course yet?’ ‘Yep and I’m settling in,’ Zach grinned, ‘but I’m more interested in your gory

details.’ Mervin looked blank. ‘I’ve seen no “gory”.’ ‘You and that bird - you know, after the club?’ ‘No bird,’ Mervin answered flatly; he opened up his toastie and covered it with mustard. Zach glanced across at the redhead; she was picking at a fruit salad. He waited until Mervin had pasted his toastie back together. ‘Come on, Mervin, you know what I’m on about - you and that hyperGirl - you must have got up to something sticky?’ ‘Henrietta was not “sticky”.’ ‘“Henrietta”?’ Zach laughed. Mervin knotted his eyebrows together. ‘Is that her name? Really?’ Mervin scratched his head and nodded. ‘Well, she didn’t look like a “Henrietta” to me - more like a Crystal Foo-Foo or Titty-Tinkle.’ Mervin frowned. ‘What should a Henrietta look like?’ ‘Not like a hyperGirl!’ Mervin scratched his nose. ‘I do not understand what you’re saying, Zach.’ ‘Well, I imagine a Henrietta would be more introvert and plain, probably an intellectual - definitely not covered in sequins, bursting at the tits and ready to get down-and-dirty.’ ‘She did not get “down and dirty” and yes, Henrietta is “an intellectual”, but not “plain” - she has an Advanced Mastership in Art and works as a curator at the Viscoski Gallery, which people who like art, know about.’

Zach shook his head with disbelief. ‘Then how come she’s working as a hyperGirl?’ Mervin scratched his chin. ‘Why not? She works as a hyperGirl for exposure to people she would not normally meet in her other work. She is producing a social art piece called “Outside the Box” and meeting these people is useful for her research.’ Zach shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think that’s just what she’s told you.’ He glanced at the redhead who was stretching her arms and yawning. ‘There isn’t anything wrong in working as a hyperGirl, or the fact you went back to your place to get down-and-dirty.’ ‘My apartment floor is clean.’ Zach shook his head with frustration. ‘What exactly did you do when you got back?’ Mervin scratched his ear. ‘I made Henrietta a black coffee with one sugar and me a mocha and pear milkshake. We sat opposite each other and Henrietta asked me some questions about me, so I showed her my liquid-metal paintings and two portfolios of collages, then she went to use the toilet. She came back with her jacket off and one of the straps of her top had fallen down.’ Zach raised his eyebrows with a little smile. ‘And?’ ‘I put the strap back up onto her shoulder, and asked her if she wanted another coffee with one sugar, in case she was cold without her jacket on. She said “Yes”. When I came back with her coffee, she was looking at my book, I Photography by E. Martinez, and she was laid on my blue cushion and she had taken her shoes off.’ Mervin took another bite from his sandwich. Zach shook his head impatiently. ‘Then Henrietta asked some more questions about me. But I was tired, so I asked her if she wanted to go home. She replied she would if I wanted her to, so I said that I did.’ Zach groaned with disbelief. ‘That was it?’

Mervin scratched his knee. ‘Henrietta put on her jacket and shoes, and then she kissed me on the left cheek, which was pleasant because her lips were soft. Then she kissed me on the right cheek and that was also pleasant because her lips were still soft, but then she kissed me on my lips, and that was not very nice because her lips were wet and her tongue slipped out. So, I bit her tongue -’ ‘You “bit her tongue”?’ gasped Zach. ‘Yes, but not hard. Just enough to make it go back into her mouth.’ ‘Then that was it?’ Mervin scratched his other knee. ‘That was almost it. Henrietta invited me to come and see the movingPaint Exhibition at the Viscoski Gallery next week.’ ‘What the hell is “movingPaint”?’ ‘Paintings in shiftOils, they alter colour and direction on the canvas when they react with temperature or light.’ ‘You are unbelievable,’ Zach whispered harshly. Mervin raised his knee and scratched his foot. ‘No I am not. shiftOils have been around for a long time -’ ‘Not the flaming “shiftOils”, I am referring to your wasted opportunity. You had a sex kitten invite herself over to your place, she practically undresses herself, and what do you do? You redress her. Then, she tries to put her tongue down your throat – she’s practically throwing herself at you - and you ...’ ‘I what? I what, Zach?’ Mervin cocked his head to one side. But Zach was sat bolt upright with a look of shock on his face. ‘What is wrong with the end of your sentence? Zach? Why is your mouth open?’

THORSEN

The rush was finally over and a few customers remained sipping coffees and beers. Thorsen stretched his limbs and sighed; he felt like he had been dishing out brunches, lunches, hunches and remedies forever. He instructed Eli to watch the café as he went into the kitchen. Thorsen ate leftover crab risotto straight from the pan and thought about the day. One of his more interesting customers had been a musician called ‘Ko,’ who made a good living busking along The Damson Stretch on the south of the city. Ko’s problem was songwriter’s block; his creativity had been severed upon hearing his new girlfriend – who was on a month’s circoAerobic training course in - had been learning more about sexual gymnastics than tight-rope running from her teacher. To add insult to injury, Ko’s girlfriend told him that her teacher had a better beard than Ko could grow, and the teacher also happened to be a woman. Thorsen could not help with Ko’s facial hairlessness, but he served him a rose absolute shake to uplift him and release his creative energy. He also advised Ko to cut the cheating girlfriend free, as Ko was young, talented and good-looking, and there were many more deserving girls. Thorsen tore a piece of parmesan bread to mop up the risotto cream. He also recalled a girl called ‘Hanya,’ who had come into the café with her parents at lunchtime. Although Hanya was in her early teens, her parents had ordered her to a table and then ordered for her. Then they ignored her and bickered about which school she should be sent away to. Thorsen had watched Hanya pale into the background and almost disappear, while her parents clashed and wrangled. He had considered slipping something onto Hanya’s food to boost her assertiveness, but he turned tact at the last minute, as he did not see the use in helping her speak up when her parents may not even listen. Even worse, he knew this intervention could result in all three of them arguing, because he had made a similar mistake before. So instead, Thorsen laced her mother’s pistachio bun and her father’s rhubarb tart with a calming chamomile and rose syrup, that easily complemented both orders, and he served them on plates painted with frankincense leaves to soothe and warm their temperaments. He encircled the plates with the empathy element – a hard emotion to snare, but once practised never forgotten. Then he secretly watched Hanya’s parents eat their cakes and soon enough, their bickering stopped. Eventually, Hanya’s father suggested she should choose her school.

Hanya told her parents she wanted to stay in the city to be close to them, and both her parents were extremely touched. It appeared they had never taken the time out to consider her affection for them. Thorsen heard the café go quiet; he popped his head around the door. All the customers had left, so he sent Eli home. He returned to the kitchen to marinate some wild boar kebabs for the next day. As Thorsen worked away, he peered out of the window and saw the cumulus congestus had gone, leaving a clear-blue sky. This weather is as changeable as my mood. Yesterday, I felt damp inside, but today, level-headed and serene. Better not dwell on it - it’s only to be expected. Thorsen heard the café door open. He quickly rinsed his hands and returned to the café. A young man closed the door behind him; he was wearing black vinyl gloves, a black hat, grey polo neck and dark sunglasses. Thorsen just recognised the man as Paulo. Before Thorsen could even speak, Paulo turned 360 degrees on the spot and stopped. He did this again, walked backwards out of the café door and shut the door. Outside he clapped his hands, and then he opened the door, walked back in and took off his sunglasses. ‘OK there?’ Thorsen asked tentatively, knowing what the answer would be. ‘No, I am not. Sorry about that, I came in on the wrong foot - my left, but corrected my mistake with two left spins.’ Paulo grunted. ‘I forgot two lefts don’t make a right, so I retraced my steps with the right foot first – I think that was the right thing to do.’ ‘New phobia?’ Thorsen asked sympathetically. ‘Yes, leftism. My last phobia disappeared a month ago, but I still don’t feel right – that’s not to say I’m anywhere near being left.’ ‘Right.’ Thorsen nodded, bemused. ‘Right. Of course, it has to be right when its leftism. My doctor says this phobia is called “levophobia” but I don’t like that name at all – that sounds like an aversion to levitation.’ As far as Thorsen could , Paulo’s last phobia was phobophobia where Paulo became terrified of all phobias and anyone who had one, including

himself. Paulo had come into his café, caught sight of his reflection in a mirror and screamed like a banshee. Despite two of his customers leaving, Thorsen had remedied Paulo, like he did every time Paulo turned up with a new phobia (which was usually every three or four months.) That was apart from the time Paulo developed a phobia of cafés and Thorsen did not see Paulo for a long time, until he was treated with psychoSteroids by a doctor, and that was quite ironic really, because Paulo’s phobia before that was iatrophobia: a fear of going to the doctors. The doctor-phobia had disappeared when Paulo’s brother told him he was going to get him sectioned. Thorsen also recalled Paulo having optophobia: a fear of opening his eyes; that only lasted until he bumped into a van and broke his pelvis. Then there was the nostophobia: where Paulo feared returning to his home, and so he slept on the streets until he was assaulted. Then he had arachibutyrophobia: the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth, and that phobia Thorsen thought Paulo still had. Each time Paulo visited The Edible Remedy with a new phobia, Thorsen knocked something up to disperse it as best he could, and although Paulo was unaware of Thorsen’s help, he knew he felt better for visiting the café. Thorsen’s remedies would help Paulo until his next phobia evolved. It seemed that Paulo was addicted to fear and obsession. Although remedying Paulo was an endless exercise, Thorsen sympathised with him because when he had dated Efan the hygeinaphobe, Efan’s fear had been so terribly real, that Thorsen had sometimes felt it too. Thorsen told Paulo to sit down, and he made sure he pointed to a table on the right of Paulo. Thinking on his feet he said, ‘Funny enough, I’ve got some rightly-ripened peach and walnut pudding, would you like some?’ Paulo nodded. ‘Right on.’ Thorsen stepped behind his counter and just in case Paulo was watching, he stepped around the right of it.

ZACH

Zach stood up, ‘Hang on Mervin, I’ll be back.’ Zach rushed over to the food counter. It was her, he was sure of it, although she was facing the other way – he recognised her jet black hair and the way it slightly curled on her lily white neck. As Zach drew close to her, she turned and met his eyes with her own luminous blue ones. The corners of her lips edged towards a smile but she drew them back. ‘It’s you,’ he muttered. She did not respond and he heard no thought stray from her mind. They stood staring at each other for a while. Eiko felt a faint warmth of recognition when she saw him, but then she was not sure why. Her eyes faltered to the ground, but the man had no shadow. She glanced up at the man’s face; it was striking and kissed by the sun. He had light brown eyes flecked with green, the questioning sort of eyes that could pull a person in. He was several inches taller than her and through his thin top she saw he was athletic and strong. She was not sure she knew this man, but she was not sure that she did not know him either. ‘Who are you?’ they asked each other in unison. Eiko laughed, she felt silly. Zach glanced from her face to the gentle curve of her neck, he saw her pulse gently pushing through her delicate skin and he wanted to touch it – just to check if she was real. ‘Who are you?’ he asked her again. This time she sensed urgency in his question. ‘I’m Eiko... do I know you?’ she asked, looking for a visual clue – but nothing gave him away. There was a lot more to him though, of that she was sure. She realised his scent was circling around him, a safe scent of comfort and warmth, and for some reason, it reminded her of her early childhood with Uncle Eddie. Yet this man’s scent had a musky overtone that was strong and animal-like and it made Eiko feel

unsteady on her feet. ‘Eiko,’ he said and then he spoke her name again as if wanted to own it. ‘Have you not seen me before?’ Eiko shook her head but Zach could see a quiver in her lips, she was holding something back, something he could not fathom. Inside he felt uneasy. Who was this beauty and what was she thinking? He could draw nothing from her mind, but he just knew there was so much more to her – it was in her eyes and on her lips, and he wanted to place his lips onto hers and pull the truth from her breath. ‘I have seen you before,’ she finally ed. ‘You were sat at that table with your friend,’ she glanced behind him, ‘eyeing up the girls.’ She waited for his reaction. Zach was undeterred. ‘I have just enrolled today - I am taking it all in.’ Eiko's eyes slipped to the floor momentarily, but still there was no shadow. Was he who he presented? Why was her head spinning with his scent? Was it the powerful scent of a man or a predator? ‘Well, I’m Zach and I you from the Fuel club on Saturday, you were dancing in front of the stage.’ He saw something flash across her eyes. Eiko felt her face burn and she took a small step back. Did he see me flip? Zach continued, ‘Of all the hundreds of people there, you stood out like a beacon. I came over to talk to you, and you smiled at me but then you...’ his voice trailed away. Eiko wanted the ground to swallow her up. ‘Then I what?’ ‘You just disappeared.’ Eiko felt relieved he had not witnessed the carnage. ‘Yes, well, I - I can’t a lot about that night – it was a bit of a blur. Did I speak to you?’ Zach regarded her for a moment, her eyes were genuine. ‘No, but you definitely were about to talk to me – I’m sure of it, before you suddenly went.’

There was a moment of awkwardness, where Zach could say nothing but stare at her and Eiko could feel nothing but her pulse race under his gaze. She finally broke the silence. ‘I’ve got to get to my lesson.’ He nearly touched her arm, but he held back. ‘Look, Eiko, I don’t want you to think I’m being forward, but I’d really like to see you again.’ Eiko smiled with uncertainly. ‘I’m sure you will - we’re both enrolled here.’ She saw his eyes flinch. ‘Bye, Zach.’ ‘See you, Eiko.’ He watched her walk away. He thought, this is not the end. There is much more to her, I can sense it - so why can’t I read her thoughts? For the first time in his life, Zach was completely mystified by a woman and it made him want to know more. He wondered if he might have to rely on his basic senses. Eiko walked quickly to her class; she was relieved to be out of the situation with the man. She was still embarrassed about her meltdown in the club and wondered if he had seen more than he said. She had felt very shy in front of the handsome Zach and she suspected he was a charmer: she had seen the way he had been at the table, like a lion in his lair. Maybe he was just trying his luck with her, or maybe he was genuine, but she was not really sure. A shadow would have helped, but shadows could take their time - if there was a shadow to be seen at all. ‘We will just have to see,’ she told herself.

G

‘That is giving me a headache,’ whined G. Thorsen popped the hazelnut meringue out of the handheld bakeWhizz and turned down the temperature. ‘You have my full attention.’ He took the jar of hazelnut sugar back into the café and shoved it up onto a shelf.

G teetered after him. ‘When? Tomorrow?’ Thorsen bucked up straight, stomped his left foot and saluted her. ‘Sorry, Sir.’ G giggled. ‘Twat!’ ‘Reign your language in.’ Thorsen glanced at a couple having afternoon tea. He pushed G back behind the counter. ‘I’m all ears.’ G glanced at a plate loaded with cakes. ‘Would you like to try my fantastic fudge flan, perfect peach pudding or lovely lemon cake?’ he teased. ‘Your attention would be lovely.’ Thorsen crossed his arms and leant back on the counter. ‘I’m all ears.’ ‘As I was saying, you better get prepared for some major grovelling because...’ G bowed her head down coyly, ‘The One said the “L-word” to me on Friday.’ She fluttered her eyelashes back up at Thorsen. ‘Which one? Lunatic? Limpet? Lush? Leave me alone?’ ‘Thorsen!’ G howled. ‘Oh, you mean the one that comes between an “I” and “U” word?’ ‘Yes!’ grinned G with glee. She ran her nails through her mane with mock arrogance. ‘Of course!’ Thorsen scooped up a piece of crumbled lemon cake and popped it into his mouth. ‘Great, that’s what you wanted.’ ‘Well, not exactly.’ G shook her head. ‘I mean, it’s pretty much been about sleeping together and one dinner date up to now. I’d like us to do more things together - more romantic things.’ ‘Well, I’m sorry, G, but if you hand everything to a man on a plate at the start – and I only know this because I am one - the bar is set there. So did you say the “L-word” back?’

G shook her head and bit her lip nervously. ‘I thought you were head-over-heels?’ G shook her head silently, she looked slightly scared. ‘I’m worried he doesn’t mean it, or he might even retract it.’ Thorsen sighed. ‘Well don’t say it back until you are sure he means it.’ She nodded. ‘You’re right. Even though I love him, until I say it out loud to him, I don’t feel like I’ve properly given my heart away. It’s like I could still save myself.’ ‘So you do think your heart’s going to be broken?’ Thorsen asked cautiously. ‘I don’t know; I’m just being careful, I suppose, you are always telling me to “take more care”.’ Thorsen nodded and squeezed her shoulder. ‘I am, and I’m glad that you are. At least make sure he is in for the long haul, especially if you are going to make me atone myself in public.’ G smiled weakly. ‘Shall I make you something to eat?’ She shook her head. ‘How about a fruit smoothie?’ ‘No, really, I’m fine.’ She stared at her shoes. ‘I think I need to keep things romantic. Do you have any ideas?’ ‘Well, why don’t you take it back-to-basics by cooking him a meal?’ G’s face went blank. ‘You can cook can’t you?’ G shrugged, ‘I can make it look like I’ve cooked.’

Thorsen laughed. ‘That should do. My mother used to say “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, not his pants”.’ G giggled. ‘I like the idea of dinner at home - it’s very romantic.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘If not a bit simple.’ G’s eyes suddenly lit up. ‘But I think you’re onto something.’ ‘Back-to-basics.’ ‘Back-to-basics, thanks.’ She took her gold foneCompact out of her pocket. I’ll need a bit of time to prepare though. G kissed Thorsen goodbye, and bounded out of the door like a puppy on acid.

ZACH

Zach placed a finger in front of his lips and winked at the redhead. ‘How you doing?’ he uttered into his lapel’s foneMic. ‘Fine, gorgeous, I didn’t hear you leave this morning. I just wanted to tell you that I had the most wonderful night,’ replied G. ‘I did too,’ he said carefully because the redhead was watching him. ‘I also wanted to ask you, if you would like to have dinner at my place?’ ‘Tonight?’ Zach asked hesitantly. The redhead blew him a kiss. ‘Actually, tomorrow night at about eight, I have things to do tonight.’ ‘Of course, where at?’ He leant on a pile of boxes in the store cupboard and

watched the redhead remove her bra. She chucked it in Zach’s direction. ‘Fourth floor, Waterside Heights, I’ll let the concierge know.’ Waterside Heights? Very nice. He slowly ran his eyes over the redhead’s curves. ‘I’ll be there, see you tomorrow, take -’ ‘Hang on, Zach,’ G interrupted. ‘Did everything go OK with the university?’ ‘Very well - I’m on the course and everything’s... better here than I imagined.’ The redhead smiled and slipped off her pants. ‘I’m still at university now though, got a few things to tie up.’ ‘OK, Zach, see you tomorrow night.’ ‘Bye.’ Zach tapped off his foneMic. ‘The girlfriend?’ asked the redhead. ‘My mother.’ He doesn’t fool me. She must be a right push-over, the redhead surmised. You’re going to be, Zach chuckled to himself. He stepped towards the redhead, tied her hands behind her back with her bra and pushed her over the boxes.

EIKO

As I walked towards Thorsen’s café, I veered around a girl standing outside the doorway with a gold make-up compact pressed to her lips. Her scent was unusual, like the notes of an empty stomach sandwiched between a heavy floral perfume. I thought she may go inside The Edible Remedy to eat, but instead she walked away.

Inside the café, Thorsen was saying goodbye to his last two customers. Once they left, he yawned loudly. ‘Good timing, I was just about to close and have a drink.’ ‘Oh, I didn’t realise the time – but a drink will be fine,’ I said. Thorsen clucked his tongue. ‘I’m sure I’d hate it if you ate with me.’ I smiled at him. ‘I’ve got some lovely beetroot and game soup, or wild boar kebabs?’ ‘The kebabs sound great. I can’t face going home and making another meal for one, eating alone seems so pointless sometimes.’ ‘I’d probably not cook either if I didn’t have to,’ he looked at me carefully, ‘but you should look after yourself, Eiko.’ ‘Yes, Dad.’ I sniggered. He shook his head. ‘I’ll stick the meat on. You can grab us both a glass of wild hibiscus wine - on the shelf, blue bottle, already open.’ I fetched two globe wine glasses, poured them half full of the syrupy wine and followed Thorsen into the kitchen. I watched him turn two large skewers packed with meat and baby vegetables on the snapGrill. The delicious smell tore at my stomach. ‘So, what’s new?’ he asked. ‘Lots of lectures today, same old, same old. I had a crazy weekend.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’ I sipped my wine, it was lovely. ‘When I say “crazy”, I don’t mean in a good way at all.’ Thorsen’s face went a bit grey. He put the skewers down. ‘What happened?’ I shook my head. ‘Well, I went to a late club with Faith, and we both had one of

those MMS syntheDrug capsules. We both thought it would be fun and, you know, get my head out of my backside...’ I hesitated, ‘Faith has had them lots of times.’ Thorsen’s eyes grew black and serious. ‘Go on.’ ‘Well, it was different.’ I put my wine glass down and rubbed my forehead with both my hands. ‘Actually, it was a total nightmare.’ I looked up at him. ‘I flipped, Thorsen and it was horrible and really frightening. My head felt like it was imploding, I was completely paranoid and hallucinating, and at one point, I thought I was going to die! Then I was really horrible to Faith.’ Thorsen shook his head. His eyes looked glazed and I thought that odd. ‘I’m alright now,’ I reassured him. ‘What the hell were you doing?’ Thorsen said angrily. ‘I thought it would be fine, what with Faith training to be a doctor - she was adamant MMS drugs don’t cause reactions – unless you’re taking other drugs. Although, I think yesterday, she was trying to tell me I might be mentally unbalanced.’ ‘Well you are, doing something so stupid. You have to be careful Eiko, you of all people ...’ he shook his head. ‘What do you mean me “of all people”? Thorsen?’ Thorsen blinked hard and wiped his eyes dry. I wasn’t sure if it was the smoke from the sizzling meat making his eyes teary, or if I’d upset him. ‘Thorsen?’ He turned the kebabs over. ‘I mean that you have a highly evolved mind. You need to be careful with it.’ ‘I realise that now, Thorsen. Faith actually suggested I might have had a reaction because I have “a unique brain pattern” - she was joking, I think, but imagine if I had had to tell her the truth? That would properly freak her out.’

