Chapter 12
When Chloe woke the next morning, she turned over to see Rob sitting on the sofa, watching her.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, his face shifting into a smile.
“Morning,” she said, starting slightly. How long had he been sitting there watching her sleep?
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“I did. You?” she asked, then realized she didn’t even know if he needed sleep, or just twenty-eight minutes of recharging time.
“Yes,” he said. “Would you like anything? Coffee? A massage? An inspiring poem to start your day?”
“I’m good, thank you,” she said, sitting up in bed. Rob’s unflagging enthusiasm felt a little much to be confronted with the moment she woke up.
“I suggest we go for a run. If you want to hit your fitness goals, we should get in another five K either this morning or tomorrow.”
Chloe did not want to go for a run. She was hungover, which meant she wanted to doomscroll and do the crossword on her phone.
But Rob was already dressed in running clothes and moved across the room to pick up her trainers.
“You won’t regret it. Endorphins are the best cure for an excess of alcohol. ”
“I’m a bit tired,” she said, searching for an excuse.
“But you just said you were well rested,” Rob said, his face a picture of puzzled innocence. “And that you want to get fit.”
He had her there. She had said she wanted to get fit, and if you wanted to get fit, you had to go for a run, even when you didn’t want to.
“Fine,” she said, forcing her legs out of bed.
Her limbs felt leaden, her head thick. She stayed sitting on the side of the bed, not quite ready to stand.
The conversation with Sean clung to her, awkward and disappointing.
And then John—his harsh words had left a different kind of ache, quieter but no less painful.
She knew if Rob weren’t here, pushing her to get up, she might stay in bed all morning, curled under the covers.
“Would now be a good opportunity to do a check-in?” Rob asked, pulling her back to the present.
“A check-in?” she asked, looking up at him in confusion.
“To see how you’re feeling about us,” he said. “Did I perform as you wanted me to last night? It is helpful for me to receive feedback.”
She smiled now, because he sounded so earnest, so sincere.
She thought of how effortlessly he’d fitted in at the party, how charmed everyone had been.
With him beside her, parts of last night had actually been fun: catching up with lovely Thea, hearing about Harriet’s jam business.
Katie and Mark had wanted to hear all about Kiko and she’d enjoyed showing them photos of baby Elodie.
Even intolerable Colin Layton had been almost tolerable.
“Yes, it was great,” she said, “you were great. Thank you.”
He sat down on the bed beside her, then pressed a palm over the device on his wrist. “It’s just that last night, as you were trying to sleep, I sensed some…
frustration.” He paused, eyes wide, knowing.
She felt her cheeks heat. Could he read her mind?
Now she remembered the strange fever dream about John.
Or had it been Rob’s body, with John’s face?
A robot John? Either way it was extremely confusing—she’d never thought about John that way.
“I just wanted to check I’m doing everything right,” Rob said, gently circling a finger on her hand. “That you’re…satisfied.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, and it came out as a squeak. “Let’s go running.” She leaped up, then rummaged through her bag for her sports kit. “You’re right, we need to seize the day, get those endorphins pumping. Let’s go, go, go!”
—
Stepping out of the shower an hour later, she caught her reflection in the mirror and paused at the color in her cheeks, the light in her eyes—she was glowing.
Was that just the endorphins? Rob had been right about the run; it had shaken off her hangover, energized her.
Not only that, but he’d downloaded a podcast on screenwriting, which they’d listened to on the run. Now she felt virtuous and inspired.
Maybe she could be the kind of person who ran before breakfast and listened to smart, educational podcasts.
Maybe Rob was going to help her become the person she was supposed to be.
Two weeks ago, the idea of keeping Rob had seemed preposterous, but the more time she spent with him, the less crazy the idea seemed.
She liked him. She liked how he made her feel.
He was making her life better. Sitting on the closed toilet seat, towel wrapped around her hair, she opened the notes app on her phone and started a list.
Pros and cons of dating a BoiBot
Pros
Incredibly realistic (and attractive)—no one can tell.
Helps me achieve my goals—work/fitness etc.
Good for self-esteem—keeps telling me how great I am.
Romantic—bought me a rose, says poetic things.
Smart / well-read—can talk to him about anything.
Do not have to talk about boring things like football scores or craft beer.
Polite and well-mannered—no burps or farts.
