Falling Sideways (39 page)

John shook his head. ‘None of my business any more,' he said. ‘I've done my part. From now on, you're on your own.' He frowned, and asked David, ‘What's so funny?'

‘You,' David replied. ‘You said that like you expected us to believe it. But how the hell are we expected to believe anything you tell us?'

‘Simple,' John replied, looking just a little confused. ‘You're one of Us, remember? Just take a look inside my head and see for yourself. I was assuming you'd been doing that while I was explaining everything just now; from that expression on your face, I take it you didn't.'

‘No.' David shook his head. ‘And if you think I'm climbing inside your mind, you're mistaken. I wouldn't go in there if you paid me.'

John laughed. ‘You make it sound like it's full of spiders.'

‘I have the feeling that what's inside your head is way, way beyond spiders,' David replied. ‘Besides, even if I did crawl in there and poke about, that'd prove nothing. For all I know, you can lie just as easily with your mouth shut as open.'

‘Please yourself,' John said, apparently unconcerned. ‘But as far as I'm concerned, I've done what I set out to do, and flawlessly, and bang on time. Dammit, when you consider that your human pals can't even do something as simple as build a road without it dragging on endlessly and costing twice as much as they thought it would, I think a pat on the back might be in order. Maybe even just possibly a word or two of thanks—'

‘Drop dead.'

‘Leave him alone,' the girl sighed. ‘Or, if you insist on fighting, do it outside. You're giving me a headache.'

Instinctively, John and David looked at each other; for a split second, you could have imagined they were father and son . . . ‘I think I'll go outside for a walk,' John announced. ‘And you lot,' he said to the twelve carbon copies of himself, ‘stop gawping and come with me. If you've got nothing better to do, you can go for a walk. Like the old proverb says, a strolling clone gathers no moss.'

After they'd all trooped outside, neither David nor the girl (and what the hell am I supposed to call her? David asked himself. Philippa? Philippa #3? Clone Girl? Ms Levens? Sweetheart . . . ?) said anything for some time. Eventually—

‘All those frogs,' David said. ‘Wonder what he wanted them for.'

She looked up at him. ‘Frogs?'

He nodded. ‘One time when I went to his workshop, the whole place was seething with frogs. The building was full of 'em, and they'd spilled out into the road.'

‘Sounds like he was building a computer.'

‘Must've been a biggie, then. Didn't he say it only took a dozen or so?'

‘Can't remember. Wasn't listening particularly.'

He got the impression that she didn't really want to talk about frogs. ‘You know,' he said, ‘if I'd done philosophy instead of computer science, I could really hurt my head thinking about this. I mean to say: I'm ambling peacefully along, minding my own business, I've managed to reach the age of thirty-two without having had to get a life – no small achievement, if you ask me – when suddenly God pops up out of a propane-fuelled burning bush and says, Guess what; your whole life's been mapped out for you, and you've had no free will whatsoever. And I say, Right, fine, we covered that possibility in year two, I can handle it. And then God says, Ah, but from now on, you're on your own, and all the consequences of the mess I got you into will be your fault entirely.' He shrugged. ‘It'd explain a few things about God,' he said. ‘All that moving in mysterious ways is just ducking to avoid things thrown at Him.'

‘You're weird,' she observed. ‘Did you know that?'

David shrugged again. ‘Don't blame me,' he replied, ‘I only work here. You got any complaints, take them up with the designer.'

‘Ah.' She smiled thinly. ‘Excuses. Always useful to have a good excuse or two by you, in case of emergencies. You know what? I don't believe in all this product-liability stuff. It's like suing the rope manufacturer because a century ago your great-grandfather hanged himself.'

‘They'd do that in America,' David pointed out. ‘Normal business practice over there.'

‘Only goes to show,' she replied listlessly. ‘There's creatures even more alien than frogs, if you know where to look.'

Something about the way she said it led him to believe it wasn't only Americans she had in mind.

‘Meaning me?' he asked.