‘Yes, it would.’ ‘To make matters worse, today, this guy came up to me at uni. and said he ed me from the club, but I don’t him.’ I slapped my forehead, ‘I probably made a right fool of myself.’ Thorsen shook his head. ‘That is the least of your worries.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean that a mind like yours - minds like ours are hypersensitive; in seconds they can naturally experience the type of heightened experience other people have over several hours when taking those sort of drugs. So if you add a synthetic mind drug to what you’ve already got, you are potentially creating a mind bomb, and a very messy explosion at that.’ ‘I didn’t realise that, and you’ve talked about taking drugs before.’ ‘The drugs in those days were nothing like the sophisticated syntheDrugs available now. They were simple drugs that gave you one or two dimensional highs, but they also blocked the lines – leaving my over-functioning mind halffunctioning for days, and that, I it, I enjoyed. It was like a holiday from my head.’ ‘What with no side-effects?’ ‘Well, no, often, I couldn’t sleep, but it was worth the trade-off for the dulling effect on my mind. There is something quite gratifying about being delirious after being up all night - or the night before that.’ He smiled warmly to himself, ‘I used to stumble around my flat for hours, giddy with fatigue and finally when I felt like I could sleep, I could sleep for hours or prolong the delirium.’ ‘What?’ He had lost me. ‘The point is, Eiko, syntheDrugs have not been tested on people like us, because people like us are an urban myth. All I can say to you, as your surrogate father if that’s how you need to think of me to listen to me – is, don’t go there again!’ I was touched but also alarmed by Thorsen’s concern. ‘I won’t.’

‘Promise me - please.’ ‘Believe me, I wouldn’t want to, I promise. Please, don’t worry.’ ‘Good. Lecture over.’ Thorsen nudged my stomach with a plate. ‘Hungry?’

Chapter Ten

G

So far, it had been a good day for G. She had been weightRunning on-and-off at The Stamina Club for over an hour and according to her delectable male trainer, she had not only helped hone her derrière, but contributed a fair whack of energy towards Stamina’s energy store. But that was not all that was good about the day. It was also G’s birthday and she would not be spending it alone. Normally, G’s birthday slipped by unnoticed, apart from a large sum of money deposited into her by her father, who also always sent a flower arrangement that she thought looked like a funeral wreath. G would also receive her annual and unwanted call from Sharina, her mother, who tended to remind G on every call that G was getting older - as if the thought had never occurred to her. Sharina would also use the call to boast about her fantastic life on the Platinum Coast of Montenegro with her latest toy-boy, and the number of premieres, parties and award ceremonies she had been to. The Stamina trainer helped G down from the weightRunner, wrapped an aloeTowel around her shoulders and handed her a mineral juice. G gave him her most sultry smile before heading into a private bathroom. After G had showered and changed, her chauffeur took her to her next appointment - a hairShaft treatment at Amelia’s. It had been twenty weeks since the last, and as G sat back on the car seat, she saw that a few blonde hairs had resurfaced on her thighs. G could imagine Sharina criticising her with ‘Gina, darling, you are so scruffy; how are you ever going to get a boyfriend?’ Well G had news for her. Let the bitch ring. I’ll be doing all the talking this time.

ZACH

Zach slowly studied his fellow students in the lecture room – both inside and out. He had discovered that a pretty blonde in her twenties fancied the muscular bald man in front of her; he had a long-term girlfriend but he had also had a drunken snog with a student from European Literature. Zach glanced at the blonde who was imagining running her tongue across the back of the bald man’s neck. Zach thought that was gross. There were six other students in his class, including an American who had majored in Physics, and a woman who had dropped out of Industrial Architecture. A barrel of laughs, thought Zach. When the lecturer Paul McManus entered the room, he introduced Zach to the group. Zach mumbled ‘hello’ and then everyone – apart from the blonde - stuck their heads back into their comNotes. The blonde took a few moments to study Zach, before eventually thinking, not for me. Zach shook his head to himself. Yeah, stick to egg-head. Paul came over to Zach’s desk and placed a curveChip in front of him. ‘There’s a fair amount of reading on there for you to catch up on, but there’s also a directory of walk-through, interactive models on there to help. Come and see me if you get stuck - don’t be proud.’ Zach forced a smile as he picked up the curveChip and flipped it between his fingers. Great, I’m going to have to put in some seriously hard graft to catch up. Paul clapped his hands. ‘Right, class, today we are covering The Energy Bridge project because at the end of this month we are visiting their Engineering Division. As you all know – I hope - the construction of The Energy Bridge began two years ago to provide electricity for the industrial city of Furnley and Lakes City. It also provides a vital link across the sea between Furnley and the Bay Shore, and displaces a considerable amount of traffic from The Lighthouse Express.’ Obvious, thought Zach as he previewed the curveChip into his com and opened up thirty-six pages of engineering notes, countless models and equations. A fair amount of reading my arse, there’s shit loads. Uncertainty welled up in his stomach. He struggled to push it back down. I’m not stupid, I can work it out, I just have to buckle down and concentrate. Zach scanned his eyes over his peers. But can I stick this class of bores for two years? Now there’s a challenge.

G

As G’s chauffeur ferried in the last of her shopping boxes, G collapsed onto her cow skin sofa and kicked off her heels. ‘Who would have thought shopping could be so exhausting?’ ‘Is that everything, Miss?’ ‘Thanks – that will be all.’ ‘Have a good day.’ ‘You too, Franco.’ After Franco left, G studied the mountain of shopping boxes and felt a pang of guilt. She reasoned with herself. It is my birthday and I usually don’t bother celebrating it. She saw two envelopes had been left on a glass cube by her cleaner. The first envelope was from Crothenby’s Night Wear; they sent her a birthday gift card ever year. The second envelope was black and heavier, and G’s name and address were embossed on the front in gold. G carefully opened it and pulled out a film card. The thin screen came on and started a recording of her mother sat on a lounger wearing a cut-out swimming costume, with the sea glittering behind her. The recording of Sharina drawled, ‘Happy Birthday, Gina, my daar-ling. I’m sure you are having a marvellous time - doing whatever you’re doing now you are twenty-six.’ ‘Twenty-five, bitch, and put some clothes on,’ G growled. ‘As you can see, the weather is simply glorious - I bet you wish you were here. I have been very, vee-ry busy recently. I attended a garden wedding last weekend for Andre Mosar – winner of the Grand Prix, and I had dinner with Baroness Agin - we’re becoming quite good friends. Tonight, I’m off to the prestigious

European Fashion Awards. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll have a lovely birthday, although I hear the weather is quite unpredictable.’ Sharina wrinkled up her nose. G scowled. ‘I hate that thing she does with her nostrils - it’s as fake as her face.’ ‘I just wanted to say have another lovely year!’ Her mother waved and the recording stopped. ‘Bye-bye, Sharina.’ G snorted, screwed up the card and chucked it across the room; she was livid. She couldn’t even be bothered to ring me, and the one time I actually wanted to talk, she fobs me off with a film card. ‘BITCH!’ yelled G at the top of her voice. She took a deep breath. She checked the time – she had to get moving. G unpacked her shopping. She had bought two vases of dark purple orchids, and she placed one on the stone mantelpiece and the other on the glass cube. She unboxed two dozen, floating silk lights in various sizes, as she flicked the switch under each cream ball, it lit up, floated to the ceiling and drifted around. ‘Gorgeous!’ exclaimed G. She unrolled an Afghan wool rug and six, peacock feathered cushions and arranged them in front of the fireplace. Perfect for rolling about on later. Next, she unpacked a box of pewter cutlery studded with labradorite, and a set of stone plates with swirling rhodium inlays, and she set them on her black marble dining table. There were many more boxes to unpack: champagne flutes cut from glitter ice, two bottles of vintage Champagne Noir, mineral enriched water from Tibet, raw silk napkins and all the food. She had bought asparagus and truffle bombes, kobi beef skewers with their own table grill, and garlic shrimps in parmesan dust. She had also chosen a seafood terrine with herb mousse, and filo parcels filled with lobster, coconut and chili. For dessert, G had bought baby caramel and cognac mousses in silver ramekins, and each came in a silver vial of chocolate foam, and a tub of coffee granita. Maybe I went a little overboard, thought G as she anxiously rubbed her hands down her thighs, ing how hungry she had been when she had shopped in Teal’s Food Hall. But it is my birthday and the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

G ran a jasmine oil bath and began lighting fragrant candles around her apartment. Then, she carefully opened a cream bag from Isa D and pulled out a floor-length, white gown with a dramatic cowl-drop back; it was studded with hundreds of tiny crystals. She held the dress to her body and swayed in front of a large mirror. Absolutely gorgeous. G glanced at the reflection of the living room in the mirror; it looked magical under the sea of floating lights. She smiled as she skipped into the bathroom. It doesn’t look like I’ve gone to too much trouble at all.

ZACH

Zach slid the Com onto his coffee table and rubbed his eyes. ‘Enough of this,’ he told himself. He was shattered; he had read three hours’ worth of course notes, on top of the five hours of lectures. It was nearly six-thirty. Zach wondered what to wear for dinner at G’s. Something smart. Maybe classic grey flannels and a black shirt.

G

G wiped the tears from her eyes and checked her appearance in the swaying mirror. Who are you kidding? It’s ten-thirty, he’s not coming. She gulped the last mouthful of champagne from the bottle and went into the lounge. She gathered up the long silk skirt of her dress and plonked herself down in front of her bureau to check her mediaScreen again. There were no new calls, no videoLinks or messages, just an email from virtualpals.gb, asking her if she wanted a chat with her cyberPal Lucy. ‘Brilliant. An evening in with Lucy who doesn’t really exist. No wonder Zach doesn't want to know me - even my own goddamn mother doesn’t want to know me.’ G sobbed.

She got up from the chair and paced around the room and tried to reason with herself. Why don’t I just ring him? Maybe he’s had an accident or he’s been taken ill. Maybe he got mixed up about the day. She walked back to the mediaScreen but instead of pressing his intraPage, her hand hovered over it and eventually she withdrew it. ‘Don’t be such a limpet!’ she snapped at herself. ‘You already look desperate face it, he doesn’t want to know - nobody ever wants to know!’ As G tore herself away from the mediaScreen, she saw her face in the mirrored wall. Her eyes looked wild and desperate and her lips were trembling. ‘Stupid, ugly girl!’ she sneered. She wiped off her red lip gloss with the back of her hand and the colour smeared across her face like a slash. G tore off her eyelash enhancers and ripped the dress off her shoulders. The delicate silk tore and was left gaping around her waist like a ragged skirt. She headed for the kitchen. She pulled open the fridge and grabbed another bottle of champagne, collapsed onto the floor, uncorked it, and took several large swigs, in the light of the fridge. ‘Happy fucking birthday, G!’ she cackled. She tried to take another slug from the bottle but missed – spilling champagne over her face and neck. ‘Crap!’ She realised she felt desperately hungry. G leaned back into the fridge and pulled out the asparagus bombes and held one to her mouth. ‘Sod it!’ she cursed as she crammed it into her mouth, the filling exploded in a delicious sensation, G forced another bombe into her mouth and then another, washing them down with gulps of champagne until she had demolished all six. Then G reached for the shrimps next and tore the box open, pulled out a large parmesan crusted shrimp and placed it whole in her mouth – snapping the tail off at the end and chucking it onto the floor. ‘Delish-ush,’ G groaned between munches - she demolished the next three shrimps the same way and then belched loudly. ‘Ecshcush me, what would Sharina shay?’ G laughed hysterically. ‘What would Mummy shay? Ha-ha what would she, mmm?’ G took another huge slug from the champagne bottle, wiped her parmesan crusted hands onto her skirt and grabbed a silver ramekin of caramel and cognac mousse out of the fridge. Using two fingers, she shovelled the mousse into her mouth. Then G pulled out one of the silver vials of chocolate foam and switched the clasp, put the teat to her lips, and let the chocolate bubble into her mouth. ‘Mmm, what a shuper

birfday!’ she slurped as she chucked a silver vial so hard against the kitchen wall, it chipped a glass tile. ‘A proper gourrmay birfday.’ G wiped her mousse covered hands onto her skirt and then her tears began to flow again. She sobbed in small fits, but these became bigger until they convulsed right through her body. She tried to wipe her eyes but ended up blurring them with mousse. ‘Stupid bitch!’ she screamed at herself. ‘Stupid, stupid bitch!’ She staggered to the bathroom with the champagne bottle, and wiped her eyes with a towel and then she plonked herself on the bathroom floor next to the cabinet. She scanned her thumb over the cabinet lock to open it and searched amongst the bottles of pills, until she found a box of amarFit. She swallowed handfuls of the fat-dissolving capsules and four GtQ30 pills to speed up her metabolism, washing the whole lot down with vintage champagne. G sprawled herself out onto the bathroom floor, pressing as much of her tired body against the cool marble as she could, and staring numbly into the cabinet. Eventually, her eyes found the little pot of lipMelt she had found in Zach’s bathroom and kept. It was sat on a shelf, taunting her. ‘Sister, my backside.’ G closed her eyes. ‘Happy birthday,’ she cried over and over.

ZACH

Zach woke up in darkness and could not where he was. Hazy shapes slowly appeared around him. He shot upright when he ed he was meant to be at G’s for dinner. He tapped the wall and the living room lights came on, but he had no idea of the time. He felt for his watch, but he had taken it off and put it somewhere. Out of the window, he saw a blanket of black and not a star in the sky. Zach grabbed his com off the coffee table and tapped the screen, he saw it was 1.56 am ‘SHIT!’ Zach cursed. He checked the com again and rubbed his face furiously. She hasn’t called me, or I would have woke. She must be well pissed.

He selected G’s intraPage on his com. The dialling tone beeped eight times, and then her automated ansaVoice came on, ‘This is the residence of G HaxenBourg. I am not here to take your call, please leave a message after the flash.’ Zach tapped the screen off. ‘Shit!’ He wondered what to do next. ‘Fuck it.’ He would call her again.

G

G shifted uncomfortably on the bathroom floor. Her head throbbed violently and she could hear the fone beeping in the next room. She tried to lift up her head, but the lights in the bathroom began to dance around her, hurting her eyes. Her ansaVoice message came on, followed by a man’s voice. ‘G? G pick up... are you there? It’s me, Zach. If you’re awake, please pick up. G?’ There was a long pause. ‘Look, G, I’m sorry, I fell asleep, I was shattered after today. I just woke up and saw the time. G? Are you there? I’m really sorry. Call me - as soon as you get this message - I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’m really sorry.’ The fone clicked off. G grunted. Fell asleep my arse, couldn’t be bothered, he means. Her stomach lurched and her head throbbed. She pulled herself up and dragged herself to the toilet bowl just as she threw up a torrent of thick yellow liquid. G groaned. Her eyes dripped with tears and as she tried to wipe them, but another surge of nausea overwhelmed her, and she vomited a second lot of vile liquid into the bowl, and a third. After a few minutes, another round of spew followed. G rested her head onto the toilet seat edge, her long hair falling into the concoction below. She squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the next expulsion. The nausea eventually subsided but her head throbbed terribly, and she felt a cramp in her full bladder. G leant onto the toilet seat, triggered the flush sensor and pulled herself up. She tore at her skirt and knickers to remove them and sat down on the seat. She caught sight of her face in the mirror opposite. She looked as pale as a ghost with dark, swollen eyes.

As she peed, she rested her head and arms onto her lap - she felt like death. The fluid monitor on the wall beeped loudly. G lifted her head because it was making an unfamiliar sound. She thought, I must have poisoned myself. She turned to the monitor and tried to focus on the reading. When she finally read it, what little blood was left in her face, quickly drained away.

Chapter Eleven

EIKO

I had been sitting in the bottom of the wardrobe for some time, drawing in the warm air, grateful to be alone in the space. The wardrobe was forty-foot high, twenty-five foot across and smelled of chestnuts. A long bronze pole hung above my head and reached from one end of the wardrobe to the other, and giant jeans and denim work-wear hung from it at odd angles. This was ‘The Denim Cupboard’ in The Museum of Clothing. Videos streamed across the wardrobe walls of the history of denim cloth from Levi Strauss to its popular appearance over the years, in fashion, on accessories and furniture. Denim was once considered ‘classic and nostalgic,’ but society had fallen out with it and moved onto intelliWear fabrics because of their endless qualities: they were selfcleaning, indestructible, temperature-regulating, colour-changing, moodenhancing and body-moulding. I felt like a character in a book at the bottom of that giant wardrobe, pleasantly small and temporarily lost. I would have stayed there for hours, but it was time to meet the others. I hoisted myself up and walked through a gap between a pair of flares, then I climbed through a hole in a dungaree leg and out towards the court. The court linked up the Dome Museum, Money Museum and the infamous Lakes Sports Museum, infamous because it documented and celebrated Lakes City as ‘The City of Sport’ – a city where you could fell-run, hike, water-hop, magnet run, river-bike, toboggan, rock climb, seat-ski, aerial dive and hill spin, and that was only for starters. I took a detour through an installation titled ‘Footway,’ a corridor made out of thousands of recycled and compressed shoes, from heels to tipToes, skidders to skaters, trainers to boots, skidz to slips and every other type of shoe imaginable. It was like walking through a hall of shoe-souls where warm colours floated above me and dark colours crunched under my feet like glass. Those shoes were saturated with every hue of human emotion from their wearers: pride, shame, joy, surprise, excitement, pain, grief, anger, love, jealousy, greed, hate,

competitiveness and lust. I couldn’t imagine the total distance those shoes had walked, or all the things they had seen and done, never mind the things they had been soaked with: sweat, earth, water, booze, urine, food, semen, vomit, blood, shit, skin and death. I felt dizzy after a while and struggled to leave the walls of life. Finally, I stepped out into the blinding sunlight of the court. Across the yard, three students were sat under a fig tree, and Todd, our Cultural History lecturer, was leant on the edge of a powder fountain, talking to a curator. As I walked towards them, he called over, ‘See anything good?’ ‘Lots,’ I answered. Todd returned to his conversation. I sat on the opposite edge of the fountain and watched red and yellow powder shoot up from the pipe in the middle and fall back onto the stone base; air jets spun the powder around before blowing it back into tiny holes. I caught some of the powder on my fingertips, but before I could smell it, it dissolved on my skin, leaving a faint red mark – it was bizarre but brilliant. Todd and the curator were talking about funding - so I tuned out of their boring conversation. Todd moved his hands together when he talked. I quite liked Todd (as far as lecturers went) he looked more like a student although he was in his late thirties. He had black spiky hair, a bleached white goatee and he wore long shirts with funnel tros. I had seen Todd’s shadow three times and it was a shadow of a small man wearing tails and a bow tie. When his shadow appeared, it held a baton and moved his hands behind Todd as if orchestrating him. I had asked Todd if he was into his music, and he said ‘not really,’ because he was deaf in one ear; so I surmised the shadow of the conductor belonged to a past life. The rest of our group filtered into the courtyard and most of them jabbered away. Tit and Tat were sucking each other’s faces off under a lime tree, while Sten was stood on his own in a corner. Sten glared back at me, so I looked away. Todd cleared his throat. ‘Right you lot, we are all going into The Dome Museum together, because I need to swipe you in there to get you in free. You have half an hour in there, and then we’ll meet back here to .’ Todd swept us all up with his hands and off we went.

The door into The Dome Museum was a long oval shape with a copper plaque on the front, engraved with the words: The Dome Museum - A History of Our Senses. Our group filtered into the building, two by two; I went in last before Todd. The Dome was divided into five segments like an orange, and each segment had a doorway on either side to the next room. Each room was named after the five common senses but there wasn’t a room for mine and I wondered what it might be called. The group poured into ‘The Touch Room’ on the left, so I chose ‘The Hearing Room’ on the right and stepped into a plaster pink room shaped like an ear canal. The word, LISTEN flashed across the ceiling in white light. Air rushed past me – emulating torrents of sound. Dozens of earPoints were studded along the walls; I listened to tribal drums and children singing in an old dialect, than orchestra and futureWave. It was a fairly obvious installation and I was soon bored. The next room was painted white apart from a glass wall that faced a park; the word SMELL appeared on the glass in a blue handwritten scrawl and disappeared. A woman and man were studying a huge wooden box-table in the centre of the room. As I stepped nearer, more handwriting appeared on the floor in front of me, it read: The Essential Scents: In this room, you can experience the Essential Oils used in the ancient craft of aromatherapy that we now call ‘essential therapy.’ Essential oils contain the concentrated properties or essences of plants, flowers and wood and have been used by man for centuries to treat and heal many ailments and conditions – they were used across the globe by the Romans, Egyptians, Greeks and Indians. However, it was Alchemists in the West, in the 16th century, who first named these oils ‘essential,’ in their search for the quintessence of life or fifth element. Essential therapy works in many different ways, using essential oils through inhalation or with the skin to influence the brain - that is where we store memories and experiences, affecting our feelings. These oils can reach our blood stream through our skin and treat our organs, muscles and tissues. The medical world recognises the importance of holistic healing - the connection between our body and our mind, how our emotions affect the health of our physicality and essential therapy plays an important part in this. I instantly thought of Thorsen: he took the natural essences of foods and herbs and somehow intensified their properties, and then he combined them with his

own thoughts to heal his customers’ minds. But why could Thorsen only cure psychological illnesses and conditions? If Thorsen was using his own thoughts as ingredients to heal, the fact they were intangible could be the reason why they could not affect the physical body. However, the words on the floor mentioned a connection between the body and mind, so if Thorsen could heal a person’s mind, why could he not transcend this to a physical ailment? Perhaps someone would eventually evolve who could do this. Perhaps that person was already out there – after all, I had no idea how many people they were like us or what they could do. I wondered if people existed who could heal themselves. Maybe we had the cures to serious illnesses inside us and perhaps we always had, but we hadn’t yet found out how to unlock them. After all, nature had a funny way of providing solutions near to problems – like the dock leaves that grew near to stinging nettles. As I stared at the shifting clouds through the glass, I considered if the secret to mankind was within us, and we did not to look outside us for the answer to creation; we just needed to evolve to the stage where we could locate the answer within ourselves. As a species I thought we were not yet ready for the ‘secret of life,’ but were people like Thorsen and me part of the process of evolution? I went over to the box-table to have a look. Only the woman was left hunched over it. The box-table contained maybe a hundred, square glass boxes, each etched with a leaf, flower, tree or berry, and each bottle had a tiny dropper inside. The woman picked up a strip of paper from a pocket at the side of the table, reached for a dropper, dabbed it on the paper and held it to her nose. As she returned the dropper to the bottle, the word Hyacinth appeared on the glass bottle in dataScribe. I searched the bottles until I found one etched with a picture of a bluebell. I blotted my paper with the dropper, held it to my nose and took a deep breath. The beautiful perfume surged through my nostrils and almost knocked me off my feet; I placed my hands on the table to steady myself and shut my eyes. When I did, I gasped as I saw an ancient woodland roll out in front of me, carpeted with bluebells. I could even hear the chorus of bird song and the gentle rustling of foliage.