Interesting, from a science perspective.
Cons
All the sci-fi films involving robots usually end badly for the humans.
Morally questionable? Think AI might be bad for the environment.
Can run out of power at inconvenient times.
Dogs don’t like him. (Is this just Richard, or all dogs?)
How would I tell my friends and family?
How would I afford it when the trial ends?
How would I have children if I ever wanted children?
Then she scrubbed out the last one. How had she gone from being robot-curious to planning her whole robot family?
“Hey, Chloe. Shall we go to breakfast?” Rob called through the door. She quickly closed her phone.
“Just coming.”
She didn’t need to decide anything now. She just needed to get through this weekend, put the past to bed. Then she could think about what her future looked like.
As they walked into Deep Hall, Rob took her hand. A buffet breakfast had been laid out on the side with teapots, cafetières, a mountain of croissants, and the low hum of people already chatting about plans for the day.
“I’ll grab us a seat,” he said, as she headed straight to the buffet.
Elaine was walking around with a clipboard, collecting names for the punting expedition.
Chloe wasn’t planning on going—she wanted to take Rob to the museum, wander through the city, show him the botanical gardens—but as she was reaching for a cafetière, Sean appeared beside her.
He was wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt with “Director’s Cut” on the front.
She couldn’t decide if it was hilariously self-aware or cringingly self-important.
Maybe both. His face looked freshly shaved, but there was a weight around his eyes—a bleary heaviness that confirmed the hangover he was trying to hide.
“Did you go running this morning?” he asked casually.
“Yes. Why?” she said, turning back to the buffet.
“I thought I saw you but then figured it had to be someone else. The Chloe Fairway I knew would never willingly exercise before breakfast.”
She gave him a half-hearted smile, still slightly bruised from last night’s conversation. He cleared his throat.
“You need to introduce me to your chap. Rob, is it?” His eyebrows lifted just a fraction, like he was trying to look indifferent, forgetting she was familiar with his every microexpression. “He’s quite the dancer.”
“He is,” she said, holding up the cafetière, offering him a coffee. He picked up a mug, and she poured.
“Look, I’m sorry about last night,” he said, rocking back slightly on his heels. “I don’t think I explained myself well.” His voice dropped, eyes flicking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I don’t want you to think I was being flippant about your email, that I didn’t care.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she said with a tight shrug.
“Because the truth is, I think I didn’t reply because I cared too much,” he said.
Her face darted back to him in surprise. His words sent a pulse of relief through her—here was the Sean she knew. He tugged at his T-shirt. “Whenever I finish a script, I think of you. ‘Would Chloe think this was finished?’ ”
“I never think anything’s finished,” she said, offering him a small smile.
“Exactly.” He reached for a bowl, which he started loading with granola. “You’re the voice in my head, telling me it could be better. I always try to imagine what you’d think—” He stopped talking because Elaine was upon them with her clipboard.
“Just working out boats for punting. Are you two keen?” she asked, her long, mousy ponytail swinging back and forth like an executioner’s axe.
“I’m up for it if you are?” Sean said, shooting her a hopeful smile.
“Sure, put us down for a boat,” Chloe said, feeling herself thawing.
“Excellent,” said Elaine. “Now, Sean, will you come and settle an argument with us about the Hollywood Walk of Fame?”
Sean looked back at Chloe, perhaps searching for an excuse to stay, but Chloe waved him away. “Go. We’ll talk on the river.”
As she spooned cornflakes into a bowl, a flicker of hope stirred inside her. Whatever warmth had faded between them, it wasn’t gone. A couple of hours in a boat, just the two of them, might be exactly what they needed to clear the air, maybe even begin again.
When she sat back down at the trestle table opposite Rob, she said, “I think I might go punting after all, with Sean. Do you mind if we rain-check the Ashmolean?”
“Of course not,” he said. That was another good thing about Rob, he was always so accommodating.
“I do want to show you the museum though,” she said. “They’ve got the lantern Guy Fawkes was carrying when he was arrested, and this beautiful Chinese art, I’d love you to see it. Maybe we can go tomorrow instead?”
“I can take a virtual tour if that saves time,” Rob suggested, his tone light, helpful. She took a bite of her croissant, and it felt dry in her throat.
“What, you could see it all virtually? Right now?” she asked, lowering her voice, in case anyone was listening.