Nothing But Blue Skies (37 page)

‘And what have you been doing since?'

‘Nothing much,' Paul said. ‘I walk up and down now and then, just for the exercise. When they put the lights out, I go to sleep. Apart from that, I just sit here, mostly.'

‘You just sit there.'

He nodded. ‘Not much else I can do, really.' He shifted a little on the concrete bench. ‘I did think about digging a tunnel, like Richard Chamberlain in that film, but it's a concrete floor and they only ever give me plastic spoons to eat with. Besides, I wouldn't know how to dig a tunnel. You've got to have pit-props and ventilation holes and stuff or it all falls on your head and buries you, or you choke. So I thought, even if I did have a bash at it I'd be bound to get it all wrong, so I decided I'd be better off sitting still and waiting till they let me go.'

Karen sat down beside him. He didn't move. ‘When you say
they
,' she said, ‘do you happen to know who
they
are?'

‘No,' Paul replied. ‘I'm assuming it's a kidnapping thing, because my dad's so rich. He owns newspapers and stuff, you know.'

‘I had heard, yes. So you reckon that sooner or later he'll pay up and they'll let you go?'

‘Hope so,' Paul said. ‘Though Dad can be a bit funny about things like that. He doesn't like being pushed around, you see; it's like when the people in one of his companies wanted to join a union. He said that was bullying, and he'd rather close the company down.'

‘And did he?'

‘Oh yes. So,' Paul went on, ‘he might feel that them demanding a ransom before they'll let me go is bullying, too.'

‘It's a rather different situation, though, don't you think?' Karen heard herself say. ‘His own flesh and blood, I mean, in deadly danger. Surely—'

‘It'd be a matter of principle,' Paul replied. ‘Dad's hot on principles. Which is good, if you ask me. I mean, you can't just go around giving in to people, can you?'

Gazing at him sitting on his bench like an overfed rabbit in its hutch, Karen found it hard keeping a straight face. ‘I suppose not. So what do you think he'll do?'

Paul swung his head slowly from side to side. ‘Not sure,' he said. ‘Probably tell the police. Dad knows lots of important policemen all over the world. We were always having policemen over to the house for dinner when I was a kid. I expect that's what he'll do,' Paul said, straightening his back a little. ‘Though on the telly the kidnappers always say, “No police or the victim dies.”'

‘I see. And is that what usually happens?'

‘I don't know.'

Karen had a theory about humans; that they were only ever really themselves when they were alone, not exposed to the influence of others, not busily trying to match their colours to those of the branch or rock they happened to be sitting on. Humans, she believed, instinctively imitated the people they were with so as to be more likely to fit in, be accepted, be liked (oh, that human need to be liked . . .), a tendency that could cause worse communications breakdowns than anything British Telecom ever perpetrated, when you get six or seven people all trying to imitate each other at the same time. The result, inevitably, is like that strange effect you sometimes get in lifts, where both sidewalls of the lift are covered in mirror glass, and your reflection bounces backwards and forwards between them an infinite number of times, the image getting smaller and vaguer at each stage. Well, that was her theory; and here was Paul, after an extended period in solitary confinement. If she was right, what she was getting now was the genuine, pure-as-Evianwater, concentrated essence of Paul, unadulterated by her, Susan, Mrs White, or any of the other bits of personality-fluff that stick to us as we're bounced about during our bumpy ride in life's trouser pocket. Here he was.

Yes. Well
.

‘It's funny,' he was saying, ‘you and me being locked up together like this. We spent all that time in the same office, and most days I don't suppose we said more than a few sentences to each other.'

Karen looked away. ‘Actually,' she said, ‘there was a reason for that.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yes. I was afraid of making a fool of myself—'

‘I don't understand.'

‘—Just like I'm doing now. But anyway, here goes. You see - oh for God's sake, this is going to sound so gut-wrenchingly coy - you see, I was getting very, um, I liked you. A lot . . .'

‘But - Oh.' Paul's face suddenly solidified, like molten lead dropped into water, leaving him with that death-by-embarrassment stuffed stare that's unique to the English during romantic interludes. ‘I see.'

‘So obviously,' Karen went on, (of course he didn't
see
, not with just two eyes), ‘the logical thing to do was stay out of your way as much as possible, get on with my work, stay on my side of the office—'

‘Why?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘Why was that the logical thing to do? Why didn't you just tell me?'

Karen stared at him as if a sunflower had just burst out through the top of his head. ‘You're joking, aren't you?'

‘No.'

‘But—' Karen took a deep breath. ‘But I - but you just
don't
, that's all. Except, apparently, in leap year, and that's not for ages yet. And besides, you're in love with Susan.'