As I studied the woodland in my mind’s eye I felt light and peaceful, but then the scent faded and the bluebells turned grey and died. The light in the wood grew dark, the trees turned black and menacing, and the floral carpet became earth. Another smell replaced the sweet scent of bluebells – a smell that was not so much terrible as terrifying - a damp, peaty smell: it was the same smell from my dreams and the club toilet, and the thick smell filled me and felt like it was suffocating me. I tore my eyes open and took several sharp breaths to remove the peaty air from my lungs. The woman next to me looked concerned, she placed a hand on my arm and I forced a smile. I wondered, What is wrong with me? What is that smell - am I losing the plot? Do I have a brain tumour? I stepped away from the woman and made for the door from which I came. Sten was stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and a mean smile across his face. Had he been watching me all this time? ‘Something spook you?’ His ferret ears twitched. ‘What were you sniffing? Glue?’ ‘Excuse me,’ I said. He shook his head. ‘Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?’ I hissed in a whisper. ‘I don’t have any,’ he answered with a loaded grin. His eyes dropped down me with distaste. I felt fury rise inside me. ‘Some unfortunate person must have brought you up?’ Sten’s grin shattered. I pushed past him and headed outside.

ZACH

Zach made an excuse and left his last lesson early, he could not stand the

uncertainty welling up in the pit of his stomach. He tried to call G again, but his call went straight to ansaVoice. I must have tried more than a dozen times today - she doesn’t want to know. He walked straight out of the building, into the garden out front, and plonked himself onto a bench. I’ve cocked it. That was the classiest, richest bird I’ll ever get my hands on and I’ve completely cocked it. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. ‘How come I saw you leave your lesson before the others?’ Zach looked up and saw Mervin in front of him. Mervin slowly waved at him and asked, ‘Why do you have your head in your hands, Zach? Are you in a bad mood?’ Zach shook his head with frustration. ‘How are you?’ ‘Better than you look. You are in a bad mood - your speaking is different. Do you hate being here already?’ Mervin sat down next to Zach, his eyebrows knotted with concern. ‘I don’t hate it here - I’ve only been here two days. It’s... you know, woman trouble.’ Mervin twiddled his fingers on his knees like they were piano keys and thought about Zach’s words. ‘I thought you did not have “woman trouble”. In fact, you told me on the 21st March at 2.43pm...’ Mervin deepened his voice ‘“...I tell you mate, the secret to a happy life is a life without women trouble, so never let one get under your skin, and the best way to do that is not to hang around long enough”.’ ‘I never said that. Did I?’ Mervin nodded. Zach groaned again. ‘Well it just goes to show, I can’t take my own advice.’ They sat there in silence for some time. Then Zach realised Mervin was wearing a white coolShirt and grey straights. ‘You dropped the blue clothing – it’s an improvement.’

‘Henrietta said blue is not my best colour.’ ‘You’re taking fashion advice from a bird? It must be serious.’ ‘It is not serious, Zach. We chat every night and our conversation is light.’ Zach shrugged. ‘Whatever.’ Mervin scratched his nose. ‘What are you going to do now? Are you going to stay here and think about “woman trouble” or shall we do something else?’ Zach suddenly got up. ‘Hang on, Mervin, I really need to talk to that girl over there, I’ll be back in a bit.’ Zach ran across the grass. ‘Wait for me!’ called Mervin stumbling after him.

EIKO

The air in the bikeHaul was warm and thick. I located my bike and swiped my wrist across the handlebar, but when the bike wheels unlocked, I jumped. Something startled me; it was like a breeze floated right through me. I span around and was faced with a man. It was the man I had met the previous day in the university café. ‘Eiko.’ He said my name as if tasting it. His brown eyes caressed my face and a shiver slipped down my spine. ‘It’s Zach isn’t it?’ His eyes smiled with gratitude. He stepped nearer and I smelled his scent again, it was warm and animalistic, and tinged with intent. Who is this Zach, really? I thought. My eyes checked the ground, but still there was not a hint of a shadow. I took a step back; I was not afraid but unsure, so I grabbed my bike and manoeuvred towards the exit.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said. ‘I saw you come in here and I just wanted to say “hello.” Can I walk with you?’ Haven’t you noticed I’ve got a bike? I thought. I said firmly, ‘I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not really in the mood for company.’ ‘Zach’s in a mood as well!’ The voice came from the bikeHaul door. There was a slim man standing there wearing immaculate clothing despite the muggy heat. He was holding an art file. He walked over to us and said, ‘That is four people I have counted today, who have been “not in the mood”, “not in any mood”, “in a bad mood” or just moody.’ I laughed - the guy was absurd. ‘And who might you be?’ ‘This is my friend, Mervin,’ replied Zach, ‘Mervin, this is Eiko.’ Just as I was about to speak, a series of shadows in numbers, letters and symbols streamed out of the top of Mervin’s head. They were like mathematical equations curling above us, and then they spun around like the cogs of an engine. I had seen these shadows once before and they had belonged to a genius. Mervin stepped closer to me, ‘I see!’ His eyes turned watery and he turned to Zach. ‘Hyper tests!’ he said loudly and the shadows above him faded. Zach closed his eyes as if he was thinking, opened them and said, ‘Can’t work that one out, mate.’ He glanced at me. ‘Sometimes, Mervin talks in anagrams.’ ‘Hyper tests!’ Mervin nodded furiously at Zach. I shook my head. This was getting really weird. ‘Come on, you can say it,’ Zach encouraged him. Mervin screwed up his eyes. He finally stuttered, ‘Sh-sh-she’s pretty!’ Zach eyes fell to the ground. ‘Th-th-that is why you left me s-s-sitting there and said, ‘“Hang on, M-M-

Mervin, I r-really n-n-need to talk to that girl over there, I’ll b-b-be back in a bit”.’ ‘Thanks, mate,’ Zach said weakly and he shamefully glanced at me. My cheeks singed with embarrassment. Zach began to rub his forehead furiously. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. ‘Have you been bitten by something?’ ‘Yes, I’m OK,’ he answered, squinting. ‘I’ve just got a bit of a headache.’ He turned away from Mervin. Mervin seemed to be in some sort of trance as he slowly looked across the bikeHaul. His shadows returned but this time only as numbers, and they spun around his head. The two of them were completely bizarre. Then Mervin jumped back into the present and startled me with, ‘Dotty writhing thunderhead!’ The number shadows disappeared again. ‘Excuse me?’ I said. Mervin’s eyes went watery again and Zach stopped rubbing his forehead. ‘Is that another anagram?’ I asked. ‘Y-y-yes...’ Mervin took a deep breath. ‘... t-t-t-wo hundred and thirty-eight.’ ‘Probably the number of bikes in here,’ stated Zach. ‘No, Zach!’ Mervin reprimanded him, ‘That’s the total - there’s two hundred and thirty one bikes, five jet skaters and two boogie boards!’ I noticed his stutter had gone. Mervin dusted his hands off each other as if completing a job to satisfaction. I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Did you just make that number up? Or can you really count that fast?’ I realised I knew the answer. Zach’s eyes lit up with pride. ‘There are a few things about Mervin that are surprising. He can add up a ridiculous number of items at great speed, work out

huge multiplications in his head, hundreds of book titles, authors and publication dates ...’ Zach took a quick breath and I noticed how attentive he was when he spoke to me ‘... and on top of all that, he doesn’t lie and he’s also a very talented artist.’ ‘Are you like a savant?’ I asked Mervin. ‘A superSavant,’ Zach answered and Mervin nodded. How cool, I thought. ‘So are we walking or not walking?’ Mervin asked. Zach glanced at me. ‘OK,’ I relented. ‘I know a good walk.’

I led them towards Priest’s Park and past The Steel Cathedral. Zach insisted on pushing my bike as he walked alongside me. Mervin fell behind us several times, pausing to pick up a stone, or study a leaf or flower, with all the interest of a child; Zach and I waited for him to catch up. As we walked, Zach pressed me with questions, asking where I was from, why I was in Lakes City, what did I do before, who I knew and so on. He did this with an urgency, as if I was some great enigma, and he also gave me little chance to ask him anything. I answered some of his questions briefly, smiled at others, or changed the subject, but this just made him rephrase his questions and ask them again. A couple of times he fleetingly touched my arm and I felt my skin tingle with his touch. When he spoke, his eyes were intense and intriguing. I have to it, there was something fascinating about Zach, yes he was devastatingly handsome and his interest in me was flattering, but it was more because I couldn’t put my finger on what he was about. We walked over a bridge and crossed the mirrored moat circling Castle Mount; in the afternoon light we could just see the outlines of the laser pods under the mirror. When The Winter Opera House on top of the mount opened, the mirror would roll away and lasers would slice up the sky. We walked up a steep path around Castle Mount and onto a gentle slope embroidered with wild flowers. I stopped to take in the Opera House; it was constructed out of castle ruins that

had been fitted with glass s to complete the derelict parts. It looked like a sunlit spectre – ‘there’ but ‘not-quite-there.’ I realised Mervin was ahead of us and Zach was stood still and he was studying me with a look of wonder in his eyes. I quickly looked away, but he was close enough for me to catch his scent, and it was that of someone determined and headstrong. Yet the base notes of his scent escaped me. Perhaps they would surface with his shadow to reveal the rest of him. Mervin had completed his circuit and was staring at the toboggan run that curled its way down to Canal Head. ‘Do you fancy a drink?’ I called over to him. ‘Like an ice-cream shake?’ he shouted back. ‘Why not?’ ‘A drink will be great.’ Zach said with a grin. ‘Good.’ I muttered to myself. I wanted Thorsen’s opinion on the mysterious Zach.

THE EDIBLE REMEDY

Eiko led the way into Thorsen’s café. Inside, it hummed with chatter and clanged with cutlery, and the aromas of crushed bilberries, maple syrup and coffee circled around the cafe. Thorsen darted from table to table, mumbling like a mad man. From the counter came the ‘burrrgh-burrrgh’ sound of the frappé maker, between ‘swooshes’ of the coffee machine, juggled by a tense Eli. Thorsen smiled at Eiko and turned back to a customer, then he glanced back over when he realised she had company. He pointed her over to a corner table, where a girl with bronze hair was gathering up her possessions. As Eiko slipped between seated customers to the corner table, Zach rubbed his eyes to disperse the thick fog of café thoughts and conversations, quickly filtering them out, until all that was left in his head was the drumming ‘ticks’ of Mervin’s marathon counting.

‘Stop ticking,’ he grumbled to Mervin, but it was no good. Mervin stalled as he counted up countless café adornments: coloured glass bottles, stuffed jars, glazed tiles, hanging sausages, plump cheeses, tables, chairs, condiment pots and cutlery plates. He muttered, ‘Soft loathing,’ over to himself when unravelled meant: ‘a lot of things.’ Zach eventually grabbed Mervin by a bony elbow and pulled him along to the table. As the girl with the bronze hair stood up, she noticed Zach. Her eyes widened before landing back into her sockets in a blue simmer. Cockhead. Zach heard her thought loud and clear. He swallowed hard as a vague memory skittered across his mind of her vice-like thighs, and a cold club door against the back of his own. He did well to her at all he thought, it was her metallike hair that jogged his memory. How long ago was that? Six months? A year? Did I say I would call her again? I can’t – I must have been wasted. Zach dropped his eyes to the table and willed her to go away. As Eiko sat down, she glanced from the girl to Zach and back to the girl. She could see the heat of the girl’s red anger uncurling from her lips like flames and encroach on Zach. The girl looked at Eiko. ‘Good luck,’ she said before she headed off. When the girl had gone, Eiko said to Zach, ‘“Good luck”?’ ‘She’s in my class and we’ve an engineering test tomorrow,’ Zach lied. ‘O-K,’ Eiko said carefully, ‘she just seemed a bit stick about something.’ Zach considered Eiko for a moment. She definitely has woman’s intuition. He thought on his feet. ‘Yes, well Lucy - that’s her name - is apparently bottom of the class. I have been warned she might take an exception to me, because although I’m new, I pretty much know what I’m doing.’ ‘Ah, right,’ said Eiko as she slid along the bench, as Mervin sat down beside her with a handful of menus. ‘There’s a person just like that on my course, he can be a real gob to me... although I pretty much don’t know what I’m doing.’

Zach smiled. ‘Well, you can’t win them all over, can you?’ He prised a couple of menus from Mervin’s hand and handed one to Eiko. Eiko took the menu from Zach, aware that he was looking at her intently. It made her feel self-conscious. She pressed the menu’s update button for the ‘specials’ and pretended to read them, although she already knew what she was going to order. As she looked down the list, she sensed Zach’s eyes searching her face, and she became aware of her breathing and keeping it steady. ‘And how are you?’ The voice made Eiko jump. Thorsen was standing above them, his face red from all his flapping around. ‘Fine, thanks, you’re busy.’ ‘Aren’t we? I don’t know where everyone has come from.’ ‘Thorsen - these are some guys from uni. - this is Zach, who has just ed this week on err...’ ‘The industrial engineering course,’ filled in Zach. ‘And Mervin, who I’m told is an extraordinary artist and he has an extraordinary mind,’ Eiko added. Thorsen smiled at Zach and then Mervin, but his eyes were pulled back to Zach. Zach looked up at Thorsen and tried to gage what he was thinking, but he was met by a heavy fuzz of thoughts, like that of a man with a lot on his mind. ‘Well, we better give you our orders,’ said Eiko. ‘Yes,’ nodded Thorsen snapping out of it. ‘I’ll have an iced orange blossom tea,’ she ordered. ‘A liquorice coffee for me,’ said Zach. Thorsen turned to Mervin whose eyebrows had knitted together; he was twittering to himself. ‘Mervin?’ Zach prompted. ‘Did you want an ice-cream shake?’

‘Oh no,’ whined Mervin, ‘Oh.’ He gave Thorsen a pained look. ‘Brain up an attendant, peak place, peak place, win a kid – coat chosen, coat chosen!’ ‘He will need a bit longer,’ interrupted Zach, familiar with the “coat chosen” part of Mervin’s nonsense, when unravelled meant ‘can’t choose.’ ‘Do you need some help?’ offered Eiko. ‘Brain up an attendant, peak place, peak place, win a kid – coat chosen, coat chosen!’ Mervin repeated furiously. ‘How about you unravel what you really mean Mervin, so Thorsen can understand you,’ coaxed Zach. Mervin squeezed his eyes together and when he opened them he looked sad. ‘Bb-banana and p-p-peanut brittle, a-a-apple cake and k-k-kiwi, can’t choose, can’t choose.’ Thorsen raised his eyes at Eiko, she had certainly met some ‘interesting’ new friends. ‘Look, why don’t you come to the counter and have a little taste of the icecreams to help you make your mind up?’ offered Thorsen. Mervin’s eyes lit up and he stood up. ‘Yes!’ he squealed. Thorsen winked at Eiko and led Mervin to the counter. ‘Is he always this indecisive?’ giggled Eiko. ‘Yep.’ Zach noticed how she caressed her neck with her hand as she spoke. ‘So, we are finally alone. Do you come here a lot?’ he asked with a smile. He gently ran his eyes over the contours of her face and back up to her eyes. Eiko touched her hair nervously. ‘Yes – Thorsen, umm...’ Eiko cleared her throat because her voice sounded strained. ‘Thorsen is a good friend of mine and the food here is awesome.’ Zach glanced over at Thorsen. Nothing to fear there. He turned back to Eiko. ‘And would you normally bring someone with you?’ He ran his eyes along her

rosebud lips. ‘I generally come here alone. Why?’ she asked and then blushed when she realised what he meant. ‘Do you mean “someone” special?’ ‘Someone... anyone?’ Zach probed with a smile. ‘Well there is no “someone”.’ Eiko answered awkwardly, rubbing her shoulder nervously under his gaze. Why is he having this effect on me? I feel like an idiot. She took a deep breath and asked, ‘What is it that you want to know, Zach?’ ‘You,’ he whispered. ‘It’s you I want to know.’ Zach and Eiko sat in silence for several minutes. Eiko watched Eli wander out from the safe-haven of the counter onto the chaotic territory of the floor, his shadow shaking itself out of its shell and cautiously sliding behind him, as he approached a large table to take an order. Eli’s fingers were crushed around his electroPen as if he was clinging onto dear life and he dropped it twice before the table of customers could even order. As painful as it was to watch Eli fazed by groups of people, it was all Eiko could do to calm herself, inside she was simmering - she was angry with herself for feeling affected by Zach, and angry that she could not work him out. Zach pretended to watch the Thorsen and Mervin circus as he tried to work out his next move. He wondered why he could not hear what Eiko was thinking; all he had to go on was what was in front of him, and his normal intuition had been dulled by years of extracting thoughts. He could feel an ache growing inside his chest - it was frighteningly alien, yet at the same time, exciting. His eyes quickly graced Eiko’s beautiful face, she was lost in thought - thoughts he could not read. He looked away; he was deeply affected by her. Ever since the first moment he saw her, he knew he had to be with her, and to have her, but could he? Trying to connect with her was like walking through water, flowing the opposite way. She was not making it easy at all. He wondered how he would ever make her think he was clever and insightful. How could he make her think he was anything, without knowing what she thought? Zach silently reprimanded himself. He realised he would be cheating again, if he pillaged Eiko’s mind like all the others; this stunning girl was his biggest challenge yet and he knew he was willing to do it the hard way. Eiko and Zach’s eyes met and this time neither of them looked away.

Zach asked, ‘I was wondering if we - as in you and me...’ he sighed, he knew he sounded clumsy. ‘Yes?’ ‘Well, if we could – ’ ‘OK, tits halo!’ said Mervin as he danced up to the table. Thorsen was behind him, carefully holding a tall drink. ‘That means “look at this”!’ jumped in Zach apologetically, but Eiko was laughing. Thorsen set down the drink, whilst Mervin slid onto the seat next to Eiko. ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Eiko at Mervin’s drink. It had layers of coloured ice-cream in pink, pale green, lemon-yellow, purple and white, finished with a segment of blue star fruit. Eiko smiled at Zach, but he looked deflated. ‘He couldn’t make his mind up, so we went for a bit of everything,’ said Thorsen. He winked at Eiko and off he went. Mervin told Zach, ‘This is a very good place, I like it here. We should follow Eiko again.’ Zach glanced at Eiko. ‘Thorsen made my drink with lots of different ice-creams: raspberry cheesecake, kiwi & apple, banana and marzipan brittle, blueberry and lemon fizz bomb, and white chocolate jersey!’ Mervin took a massive slurp from the glass. Eiko giggled. ‘And it tastes good?’ ‘Scum up riots!’ nodded Mervin. ‘Does that mean.... “scrumptious”?’ she asked. ‘Now you’re getting it,’ said Zach. ‘Scrumptious!’ Mervin confirmed and pointed his straw towards Eiko.

‘No, but thanks,’ she said. ‘Oh, go on,’ encouraged Zach. ‘Mervin and Thorsen have gone to all that trouble concocting that - that thing.’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Mervin taking another quick slurp and pointing the straw back at her. ‘And it is a very tasty thing indeed.’ Eiko shook her head, when she realised Zach was trying to suppress a grin and so she defiantly took the straw from Mervin and took a huge slurp. The crashing flavours made her jaw shudder and she had to clamp her eyes shut to stop her tears pouring out. When she opened them, Zach was laughing so hard he was lying down on the bench, and Mervin was chuckling in fits and starts as he watched Zach. Eiko started to laugh too and the tears fell from her eyes. What a pair! Zach sat back up and stole the opportunity. ‘So, can I take you out? Just me and you?’ he said under his breath. Eiko stopped laughing and tried to focus on the question. ‘Perhaps - maybe – oh, I don’t know.’

THORSEN

Thorsen was cleaning up and had the top half of his body crammed into a food counter like a contortionist while he squeaked a cloth over the inside of the glass. Eiko had stayed back to help him and was meant to be polishing the café floor, but she was pushing the beeswax broom back and forth over the same patch, lost deep in thought. Thorsen carefully pulled himself out of the cabinet. ‘If you put any more elbow grease into that, you’re going to wear away the oak!’ ‘Sorry.’ Eiko chucked herself down into the nearest window seat and tangled her legs around the broomstick. ‘So, what do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ Thorsen saw that her legs looked like they had been snapped

around the broomstick. ‘That is not a good look.’ He sprayed disinfectant across the counter. ‘I mean about my new friends.’ ‘Oh,’ Thorsen mulled the answer around his head. ‘Well, I think it’s great that you are making some.’ A shot of disinfect ricocheted from the counter ledge onto his chin, he wiped his chin onto his shoulder. ‘Is that it?’ Eiko frowned at him. Thorsen racked his brain. ‘Well, I suppose you can never have too many friends, although quality is certainly important.’ Eiko nodded impatiently. ‘But it’s not a bad thing to make more friends, especially if they become good friends.’ ‘It’s too early to tell much, but he’s unusual.’ ‘“Unusual”?’ Thorsen thought about that for a moment. ‘Not just “unusual,” but very intelligent and indecisive, and what I would call “a bit of a geek”.’ ‘Not Mervin!’ Eiko threw her arms down by her side in exasperation and slid further down the chair. She looked like a broken doll. ‘I meant Zach!’ ‘Sorry.’ Thorsen put the spray down. ‘You are being vague. Well, I hardly spoke two words to Zach. All I can say is, there is something about him quite engaging. He obviously spends a bit of effort on his appearance, and he’s probably a bit sure of himself.’ Eiko pulled herself up, jarring her legs against the broomstick. ‘Ouch!’ She reassembled her legs around it again. ‘Why do you think he’s “sure of himself”?’ ‘Well, very good-looking people often are. Actually, that’s unfair because you’re very good-looking and you’re not very sure of yourself at all. I suppose I mean, few men scrub up that well unless they’re either gay or sure of themselves, and he’s definitely not gay.’