‘Oh, I don't know,' she said impatiently, ‘does it matter? It's all pointless anyhow.' She sat down on a workbench. ‘Your father,' she went on, ‘your father and his clones, I should say, they've tactfully gone away so you can talk to me, sort out whatever nonsense it is that I'm fretting about in this silly little head of mine.' She snarled. ‘When he comes back,' she went on, ‘I've a good mind to make him drink his cloning tanks. One by one,' she added savagely, ‘if necessary, intravenously.'

‘I see. Just now, you were saying hitting him was pointless.'

‘Changed my mind.'

‘It was just an observation, not a criticism.'

‘Good.' She picked up an adjustable wrench and threw it across the room. ‘Well,' she said, ‘you'd better get on with it.'

‘With what?'

‘Persuading me of the error of my ways.'

David shook his head. ‘I wasn't planning on doing that, if it's all the same to you,' he said. ‘I figure that how you feel is how you feel. When you've got that figured out, maybe you'll tell me and then at least I'll know.'

She shrugged. ‘I could do.'

‘For what it's worth,' he went on, ‘I'm pretty sure I still love you.'

She looked round. ‘Pretty sure?'

‘I'd say about seventy per cent certain. Of course, it's a bit early yet to say for sure. I've only been master of my fate and captain of my soul for about three minutes, and this feeling I'm assuming is love may turn out to be indigestion.'

‘Fine.' She turned her head and looked round the workshop. ‘Talking of which,' she said, ‘I'm hungry.'

‘Me too.'

‘In fact,' she went on, ‘I'm starving. Do you think there's anything to eat?'

David shook his head. ‘There were biscuits,' he said, ‘but I think John and I ate them all.'

‘Selfish pigs. Besides, I want something a bit more substantial than a couple of Rich Teas.'

‘I won't argue with that,' David said. ‘Tell you what: how about going and finding something to eat? After all, this is Watford, the Constantinople of the Home Counties. At the very least there's got to be a fish-and chips place around here somewhere.'

‘I like fish and chips.'

‘There you are, then.'

A thoughtful look crossed her face. ‘I wonder why,' she said. ‘I mean, what subtle purpose in your dad's grand design is served by having me like cod in crispy golden batter? Knowing him, there must be a purpose.'

David considered that for a moment. ‘Perhaps our mutual fondness for cod and chips is what brings us closer together,' he said. ‘You know, shared interests, all that stuff.'

‘Actually, my favourite is rock salmon.' She paused, frowning. ‘And that's odd, because I'm prepared to bet good money they hadn't invented fish and chips when I was alive. Come to think of it, by the time I died, Sir Walter Raleigh had only just discovered the potato.'

‘Good point. So it must be deeply rooted programming after all. Have you got any money?'

‘No, of course, not. Have you?'

‘No. But that's all right,' he added. ‘I know where John keeps the petty cash tin.'

She looked at him for quite some time. ‘In other words,' she said, ‘you're suggesting that if we ignore all this stuff – everything that's been done to us, basically – it'll just go away and we can live happily ever after.'

David shook his head. ‘Not really,' he said. ‘In fact, if we're going to have any kind of lasting relationship, I can see that fairly soon we'll need to have a whole series of long, dreary, horribly embarrassing conversations about it, of the kind that can only end in tears, recriminations, slammed doors and mutually assured sulking. What I'm hoping is that after a while, we'll both get so sick and tired of the subject that we'll leave it alone. Unlikely, though. You can't have serious relationships where you only talk about nice stuff; that'd be like skipping the main course and having a triple serving of ice cream. It specifically says in the Rules you can't do that.'

She frowned. ‘Just as well,' she said.

‘Oh, I agree. It also says we've got to have lots of those conversations where you keep trying to make me understand how you feel, and I keep agreeing with you and saying, Yes, you're exactly right about that, and still you won't shut up. But that's OK, because I'll be expecting them.'

She was still frowning. ‘Tell me,' she said. ‘Do you happen to know offhand what we saw in each other, four hundred years ago?'

David shrugged. ‘Sorry,' he said, ‘no idea. I don't have any memories from my previous life, I'm afraid. How about you?'

She shook her head. ‘The same,' she replied. ‘I mean, there must've been something.'

