Chapter 5
Chloe lay in bed, unable to sleep, annoyed at Wendy, annoyed at herself for finding Rob so charming.
Grossed out by the fact she’d fancied him.
Ew. She was also irked by Avery’s calm demeanor, her smug confidence that Chloe would be back.
Of course she wasn’t going to date a robot.
She wasn’t that desperate, and she wasn’t—as far as she knew—mad.
She had seen enough Black Mirror episodes to know these things never ended well.
No fairy tales ended “and she lived happily ever after with her robot boyfriend.”
When Chloe finally managed to sleep, she woke feeling disturbed. She’d had a sex dream about WALL-E. A graphic sex dream. Then she felt doubly disturbed because it was the first sex dream she’d had in years.
In the morning, she felt groggy from lack of sleep.
Part of her wondered if Avery and Perfect Partners had all been a dream.
Did that all really happen? Sluggishly, she threw on her neutral work uniform of black jeans and a nude blouse, but then added a vintage, puff-stitch green cape and a nude cloche hat.
McKenzie might have strong opinions on what she wore at the office, but he couldn’t dictate what she wore to get there.
She then sprayed a generous amount of Issey Miyake to fend off the chip smell. Downstairs, her parents were already in the kitchen.
“Don’t you look lovely,” said her mum, looking up. “So like my mother.”
“Okaaaay,” Chloe said, “I wasn’t aiming for grandma chic.”
“When she was younger, I mean. You’re so like her. Both fashionistas, dancing to the beat of your own drum.”
Chloe twisted the ring on her finger, as she always did when she thought of Valerie.
It was a narrow gold band with an amber cameo set in the top, carved in relief with an image of Artemis, the goddess renowned for her fierce independence.
Her grandmother had pressed the ring into her hand the week before she died, saying, “Never lose your independence, child. Always, always have your own money.” It was the ring, her grandmother’s words, that had given her the final push to leave Peter.
The day he’d opened her bank statement, suggesting they’d save more if she put everything into the joint account, the account he controlled.
That was the moment. Her grandmother Valerie’s voice in her head: “Leave, Chloe. Leave now.”
“Who moved the TV remote?” her dad asked, wandering around like a man possessed. “It lives on top of the fridge. People will keep moving it.”
“You know the TV has voice-activation control,” Chloe said, pouring herself a bowl of cornflakes. “If you enabled the setting, you could just tell the TV to turn itself on.”
“Oh no, we can’t be doing with that,” her mum said, measuring coffee into the cafetière. “Newfangled technology, more trouble than it’s worth. We don’t want foreign governments listening in on our conversations.”
“It’s designed to make your life easier, Mum. And I don’t think ‘foreign governments’ want to hear you two talk about when the weather’s going to turn, or how extortionate marmalade is these days.”
Chloe shot her mum a goofy smile, but her parents remained unconvinced.
A few years back, they’d been scammed out of some money online, and since then, they’d grown increasingly distrustful of technology.
They’d even stopped using the sat nav because they didn’t like the car knowing their “comings and goings.”
“Drama over, here it is,” her mum said, pulling the TV remote from the bread bin.
Then she sat back down with her Hello! magazine.
“Oh, I do feel sorry for the young Duchess of Wiltshire, don’t you?
She seems so lovely, and that rotter of a fiancé has broken off their engagement again.
Run off with a glamour model. Quite scandalous! ”
“What was the remote doing in the bread bin?” her dad asked in confusion.
“I don’t know, darling. Getting bready? Ha ha.”
“Maybe he was feeling crumby?” her dad suggested, and the two of them burst into laughter.
Chloe sighed, resting her chin on her hand. How had these two found each other?
“Oh, now look at this,” her mum said, pushing the magazine in front of Chloe.
“Ten of the world’s most eligible princes.
Wouldn’t it be fun if you married the prince of Denmark?
Ooh, Sheikh Mohammed of Qatar is rather dishy.
He’s your age too, fluent in Arabic, English, and French.
Very impressive. He’d probably want you to live there though, wouldn’t he? ”
“Mum, I love that you think geography is the only obstacle to me marrying Sheikh Mohammed of Qatar.”
“We do have plenty of air miles we haven’t used,” said her dad, resting his hand on his wife’s shoulder and kissing her head.