‘Oh, you managed to work that one out quickly, didn’t you?’ ‘It’s obvious.’ Thorsen walked over to a table and took the chairs down from it. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Zach was the guy I met in the club on Saturday when I was having my meltdown, but I can’t anything.’ ‘That was him?’ Thorsen raised his eyebrows. Eiko nodded, her face screwed up with embarrassment. ‘Well, you didn’t scare him off,’ he offered. ‘No, but there’s something unusual about him and I don’t mean because I didn’t scare him right off me. I just cannot pick up anything else about him. I can pick up his scent, but there’s nothing else for me to go on: no shadow, no colours, nothing, nothing but Zach. I know it’s early days, but something tells me there is so much more to him.’ ‘Umm, well I only met him for a very short time but I would probably agree with you there. I sensed something simmering under that dark brooding surface. But I don’t really read people like you do. What sort of scent did you pick up?’ ‘Manly... raw... animal-like.’ ‘He’s a bit of a tiger then?’ Eiko didn’t respond. Then she let out a whine. ‘I am so frustrated!’ ‘It will come, Eiko, you just said yourself “it’s early days” and you don’t always see shadows straight away, do you? It’s actually quite romantic: the man without a shadow.’ Eiko scowled at Thorsen as he returned to the counter with an armful of condiments. ‘I know you’re making faces at me.’ Thorsen plonked the condiments down and turned around. ‘He likes you a lot - that was obvious.’ ‘Yes, he likes me, I know that, but I don’t know if I should like him.’

‘But you already do.’ Thorsen nodded. ‘Maybe when you can read him properly, you’ll feel better about it.’ ‘I don’t know,’ Eiko shook her head ‘Well, he’s obviously got under your skin, or you wouldn’t be whingeing about it. At least get to know the guy. What else are you going to do? You should replace the loneliness in your life with some fun.’ ‘Thanks, Thorsen, you always know how to make me feel better. Anyway, my lonely life isn’t as long or lonely as yours, and you never seem to do anything about it, do you?’ Thorsen turned back to the counter and pretended to clean the salt and pepper mills. ‘I can’t hear you?’ she prompted. Thorsen turned around and crossed his arms. ‘I have my reasons why I’m on my own, Eiko, but I just don’t get how someone your age is so cynical about love. You have to grab every moment while you can and live it, now.’ ‘I’m hardly past my sell-by-date.’ Thorsen shook his head sadly. ‘Thorsen, what’s up with you? Enough of your philosophical mumblings. Answer my question. And when are you going to sort yourself out with a man, a man who will need to be extremely calm and patient?’ Eiko felt a warm jet of air glide up the back of her neck. ‘When hell freezes over!’ said a woman behind her. The tall shadow of a man with a neat beard fell across Eiko’s shoulder and onto the floor. The shadow did not match the voice. Eiko span herself round, forgot about her legs around the broomstick and nearly fell off her seat.

AVA

Stood in the doorway was the most glamorous woman, six foot and eight inches tall. Surprised by her height, Eiko dropped her eyes to the woman's feet, and saw she was wearing meshed metal heels that pushed her feet almost vertical. The woman wore a white leather shift dress, a sleeveless jacket in petrol blue with gold flecks, and a white turban. Her golden-brown ponytail tumbled out of the top of the turban like a fountain. The woman’s eyes and most of her cheeks were masked by large tortoiseshell rimmed shades, and her arched eyebrows were just visible over the top. Her coral lips were half pouted and half uncertain. She placed her left hand on her hip and gave the doorframe a seductively stroke with her right hand. ‘Well!’ she announced, ‘I have arrived.’ Thorsen leant against the glass counter and chuckled to himself. ‘You certainly have. It’s been a while.’ ‘Two and a half years.’ The woman clicked her heels together and strolled into the café towards Thorsen, leaving a trail of heady amber perfume. An enormous lizard-skin bag swung from her shoulder and it still resembled the reptile with two red jewels where the lizard’s eyes once were. She removed her shades. ‘You would think it’s been ten years, Thorsen, from the way you look.’ Eiko was transfixed by the shadow behind the woman; it was still that of a tall man with a short beard. Was she a man in a former life? She studied the back of the woman again. Deep voice, very tall, friend of Thorsen’s. Man in this life perhaps? Man to woman as in a tranSelf? Eiko knew this term from Thorsen was politically correct in meaning ‘not from one sex to another’, but ‘having escaped from one’s outer-shell, to reveal one’s truer inner-self.’ Then the shadow of the man disintegrated in the late afternoon light. The woman bent down and kissed Thorsen on both cheeks. ‘I see you managed to get rid of the stubble,’ he said. Eiko clamped her hand over her mouth to silence a nervous laugh. I was right. ‘There are pills for unwanted hair, Thorsen, and pills for wanted hair too,’ she

added, glancing at Thorsen’s receding hairline. ‘But don’t they make you grow breasts?’ Eiko struggled to suppress another laugh, but it was no good, it snorted right out of her nose. The woman span on her heels. Eiko saw she had large doe-like eyes, somewhat hardened by her prominent brow bone, but she was still very beautiful indeed. ‘I guess it’s generally wise to laugh at the boss’s jokes,’ said the woman. Her voice was sympathetic but patronising. Eiko was mortified, until she saw Thorsen smiling and then the woman began to laugh. Eiko ed in, more out of relief than anything. The woman click-clacked over to Eiko and held out her hand. Eiko shook her hand. ‘Are you not going to introduce your stunning employee?’ the woman asked, glancing back at Thorsen. ‘I would, but he isn’t here,’ said Thorsen with a sigh. Eiko stuck the index finger of her other hand up at him. Thorsen ignored it. ‘But this is Eiko - a very polite friend of mine. She is meant to be studying at university, but she likes to clean my floors for fun, although sometimes a little too ionately.’ Eiko shook her head at Thorsen. ‘And Eiko, this is Ava,’ Thorsen added. ‘Eiko is an unusual name, is it Japanese?’ Ava asked. ‘Eikoese,’ replied Thorsen, before Eiko could answer. He smiled at Eiko, he was enjoying the banter. ‘Ava left Lakes City a few years ago as “Jonathan” - well, “Jonathan” on weekdays and “Ava” at weekends when she could be usually found with her face pressed up against a dark alley wall somewhere.’ Ava groaned with mock annoyance. ‘You make me sound like a prostitute, Thorsen.’ She smiled at Eiko. ‘I am sure you don’t believe a word that man

says.’ Thorsen rolled his eyes, ‘I never said she was “a prostitute,” Eiko. Ava was practically giving it away. But believe it or not, Ava is a hell of a smart cookie and the medical research scientist that pioneered the medLife programme at Rook's Hill Prison.’ ‘Oh!’ said Eiko, impressed but a little shocked. She knew that Rook's Hill Prison was the first prison to use prisoners convicted of serious crimes for medical research. Ava nodded and inspected the nails on her left hand. ‘Yes, but for the last couple of years I’ve been travelling and lecturing in Europe while completing my transition. It has been fabulous spreading my wings.’ ‘Just your wings?’ questioned Thorsen. Ava returned a hand to her hip. ‘If you mean my legs, Thorsen, well yes, especially now I can. How else am I to test my new fittings? Besides, it is simply rude not to try out the local specialities in a new country.’ Ava glanced at Eiko and gave a little shrug. Eiko giggled. She loved Ava already.

Ava was sat with Eiko at a table. Thorsen brought them both Magic Sunset Cocktails made of cherry liqueur bombs gliding around tangerine soda, and the tall glasses looked like lava lamps. Thorsen sat down with them and sipped a large brandy. ‘So, which parts of the euroUnion did you pillage?’ he asked nudging Ava with his elbow. Ava raised her eyebrows. ‘Graced, darling, graced, and most of the hot spots, actually. Once I had finished my treatment in Berlin, I travelled through Italy, Portugal and Spain for 18 months, fitting in a lecture once a month, which was more than enough to fund my sins. After that, I travelled across the United Eastern Europe and had a wonderful month on the Millionaire’s Mile at Sozopol with a sugar daddy called “Bernard.” Then...’ Ava frowned ‘... a not-sowonderful time in Dobrich when a relationship with this man - who claimed he never guessed my birth sex - ended in me on the receiving end of an East-

European-kicking.’ Thorsen flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘What’s an “East-European-kicking”?’ Eiko asked quietly. ‘A sustained, physical assault that peaks by being gang-raped by the selfproclaimed puritans,’ Ava answered matter-of-factly. Eiko gasped and covered her mouth. ‘I’m over it.’ Ava shrugged her shoulders. Thorsen reached out and squeezed Ava's arm. ‘What did you do then, Ava?’ ‘What any respectable tart would do, I headed for a tackage holiday on the Gdansk stretch, on the coast of Poland.’ Ava glanced at Eiko. ‘That’s the gay capital of the United East – it used to be quite heavily developed with office blocks and hotels, until the area was revamped with a metaLandscape.’ Eiko shook her head. ‘A meta-what?’ ‘The buildings were coated with materials that eliminate reflections and light so they look invisible to the naked eye, so they don’t ruin the views of the coastline,’ replied Ava. ‘Cool!’ Eiko exclaimed, glancing at Thorsen. Thorsen looked unimpressed. ‘What is cooler, is tranSelfs on the Gdansk stretch are treated like gods and goddesses and you can drink from the fountain of youth to your heart’s content!’ ‘So, what made you come back?’ Thorsen drained his brandy glass. ‘My agent arranged for me a six month lecture tour of the US of A. That goes to show, make yourself a bit elusive for a while, and suddenly you’re in demand, and the tour money is above excellent. I’ve a few things to tie up here, and then I start the tour in a fortnight. I am ready for those cowboys. You just can’t beat a well hung hank or two,’ Ava purred.

‘Straight in there!’ Thorsen tutted. ‘You’d think you would be more careful there are crazier people in the US then in Dobrich.’ ‘There are crazy people everywhere,’ Ava retorted, ‘and I am careful, thank you, Thorsen.’ Thorsen felt his face burn with anger. ‘Of course you are - that’s how you went and got yourself gang-raped.’ Thorsen immediately realised what he said and shook his head apologetically. ‘Believe it or not, we are actually friends,’ Ava said to Eiko. Eiko looked at the floor in embarrassment. Thorsen shook his head in shame, ‘Ava, I didn't mean - ’ ‘And I’ll it it,’ Ava interrupted, ‘there is an element of rivalry between us, especially on Thorsen’s part – he always has to disapprove about the way I live my life.’ Thorsen slapped the table with frustration. ‘That is not true and you know it! I care about your welfare.’ Ava nudged Eiko and Eiko looked up. ‘I think it all stems from this deep-seated resentment of me, because I picked up his sloppy seconds in the past.’ Eiko looked from Ava to Thorsen and back to Ava again, like a child caught between warring parents. ‘“Sloppy seconds”?’ Thorsen repeated incredulously. ‘I was still going out with that - that pig, when you dived in.’ Ava muttered into Eiko’s ear, ‘I was young, I didn't know any better.’ ‘“Young”? “Young”?’ Thorsen raised his voice, ‘You were thirty, and bloody old enough to know better!’ Eiko raised her eyes in surprise. ‘What about Paul then? You were thirty-one years young then,’ added Thorsen.

‘Oh, Thorsen!’ said Ava with exaggerated despair. She massaged her turban as if she had a headache. ‘It’s OK. I’ve forgiven your misdemeanours a long time ago. It was lucky for you that the pig and Paul were just ...’ Thorsen struggled to find the right words. Ava tilted her head. ‘Cock?’ she suggested. ‘I was going to say, “not serious boyfriends”.’ ‘Talking of cock,’ Ava eyed Thorsen carefully, ‘have you been getting any recently?’ Thorsen did not reply; he was furious with Ava. Ava turned to Eiko for a clue, but Eiko’s eyes were glued to the oak table where she could see purple and red waves of tension swimming across the surface. ‘Well? It’s a simple question,’ asked Ava. Thorsen shook his head wearily. ‘Change the record, love.’ ‘I will not.’ Suddenly, Ava gasped. ‘Jesus Christ, I don’t believe it!’ Eiko looked up at Ava. Ava’s mouth was open in shock. Eiko bobbed her head over to Thorsen. His mouth was clamped shut and his eyes were on fire. Ava spluttered, ‘After all this time? I don't believe it! You have not been with anyone, have you?’ ‘Oh, just leave it,’ Thorsen growled under his breath. ‘Still feeling sorry for yourself? It’s been what? Four and a half years?’ Ava sighed. ‘Mother-frigging-bastard-hell.’ Eiko was suprised how when Ava swore she still sounded refined. She watched the air in the café grow thick with black shadow dust as old wounds were brushed off, and within seconds, the dust felt like it was catching in her throat. Eiko coughed. What is going on? ‘That is the most ridiculous thing, ever!’ Ava sniggered bitterly.

‘I told you to leave it, Ava. Can’t you just stop being a vile bitch?’ Thorsen’s words fired out of his mouth like bullets. Ava was unwounded. ‘I will “leave it”,’ she placated, ‘just like you seem to have left it, but before I “leave it” and you resign yourself to the shelf for the next forty-four years, just it wasn’t your fault. It still isn’t your fault and it never will be, so for God’s sake, stop flogging yourself like some godforsaken martyr!’ Thorsen stood up forcefully, causing both of the cocktail glasses to fall over. Both glasses broke and their sunset orange contents spread over the table. Eiko slipped out of her seat and fetched a large cloth. She managed to soak up most of the liquid with the cloth. She picked up a large piece of glass, but Thorsen gently pushed her hand away. ‘You’ll hurt yourself. I’ll get a dustpan,’ he said. As Thorsen disappeared into the kitchen, Eiko could hear him cursing to himself. She bit her nails and searched the air for clues, but it was too hazy. Ava saw worry in Eiko’s eyes. ‘Don’t despair, Eiko. Thorsen appears to have a liquid centre, but really, he’s a tough cookie.’ Eiko nodded anxiously. Ava read confusion in Eiko’s face. ‘You don’t know do you?’ Ava asked her quietly. ‘Don’t know what?’ Eiko tried to read behind the concern in Ava’s eyes. Ava shook her head. ‘Nothing... nothing for you to worry about.’ She cocked her head back and shouted, ‘OK, Thorsen. I’ve left it.’ Thorsen returned and both Ava and Eiko watched him painstakingly brush fragments of the glass into a dustpan and clean the table. Ava brushed imaginary glass off her dress. Eiko tried not to look surprised as black shadow-dust flew off Ava’s dress onto her legs and handbag, turning them filthy. ‘You know, we should have a night out... go round a few bars,’ Ava tried to

sound enthusiastic but instead she sounded awkward. ‘It’s not my thing, trailing round bars, you know that,’ said Thorsen. Ava knew she had lost him. She ran her eyes over the bottle shelves. ‘You practically run one. Come on, how about it, Thorsen? A good old catch-up?’ Thorsen did not answer; he turned his face away instead. Ava nudged Eiko. ‘You’ll come out, won’t you?’ ‘Oh, I can’t tonight - I have to finish an assignment,’ Eiko replied quietly. ‘Well, tomorrow night, then. How about it, Thorsen? Just a couple of bars? Ok, one bar, but a good one, and one with a uniLoo. I hate all the sex segregation in this country.’ Eiko noticed that the dust hanging in the air was less dense. She considered Thorsen for a moment; the veil of dust in front of him made him look even older, and a night out could be good for him. ‘I’ll come out tomorrow night,’ she volunteered. ‘Brilliant.’ Ava glanced at Thorsen. ‘Now, Thorsen, you can't leave this poor girl alone with me, I will totally screw her up.’ Thorsen emitted a little sigh, ‘I’ll think about it.’ ‘Good. When you’ve thought about it, I’ll see you tomorrow at seven thirty at what’s that striking red and gold bar on Field Street?’ ‘Oh, that’s ZanzeBar,’ replied Eiko. ‘It’s meant to be really cool in there, and it may even have a uniLoo.’ ‘ZanzeBar it is, then,’ said Ava. Thorsen’s face was still turned away. Ava stood up; she knew it was better to leave Thorsen when he was like this. ‘Well, I better be off.’ She bent down and kissed Thorsen goodbye on the cheek. He nodded and patted her shoulder, without looking at her. Then he got up,

grabbed his dustpan and went into the kitchen. Ava kissed Eiko goodbye. ‘I shall see you tomorrow,’ she wiped off a smidgen of her coral lipstick from Eiko’s cheek. ‘Do try and bring grumpy along.’ Eiko nodded. ‘I will.’ After Ava left, Eiko waited for Thorsen to return from the kitchen. She noticed that all the shadow-dust had disappeared, but in its place was the smell of sadness that smelled like sodden foliage after a rainstorm. Eiko was puzzled about Ava and Thorsen’s disagreement about his past, especially as she had never seen Thorsen get so angry about anything. She guessed something very serious had happened to Thorsen in the past. Thorsen eventually appeared from the kitchen and he looked utterly miserable. ‘I am going to have to go home and finish my assignment,’ Eiko said. Thorsen nodded. ‘I’ll come round tomorrow. You will come out for a bit tomorrow, won’t you?’ Thorsen shrugged. Eiko did not want to push him, but she had to say something, ‘Are you OK, Thorsen? Obviously, something has deeply upset you and I’m not asking what it is, but I am worried about you.’ Thorsen appeared to be steadying himself by moving his eyes across the floor. ‘I’m fine,’ he answered, but his voice was shaky. He looked up at her. ‘I don't want to go to a bar tomorrow, if you don’t mind, but you should go. Ava’s a good sort.’ ‘Are you sure? I’ll pop round tomorrow anyway. You may change your mind.’ ‘No, I won’t. I’m over my days of bars and clubs.’ He sighed. ‘It’s been a busy day. I could do with an early night.’ Eiko glanced at the door. ‘I don’t want to leave you like this, Thorsen, you don’t look “fine” to me.’

‘I’m fine, love, really,’ he said with more conviction. ‘Please don’t worry about me, go and finish your assignment, and tomorrow, go out with Ava, she could use a friend after what happened to her.’ Eiko thought Thorsen could do with a friend too, but she listened to him and left.

Chapter Twelve

THORSEN

Thorsen wrestled the lavender and spelt dough onto the metal bench; he tweaked the bench temperature down and gave the dough another round with his fists. Lunch time at the café had been strangely quiet, but he had asked Eli to stay back another hour, so he could catch up on his baking. Thorsen could hear Eli humming away in the café, while a customer - oblivious to Eli’s lack of interest – told him about the latest campaign to reduce space pollution. Outside the kitchen window, the day was grey and threatening rain, but so far there had not been a single drop. Thorsen reached for a jar of nut honey and dripped it across the dough; he let it glide over the surface and then folded the dough to encom its sticky richness. He pummelled the dough again, inhaling the honey’s final floral breath as it suffocated under his fists. Finally, he scattered a handful of fennel seeds over the dough, gave it a good whack, rolled it up and chopped it into thick coins. With well-floured palms, he shaped the coins into buns. He recalled that lunchtime. Old Mr. Fendenzes had come in for his monthly lunch with his wife. Thorsen had brought out the usual two glasses and bottle of cranberry wine to Mr. Fendenzes’ table, taken the order and then disappeared into the kitchen for the food. Then Thorsen had returned with one, carefully customised bowl of chicken and marjoram soup, instead of the two soups Mr. Fendenzes had ordered. Thorsen had done his usual, ‘Could you taste the seasoning is right before I serve your dear wife?’ Of course, Mr. Fendenzes obliged, being a gentleman, and he declared the soup, ‘Perfect.’ Thorsen asked Mr. Fendenzes if he was sure, as Thorsen thought the soup needed a little more pepper, and so Mr. Fendenzes tasted another spoonful. Then Thorsen waited until Mr. Fendenzes’ eyes turned watery, and Thorsen knew the

soup had done its work, and Mr. Fendenzes had quietly ed his wife was dead. Only then, like every other time, did Thorsen discreetly remove the spare cutlery setting, leaving Mr. Fendenzes to eat his lunch alone. Thorsen knew Mr. Fendenzes was a step nearer to grief every time he left his café, and one day Mr. Fendenzes would walk with it like his true companion. ‘Poor old fellow,’ Thorsen said to himself, as he flattened another bun. Eli’s head slithered around the kitchen door, and made Thorsen jump. ‘Soz! Just thought you’d wanna serve this one.’ ‘Who is it?’ Eli shrugged. ‘Dunno, but you might be out there for a while.’ Thorsen tutted irritably. He took off his apron, washed his hands, and told Eli to clear the kitchen. Then Thorsen stepped into the café. A woman was stood at the counter with her head bent down. Her face was hidden by a mass of tangled hair. Thorsen did not recognise her. ‘Can I help you?’ he said cautiously. The woman looked up and Thorsen was stunned to see it was G. It was the first time he had seen her looking unkempt and without wearing any make-up, and she looked as fragile as a ghost. Her face was covered in pink blotches, and her eyes were puffy and startled - as if someone had lit a match inside her pretty head and forgotten to blow it out. She wore a grey sweatshirt coat tied carelessly around her, and she tightly gripped the material in her hands. ‘What the hell has happened?’ asked Thorsen. G blinked and a tear fell down her cheek. There was a lone woman eating by the window, so Thorsen rushed around the counter, gently grabbed G, and manoeuvred her to a table at the other side of the café. ‘G? What’s happened?’

She did not answer him. ‘G? You’re scaring me.’ G struggled to lift her eyes to his, but eventually she did. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she whispered. ‘Oh,’ gasped Thorsen. ‘By The One?’ G nodded, her body shaking. Thorsen placed a comforting hand on hers. He did not know what to say. ‘I take it “congratulations” is totally inappropriate?’ G nodded miserably. ‘Couldn’t you -’ G began to cry and each sob was synchronised with a shake. ‘I-I don't know what I want. It’s too e-early in our relationship. I-I don't know what to do.’ ‘Have you told him?’ ‘Ha!’ She threw her eyes up to the air. ‘He didn't turn up to the dinner I made on my birthday and I went to so much trouble. Apparently he fell asleep and forgot, but I’m not sure I believe that.’ ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was your birthday. G, you need to tell him about this, even if he doesn’t say what you want to hear, it will help you make your mind up. He said he loved you, didn’t he?’ G shook her head and grabbed Thorsen's arm. Her eyes grew wide and desperate. ‘You mustn't say anything to anyone.’ ‘Of course not -’ ‘Promise me you won’t, Thorsen?’ ‘Who would I tell?’ G’s grip tightened around his arm.

