Chapter Eighteen
Now
I was still breathing hard when I reached the French windows in the living room. Our empty glasses and the plate of canapés sat on the table, a still life from a decadent afternoon, if you took a snapshot without any context.
I rubbed my sternum, trying to calm down.
I had kissed Ethan, and he hadn’t run in the opposite direction; he had kissed me back.
Now I had renewed that thirteen-year-old memory, the sensation of his lips on mine no longer a distant pleasure point, like the brush of a petal against my skin.
It had been so hot, so incredible – even better than when we were teenagers – and that realization flashed brightly, trying to override the rational side of my brain that reminded me he was a stranger, that he always had a new woman on his arm, that he wasn’t the warm, committed person he’d been when we were together.
It scoffed at my worry he was responsible for shutting the house down with us inside.
There was another loud rumble of thunder and I pressed my hands against the Smart glass, wishing I could see Alperwick nestled in the valley, besieged by rain.
I wondered how Spence was getting on. She hated storms, something about getting stuck out in one as a child, and I hoped Denise was there, babbling about her grandchildren and taking her mind off it.
‘Sparks, what is the weather doing right now?’ I asked.
‘Expect thunderstorms for the next hour, followed by a cloudy night with no chance of a blanket of stars. The temperature is twenty-four degrees, lowering to sixteen overnight, and humidity will remain high.’
‘ No chance of a blanket of stars? ’ I frowned.
Ethan had incorporated it into the weather reports?
There was so much about the house that felt personal to us, and I imagined for a moment that I’d decided not to come: that Spence hadn’t insisted I should wangle myself a tour so we could make Connor and Amelie’s reunion more realistic; that I hadn’t gone to Wynn insisting that we needed to cover it for the paper.
All these details would have been lost on anyone else.
I glanced at the fireplace, my thoughts tumbling over each other, then noticed a wall panel next to the French windows.
The display announced that I was in the ‘Lounge’ and detailed its settings: temperature, air condition, lighting.
At the top it said: Panic Room Mode Activated.
A section for the windows indicated their status as: ‘Dark Glass’.
I pressed it, and it beeped as it scrolled through the options.
Clear , Frosted , then Tinted at various degrees.
I pressed ‘Clear’ and waited, but nothing happened.
I pressed it again. There was a chirpy beep, followed by nothing.
‘Sparks,’ I said, ‘please make the lounge windows clear.’
‘Sterenlenn is in Panic Room Mode,’ the house told me.
‘Sparks, please . Please, please make the lounge windows clear.’
‘Do you want to apply this to all windows in Sterenlenn?’
I stared at the panel. ‘Yes! Please make all the windows clear.’
There was a series of beeps and then, before my eyes, the glass went from dark, through a series of greys, to frosted and then, finally, to clear. It was a strange effect, like watching a heavy fog dissipate in record time, but I suddenly had my view back.
Raindrops poured down the glass in skittish rivulets and fat, lingering drops, and beyond them Alperwick was a blur of indistinct buildings and lights.
The dark sea writhed with foam-topped waves, and the sky was a canvas of threatening greys.
A fork of lightning flashed over the scene, and I almost sobbed with relief.
I hadn’t realized just how claustrophobic I’d felt until I could see out of the house to the world beyond.
‘All good?’ the voice asked me.
‘What the fuck?’ I stumbled to the nearest sofa and sat down. There was no way the house should be asking me that, but I couldn’t confirm it with Ethan, because he hadn’t followed me. I assumed he’d needed some space from me too, but he might come and find me now I’d got the windows to work.
I remembered what I had been about to do before the panel had distracted me.
I hurried to the fireplace, knelt in front of it and slid my hand up the chimney.
I felt the rough bricks, their shape familiar against the pads of my fingers, and leaned up further, just a bit more, to where I almost couldn’t reach and then – there.
The ledge. My fingers brushed it, moved along it, unease curdling inside me as I realized there was nothing there.
I pulled my hand out and slumped onto the rug in front of the hearth.
‘You got the windows to work.’ Ethan was standing in the doorway. He still looked dishevelled, his hair was still a mess, but the pink had faded from his lips and cheeks.
‘I don’t really know how,’ I admitted. ‘I asked the house to clear them, she said we were in Panic Room Mode, then I added another “please” and she did it. I don’t … Ethan, your Sparks system has been saying some really weird things.’