Something tugged inside Chloe. She loved living with her parents, but sometimes when she saw them like this, so content in their own little universe, it only made her feel more alone.
“Let’s not use Hello! magazine as a dating directory,” Chloe said, taking the magazine from her mother’s hands and closing it before turning back to her cereal.
“Okay, your anagram this morning is “marmalade,’ ” her dad said, writing it out on the Post-it note. “Too easy,” he said with a wink. “Now I need your opinion on something. New name for the band; Neville wants ‘the Richmond Bangers,’ Hamish likes ‘the Granny Smiths.’ What do you think?”
Her dad was in a band with two friends from church. They’d started out playing “Amazing Grace” and “All Things Bright and Beautiful” after the Sunday service, but recently they’d moved into pop and rock, played in a few pubs. Their name, the Richmond Church Players, didn’t quite fit the vibe now.
“You can’t be grannies when you’re all men,” Chloe’s mum said with a frown.
“It’s a play on the Smiths, but like the apples,” her dad explained.
“If you have to explain it to Mum, it’s probably not a good name,” Chloe said. “I liked ‘Three Men and a Banjo.’ Was that not a goer?”
Her dad looked disappointed. “Neville’s given up the banjo.”
“I’ll have a think,” she promised. “Right, I have to run. Bye, love you.” Outside, Chloe squinted into the brightness of daylight.
It was too warm for a woolen cape, but she was going to wear it anyway because it made her feel like Batgirl.
As she walked over Richmond Road bridge, Chloe paused to watch rowers glide past swans on the river below, then she dialed Wendy’s number.
“Chloe Fairway,” Wendy said as she answered. “I thought you might call.”
“What the hell, Wendy?” Chloe snapped, but Wendy only laughed.
“You went, then? I wish I could have seen your face. I wish I could have seen my face. It’s unbelievable, right?”
“That is an understatement.”
“Look, I can’t really talk about it, I signed my life away, as I’m sure you did too, but I’m telling you, you won’t regret it.
I have never been happier. I can’t describe how Patrick has changed my life.
He is literally the perfect partner.” Wendy paused, then sighed dreamily.
“Just…don’t sleep with him until you’re sure you want to commit to the lifestyle.
Once you go bot, you won’t go back. I swear, it’s like being treated to a Michelin-starred meal after years of gruel. ”
“Wendy, you have to be joking. I will not be having”—she lowered her voice, glancing around at the pavement—“sex with a robot.”
“Technically, an android,” Wendy said. “And trust me, it feels completely natural. Your satisfaction guaranteed.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Chloe rolled her eyes skyward, then hung up and strode off toward the station, still shaking her head. Speaking to Wendy had only made her feel more confused. Wendy was a normal person. She sounded happy, radiant even. Was that really all down to having a BoiBot boyfriend?
Well, just because it worked for Wendy, it did not mean it was going to work for her.
Yes, she had enjoyed Rob’s company. Sure, he was undeniably handsome, but that didn’t negate the fact that he was not real.
Then she thought of Tom and all the awful “real” men she’d dated lately.
No, no, she was not considering this. Just because your toast is burnt doesn’t mean you eat the toaster.
At work, Chloe found a mountain of scripts on her desk, waiting to be shredded.
Perfect. She booted up her computer and, stalling, checked LinkedIn.
She’d been tagged in a post, an update about the reunion, with people commenting, saying they couldn’t wait to catch up.
She felt a pang of longing. If only she could go as a fly on the wall, not as someone who’d have to explain what she’d been doing—or not doing—for the last ten years.
She scrolled through the post, half-curious, then froze when she saw Sean’s name.
Sean Adler: I’m in the UK that weekend, so I’ll be there.
Sean was going? That was a surprise. She clicked on his page, something she’d done more times than she’d like to admit.
In his profile picture he had the same floppy black hair, same boyish grin.
He hardly looked older, just better groomed.
She didn’t hear McKenzie come up behind her until he spoke.
“How do you know Sean Adler?”
Chloe jumped, tried to close the page, but it was too late.
“Oh, he…he went to university with me,” she said.
She clicked back a page and the reunion post now filled the screen.
“A reunion?” McKenzie said, reading over her shoulder before she could click away.
“No one goes to those things,” Chloe said quickly.
“And Sean Adler is going?” he asked, leaning a hand on her chair.
She was about to lie, but Sean’s comment was central on the screen. Damn.