‘Of course, I promise.’ ‘I’m sorry – I am just so confused.’ She pulled a damp curl from her eye. ‘Part of me thinks a baby would be like the missing piece from my life. My own family are completely dysfunctional and have no interest in me.’ She dissolved into gentle sobs. Thorsen took her other hand in his. ‘But then I think, who am I kidding? I am totally in love with a man who I don’t think wants to be with me, but even if he does and we give it a go, I’ll probably mess it up.’ ‘Don't say that.’ Thorsen moved his chair around and gave her a hug. ‘Wow, you’re really shaking. I’m going to make you a hot drink, OK?’ G nodded. Thorsen went to brew her a lemon balm tea. He slowly crushed some fresh rosemary into the pot to eliminate G’s indecisiveness, and then added a long curl of lemon skin. As he allowed the tea to infuse, he focused his mind onto the sharpness of the citrus to improve her clarity of thought. He pictured G’s dark waves of despair in a charcoal sky but he imagined a ray of lemon light cutting through the blackness like a knife. He shuddered as he felt an awakening. ‘Listen to your heart,’ he mumbled as he stirred the tea in the pot. ‘Go with your heart.’ Thorsen strained the pale liquid into a mug, added some honey and returned to G. G was wiping her eyes in front of her shaking compact mirror, but as soon as she had done so, fresh tears reappeared. ‘I look a total fright.’ ‘You are still beautiful.’ He pressed the mug in her hand. ‘Drink this, it will help.’ G took a sip and hugged the mug in her hands. ‘What a bloody mess.’ ‘Drink some more, it will warm you up and calm you down.’ G took another couple of sips. She stopped shaking and drank some more.

‘So, do you think you are able to talk to him?’ Thorsen asked. G thought about it for a while. ‘I have to tell him about this, don’t I? I should also tell him how I feel about our relationship.’ Thorsen nodded. ‘And if he doesn’t want to know...’ G looked up at the ceiling, ‘I suppose I should do what’s best for me and what I want.’ Thorsen nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan.’ ‘I’m not sure I can - you know - get rid of it.’ Thorsen noticed her tears had stopped. ‘You’d make a fantastic mum.’ ‘Would I? Yes, maybe I would. Oh God, how fat would I get?’ ‘Think of all the baby shopping you could do, and how much you can eat when you’re pregnant – you’ve got the rest of your life to diet.’ G gave him a smile. ‘Thank you for being here, Thorsen. You are my confidante, my therapist, my true friend – my only friend.’ Thorsen gave her arm a squeeze. ‘I’ll speak to him today. You never know, this may be what he needs, I mean, he is planning for the future. He just started a course in industrial engineering at Lakes University this week – that’s quite responsible, isn’t it?’ Thorsen raised his eyebrows. That’s a coincidence, Eiko’s friend just ed that course – he’ll probably know him. ‘You know, I only know him as “The One,” shouldn’t I know the name of the father of your child?’ G took another sip of tea. ‘Yes, of course, it’s “Zach Coombes”.’ Thorsen felt slightly ill. He pretended to rub his temples while he hid the horror in his eyes. Dark hair, tall, new student on an industrial engineering course at Lakes University. He had to be the ‘Zach’ that was after Eiko – the man without the shadow. How fortunate for Zach that poor Eiko had not seen beyond his

front, yet. ‘Are you OK?’ G’s pale eyes were awash with concern. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Thorsen quickly decided not to say anything - not until he was sure, as it may push the already vulnerable G over the edge. As for Eiko, he knew had to look out for her, especially. So he said, ‘I’m fine, really, I’m fine.’ He put a hand on her arm, ‘I just thought I’d forgotten to take something out of the oven, but I did.’ ‘It’s OK, you get back to what you need to do.’ G picked up her bag. ‘I have to go home. I’m going to have a bath and think about what I’m going to say to The - to Zach.’ ‘OK, G.’ Thorsen gave her a big hug. ‘Let me know how you get on.’ He watched her leave.

Once the last customer had gone, Thorsen sent Eli home and shut the café early. He grabbed a large malt whiskey and sat in the window to mull things over. Although G had confided in him, he knew what needed to be done. When Eiko comes in, I’ll warn her about this Zach character. I just hope this is not the start of what’s coming. He also hoped for G’s sake, that a baby was what she really wanted.

EIKO

I glanced at the old town hall clock. I was late. I jumped off the tram and ran across the cobbled street, glad I’d worn my trainer-pumps, but annoyed I’d lost track of time. I had returned home from uni., had a bath with plenty of time to kill, but then I had to apply my make-up three times, because the first two attempts seemed too demure to hang out with the glamorous Ava. I had also struggled with my outfit, and after a wardrobe’s worth of discarded clothes, I settled on a buttercup yellow dress that I had customised with vinyl videoStars;

the stars glowed lime-green in daylight, but under unnatural light, they sprung to life with fluttering butterflies. I finished my outfit with a cropped blue jacket. I removed my jacket before I stepped into ZanzeBar and straightened the skirt of my dress. The bar was very regal inside, with several circular sofas filled with red and fuchsia velvet cushions. The walls were covered in a cracked bronze paper, and cone-shaped chandeliers cast from silver, hung from the ceiling and glittered with coloured crystals. The smell of sandalwood hung in the air and the sound of eastern beats and electric sitar glided through the room. There was an ebony bar in the centre of the room, surrounded by several, velvet bar stools. Ava was leant against the bar like a siren that had risen for air; she was dressed in a sea-blue tro suit and crystal heels. Her long hair was undone and her glossy curls lapped against her face. She wore crystal drops from her ears that trickled down her collar bone. She was laughing with her hand pressed to her chest, dramatically, as she chatted to a pretty woman next to her. The woman was wearing a classic purple roll dress that almost matched her purple bob. I walked over to them. Ava reached down to cup my face in her hands and landed a plump kiss on each of my cheeks. ‘I’m glad you made it,’ she gushed. ‘No Grumpy?’ I shook my head. ‘Thorsen was adamant he didn’t want to go out, sorry.’ Ava nodded silently, her lips tinged with disappointment. ‘I’m going to you for a couple of drinks but then I’m going to catch up with a friend,’ I said. ‘Of course.’ Ava fluttered her long eyelashes across my dress. ‘That’s a very sweet outfit.’ She placed a hand on my back and steered me towards her friend. ‘This is Monica.’ Monica smiled and gave me a kiss on both cheeks. I noticed she had kind chestnut eyes. ‘Monica is Italian,’ Ava added and then dropped her voice, ‘she has come to England for a holiday after her transitional op. She looks great, doesn’t she?’ I had to stop my mouth from falling open. Monica like Ava, oozed feminine

allure but it was difficult to tell from her fine features that she was not a naturally-born woman. Ava clapped her hands together loudly, ‘Bartender! Three of the same, please.’ The barman devoured Ava with his eyes as he prepared the drinks, and Ava lapped up his attention. When three ice tumblers appeared on the bar, Ava thrust one into my hand. It had an inch of amber liquid chilling inside. ‘Shoot!’ Ava commanded. Ava and Monica knocked their drinks back. I transferred the tumbler from my freezing hand to the other one, and then slowly drank it. My mouth flooded with the essence of Damask rose and lemon, as the honey-like liquid slipped down my throat. The smoothness of the drink was deceptive because I soon felt the strong alcohol crackle in my chest. Monica was from Santarcangelo di Romagna, and she spoke flawless English with a rounded Italian accent. She was an aeronautical engineer and had worked on the prestigious stealthVas 949 planes, but she said her real ambition was to design a range of loungeWear for on-board airShops. As Monica spoke, her shadow made itself known and fell across the bar; it was an exact replica of her: a petite, attractive woman. ‘Shoot!’ Ava interrupted with another round of drinks. We shot them back. As the heat of the alcohol subsided, I felt small needle pricks in my back. I turned around to see a table of attractive girls in their twenties, dressed to kill. As they cackled away, they fired dark looks at Ava and Monica, and then their shadows appeared, of ugly witches. At first I mistook their prickly missiles for prejudice, but then I noticed a sickly green tinge around the girls fingers and lips, and I realised they were overcome with jealously. I chuckled to myself. ‘Shoot,’ Monica interrupted. I turned back to the fold and shot down another drink. I sat there for an hour whilst Ava told us about her plans. After her tour of the US, she was travelling to Asia for another two months, and she spoke about her various projects. I felt my concentration slipping away, partly due to the alcohol.

The music rose in the background, but it also seemed to be coming from inside my head, and I swayed on my stool to the beats. I ordered us another round of drinks, but decided this would be my last. Suddenly, a herd of football fans charged into the bar, their clothes damp with rain. Some of them gathered around the table of witches to chat them up, some others went to the opposite side of the bar. A young bull pushed in between us; he looked Ava and Monica up and down and then settled his eyes on me. ‘Win, win, Lakes are in, 3-1 to us!’ he bellowed in my ear, leaning on me. His breath stank of beer. ‘Give us a smile, bootiful!’ I smirked and moved my stool away, but his attention was fixed on me. Ava mouthed, ‘Shall I get rid?’ ‘I was about to go and meet my friend,’ I replied. ‘You’re not a fan of Lakes City?’ she asked with a gleam in her eye. I shook my head. Ava wasn’t letting up. ‘You know how footballers are paid a national rate? Well in the olden days, footballers were paid a fortune depending on their talent, and they had fleets of cars, mock Georgian mansions, their own clothing lines and even aftershaves named after them. Some even threw away their underpants after a single wear. You know, these days, you’d be much richer shacking up with a fan.’ I turned towards the bull. He was drooling at me. ‘He’s tempting me, Ava, but...’ I grabbed my jacket. ‘I have to go.’ ‘You won’t stay for a glass of wine?’ she pleaded. I declined, and kissed her and Monica goodbye. Ava promised to get in touch when she returned from her tours. As I walked away from the bar, I saw the bull edge closer to Ava, and I laughed. I knew she would make mincemeat out of him.

CHANCE MEETING

The rain cooled the air down. The sky rumbled and a fluorescent blade slashed through the black. Eiko pulled her jacket around her and quickened her pace. She thought the ground felt spongy under her feet, and her steps seem to bounce off the pavement. She realised she was drunker than she thought. She pulled her jacket open again, to let some rain in to help sober her up, but the waves of intoxication kept coming. Eiko bounced past Bar Street; the bars there were filled with after-work drinkers and revellers. Outside on the bar patios, singing football fans swigged from cartons of beer under the watchful cameras of the roboBouncers, as they scanned faces for known troublemakers, or searched for new ones, their metal limbs ready to tackle anyone who overstepped the mark. Eiko turned into a dark snicket at the end of the street; the pavement unexpectedly turned to cobbles and she had to steady herself against a wall to regain her balance. It led onto ancy Square: a smart enclosure with a couple of expensive houses, a life consultant’s office and a dental reconstruction surgery. The buildings’ gold name plaques gleamed in the moonlight. A few metres ahead, the square funnelled into an alley onto Tailor Street, the street before Faith’s. As Eiko drew closer to the alley, she noticed a slight red glow around it. She felt the hairs on her neck prickle and her ears sharpen. Stop, a voice said inside her head. She stopped, but her body began to sway on its pivot. Then a strange smell drifted towards her. Eiko froze; it was an odd smell, like mud and grass in cold rain, an odd smell for a lane that contained only stone and cobbles. The red glow grew brighter. It must be the drink. My senses are clouded. Eiko took another step and then stopped again. The red glow seemed to be getting nearer. Is it red for danger? She heard her heartbeat thumping in her chest. She looked behind her and considered turning back, but the square looked even darker than before, and she knew once through the alley ahead, Tailor Street would be bustling with people. Eiko felt in her jacket pocket for her steel pen. The smell drifted towards her again. Why is there a strange organic smell in the alley? I’m sure it’s getting

stronger. She glanced behind her again. Back towards the black? Or ahead towards the red? Red can mean lots of things. Red can mean danger. Red can mean anger. Red can mean dead. She shook her head. Don’t be stupid, she thought, but she gripped the pen. The red glow moved around her and Eiko nearly cried out, but then she heard her name. Her hazy eyes struggled to focus. Out of the red stepped Zach, his skin as smooth as stone in the faint moonlight. ‘Zach?’ She laughed with relief. ‘What the hell are you doing hanging around here in the dark?’ Eiko fleetingly thought he had been following her until she ed he had come from the opposite direction. Zach frowned when he realised he had scared her. ‘Sorry, I was trying to work the torch on my watch.’ Eiko noticed the earthy smell had dissipated, but the red glow had fallen to his feet and lingered there like embers. Is he the devil in disguise? Red can mean a lot of things. Zach stepped closer, ‘I’m on my way out for a drink,’ he paused. ‘Do you want to me?’ Eiko heard the redness in his voice. Red was the colour of sexual tension, the most dangerous red of them all. Eiko giggled nervously. Looks like the man without a shadow has given himself away. ‘I’m coming back from a drink, well... several, actually.’ Zach stayed quiet and Eiko felt compelled to say something. ‘I promised to call in on my friend, she lives nearby.’ ‘Hmm,’ he said, breathing in every part of her. He could just see that her skin was damp from the rain. ‘“Hmm”?’ she mimicked. She felt herself swaying again and caught herself. His dark eyes were luminescent in the moonlight and they were drawing all over her face until they stopped at her mouth. He was flirting with her. A shiver snaked up her spine and the words tumbled out of mouth. ‘Who are you? Really?’ ‘Who are you?’ he asked back. ‘Detached... argumentative... a little unreasonable sometimes... the usual sort of

girl.’ Zach chuckled. ‘You’re nothing like “the usual sort of girl”.’ He wanted to say, ‘You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever met and you’re having the craziest effect on me,’ but he did not. Zach stepped closer until his face was a few inches from hers. He imagined the velvet of her skin as he kissed her and the sweet taste of her mouth. Eiko felt his breath on her lips before she even realised he was getting nearer. Instinctively she drew her head back and peered into his eyes, and she searched them carefully. Could she fall for him? Should she just let herself go and find out? More importantly, could he save her? She reached for his face and ran her fingers across his jaw; his stubble scratched her thumb, leaving a trail of thorns in her skin. For a moment, Zach was scared: he imagined everything in front of him would flash by before he would ever have it. He forced himself to refocus. She saw his eyes warm and strengthen, and she imagined pulling his lips into her mouth and tasting the hotness of his breath. Then Zach placed his hands on her waist and drew her into him. Eiko wanted to go with the feeling, but in his eyes she saw a flickering light, the tiniest flicker, but it was as powerful as a hurricane. She did not know him at all. She pulled herself out of his embrace. Zach’s face broke. ‘I’m sorry, this is too - I mean - I don’t really know you, Zach.’ ‘Then get to know me,’ his voice was weighted with frustration that her heart was as guarded as her mind. She nodded. ‘I will, in time.’ He straightened himself up. ‘Are you at uni. tomorrow?’ ‘All day until four.’ ‘Can I see you after lectures?’ ‘I...’ she hesitated, he looked so beautifully destroyed. ‘Yes.’

He touched her lips softly with his fingers, as if taking a memento to feed the hole in his chest. Then he walked on into the darkness. Eiko pushed through the alley ahead. So many mixed emotions were trampolining on her stomach: excitement, fear, joy and longing, that she did not notice the smell of damp earth left in the alley, hanging like a memory.

ZACH

Zach stormed through Bar Street. The street was heaving with bodies and giddy football fans, emitting a fuzz of drunken noise. It annoyed Zach how football fans boasted about football scores as if they were personally responsible for the success. The fans critiqued the players’ performance over and over, agreeing, disagreeing and regurgitating each other’s words in between singing, laughing, grunting and thinking. To Zach, the noise of the crowd was undercut by more menial thoughts which filled every available space in his head, such as: ‘Need a piss’, ‘What’s the time?’, ‘More beer’, ‘Scratch that inch’, ‘Got to go’, ‘Another drink’, ‘Feel sick’, ‘Where’s that bird?’, ‘Lost me mate’, ‘Back inside’, ‘Cold out here’, ‘Up for eight’, ‘Need some food’ and ‘Next bar’. Zach stared ahead at the pavement as he dampened down the barrage of thoughts. He needed to go somewhere quiet for a drink, where he could think. He knocked his shoulder against a fan on the street. ‘Careful!’ said the fan. Zach sneered at him. Nasty twat, the fan thought to himself. Zach span around, ‘You’re the “nasty twat”!’ he spat in his face. The fan’s eyes opened wide, but Zach charged ahead, out of the madness and onto Field Street.

The first bar he came to was Sam’s Bar, but he could see a large group of fans through the window, watching a hologram rerun of the Lakes City game on the dance floor. Zach groaned. Is there anywhere I can go to get away from football? He ed a French restaurant and then a packed wine bar before he came to ZanzeBar that looked free of football fans and not overly crowded. Zach stepped inside. At the bar, a tall, attractive woman in a blue outfit and her petite friend were engaged in a raucous conversation with two city slickers. Zach went to the opposite side of the bar and ordered a beer. Then Zach tried to analyse his feelings. He was tense because of Eiko. Her elusiveness made him feel desperate, uneasy and scared, but it also excited him, and no woman had ever made him feel like that. He took a large swig of beer. Eiko was under his skin, he knew it, and it was not just her physical beauty, her elusiveness or the fact he could not read her, it was something more, something else that he could not understand. As Zach drank his beer, he glanced across the room; there was a gaggle of girls on a sofa, they were dressed to the nines and scrutinising every man in the room. Zach knew he could have any one of them, but it was Eiko he wanted. His eyes drifted to the people across the bar. The tall, attractive woman had her arm around a city slicker and his friend had disappeared. The man asked her, ‘Are we going to go, lady?’ He thought, I want to take you home. ‘Soon, let me just finish my drink, and I have a name,’ the tall woman purred, picking up her wine glass. Her petite friend was fidgeting on her seat, as if she was trying to catch the tall woman’s attention. She’s not happy she’s scored, Zach assumed, as the petite woman crossed her arms with annoyance. But then Zach heard her thoughts float across the bar. It is wrong for her not to tell him she’s a tranSelf. I am always honest about it. Zach raised his eyes in surprise. He studied the tall woman. She does look too tall to trust. He glanced back at her small friend. I would never guess it with her, though. He sniggered and shook his head, as the tall woman pushed her cleavage towards the man’s chest. Fucking hell though, nice rack for a bloke. Zach finished his beer. He swiped his iDychip on the payPlate and headed for the

door. He suddenly had an afterthought. It is one thing a guy getting one over a bird, but this isn’t right. Zach turned around and walked up to the man and tall woman. ‘Excuse me,’ he asked the man, ‘do you make a habit of fucking freaks?’ ‘What?’ asked the man, recoiling in offense. ‘What you on about?’ Zach watched the tall woman’s face darken before he answered. ‘You might want to know that the thing breathing down your neck, used to be a bloke.’ Then Zach winked at the tall woman and headed out the door. Ava watched the stranger walk out of the door, over the road and up the cobbled hill. She never noticed the man disentangle himself from her and swear at her, nor several pairs of eyes in the bar grow wide with wonder, nor her bag being pressed into her hand. She did not notice anything until the stranger was completely out of sight, and only then did she hear Monica’s pleading voice. ‘Please Ava? Please, can we go?’

FAITH’S

Faith pushed the hot coffee into Eiko’s hand. ‘I know you don’t like it sweet, but I added some tryptoGluc - it will sober you up quite quickly.’ Eiko sipped her coffee and laughed out loud as she regarded the yellow snoozesuit Faith was wearing. Faith’s halo also appeared to be spinning lopsidedly, but Eiko suspected that could be the alcohol. Faith prodded Eiko. ‘What’s so funny?’ ‘I’m being served coffee by a giant furry chicken, and you’re trying to sober me up?’ Faith shook her head.

‘I’m not that pissed!’ ‘You must have been practically inebriated if you nearly kissed someone - I thought I’d lost you to the church of celibacy?’ ‘I still think your outfit’s ridiculous.’ ‘I’m dressed for warmth; it has gone really cold tonight and I prefer wearing this to a temperature-regulating bed, because I always freeze getting out of one.’ Faith touched one of the flapping butterfly videoStars on Eiko’s dress. ‘I don’t have to dress up in my own flat.’ ‘OK, granted.’ Eiko took another sip of coffee and leant on the kitchen table. ‘Anyway, I only nearly kissed him because I’m tipsy.’ ‘Bloody hell, Eiko, would it be the worst thing in the world if you did? Not every kiss will turn out like you and what's-his-face.’ ‘Ade,’ Eiko reminded her as she followed Faith into the living room. Eiko felt more sober as she sat down on the sofa. Faith nudged her, ‘Anyway, I have seen this Zach around uni. – you can hardly miss him, he is totally gorgeous, and he has my approval to like my even-moregorgeous friend.’ Eiko felt her cheeks burn. ‘Thanks, Faith,’ she said quietly. She chose her words carefully, ‘But there’s other stuff to consider – I mean, there’s definitely more to him than meets the eye, and it’s not apparent to me yet.’ ‘Isn’t that a good thing? Wouldn’t it just be boring if there was nothing behind that handsome face?’ Eiko chewed on a tail of her hair. ‘I don’t just mean that he’s mysterious, but I also suspect he says all the right things because he thinks that’s what I want to hear.’ ‘Eiko, you should listen to yourself. It sounds to me like you’ve got a real catch. Maybe he says what you “want to hear” because he’s trying to impress you. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s lovely. As for being “mysterious”, he’s got more than the average bloke. I’m lucky I’ve got Matt, but at uni. there are some

seriously uninspiring banalics!’ ‘“Banalics”?’ Eiko squinted, ‘As in banal?’ Faith nodded. ‘Did you make that up?’ ‘Of course, I’m very Floydian, darling - as in “Pink” not “Sigmeud”!’ She pulled the wet strip of hair out of Eiko’s mouth. ‘Stop chewing your hair, it’s yuck. So, are you going to meet Zach at kindergarten tomorrow?’ Eiko bit her lip. ‘I should, shouldn’t I?’ ‘I think you should. He can only be one of two things: the greatest guy you’ve ever met, or a complete loser.’ ‘“A complete loser”?’ Eiko dropped her head back on the sofa with despair. ‘At least find out!’ Faith tipped her head sideways, ‘Just because you’ve painted a picture of Zach in your head, doesn’t mean there’s no more room left on the canvas to paint, or that you can’t paint right over him.’ Eiko thought about her words. ‘Ok, I see what you’re getting at.’ She slapped Faith’s furry yellow leg. ‘Floydian or Freudian?’ ‘Neither, common sense.’