‘Like what?’ He came over and sat in front of me, cross-legged on the rug like I was. His black socks had a row of brightly coloured fish around the tops, as if he couldn’t wholly commit to the serious architect persona. ‘I assume you asked it if we could get out, too?’
I rubbed my forehead. ‘I didn’t think …’
He leaned back, his hands pressed into the rug behind him. ‘Sparks, unlock the house.’
‘Sterenlenn is in Panic Room Mode. The emergency services have been called.’
‘Sparks, please unlock the house.’ He raised an eyebrow at me.
‘Sterenlenn is in Panic Room Mode, Ethan. The emergency services have been called.’
I stared at him. ‘Did she … did she sound bored? Ethan, is this really an automated system, or have you got someone sitting in some control room somewhere, watching everything we’re doing? Promise me, promise me , you haven’t done this to us.’
He returned my gaze without a flicker. ‘I promise you, Georgie, that I am not behind this. I’m as baffled – and annoyed – as you are, and I would love to know what the fuck is going on. But I can assure you that Sparks doesn’t do tones, because she’s not a real person.’
‘We’re on to you!’ I shouted. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the show!’
‘Georgie!’ He laughed.
‘Well,’ I sighed, ‘we’re still trapped, but at least we can watch the storm now.’
‘It’s properly settled in.’
‘It’s been muggy for days, though.’
‘Yeah.’
I looked at him through my eyelashes, at the way he was staring at the fireplace, the intricate plasterwork that his team had rescued and painstakingly restored, so the surround looked as good as new.
‘Your project isn’t going to be a failure just because Sparks hasn’t got all its bugs squashed.’
He rubbed his eyes. ‘We’ve spent years squashing Sparks’s bugs.
The Panic Room stuff, that’s my fault because I hadn’t linked up the systems, and I didn’t anticipate it getting activated at the open house.
But my override code failing? Some of the strange things that have been happening?
’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a complicated programme, but I thought I understood it. ’
‘Once she’d cleared the windows, she asked me if I was all good .’
Ethan’s expression went from frustrated to horrified. ‘That’s … she couldn’t have.’
‘You know Terminator ? I would definitely write a story for the Star if the house tried to kill us. As long as it didn’t succeed, of course. Then we’d just be a cautionary tale about the perils of putting your faith in AI.’
‘It has a huge number of incredibly useful, potentially lifesaving applications,’ Ethan said.
‘I’m not going to put that in my article. Nobody wants a lecture on useful, boring Artificial Intelligence. They want the horror and excitement of dishwashers firing laser guns and toasters with murderous intent.’
Ethan’s mouth tugged up. ‘Did you really come here for an article?’
‘Is there any more champagne?’ I pushed myself onto my knees. ‘I’m thirsty.’
‘George.’ He put his hand on my arm, and I sat back down.
‘My editor is expecting an article from me, but that’s not the only reason I’m here.’
‘So … what is it? Why did you come?’
I closed my eyes and heard him get up. ‘Ethan?’
‘Two secs,’ he called, and a minute later he returned with another platter of canapés and a bottle of water with a solid stopper.
He resumed his position, facing me cross-legged on the rug, and put two tumblers down, pouring us each a glass.
‘Right. I’ve supplied you with water and nutrients, and now I want to know. What are you doing here?’
‘OK.’ I took a sip of water. ‘So, after Mum had gone, I wasn’t in a particularly good place.’
Ethan went still. ‘Your mum’s … gone? George, I’m so sorry, I had no idea—’
‘She hasn’t died.’ I reached a placatory hand towards him.
‘She’s fine, a whole lot better, in fact.
But she …’ I exhaled. ‘She’s moved to the Lake District with one of her nurses – a guy called Dane.
’ I winced. ‘He has a skull earring, Ethan. And a mullet that looks like it came over from Australia in the Eighties.’
‘That’s … I don’t know what to say.’ He was rubbing at the pattern on the rug, his head down, and I could see that he was trying not to laugh.
‘It is not funny,’ I said, but my lips twitched traitorously. ‘I came back from university for her, gave up everything, and then she just … she left.’
Ethan met my gaze, his smile gone. ‘That’s shit. I’m so sorry.’