‘Obviously, I must've been absolutely crazy about you, or else John wouldn't have gone to all that trouble just to make sure we got back together again.'

‘Stands to reason,' she agreed. ‘And I must've had it really bad to go and get myself burned as a witch. Twice,' she added. ‘Wonder what on earth it could've been.'

‘Search me.'

‘Oh, come on.' She scowled at him. ‘In your case, I'd have thought it's fairly obvious.'

‘Really?'

‘Sure. Straightforward physical attraction, nothing more complicated than that.'

‘Oh.' He raised an eyebrow. ‘You find me physically attractive?'

‘Not you, idiot. I mean what you saw in me. You probably took one look and started drooling.'

‘You think so?'

‘A born drooler if ever I saw one. No, what I can't begin to figure is what the attraction was from my point of view. Could be you originally had nice eyes or something, and John wasn't able to reproduce them exactly with his selective breeding stuff. Or maybe I just had a soft spot for short, annoying men. Obviously some women must like them, or the strain would've died out thousands of years ago. Where are you going?'

David kneeled down and fished about under the bench. ‘Somewhere,' he said, ‘around here. Ah, yes, got it.' He pulled out a battered grey cash box and opened it. ‘We're in luck,' he said. ‘Two ten-pound notes and some copper. Well, are you hungry or aren't you?'

She pulled a face, one he couldn't immediately classify or interpret. ‘I don't know,' she said.

‘You don't know if you're hungry?'

She nodded. ‘And that's not all,' she said. ‘Truth is, I'm not sure I know
anything
.'

‘Really?' David chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. He'd had conversations like this before, ten years ago, when he was a student; conversations so like this one, in fact, that he was prepared to bet that the next line would be—

‘I suppose,' she said, ‘it all depends on how you define
know
.'

Exactly right. Spot on, even down to the tone of voice. There's depressing for you. ‘Well, quite,' he said, ‘definitely one of your all-time top five grey areas. Meanwhile, if you want to go and get something to eat . . .'

‘Mostly what I don't know,' she went on, as if he hadn't said anything, ‘is how much of me is
me
, and how much is just Personality Traits for Windows 3.1.' She picked up a St Bruno tin full of small drills and threw it at the opposite wall. ‘You want to know if I'm hungry? How the hell should I know? Maybe I'm hungry, maybe a dead Jacobean witch used to feel a bit peckish around this time of day, or maybe my CPU clock has just triggered the rumble subroutine in my stomach. I'm supposed to be in love with you; when I close my eyes and ask myself if this is true, everything seems to say yes; but when I ask myself
why
, nobody seems to know, or if they do they aren't telling. Whose favourite colour is red, hers or mine?' (A tack hammer and a ratchet screwdriver went hurtling after the box of drills.) ‘Did
she
throw things when
she
got angry and upset, or is this destructive streak all pure me? Or is it because you made a mess of cloning me and forgot to set the jumpers?' She hefted a cordless drill, searching the opposite wall for an appropriate aiming mark. ‘And you have the boneheaded insensitivity to stand there asking me if I want to go out and get
food
.'

‘Sorry,' David muttered.

She threw the drill at him. Fortunately he'd anticipated that possibility, and ducked just in time. ‘Don't be
sorry
,' she screeched, ‘it's not your
fault
. It's not anybody's fault. That's why it's so bloody
annoying
.'

David counted up to ten under his breath. ‘Have you stopped throwing things?' he asked.

‘For now,' she replied. ‘I reserve the right to throw some more stuff later, if the situation calls for it.' She shook her head. ‘Tell me,' she said, ‘the other people who love you, did any of them ever say why? I'd just like a starting point, is all.'

David shrugged. ‘My mum loves me because I'm her son,' he replied. ‘Which is another way of saying she doesn't know why, either. Just – well, just Because, I guess.'

‘Others?'

‘Not that I'm aware of. Unless you count John, bearing in mind what he said.'

She shook her head. ‘Leave him out of this. Just your mother, then. You're sure?'

‘Pretty sure.'

‘Oh.' She frowned. ‘That's odd. I mean, you aren't
that
bad.'