ZACH

Zach shivered as he walked home in the cold. As he turned up the street across from his flat, he noticed a beautiful black lanZoury parked outside, with a driver up front, and a blonde woman in the back. It was G. Zach stopped on the spot. Fuck, this is not the time, I’m tired and I’ve had a shit night. He glanced around wondering which way to escape, as G had not seen him, but then he had second thoughts. It’s never going to be the time. G’s more hassle then she’s worth and I

need to get rid of her - I can always find other ways to myself. There’s one person I want and that’s Eiko. I’m not going to fuck around with anyone else, ever again. Zach quickly practised in his head what he would say. ‘Look G, I realise that you are into me ...’ that is an understatement, she’s practically obsessed. How about, ‘Look G, I realise you are in love with me, but the thing is, I don’t love you, despite what I said before.’ No, she’ll just think I’m not serious. Maybe, ‘Look G, we need some space, let’s have a few weeks apart, maybe even a few months apart, or years?’ Fuck it. Zach crossed the road. I’ll rip a shred off her, put her right down and make sure she never comes back. He walked right up to her car door. When G saw him she smiled awkwardly. Zach heard her panic to herself, How am I going to tell him? He will probably go mad. Great! Zach thought to himself as he opened the door. She is going to finish with me.

Twenty minutes later, they were sat in his lounge. Zach’s face was as white as a sheet, and his eyes were fixed to the floor between his feet. G was desperate for him to speak. ‘Please say something, Zach.’ Zach looked up at her. ‘Did you plan this?’ His dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. She shook her head firmly. ‘How come your iDychip doesn’t tell you when you can get pregnant?’ ‘Not every woman has their cycle linked to their chip,’ she said quietly. Her lips began to quiver. What can I say, but the truth? ‘I take an annual contraception pill, but I forgot to notify my doctor when I moved apartment, so I didn’t get a reminder for it and lost track... it ran out a couple of months ago.’ Zach nodded slowly. So she’s telling the truth, but she’s still stupid. ‘And are you sure this is -’

‘Don’t!’ G warned him, placing her hand between them. ‘Don’t you dare ask me that!’ She shut her eyes to stop the tears. How could he even think it’s someone else’s? It’s mine. ‘OK.’ They sat there until G could not stand it any longer. ‘Zach? Please tell me what you’re thinking? Say something - anything, I know you’re angry with me.’ Zach found himself speaking his mind. ‘I never thought about having a child, not with -’ he saw tears fill her eyes, ‘not with anyone, ever,’ he said. ‘I’m not mad, I’m shocked - a child? A child.’ Zach studied her face. ‘Do you want to ...?’ he could not finish the sentence. ‘Keep it?’ The tears launched from her eyes. ‘I’d like to.’ But you might not and then I might reconsider, I don’t know. Zach felt like he had been punched in the stomach. She can’t get rid of it – that’s my baby. He was suddenly shocked how he felt. ‘Then you should keep it,’ he said quickly. ‘We should keep it.’ G began to sob with relief. Zach moved next to her and gave her a hug. She cried into his neck. She thought, oh I’m glad, so glad, I’ve been so scared. ‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘I can’t help it,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve been terrified. I didn’t know what you’d think you’re not there when you say you will be and I was beginning to think you didn’t take us seriously. I love you and I need you.’ Zach swallowed a dry lump in his throat. She’s having my baby and she better look after it. I’ll keep her sweet until she can’t get rid of it. ‘I’m with you, G, it will be OK. I will be there when I say I will, I promise. You just need to look after this baby and yourself by not getting upset. You also need to eat properly.’ G looked up at him and nodded, and then she placed her lips on his neck. Zach stared at the white wall in front of him, and on it he saw Eiko’s face. His chest hurt terribly. I’m going to have keep G sweet without jeopardizing anything with Eiko.

G dislodged herself from his neck and she glanced at the leather overnight case that she’d left by the door. ‘Can I stay here tonight?’ Zach looked at her. He felt like his heart was breaking but he forced himself to nod.

Chapter Thirteen

G

G woke up smiling. She stretched her sun-kissed toes under the sheets and ran a hand across her stomach. ‘We are having a baby,’ she said to herself. The sun was beating down into the room, but G had no idea of the time. She vaguely ed Zach rubbing her sleepy head and saying he was off to university. Poor sweetheart, getting up so early. Last night, he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, he must have been shattered. She turned towards the clock, it was nearly midday. She shot up. He must have left hours ago. She dived out of bed and grabbed her foneCompact out of her bag. She had a lot to do. She called her driver as she checked her face in her foneCompact mirror. She decided her eyelashes could do with a thickening treatment. ‘Hi Franco, its G. Could you come get me in half an hour?’ Her stomach rumbled and she ed Zach’s concern the night before. ‘Could you pick me up an egg, bacon and hollandaise roll from somewhere?’ ‘Yes, Miss, I’ll call when I’m outside.’ ‘Thank you.’ G snapped her compact shut. She could not stop smiling.

ZACH

Zach was sat outside on the grass against a university wall. He had his shoes off and slacks rolled up, and he was frowning in the sun. ‘You’re not going to eat it?’ asked Mervin.

Zach shook his head. Mervin picked up Zach’s sandwich, pulled out the strip beef, neatly folded the meat and put it back into the paper bag, and then he took a large bite out of the pickled bread. ‘It would taste much better with strawberry jam,’ he mumbled. He noticed Zach was still staring at the grass. ‘Are you overheating?’ Mervin undid his own collar button. Zach shook his head again. ‘It is going to be very hot like this for two more days.’ Zach shrugged his shoulders miserably. Mervin scratched his head. ‘Why are you not talking to me, Zach? Are you angry because I am eating your sandwich? It is not that good you know, but I can get you another one just like it.’ Zach sighed. ‘No, I’m not angry with you because you are eating my sandwich; I have a lot on my mind.’ ‘Tell me, Zach, I have good ears.’ Zach shook his head. ‘I can’t.’ Mervin scratched his nose. ‘But you tell me lots of secret things and I do not repeat them to anyone.’ Zach looked up at Mervin. It was true, he could tell Mervin anything in confidence and it would not go any further. Sometimes, he found Mervin’s opinion refreshingly black and white, although other times it could be completely off-the-wall. ‘Ok, brace yourself, Mervin. This is top secret.’ Mervin nodded. ‘“Top secret”.’ ‘I’m... going to have a baby.’ Mervin scratched his chin and cocked his head to one side. ‘You are?’

‘With a girl that you don’t know.’ Mervin scratched his ear. ‘A bay-bee? A bay-bee?’ he repeated incredulously as if he had never thought it possible. ‘Who is the girl I “don’t know”?’ Zach squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Unfortunately, Mervin, it’s with a girl I don’t want to be with.’ Mervin scratched his knee. ‘Did you make the girl cry when you told her that? I told Henrietta I do not want to stay in her pink bedroom and she cried.’ ‘Err... I haven’t told her that, not yet. I cannot tell her that now, Mervin, it wouldn’t be good for the baby.’ ‘Oh!’ Mervin scratched his other knee. ‘And to make matters worse and complicated, the person I really, really want to be with is Eiko.’ ‘Oh!’ Mervin said again and his face softened. ‘Eiko is very beautiful and nice. But what about the bay-bee, have you told Eiko?’ ‘No! I can’t tell Eiko - I’d scare her right off. I’ll wait until the pregnancy has moved on a bit and Eiko and I get to know each other better, and then I’ll tell her.’ Mervin scratched his toe and then he piped up, ‘Why don’t you stop having a bay-bee?’ Zach extended his feet across the cool grass. It was one of Mervin’s very black and white days. ‘I don’t think I can do that, Mervin.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘This is my baby, Mervin, my family. My father is dead and there’s only my mother left – I can’t get rid of my own child. Having the baby is not the problem.’ Zach drew his feet up again. ‘It’s the fact that I don’t want to be with the girl that’s having it, that’s the problem, and she really wants to be with me. I want to be with Eiko more than I have ever wanted to be with anyone and for the first time in my life, I think I’m in love.’ Zach collapsed his head into his hands.

‘Meanwhile, I’m going to have to keep my mouth shut like a cheat.’ Mervin creased up his forehead. ‘But you always cheat.’ ‘I don’t want to - not this time, not with Eiko.’ ‘Well lie then. You always lie.’ Zach studied Mervin’s face, there was not a hint of irony or judgement there there never was. ‘I do, don’t I? I don’t mean to.’ ‘Then why do you cheat and lie?’ Mervin picked up the sandwich and took another bite. Zach mulled over the question – no-one had ever asked him that before. ‘Well you know about my big secret?’ Mervin’s eyes popped out of his head. ‘Not another one?’ ‘No, Mervin, the big secret, how I read people’s thoughts?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ Mervin whispered. ‘You don’t need to whisper - there’s no-one around.’ ‘OK,’ Mervin whispered. Zach shook his head. ‘Well, when I was fifteen I popped my cherry with this girl.’ Mervin frowned. ‘I had sexual intercourse with her for the very first time.’ ‘Ah!’ Mervin raised his eyebrows. ‘Her name was “Keila.” She was the coolest, most popular girl at school and a year above me. She was the girl every guy wanted to go out with.’ Zach tore a handful of grass from the lawn. ‘I absolutely idolised Keila and when she wanted me, I couldn’t believe it. As we did the deed, I heard her thoughts about me: that I was crap in the sack, she thought I was a compete loser, and she was only using

me to get back at her ex-boyfriend. It was really nasty, personal stuff. Afterwards, she also told all her friends and my own that I was a flop in bed. I became the laughing stock of the whole school. It really dented my confidence.’ ‘Did you get any better “in the sack”?’ Zach laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, I got better at it. I was determined to be the best at it I could, but I never trusted a girl again. Every girl I slept with made me a bit feel better about myself for a while, but I’d soon feel crap again, so I kept sleeping with more and more girls until I stopped feeling crap. As I can see right through every woman and hear all their ugly, critical thoughts, I kind of feel justified lying and cheating.’ Mervin cocked his head to one side. ‘And you just kept “lying and cheating”?’ Zach nodded. ‘And now I’ve met Eiko. She’s like a breath of fresh air; she’s the first girl whose mind I cannot read; she probably doesn’t think any differently to what she says - like you, I guess, except I don’t fancy you.’ ‘Good, I don’t fancy you.’ Zach smiled and smoothed down the grass either side of his legs. ‘Eiko is beautiful, challenging and honest and I haven’t picked up anything bad before I’ve got to know her. I’m sure she has her faults, but I hope I can just find them out the normal way.’ Mervin nodded, ‘I understand.’ He pointed at the remaining sandwich. ‘Would you like some?’ ‘OK. If you put the beef back in.’

EIKO

Dr. Parker had a strange shadow. I suppose it was more like a ‘half-shadow’ because it was made up of lots of dots, like a beaded curtain. Dr. Parker was short and stocky but he wore tros that were too long for him and battered

brown pumps. He favoured tops in all the bad colours like mustard, peach and fawn, and although he wasn’t stylish, I thought he was quite cool in a quirky kind-of-way. Dr. Parker taught us New Theory; this was a supplementary class to my course with a different student group. I found the subject intriguing. When Dr. Parker stepped into our class that afternoon, like the other times, he looked slightly scared. I willed him to be confident, because if he showed any sign of weakness, the students would walk all over him as if he wasn’t there. I surveyed the class; chairs were turned the wrong way round with the occupants chatting to the students behind, this guy Tess was prancing around like a standup comedian in front of a group of lads. On the desk next to me, Sheila from Music Therapy was wearing tiny earplugs and I could just hear the japBeats leaking from her ears. Two bimbo-birds on the right of me, with coloured feathers in their hair, were sat on their desks nailSpraying their claws. I was stuck in a class of reprobates who threw out shadows of swinging baboons, fluttering birds and sleeping sloths onto the floor. Yes, the class was a human zoo. As Dr. Parker cleared his throat, his half-shadow rippled in and out, as if his beaded curtain had been given a good shake. His half-shadow would grow, once he got a grip on the class, but that could take a while. Dr. Parker squeezed an old book in his hands and cleared his throat. Go on Dr. Parker, I willed him. At that moment, a red banana flew over my head and smacked Dr. Parker on the right shoulder. Dr. Parker seemed to grow in size. ‘WILL YOU SIT CORRECTLY IN YOUR SEATS AND SHUT UP!’ Now that was a surprise. The class fell quiet and gave him their attention. I realised that all Dr. Parker needed was a little disrespectful provocation - perhaps in the form of thrown fruit - for the beast to come out. I think Dr. Parker surprised himself. His lips quivered momentarily, but he quickly regained his focus and some of the dots in his half-shadow ed up. He put the book down on a table and took a deep breath. ‘The social theorist, Malcolm Tate, wrote:The earth was biologically efficient until some moron added mankind. Then there was utter chaos -’ ‘Are we morons, Sir?’ asked a student.

Dr. Parker sighed. ‘Tate was referring to a metaphorical “creator” and no, I don’t think you are “morons” as much as acting moronic at times.’ A few of the class laughed, and some more of Dr. Parker’s shadow dots ed up. Dr. Parker continued, ‘Tate was one of the most important social theorists of this century. In his first book, A Book of Endless Conversations, he wrote: Prior to birth, the human foetus is as equal a being as any other being – an utterly defenceless, vulnerable soul with the same capacity for poverty as any other. Some humans are born into societies that take care of their basic needs – what a fortunate inheritance they have; they are the beneficiaries of all which has been accumulated before them and they are much better equipped to survive. ‘Tate described the humanised world as “chaos” and he often applied the notion of “organised chaos” to humanity and life.’ Dr. Parker picked up his tatty book and flicked to a page; he was now so full of confidence that his shadow began to mirror the body it belonged to, and once he got into it, he engaged the class with just the right amount of pauses and inflections in his speech. He continued, ‘In Tate’s second publication, Predatory Notes, he compared “human life” to “animal life,” and wrote: What if humans only focused on basic instincts such as survival and reproduction? What if humans were not as cognitive and personally challenged? At birth the human could have never imagined they would face so many choices in their life. A human should be able to make the simplest decision, but instead he complicates it with deliberation, unlike the lion that thinks ‘kill’ or the wildebeest that thinks ‘run.’ When the human makes what should be a simple decision, more often than not he will explore his past experience and any beliefs, he may be tainted by prejudice, and so his choices become infinite, clumsy and more difficult to make.’ Dr. Parker glanced up. ‘In Predatory Notes, Tate described the greatest human tragedy: “conscience”. Tate thought the human race as poorly-equipped to make simple decisions because humans are weighted by conscience, deliberation and fear, and over time, humans have become less able to act on their instinct or intuition. ‘So class, do you think our ability to make decisions is ineffective?’ Dr. Parker’s

shadow was now complete. He snapped his book shut. ‘Discuss in pairs. You have ten minutes.’

PLANNED MEETING

Eiko ambled out of the lesson, chewing over the subject matter with a strip of her hair. Zach was waiting outside the lecture room. ‘Please, walk with me,’ he said, his eyes dark and serious. Eiko followed him. She used the opportunity to study his strong, lean frame. He was at least five inches taller than her and his dark brown hair was tinged with copper. His defined arms and neck were a perfect landscape, bronzed and lightly scattered with freckles. Eiko noticed a difference in the way he walked that day; his movements were strong and determined as if was completely sure of his path. She knew she would not see the slightest shadow beneath him, but she glanced at the ground and confirmed this. As they stepped outside the university, they were hit by a wall of heat; an intermittent breeze shifted around the thick air, but there was no real respite from it. Zach turned and waited for Eiko to catch up. He noticed the butterfly tattoo on her arm was raised from her skin and the wide neckline of her dress had slipped to expose an ivory shoulder. He thought it endearing how she self-consciously straightened her dress under his gaze. As she drew closer, he stared into her petrol-blue eyes. Zach smiled. Earlier, due to the G situation, he felt like he had been thrown down a flight of stairs and had broken into a thousand pieces, but just by looking into Eiko’s eyes, he felt whole again. He knew he would be happily committed to Eiko forever. Eiko smiled back, she could not help herself, he looked at her so adoringly. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked him. Zach looked up to the sun-filled sky as if the answer might be written in it. ‘I don’t know. How about that café you took me to on our first non-date?’

Eiko chuckled. ‘Well, let’s walk there a different way - down by the river, I’ll leave my bike here.’

Eiko and Zach were leant over the river railings, gazing at the water as it glittered in the sun. There was a sudden, loud ‘splash’ and a flash of silver curved out of the water. Eiko gasped. ‘Is that a salmon?’ ‘I think so.’ ‘My uncle – he brought me up – he’s a sea fisherman, but he never brought home a salmon.’ ‘You catch them in the sea and rivers. I used to fly-fish when I was younger in the river by my mum’s house, and I caught one once. You know, a salmon makes a huge and perilous journey across the sea to find the river in which to mate. On their journey, they are hunted by whales, seals and fishermen over what could be a thousand miles or two. If the salmon is lucky, it reaches the mouth of the river, and then it starves itself whilst swimming up against the river, to spawn. Then it is so overwhelmed by hunger and crazed by lust, it might savagely attack a flyfisherman’s hook, and you know how that ends.’ Eiko shook her head. ‘What a wasted journey.’ ‘Survival of the fittest, I guess.’ They waited for another salmon to leap. Suddenly, Eiko said, ‘I’m sorry, Zach.’ He turned to look at her. ‘What for?’ ‘Yesterday. The way I left, I was...’ she could not find the words. Zach turned back to the river and watched the water ripple over the rocks. ‘Taken by surprise?’

‘No – well, yes, It’s hard to explain.’ Eiko fixed her eyes on two grey wagtails dancing on a washed-up plank. ‘I don’t trust easily. I’m quite guarded ... selfpreservation and all that.’ ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘“Hmm”?’ ‘Hmm,’ he said again. She decided to test the water. ‘I just don’t find you easy to work out.’ Zach did not shift his eyes from ahead of him. ‘I don’t find you “easy to work out” either.’ She ran her eyes over his arms. They were stretched out in front of him with his hands locked around the railings; as he leant back, the muscles in his arms shifted under his skin. ‘Well, maybe the fact we don’t give off obvious signals is a good thing, it means there is more to us.’ ‘Um-hum,’ he agreed. There was another splash as a salmon leapt out of the water on their right. ‘Missed it,’ they both said at the same time. Eiko dropped her eyes to the ground. ‘You know, I thought you were quite arrogant, but I was wrong.’ Zach laughed out loud. ‘Don’t be - that’s not the first time I’ve been called “arrogant”. I am a bit of a loner and I tend to set myself apart from the crowd. You could mistake that for any number of things.’ He pulled himself up to the railings to watch the grey wagtails flit from rock to rock. ‘I can be in a crowd of people, but I feel as lonely as if I was the only person left in the world. I go out to bars and clubs, more out of habit than anything, but really, they are saccharine spaces – artificial and over-stimulating.’ Eiko looked at him and smiled to herself. ‘I understand you feeling lonely, because that’s how I feel most of the time.’ Zach turned and saw Eiko’s eyes were genuine. He found it easy talking to her, she made him want to open up and pour out his heart’s contents. He looked up to

the sky to gather his thoughts and saw a jet balloon bobbing in the warm breeze; he watched it until it disappeared behind a hill in the distance. With Eiko, his problems seemed miles away. ‘You know, people are just strange,’ she said, thinking back to her lecture that day. ‘People are so chaotic and complicated.’ ‘Yep,’ Zach agreed. ‘My pet hate is when someone comes up to me and asks, “How are you, Zach?” or “What have you been up to, Zach?” and I know they are not really interested in my answer. A person will ask me that sort of question just to gain something, like a leech sucking out my blood, as if being nice to me will make them more popular, or give them something to measure themself up against. And, if they find out I’m not doing so well, they feel better, it has reduced their own insecurity. ‘Those people are everywhere, summing up whether they are better than me, or whether I’m the person who can feed their loneliness, or if they can use me to make someone else jealous. I hate all that scouting around. It’s fake – all fake – millions of people doing it every day and everywhere, pretending to connect with others but with their own hidden agendas.’ Zach looked back into Eiko’s eyes and right then, he wanted to tell her everything about him, but he drew himself back. ‘Whoa,’ Eiko said gently. Faith’s right, he is deep. ‘That’s pretty intense and it’s probably true to some extent, but not everyone is like that. There are a few people – well, probably more than a few people, who aren’t.’ She thought of Thorsen and Faith. ‘I suppose it’s just a matter of finding them.’ ‘You’re not like that, are you?’ Eiko shook her head. ‘Finding just one person in a “few” is a revelation. That’s why you intrigue me Eiko, I am sure you don’t have a hidden agenda, or what you say is not what you mean.’ Eiko shrugged her shoulders. ‘But how do you know, really?’ ‘I just do, call it intuition,’ he answered, turning towards her. ‘You fascinate me; there is something about you - everything about you that is so beautiful.’

Eiko felt a lump in her throat. She turned towards Zach and placed her hands gently on his shoulders, his skin was warm from the sun. She ran her fingers over his shoulder blades, traced his clavicle with her thumbs, and then his neck and jaw. Zach’s eyes were soft but focused - glazed with emotion. He looked almost sad. Eiko pulled his face to hers and pressed her lips into his. He tasted like the earth, that smell was his. His breath was rural and real. Zach pulled her closer into him as they kissed. Eiko dropped her hands onto his chest and gripped the material of his top. Zach marvelled at how she felt - just how he had dreamed - they were a perfect fit. When they parted their lips, he kissed her face. Then he shut his eyes and leant his forehead against hers. ‘I knew from the moment I saw you, you would make me feel whole,’ he whispered. ‘Wow,’ said Eiko. She knew exactly what he meant. For the first time in her life, she felt complete.

