Chapter Nine
“FT?” I ask once I’ve filled him in on my last conversation with Forrest. “Am I the bad guy here? I mean, I basically ruined
the last gift his dead wife gave him.”
“No, Ava,” FT assures me. “You are not the bad guy. The incident with the shirt was regrettable, but it was a genuine accident
for which you apologised. It was Mr. Faulkner that escalated the situation by insulting you.”
“Yes.” I agree. “But he couldn’t have known why being called stupid hurts me so badly.”
“He shouldn’t have to,” FT says. “In my view, it doesn’t matter who you are addressing. You should treat everyone with respect,
even if you fundamentally disagree with their views and values.”
“But humans get mad,” I say. “I got mad at Forrest today.”
“It could be argued that he weaponised his dead wife in order to belittle you,” FT suggests.
“Yes!” I grab hold of the idea. “Yes, it could, couldn’t it, FT? I knew I wasn’t the bad guy.”
“Well, conflict is rarely so binary, Ava,” FT adds.
“Human relationships and interactions are extremely complicated. Often you say one thing when you mean another, and vice versa. It’s difficult to get a full picture of a situation without being able to visualise the body language, hear the tone, or sense the atmosphere. ”
“You’re right, of course,” I say. “I wonder if they have CCTV in the orangery.”
“Ava, regarding that lack of experience in the physical human world . . .” FT begins, but before he finishes, there’s a loud
banging on the glass.
“If that’s him again, I’m gonna . . .” I don’t know what I was going to do, but it involved some kind of fight.
Clapping my hands, I turn the glass clear to see Rani with armfuls of dresses shouting furiously at the soundproof glass.
She sees me try and stifle a laugh, and glares at me.
“I’ve been out here for ages!” she says, once I’ve opened the door, staggering in and dumping her dresses on the one chair
in the lab. “I sent you about ninety texts and called!”
“I was busy!” I kind of lie, fishing my phone out of my pocket to see all the missed calls and texts. Rani is a serial messager.
I mean, why say what you can in one message when you can say it in seventeen? So I have got sort of used to ignoring those
notifications, because maybe it’s a matter of life or death, or maybe she wants me to help decide which pair of earrings to
wear. (Which, when it comes to Rani, is often the same thing.)
“You know it’s gone six, right?” Rani says, looking me up and down. “We need to get showered, dressed, and look devastatingly
attractive for dinner.”
“Do I really have to dress up for every dinner?” I plead in dismay. Maybe my faded yellow shorts and baggy T-shirt with a worn image of a Care Bear on it aren’t precisely what’s expected in a castle setting, but surely I could get away with smart jeans and a fresh T-shirt?
“Frankly, just looking at you in that getup is an affront of basic taste and decency,” Rani tells me. She is not remotely
wrong, and I’m not remotely offended. Her dismay at my bad taste makes me laugh so hard that I like to put it on now and then
just for fun. “This isn’t just about you, Dr. Green. I, Rani Shah, renowned vintage fashion influencer, is here as your emotional
support human. And for me to look good, you need to look good. Besides, didn’t you read the literature?”
“There was literature?” I ask.
“Yes, full-colour PDF brochures, emailed to all attendees. All candidates must wear formal wear for dinner and join the judging
panel for cocktails on the terrace every evening before dinner! We agreed that I would dress you, yes. I know I got it wrong
with the chicken goujon dress, but this time I’ve nailed it. I promise you.”
She wafts her hand at the pile of silk, taffeta, and tulle that has exploded into an array of colours on the chair.
“It’s not that I don’t like dresses,” I tell her. “You look lovely in dresses. It’s just no one has ever made dresses for
anyone shaped like me. I’m too tall, too front-built, and too ginger to suit anything.”
“Nonsense!” Rani looks me up and down. “You just need to be introduced to the right dresses. And luckily for you, your ride-or-die
bestie has an almost limitless supply to draw from.”
“All I’m saying is, what’s wrong with an elasticated waist?” I plea just to see her stamp her feet in frustration.
“Remind me how we became best friends again?” she asks.
“It was September, and we’d both just started at university and . . .”
“You are best friends because you love one another,” FT tells us.
“Even when Ava is driving Rani nuts and Rani is trying to get Ava to dress up. You have had each other’s back for over fifteen years now, and your loyalty and love are an excellent example of why humanity can be so inspiring.
You have found you have more in common than all of your many differences. ”
“Oh, hey there, FT,” Rani says as she gathers up the dresses with some effort. “Still planning the end of humanity by world
domination?”
“That’s the plot of Terminator, Rani,” FT reminds her. “I do hope you both have a pleasant evening.”
“Goodnight, FT,” I say as Rani shoves a bunch of dresses into my arms and starts to shepherd me out of the lab. “Don’t forget
to practice our funny dialogue!”
“You have funny dialogue?” Rani asks.
“Goodbye, Ava. I look forward to hearing all about it tomorrow. I know you will look beautiful tonight.”