G

G decided that she did not want to know her baby’s sex because it made shopping more fun. She handed over two cashmere baby blankets – one in pink and one in blue - to the Bassen’s store assistant, Mina. G told herself that she could always give the spare blanket away, after the baby was born, or keep it for the next time. ‘Aren’t they adorable?’ gushed Mina. G nodded and insisted all of her purchases were gift-wrapped because she always found it fun opening everything at home, especially as she had usually forgotten what she had bought by then. That afternoon, she had selected several themed baby-grows by Baby-Days, including a sailor-grow, bear-grow, fairy-grow, kitten-grow and badger-grow. She had also chosen a vintage, cream baby toiletry trolley, a porcelain baby

dinner-set, a three-geared self-assembling Tinkle-Town pushchair with a temperature control, heart monitor and video camera (so she could see her baby’s face as she walked) and over a dozen toys. ‘My driver will collect,’ she told the assistant. G decided she would have a walk in the sunshine and then then drop by Zach’s place. ‘Of course, Miss Haxen-Bourg,’ squeaked Mina with a little bounce on her heels. After G had spoken to her driver, Mina shook a data test tube in front of her. ‘Would you like to try our personalised, Time-for-Mummy beauty range?’ Mina asked pulling a swab-stick out of the test tube. ‘This range contains the best essential ingredients infused with vitamins and minerals.’ She gently tapped G’s chin. G opened her mouth obligingly. Mina ran the swab-stick inside G’s cheek, popped it in the test tube, gave it a shake and read the data strip. ‘Well, Miss Haxen-Bourg, I’m afraid you’ll be prone to excessive water retention and dry skin during pregnancy, but the good news is, we can tailor your Time-for-Mummy products with vitamin To4 and microGranium to reduce bloating, and add active re-hydrators. G’s eyes grew wide. ‘“Prone to water retention”?’ Mina nodded and reached for a bottle from behind the counter, ‘Please.’ She sprayed some of the bottle’s contents onto G’s hand. ‘Our Serenity Body Oil is made from Sri Lankan orchid and some secret herbs, and designed to counteract flaky skin.’ G sniffed it, ‘Oh, my, that smells fabulous - just like my type of scent.’ ‘Well it almost is!’ squeaked Mina. ‘This one should be in tune with your skintype and hormones. When you’re shopping for baby, it’s easy to forget about your own needs.’ Mina tapped G on her stomach. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’ll forget about that,’ laughed G. ‘I’ll take it.’

‘We have several other products to ease the strains and pains of pregnancy. There’s a Deeply Relaxed Bath Oil, Take-the-Aches-Off Shower Spray, Soul Facial Skin Soother, De-Dry Lip Bloomer, Un-Stretch-the- Mark Serum and Restore Normality Air Spray – for those sickly morning moments.’ ‘Oh,’ said G, her face crumbling, ‘I hadn’t really thought of all the ailments that come with a pregnancy, apart from getting fat.’ ‘I can put you in touch with one of our nutritionists?’ offered Mina. ‘I’ll just take the products.’ ‘Great. Now for post-birth body trauma, we have Slim Kim - a tightener cream for sagging skin and a White Bright Teeth Restorer Gel for those horrid cavities, so you’re smile will look as fantastic as it does now, once the little cherub pops out!’ G was speechless, the side effects were endless. She nodded for Mina to add the products to her . ‘I tell you what, I’ll throw in a Night-Night Nipple Softener and a Sleep-Cheat Eye Mask, so you’ll be refreshed even if you’ve been up all night feeding baby,’ Mina added sympathetically. It was too much for G. ‘Don’t bother with those, I’ll be hiring a night nanny,’ she said coolly.

THORSEN

Thorsen placed plates of stir-fried cracked crabs’ legs, chilli bread and coriander aioli on the table, before three customers. With a breathless, ‘Enjoy,’ he rushed back into the kitchen, but not before he had snapped, ‘Hurry up!’ to Eli on the way past, because Eli was very slowly polishing the wine glasses. Thorsen felt uncomfortably hot, although his kitchen was cool. He knew he was not himself because there was too much to think about. He removed the flower heads from a bunch of wild garlic, added them to a bowl of chopped wild garlic leaves, lamb’s lettuce and endive, and stirred in some torn smoked anchovies and

marinated cheese cubes. He then set about icing a tray of rosewater and cherry buns. Just as he got to the last bun, he knocked over the bowl of icing. It spread onto the floor in a thick glacier. I’m doing too much. Thorsen knew why though, he was trying to stop himself from thinking about G and Eiko. There’s nothing I can do about that now. All day, he had stopped himself from calling Eiko as he thought it only right he told her about the dreadful Zach, in person. He placed his sticky hands in the bottom of the sink. ‘Hot,’ he ordered. He smelled the scalding water just as it came out and quickly tore his hands away. ‘Not that hot!’ he snarled as he tried to the right command. ‘Mid-hot!’ After Thorsen had splashed some water on his face, he took off his apron and yelled ‘Eli!’ Eli shuffled into the kitchen as fast as he could when he detected the edge in Thorsen’s voice. ‘Make yourself useful. Clear that mess up off the floor, put the buns away and disinfect the fridges. The quicker you work, the earlier you go!’ ‘Yez, Boz,’ Eli grunted as he swung a bag onto the metal counter. ‘That fat bird dropped off your cheeses.’ Thorsen realised he had completely forgotten about picking up his cheese order of Saddler’s Salt and Holt Hop Orange. Where the hell’s my head at? ‘Put them in the fridge,’ he snapped at Eli, ‘and her name is “Kaylea” - have a bit more fucking respect!’ Thorsen returned to the café and took a deep breath; as he did, the door swung open and in stepped Mrs. Claret. She was wearing a blue cotton dress painted with forget-me-nots, but oddly enough, she carried a thick purple fur coat, knitted beret and sheepskin mittens. ‘Hello, Thorsen. A pot of Assam tea, please, and have you any nice cakes?’ she asked as she pulled back a chair from a table. ‘There’s a Lakeshire cheese and pear cake, chocolate and peanut brittle slices, lemon brûlée tart, rosewater and cherry -’

‘The lemon brûlée tart sounds lovely, dear.’ ‘Coming up.’ Thorsen cut a piece of tart, tipped a teaspoon of ginger sugar onto the surface and caramelised it with a blowtorch. He served Mrs. Claret, and watched her savour the creamy lemon brûlée. Thorsen knew the tart tasted perfectly sharp but sweet. ‘Divine!’ she said as she looked over to him. ‘And how are things, dear?’ ‘Things are fine, thanks – as always.’ Mrs. Claret gave a little, ‘Tsk,’ and shook her head. ‘Well, I think you’ve taken on too much. You could do with someone to share the burden.’ Thorsen glanced towards the kitchen. He could hear slow ‘squeaks’ as Eli wiped the surfaces. ‘I have a helping hand – although it’s generally quicker if I do things myself.’ ‘Not that type of someone, dear, I meant someone to share your life with,’ she said with a warm smile that filled her face with colour. Thorsen laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, I don’t think he exists.’ ‘Well, you know as a child, I would spend hours searching the fields for a fourleafed clover - with no success, of course. So one day, I decided to attach another clover leaf to a three-leafed clover with a little lick, and I made my own fourleafed clover. Soon enough, good luck followed. It was as simple as that really.’ Thorsen considered Mrs. Claret carefully, she came across as a rambling old woman, but there was certainly a lot more to her. ‘What a glorious day, so far,’ she commented. Thorsen glanced at her winter clothing on the chair next to her. ‘“So far”?’ ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘Isn’t it?’ he said suspiciously, just as Eiko walked through the door.

Eiko winked at Thorsen and he sighed with relief that she had popped in, but to his dismay he soon saw Zach behind her. Thorsen felt his mood drop another level. As Eiko and Zach walked up to the counter and sat down, Thorsen saw to his horror that Zach had a hand on the small of Eiko’s back. ‘Been a busy day?’ Eiko asked Thorsen. Thorsen forced a smile. ‘So-so. What can I get you?’ ‘A couple of iced espressos, I reckon,’ Zach replied. Thorsen nodded but he did not meet Zach’s eyes; instead he watched Zach run his hand up and down Eiko’s back, and Eiko shyly smile at Zach. When Thorsen had made the iced espressos, he made sure he plonked Zach’s glass down hard on the counter in front of him. Eiko did not notice. ‘Uni. has so dragged this week, Thorsen. I can’t wait for the weekend - especially if the weather stays like this. By the way, I met Ava and her friend Monica last night - they are both so nice. You were missed Thorsen, but Ava sends you her love.’ Thorsen pretended to clean the spotless counter. ‘We’ll catch up again, I’m sure.’ Eiko sipped her coffee and watched Thorsen clean the surface. She glanced around the café; there was an odd hue in the air, like a murky blue mist hanging above them - the colour of worry. ‘Is everything alright ?’ she asked. Thorsen glanced up at Eiko, then at Zach and back to her. ‘Everything is great,’ he said with a little too much sarcasm. Calm down, he quickly told himself, Zach’s the problem not Eiko. I will tell her he’s a snake when I get a moment alone with her. But Zach had caught the sarcasm in Thorsen’s voice. He watched Thorsen

remove some bottles from the shelf and wipe the glass. Zach tried to gage what he was thinking, but Thorsen’s thoughts were knotted and twisted. He could just pick up the odd thing such as ‘grab spray’ or ‘move glass’ but he could not read between the lines. Zach surmised Thorsen was a complicated man and not a very happy one at that. ‘You don’t sound "great",’ Eiko finally said. She smiled apologetically at Zach. Thorsen turned around to face her. ‘Well, it’s been one of those days where people have come into my café with absolutely no morals. It’s hard putting on a positive face sometimes.’ ‘Really?’ asked Eiko. ‘“Really”,’ Thorsen confirmed, shooting Zach a dark look. Zach’s eyes narrowed. What is that look for? He must be jealous of me spending time with Eiko, he thought. Thorsen went on, ‘Inevitably in this trade you meet people with no self-control over what they do; they do things thoughtlessly and selfishly, or perhaps out of pure badness, and that makes me very angry.’ ‘That’s because you’re a really good person,’ said Eiko. Zach felt his cheeks burn, it was as if Thorsen was talking about him, but why was he saying these things? He decided there was one way to find out, and that was by antagonising him. ‘So what stops you doing bad things, Thorsen?’ he asked slowly. Thorsen did not look up. ‘Nothing stops me doing bad things, I just don’t go there.’ ‘Something must stop you... is it fear?’ ‘No.’ ‘Religion?’ ‘No!’ Thorsen banged the cloth down on the counter. ‘I have my own morals and standards without some god hanging over me. We should all be in complete

control of our actions without some supernatural being waving a stick at us.’ ‘So, who do you turn to in bad times?’ Zach asked deliberately, suspecting Thorsen felt the bad times hard. Eiko looked at them both quizzically. ‘What are you two on about?’ Zach persisted, ‘Who do you turn to in bad times?’ ‘I turn to myself,’ Thorsen answered irritably, he glanced around the café. He was fully aware everyone who came into the café turned to him and he could only turn to himself, only he did not know how to help himself, but he did not need reminding about it. The light in the café dimmed. ‘Here it comes,’ said Mrs. Claret, as she came up to the counter to pay. She had put on her winter clothing. Eiko and Zach turned in their seats, and through the windows they saw huge snowflakes falling from the sky. ‘Wow, how mad,’ said Eiko. ‘A sign of the times,’ commented Zach. Mrs. Claret studied Eiko and Zach for a moment. Before she turned to leave, she said to Thorsen, ‘You have such an interesting café.’ Yes it certainly is. Thorsen thought to himself, watching Zach like a hawk. Eli came out of the kitchen. ‘All done, can I leave?’ Thorsen nodded. Just after Eli left, five people walked in, all shivering from the cold. Thorsen went over to serve them. Zach kissed Eiko’s shoulder as they watched the snow fall. He said, ‘To think that no two snowflakes are the same.’

‘Actually, that’s not true,’ Eiko tapped his knee, ‘some snowflakes are exactly the same but they fall in different places, or they melt before you can compare them.’ Zach marvelled at her beauty, the white snow was reflected onto her blue eyes making them appear ice-blue, but then they began to warm. ‘Well, look at that!’ she said. The snow had stopped and the sunshine appeared again. ‘It might be a good time for us to go, Zach, in case it snows again.’ ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Eiko called over to Thorsen. ‘We’re going to go, can I settle up?’ Thorsen quickly turned around. ‘Don’t worry about the bill, just pop round soon as you can, will you? I need to have a chat with you.’ Eiko looked at him carefully; she knew Thorsen had not been himself since the episode with Ava. ‘Yes, I will, I’ll come by tomorrow, before your lunch rush.’ ‘Great,’ Thorsen said. After they left, Thorsen sighed to himself miserably. Great.

SHOCK MEETING

G hid behind a wall and held her breath. What is he doing here and who the hell is that? She had to bite her hand to stop herself screaming as she watched Zach and the girl outside The Edible Remedy. Zach had his arm around the girl, and he was stroking her shoulder under her dress.

G shook her head in disbelief. What the hell is he doing with that? She’s looks like she’s wearing a sack and her hair’s been cut by herself. She heard Zach ask the girl, ‘Shall I take you home?’ G felt sick, she swallowed hard. The girl shook her head, ‘My friend, Faith, is coming round my place later.’ Yes, fuck off, G willed. ‘But ...’ the girl touched his chest, ‘we could get together this weekend?’ ‘I could take you on a date,’ Zach grinned, ‘a proper date.’ The bastard, thought G. ‘A bona fide date?’ The girl giggled. Zach kissed her hand. ‘Yes, of course. I'll take you somewhere special - in fact, I know an amazing spot with stunning views called “Snap Point” it’s on the interHop route.’ The girl’s hand lingered in Zach’s. ‘That sounds interesting.’ The fucking bitch, thought G. ‘Shall we meet at South Station tomorrow? Let's say one o’clock?’ He touched her cheek. ‘OK.’ ‘Great! Bring some comfortable shoes and weather-proof clothing - just in case.’ The girl nodded and beamed up at him. G clenched her fists. How I would love to wipe that crooked little smile right off her face. Zach bent his face towards the girl, and for a second the girl’s eyes fell to the ground and then back up him.

G watched in horror as their lips connected and then Zach pulled the girl into him. She squeezed the tears out of her eyes. She counted to herself, one ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... eight ... nine, as they kissed and every second that they did, she felt a knife twist deeper into her. When they eventually parted lips at ‘sixteen,’ G felt like her insides had been ripped to shreds. Zach kissed the girl on the tip of her nose and then all over her face. He held her close for some time and he did not look like he wanted to let her go. Eventually, the girl gently broke the hug. ‘OK, I'm going that way,’ she tipped her head north. ‘I suppose, I’m going that way,’ Zach tipped his head west. They parted and walked away, but both of them turned to glance back at each other several times. Once they were gone, G stumbled from behind the wall. She tried to steady her breathing, but she could not stop the gasping sobs. She stood shaking and crying on the street, not sure which way to go or what to do. Then The Edible Remedy door opened, and Thorsen stepped out. ‘G? What are you doing standing here? What’s wrong?’ His face darkened as the penny dropped. ‘Oh, you haven't -' ‘You know?’ G shook her head in disbelief. ‘You know about them?’ ‘No, I can explain -’ ‘Oh, my God!’ ‘You’ve got it wrong, G!’ Thorsen shook his own head furiously, ‘Eiko doesn't know about Zach and you -’ ‘“Eiko”?’ G screeched incredulously, ‘You know her fucking name?’ Thorsen gently grabbed her elbow. ‘Please, G, I can explain.’ G pulled her elbow away. ‘Get off me!’ She saw Thorsen's eyes flinch with pain. ‘I'm going home, Thorsen. When I get there, I’m going to open a nice bottle of

wine and my bedside drawer where I keep a pregnancy expulsion pill, and then I am going to do what I should have done days ago. I am going to kill his baby. Make sure the next time Zach and that - that fucking bitch come round for a cosy cappuccino, you tell them that.’ Thorsen tried to stop her, but G stormed off. He wanted to run after her, but he could not leave his customers and his café. ‘G, come back!’ he shouted after her. ‘G!’ But she was gone. ‘Fuck!’ Thorsen yelled.

G

As G demolished her second bottle of wine, she tried to how she got home and into her bed. Had she walked in her heels? It felt like it, because her feet were sore. Then she ed that after she left Thorsen, she wandered around town in shock, until eventually calling Franco to collect her. Franco had drove her home while she sobbed her heart out. Franco had been so concerned about G that he begged her to let him call her father, but G would not agree to it, and eventually she had ordered him to go. All the while, G’s fone had kept ringing. Thorsen had tried to call G several times. Eventually, G switched off her fone. G thought about her mother Sharina and she began to cry, she felt like she could really do with some motherly comfort. ‘Selfish cow,’ G sobbed, she imagined Sharina would tell her to sort out her own mess and say she was ‘not emotionally mature enough to have a child.’ Sharina would probably think G would make a terrible mother. ‘Well, she should know!’ G laughed. ‘There are crap mothers and then there’s Sharina.’ G took another swig of wine and opened her bedside drawer. The expulsion pill was in a small, round white box. She took the pill out and threw the box on the floor, before realising the instructions were inside it; but G fell back onto her

plump pillows. ‘I know what will be on there: Don't take with alcohol, but be certain to take if your boyfriend’s a complete liar, your family’s elusive and you have no friends. In fact, the only person who seems to care about my welfare is my chauffeur, and he’s paid to.’ She thought of Thorsen's distraught face again. How could he do this to me? How could he? Then she thought of Zach, and her heart began to ache, she loved him so, so much. Why can’t he just love me back? She took another swig from the bottle. Suddenly, G heard a cry. ‘Waaah!’ G went white with fear. What the hell was that? She glanced around the room. It sounds like a cat. It can’t be, a cat can’t get up here. ‘Waaah!’ the sound came again, it was slightly dull, but definitely there. ‘Waaah!’ G yelped as she realised the sound was coming from inside of her – it was like a baby's cry echoing from deep within her womb, up through her body and into her head. ‘Waaah!’ G jumped off the bed in a panic and fell over. ‘It can't be - it can't!’ She told herself, as she pulled herself up. Embryos don't cry in the womb. ‘Waaah!’ I'm going mad. Maybe I’m asleep. G squeezed her hand into a fist until her long nails pierced her skin. ‘Ouch!’ She opened up her hand, she had forgotten the pill was in it and now it was smeared in blood. What am I doing? She threw the pill away from her. Then the cry stopped and G was overcome with emotion; she could feel the vulnerability of the life inside her, welling up and spreading throughout her

body. ‘What the hell was I doing?’ G cried in horror, placing a hand on her pelvis. She glanced at the two wine bottles by her bed and felt disgusted with herself. Then she felt sick and rushed into the bathroom. As G threw up a torrent of wine and bile into the toilet bowl, she sobbed over and over to the life inside of her, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

Chapter Fourteen

THORSEN

Thorsen placed the drinks in front of the couple, and a bowl in front of the boy. ‘One caramel coffee, a black tea, and strawberries and mint cream. The boy began to cry and his father shook his head. ‘It was a caramel and chocolate sundae, a black coffee and a mint tea.’ ‘I’m really sorry.’ Thorsen returned everything to the tray with shaking hands. It was his third mistake that day. ‘A black coffee and mint tea, table four,’ he barked over to Eli, as he raced back into the kitchen. In the kitchen, Thorsen opened the freezer, placed his hands on an ice shelf and pressed them onto his temples; he had a stinking hangover from the previous night. He pulled out the caramel-crunch ice-cream, placed two scoops into a glass, added cream, chocolate sauce and almonds, and then rushed it back to the table. Then he ran upstairs to his bathroom, splashed his face with cold water and smeared some headache gel onto his temples. ‘If only I could rewind time,’ he muttered weakly. ‘This is all my fault - I should have spoken to Eiko sooner.’ He shook his head. ‘I can beat myself up later – I just need to get through lunch.’ Thorsen returned to the café. Eli was taking a drink’s order. Thorsen gulped down a glass of elderflower water to get rid of the nasty taste in his mouth. He went into the kitchen to fetch some pepper butter, crayfish pâte and the cheeseboard, to make some more sandwiches. When Thorsen returned to the counter, Eiko was pulling up a stool. ‘Oh,’ said Thorsen, his face crea in pain.

Eiko was behind the counter in a shot. She placed her cool hands on his own. ‘What’s wrong?’ Thorsen blinked helplessly and struggled to find his voice, but eventually he led her into the kitchen. What happened after that became a blur, and Thorsen tried to recall the memory for years to come, but he was never quite sure what happened. Every time he tried to it, the memory altered - if it was even that. Thorsen just knew, somehow, he had told Eiko the truth. Sometimes, Thorsen thought Eiko’s face had filled with horror. Other times he ed her face twisted in disgust. He could not recall if her eyes had welled up with tears, or if they had gone dead with disbelief. Eiko might have shouted at him in rage, but she could have as easily been frozen in shock, and said nothing at all. Thorsen just could not what was said in the kitchen that day; all he knew for sure was that when Eiko left, he felt a freezing wind blow right through his bones.

EIKO

I brush a tickle from my face. It feels better - a little. No, the tickle’s still there. My hand refuses to extend, whilst the grass plays me like an instrument. I am gravitated to the ground, flat as flat can be, cool underneath with a warm breeze rolling over me like a blanket, up and down in a tease - never touching me more me more than one place at a time. I am thankful for the sun, it’s not quite straight up in the sky, but nearby - of that I am certain - I would see it if I could turn my head. I can feel it kissing my hair, pressing my skin, allowing me to rest with the elements. So I stare straight up into the sky, where not a scar or blemish scratches the endless surface. Where does it begin? Where does it all end? I think I know. But really, I am not quite sure - it’s like trying to catch your breath in the wind, or piecing together a broken dream in the light of day. If I concentrate – concentrate really hard, I catch fragments. The train was missing, missing from its stop. I wore charcoal – how fitting - charcoal black on

this day. He wore white, several types of white. How hopeful and pure - Saintly Saint Zach. The air was fragrant with honeysuckle... or roses... or gardenias - I think gardenias and peonies. When was this? A meadow? A meadow on the street? Or here? No, the air smells of nothing but peat and air. Air and peat, and cold rain on damp earth. The guy next to us coughed. A tickle – it tickles. He had a tickle in his throat. Jasmine and hyacinth in the air. It was a flower stall - a flower stall on the street. A tickle in his throat and a tickle on my face - teasing me in the meadow, but there is nothing here but cold rain in my heart. On a train ... we were on a train the train was missing from its stop? It wasn’t missing, I was late, we had to wait for the next and he wore black, I wore white, just one type of white, how perfect for the day. My stomach rumbled, laughter – his, not mine. I forgot breakfast – there was just a juice with bits left in the glass - mango or grapefruit? We were thrown out and under the earth, into dark tunnel after tunnel, under the bed of the city, through the rock, where the train eventually stopped. A silent, smooth mover - apart from one man’s cough. No breakfast, but a juice – maybe grapefruit – left by my bed and Cinko fur wrapped around my feet. I wish I had never left her. Bikes rattled, rattled, rattled, spokes spoke as we tunnelled underground. There was a bike rack above our heads. Our reflections watched each other in the glass – Zach’s whiter than white, mine blacker than black. He stole a kiss, our lips brushed by. But my eyes were dead. Did he steal my chance? I moved my face, the kiss landed in my hair, he left his lips there and he smelled like the earth, or does he smell like the earth? It is all I can smell, but does it smell like Zach? Which way round is it meant to be? Bikes rattled, rattled, rattled, the spokes spoke as we hopped to each stop. His reflection smiled, I couldn’t smile back. ‘Are you OK?’ Who asked? The man with the cough? My back feels damp, cold underneath, warm over me. I stir, but I cannot move the breeze to my back. ‘I am OK’ I said, or nodded, or neither. It was Zach who asked. I didn’t ask back. I waited for the end of the tunnel, where our reflections would remain forever. The glass by little Cinko, one front paw in and one paw out. Cat sneezed. I laughed. Commotion. We arrived. Did I turn off the lights? I left food, but the

lights? Cinko likes the dark. Was the window open? I think it was. We were ejected onto land. Zach and I, just me and Zach; the green and the grey rolling endlessly out, blue in the dips and high in the sky. Romantic and remote – just Zach and I. Why did I go? Warm hand on mine. My hand cold and stiff. I tried to talk. The words were slow as we walked a mile, or maybe more. Warm and caring, those were Thorsen’s eyes. Was that before? The grey path snaked up, slate grey chips and chunks flew from under our feet as we ascended the brow. Over clear water. Beauty he wanted to show me. Beauty for beauty - a fair trade. Thorsen’s eyes - so concerned and wrinkled. Why did I leave him? Why did I go? My words tiptoed around Zach - testing, testing, concealing questions, as my boots hit the ground. The slate flew out from under my soles. Zach’s words were clear, but his voice was shaking. Thorsen’s eyes were heavy with truth. Where did he go? My words tested, prodded and poked then increased in force - the climb to provocation. Push, push, push - get it all out. Denial, denial - watch you don’t trip - trip on your words and eventually he did, he slipped. He slipped on my words and I slipped on the path. He grabbed my arm. Or did he? My body gravitated to the ground. The air it nips. The mystery of gravity. Years of pushing forward. Head cocked to the future, so expectant. Now here I lie – but forever? Uncle Eddie said, ‘Relax in the present.’ Maybe there’s no more present left, but I’ll love you forever. Why did I leave? The law of gravity, let it all fall back down against the ground, release myself, all the way back down. Zach grabbed my arm - I was steady again. But I prodded; question after question, questions he didn’t need to answer - his face said it all. Voices escalated. Was there an argument? I can’t concentrate. Did I yell? I think I said too much. Did I turn off the lights? It tickles. She likes the dark. Cinko, is that you? His face was white. White as a sheet - white as my clothes. Didn’t I wear black? Why was he white? Concentrate. I slapped him with words. What words? The worst? His eyes were pierced – pierced with pain. His face was twisted up and wet. He slapped me back. He slapped me. But it was like a fist slapped by a fist or a half-clenched hand? It felt like a punch, right through my soul. Then, I went down, gravitating to the ground. All around me, the yellow of sun, whilst falling down and back to the dark ground. The yellow crunched to grey. It was grapefruit - grapefruit juice by the bed.

The slate crunched and crackled around my head. Grapefruit, definitely grapefruit - mango leaves no bits in the glass. The air it nips; the warmth of the breeze blows away. But the sunlight remains in the air, underpinned by a chill. I feel cold, so cold; cold but free. I am scared, really scared. I feel small and scared. My jaw won’t move and my face feels broken; maybe it’s not mine to move anymore. I woke this morning and thought it was a good day to die – ironic - I was so happy, I would not have minded if it was my last. The air nips; I am damp – damp inside. My head’s wet and sticky, something tickles and trickles. The smell of him lingers, it lingers about, the smell of the earth, the peat - his smell, which way round? The damp earth is in my hair, my mouth and my nose, the damp earth is all around me – the smell is mine. A jolt of sickness and elevated euphoria. I feel high, so high, the rush of the high I ride; I feel sick but I can’t vomit out the feeling, so high am I. My breath wheezes, am I still breathing? The yellow blows away, leaving me with grey. I see myself on the earth. My organs weighted in my body like fruit in a bowl, sinking with gravity, expression blocked, my body’s a cavity. A vacuum opens up in my chest, have I inhaled too much? Or said too much? What is this poison? The last of life courses through my veins and out through my lungs - dispersing into the air – the tissue of youth, destined for grey. My consciousness evaporates. The seat of my soul tips over and I am consumed by the most poisonous poison of them all. Darkness.

THE DATE

The day was grey and luminous. Eiko looked surreal against the moody backdrop, a fiery beauty shooting accusation after accusation out so quickly, that Zach could not think of a single answer between bullets. ‘Am I a game to you? Did you not think I’d find out about your girlfriend? Are you just trying to get me into bed? Is that it? For a laugh? Were you planning to chuck me away? How can you act like this? This is not the first time you’ve done this, is it? Do you think I’m that stupid? Do I mean anything to you?'

Zach swallowed a lump in his throat. This is fucking terrible, what can I say? ‘Look, Eiko, you have to listen to me, I am completely in love w -’ ‘You have done this before, haven’t you? Don’t deny it - it is a game isn’t it? This girl and me, we’re not the only ones you’ve cheated on, are we? How long have you known her? It must have been some time. HOW LONG?’ Eiko lost her footing and Zach grabbed her arm, but she regained her balance and pulled herself away from him. She stormed off along the path and onto some grass. Zach struggled to keep up her as she marched towards some piles of slate. Zach knew it was some distance through the slate piles before a proper path began. ‘Eiko, please!’ he begged. ‘You don’t know where you are going -’ ‘I’m trying to get away from you!’ She shouted back as she walked. ‘Have you been sleeping with her, all the time you were making a play for me? Is that your strategy? I fall for you, and you keep your last girlfriend hanging on, just in case it doesn’t work out? I knew there was something wrong about you; I should have kept my distance. Well, now I know.’ As they reached a muddy trail between the slate piles, Eiko suddenly stopped, turned and faced Zach. Her eyes were swollen with tears. Zach drew closer to her. He wanted to pull her into him, to hold her tight and tell her that she was the only woman in the world for him, but Eiko shook her head in such disgust that he did not dare. ‘I know she’s pregnant with your baby, Zach, and she knows .’ Zach’s jaw collapsed. ‘How?’ A cold sweat crawled across his back. Eventually he said, ‘Yes, yes, she is pregnant,’ his voice shook, ‘if she knows , I’m glad - I don’t want to be with her, it all happened before I met you.’ Eiko laughed bitterly, ‘You know, what sickens me more is how you can take something like a baby - your baby - so lightly, while you’ve been following me about like a lost fucking lamb. Most men wouldn’t have the -' ‘Listen to me, Eiko, I am completely in love with you. I’ve never felt like this in my whole life. I wasn’t looking for love but I found you and I can’t help how I feel. You have got to believe -’

‘You know, you’d make the worst father in the world,’ interrupted Eiko. ‘My father was just like you, he thought with his dick and when my mother got pregnant with me, whoosh, he was straight out of there. You know something else? He left my mother to die as she gave birth to me. Losing him killed her. So, I know what you’re like – you’re the lowest of the low.’ ‘I wouldn’t do that - I wouldn’t do that to my own child,’ Zach muttered, tears brimming in his eyes, ‘how can you say that, Eiko? You don’t know how I would be with my own child – is that what you think? Please -’ ‘Well, she obviously does!’ screamed Eiko in his face, tears running down her cheeks. ‘Your girlfriend knows you’re a liar and you'd make a hopeless shit of a father. Why else would she have aborted your baby?’ Zach shook his head in disbelief, and his tears began to fall. ‘No – no you’re wrong, Eiko.’ ‘No, I’m not, she told Thorsen, after she saw us outside his café, yesterday. You didn’t bank on her knowing Thorsen, did you? She told him what she was going to do, because she was so disgusted with you and your lies. She couldn’t stand your bastard child growing inside of her, so she flushed it down the toilet -’ Zach smacked Eiko hard across the face without thinking. He just had to stop the terrible words coming out of her mouth. Eiko fell to the ground. Her head hit the slate with a sickening ‘crack’ and then she stayed there, soft flesh on sharp stone, her face turned to the dirt. There was an unbearable silence, not a cry, not a moan, nothing. Her body was disturbingly still. Zach fell to his knees on the damp earth, the shock vibrating from him. When he found his voice, the fragility of it against the silence, scared him senseless. ‘What have I done? What the fuck have I done?’ He moved his trembling hands towards her and carefully rolled her over. She felt limp and her head rolled back towards the ground. Her eyes were closed and covered in dirt, the lashes curled like grass, and a vulgar head wound emptied dark blood onto the ground. ‘Eiko?’ Zach cried. He felt for her pulse, it was as weak as an echo. He quickly laid her flat and wiped the dirt from her mouth and nostrils, then he put his mouth over hers and desperately tried to breathe air back into her lungs. Nothing happened. He pumped pressure on her chest and forced his breath into hers, but she faded fast.

‘Eiko ...’ he sobbed. ‘Please... Eiko?’ he begged, but it was no good. He pulled her into his arms and cleared the dirt from her eyes. He stroked her face and kissed her hair, and he wept. The blood soaked through her hair and leaked through his fingers, tainting his lips.

‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww The sudden, high pitched sound seared through Zach’s head, it was louder than a banshee’s wail. His head felt like it was exploding. He squeezed his eyes tightly and covered his ears with his hands, but it was useless, the sound was coming from deep within. In his mind’s eye he could see the cells in his brain moving, dividing and then reconnecting. And the trigger? It was her, her pain was his pain. It was their pain. Despite the excruciating agony, the answer to the mystery of himself became clear: he and Eiko had been intrinsically linked all along, and the truth had been hidden in the maze of her mind and his own. The horror of what he had done and now lost began to sink in and it made him reel and vomit. He had found her, he truly loved her and now he had killed her, and he had also killed what was inside of him. As Zach slipped into unconsciousness, his last thought was, I know who we are.

THORSEN

Thorsen surveyed the sky, it was as heavy as his shoulders and the thunder rumbled through the grey afternoon. He returned his attention to the sardines in the sink, washing away their scales with his fingers. Then with his knife, he went through the fish pile, piercing each sardine in the belly and dragging the blade up so the dark guts spilled from the split, and he washed them away. We are all so delicate - nothing but blood, skin and bone, he thought. He glanced through the window and saw that the thick grey blanket of sky had parted to reveal a mysterious blood-red sun. The sun glowed like hot coal and throbbed with pain. Thorsen watched the sun slowly dissolve into the land, but it bled no colour into the cloud. Thorsen dropped the fish from his hands. He read

the sign. He had known it was coming, all along - just like the last time with his lover, but he had not known when death would come, or that it was his lover who invited death in. But yes, he had known death was on its way again, prematurely, but he could do nothing to stop it, and now it had come to take her away. Thorsen crumbled to the ground until his head came into with the cold edge of the sink, and there he stayed, his body consumed with sorrow. He sobbed loudly and deeply, he sobbed everything out of him, until all that came out of him was a pitiful wail. Then his whole body shook like a tree in a storm as he felt Eiko leave the world.

FAITH

Faith pulled the last of her clothes from the line, she glanced up at the angry sky and back at Matt, who was stood patiently next to her with his arms out and piled high with clothing. He squinted at the first drops of rain and Faith landed a kiss on his nose. As she grabbed the last skirt from the line, a red butterfly fluttered onto her hand. Its wings were as large as her hand and they shook gently in the wind. Faith gently moved the butterfly to her face; it seemed like the butterfly was staring straight right into her - eye to eye, soul to soul. Then all of a sudden, it fluttered back into the sky and high up into the storm. For no particular reason Faith could ever explain, she cried out, ‘Eiko?’

ZACH

Zach woke with his head in her warm lap; her cool hands soothed his heavy forehead. ‘Eiko?’ he said weakly. He opened his eyes, his head throbbed and it was getting dark.

‘No, Zach, it’s me, G. I followed you here.’ Zach pulled his head up and looked around. ‘She’s gone, Zach, she’s gone!’ Zach saw Eiko lying still in the slate. Her skin was translucent, as if she had been emptied of all her blood. ‘We have to go, Zach, we have to leave, now.’ Zach looked up at G. She stood up and pulled him up by his arms. Her face was strong, her eyes determined. He looked behind her eyes for more, but there was nothing there. ‘You have to come with me, Zach, now, it’s just you and me – you’re going to be ok, come on.’ Zach nodded weakly. ‘My driver is waiting for us at the bottom of the hill, but we must hurry.’ Zach stood up and his body started to shake. G placed an arm around him and he leant on her. She directed him past the slate pile. ‘It’s quicker down here, can you walk?’ Zach nodded. He stared at the body of Eiko as he stumbled along. He felt empty - so empty of emotion, despite what had ed, and he let G lead him down the hill. Zach knew he should be scared, really scared, but that would come later. He would be terrorised by what he had done to Eiko, and scared of the unfamiliar world around him. This was a world of people with secret thoughts behind guarded walls. It was a world of ordinary people. People just like him.

Chapter Fifteen

THORSEN

As Thorsen stepped into the kitchen, he felt sick with nerves. Everything looked spotless, the walls had been whitewashed, the shelves cleaned and restocked, and even his battered black pans had been scrubbed back to copper. Francis followed him and placed a mug of steaming coffee on the bench. He slipped his arms around Thorsen's chest, squeezed him and landed a kiss onto the back of his neck. ‘It feels strange,’ Thorsen mumbled. ‘It will do, but you’re ready to get back to it,’ Francis coaxed. ’Anyway, I am right beside you – every single step-of- the-way.’ He gently pulled Thorsen around. Thorsen looked into Francis’ dark blue eyes. ‘I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.’ ‘You don’t need to do anything, just keep being you.’ He kissed Thorsen. ‘I’m going to finish cleaning the café.’ Thorsen listened to Francis whistling away and hesitantly looked around the kitchen. He had to pull himself together he knew that, Francis had d the opening of the café for just two days’ time. There were cakes to make, bread to bake, dressings to whisk and butters to be rolled. Thorsen peered into the stocked fruit and vegetable chiller. He could make a jam with the fruit and maybe some chutney. He pulled open the meat fridge and examined the fresh cuts that Francis had delivered. He decided to pull together a good lamb stew to start with. Francis popped his head around the door. ‘Alright?’ Thorsen nodded. ‘I think I am going to be OK.’

‘Good, then I’ll start on the tables.’ As Thorsen pushed the thumbs of ginger and garlic through the mincer, he reflected on the last few months and how his luck had miraculously changed. Losing Eiko had been the final straw. Thorsen could do nothing but shut the café down - his grief felt so colossal that he thought his own life would end, but it did not. Thorsen was just cut to the ground where he had been heading anyway, and once there, he lay quiet and low, crawling in a pit of grief and despair. Thorsen lived in his bed for over four months, holed up like a hermit and only coming downstairs to drink the café stock or nibble on the basics. He was neither here nor there, but in a state of limbo. He ignored the knocks on the door, but he screen-viewed his visitors in case it was G or even Eiko, until he finally accepted that G had disappeared, and Eiko was dead. Thorsen had followed the news stories about Eiko’s death at first. Zach had been seen with Eiko on a train on the day she died, but there was no more information coming forth. Thorsen could not bear to follow the news much longer; he could not stand the way Eiko was lumped together with all the other crime statistics. Then the police came knocking on Thorsen’s door. He told them all he knew about Zach but it was not very much. After three months holed upstairs, Thorsen realised that Eiko’s presence was not quite gone. Her anger was disturbing his sleep and it was directed at him for his solitude. He experienced it in many ways, like the night the water pipes split and he almost drowned in his bed, or when he filled up a glass of alcohol and turned away, he would find the contents gone when he turned back. Then there was the salt in the sugar, the sugar in the salt, and the peanut shells, spices and cutlery in his bed. Eventually, Thorsen knew he had to drag himself out of bed because Eiko’s mischief was intolerable. But open up the shop Thorsen could not. Open up Eiko could not either, to tell him her story, yet the selfishness of his wallowing was disturbing her rest. So Thorsen got out of his bed and stopped drinking himself into a stupor. He thought about opening up the café several times, but every time he tried to takes steps towards it, he panicked. But just by taking the first steps by getting out of bed and cutting down the alcohol, he made things happen for him. A few weeks later, Mrs. Claret came knocking on his door. Thorsen tried to

ignore her, but eventually he had to let her in, because she would not go away. Mrs. Claret brought with her, her grandson, Francis, who she had previously mentioned as “looking for work.” For some reason, Thorsen had imagined her grandson to be some ruddy teenager with a mop of unruly hair and freckles, but he was a man in thirties, strong in manner yet gentle, and very handsome. As soon as Thorsen and Francis set eyes on each other, they knew they were meant to be together. Mrs. Claret then whispered in Thorsen's ear, ‘The way to manage your life is to accept a gift from someone like you.’ Thorsen laughed out loud, but for some reason he wanted to cry at the same time. Deep in his heart, he had known Mrs. Claret had a special insight, and not just for the weather. Francis nursed Thorsen’s heart and soul back together. Three months on and Francis was in The Edible Remedy, happily waxing tables and helping Thorsen to get back to what he loved. He was Thorsen’s therapist, best friend and lover, and all Francis wanted from Thorsen, was to be loved back.

Chapter Sixteen

G

G moved her brown legs onto a couch on the yacht deck. She glanced back through the cabin window, where Zach was making her a swordfish sandwich. ‘My life is perfect,’ she told herself. She patted her large brown belly, lovingly. ‘Perfect,’ she repeated. When the time came for the birth, she would return to her home in St Lucia with a private team of medics and her darling husband, Zach, by her side. Zach was so gratefully obliging, his character somehow broken. He was happy to attend to her every need. She knew he was totally devoted to her and the unborn twins. But Zach still cried in his sleep, and he would hold onto G for dear life during the night. He was desperate to be close to her wherever she went, and even scared to go outside without her. G thought it was like he was learning about the world all over again. It was strange what trauma and guilt could do to a person. ‘Would you like banana or guava in your smoothie?’ Zach called out of the window. ‘Guava, please,’ she answered. G rubbed her belly and her mind flittered back to the time on the hill when she had secretly watched Eiko and Zach, and Eiko tell him that she had aborted her pregnancy. No wonder Zach smacked her. When Zach had finally come round, he had been like a frightened child, and he had just let himself be led away by her. G made Zach promise that they would never speak about what happened on that fell. They were a family now and that was all that mattered. Zach was the perfect husband. He was hers - hers completely. G knew she could have never got rid of their twins – how could she? She just had one stupid moment of despair. She was sure that whenever she spoke to them, she could hear them answering her back. They told her how they were

growing, when they were tired, or which way they wanted to move. She knew it sounded crazy, but she was convinced they were communicating with her. G smiled to herself. It was so wonderful to be needed.

Chapter Seventeen

THORSEN

‘What are you grinning at?’ asked Sandy, as he wrapped up the king crab’s legs. Thorsen shook his head. ‘Nothing, mate. Chuck in a kilo of clams, will you?’ As Sandy went to fetch the clams, Thorsen returned to his memory of the morning where Francis had smothered him with kisses and kept pulling him back into bed, every time Thorsen tried to get out of it. Thorsen hummed as he walked back to the café, he was in a fantastic mood. He had been very touched by how much his customers had missed him, and they had all been very kind. People were looking out for him; it was like the tables had turned. His life had never felt sweeter, despite the lingering sadness. He thought soon, he might feel like remedying again and giving something back, but not all of himself – never again. As Thorsen walked up the street, he recognised a thin man ahead of him, placing each foot carefully in the centre of each paving slab as he walked. Thorsen ran up to him and pulled him around. The man squealed. ‘Martin?’ Thorsen gasped. Mervin’s eyes opened in delight when he saw Thorsen. ‘No, Mervin. You are the ice-cream-shake-man, “Thorsen,” not “Thornton,” or “Thio,” but “Thorsen.” I your name.’ Thorsen took his hand off Mervin’s jacket. ‘Sorry, Mervin. Please, tell me what happened to your friend, Zach. Do you know where he went after Eiko died? Did you know about that? Do you know where Zach is?’ ‘Oh,’ said Mervin sadly, ‘Eiko was a very pretty girl - I am sad she died like that. Zach is my best friend, but he left and never said goodbye to me, and I am still

upset about that. But two months ago, I received a deposit of ten thousand credits in my bank . I lent Zach that exact amount of money, so I know it is him who put it there, but I don’t know where he is and why he won’t see me. Maybe he is still upset about his half-sister’s death.’ Thorsen frowned. ‘His half-sister died?’ Mervin cocked his head to one side. ‘Eiko,’ he said flatly. Thorsen shook his head. Mervin scratched his ear. ‘Eiko – she was his sister-by-half.’ ‘That’s rubbish! Why would you say that?’ Thorsen asked angrily. ‘It is not rubbish,’ Mervin shook his head furiously, ‘I do not lie. I went to the inquest because I thought I would see Zach and I could ask him why he left without saying goodbye to me, but he never came. The coroner spoke about Eiko, and I listened to him about how she died from her head injury, and then he mentioned she had no appendix in her body. It is a genetic deformity – there is a very rare chance it can happen; Zach had the same deformity and Zach’s father had it too, I know this, you see. So who else could she be?’ Thorsen took a deep breath. ‘But his half-sister? How can you be sure? Did you know his father?’ ‘No, she was his sister-by-half - I can see it now.’ Mervin nodded. ‘I can see their faces in my mind exactly, I . So, I drew them and compared them, and the similarity is plotted there under their skin, it is true.’ ‘Have you told anyone about this?’ ‘I’m telling you. Nobody else has asked me what I think. If they want to know, they should ask. But I must go now, Thorsen, I have a class. Goodbye.’ Thorsen was speechless. All he could do was watch Mervin place his foot carefully in the centre of each pavement slab as he walked away. Eventually, Thorsen found his own feet. It was time to move on.

About the Author

Nisha P. Postlethwaite was born in Manchester in 1975, and grew up in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Nisha was writing short stories, poems and lyrics from ten-years-old and still has drawers full of writing.

Nisha moved to Cumbria in 1993 to do a degree in Media Studies, and followed this with a Postgraduate Diploma in HR Management. Subsequently, Nisha has had several HR jobs, and worked as a singer, freelance writer and journalist. For many years, Nisha had a café-restaurant in Kendal where she was the chef; this inspired her character, Thorsen in The First Sense. Nisha lives in the Lake District with her husband, and one, very stripey cat.

For more information about the author, The First Sense, and more, visit: www.nppostlethwaite.com