‘Am I?' It sounded like a genuine question. ‘I don't think so.' He smiled weakly. ‘I'm sure I'd have noticed something like that.'

‘But of course you—' Karen stopped. ‘You mean you aren't?'

‘No.'

‘Oh.' Karen looked up at the ceiling for five whole seconds. ‘Well, at any rate, you aren't in love with me, so it doesn't really make much difference.' She hesitated, as a horrible thought crossed her mind. ‘You aren't, are you?'

‘I don't know,' he replied, not knowing how close those words came to earning him a broken eye-socket. ‘Truth is, I was a little bit afraid of you.'

‘Of me?'

Paul nodded gravely, like a small baize-covered figurine of Confucius hanging in the back window of an ancient Cortina. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘I mean, you were always glowering at everyone - Susan, and me. And you were so efficient and good at your job. That's pretty intimidating, you know.'

As an insight into human reasoning, Karen would have found that remark extremely valuable in another context (generations of British economic policy, for example, expressly designed so that even the most timid citizen could-n't find it the slightest bit intimidating). ‘I see,' she said. ‘But being - excuse me, being
afraid
of me isn't the same thing as, well, you know. Love. And stuff.'

‘Sometimes it is,' Paul replied. ‘It's like you were saying. About not telling me, because you were afraid you'd make a fool out of yourself. Isn't that the same thing, more or less?'

There was an awkward silence.

‘Well,' Karen asked brusquely. ‘Do you or don't you?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Love me.'

‘Like I said, I'm not sure. Probably, yes. I don't know.'

Imagine how a keyboard feels when someone spills a cup of hot chocolate all over it; or how a digestive biscuit feels when it's been dunked in the tea a little bit too long, and half of it drops off and sinks to the bottom of the cup. Karen's mind was saturated and soggy with emotion. She wanted to throw her arms around him, to hold him tight and never let go, to bang his head repeatedly against the wall for being so infuriating. And yet, right in the centre of all this seething passion, there was one tiny cold spot. It was telling her,
That's all right, then, you've won. Now can we end this, please?

And then she realised the truth.

‘On balance,' Paul said, ‘yes. I think I do.'

‘On balance?'

‘Yes.'

‘Ah.' Karen stood up and walked the few paces that brought her to the cell door. ‘That's a pity,' she said. ‘Because I don't love you any more.'

‘Oh.' He frowned. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Mphm. I did,' she added. ‘Quite definitely. Up to about ten seconds ago. But now I don't.'

Paul looked at her with the eyes of a sweet old sheepdog staring up at the muzzle brake of the vet's humane killer. ‘That's a bit sudden, isn't it?'

‘Volatile,' Karen replied. ‘That's me, volatile as an overheated chip pan. You see,' she went on, ‘I was ever so much in love with you. Really I was. And yet,' she went on, ‘I could never for the life of me imagine why.'

‘Oh,' said Paul.

‘No,' Karen went on, ‘not a clue. Not even the faintest trace of one, anywhere, ever. You're quite good-looking, and you were there, and that's it. I got the job in the office,' she went on, thinking aloud, ‘and there you were, and I must have told myself, if you're going to be human, really be human. Do the things they do. And everything I'd ever seen or read or heard about humans told me that love is the most important thing, right? The sweetest thing, all you need is, makes the world go round. And you know what my trouble is? With being human, I mean. I'm just too damned
thorough
.' She laughed. ‘It's what my father always told me; if a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing properly. So I did. And really, I didn't know any other young human males. So—'

Paul was giving her a really funny look.

‘What I'm saying is,' Karen went on, ‘I was trying to be the best student in the class, handing in the best project; and you happened to be in the way.' Suddenly, out of nowhere, she smiled. ‘Which is stupid, really,' she went on, ‘because I was already in love with someone else when I came here, though I've only just realised it. You don't know him,' she added lamely, ‘I mean, how could you, he's a dr—' She managed to guillotine off the fatal second syllable just in time, leaving the problem of finding a suitable word beginning with ‘dr' to take its place. Driving instructor? Drug addict? Drag artiste? ‘Dreadfully nice man, but he lives in a totally different part of the country, so the chances of you ever having bumped into him are, well . . . But like I said, I didn't know till just now. Actually, he's an old friend. I've known him since we were at school together, hundreds of years - I mean, it feels like I've known him for hundreds of years. Anyway,' she went on, ‘that's more or less it. Sorry,' she added as an afterthought. ‘Probably I chose you because I thought you were in love with Susan.' A thought occurred to her. ‘You sure you're not in love with Susan? Really?'

Paul shook his head. ‘Positive,' he said.

‘Oh well. I'd hoped that we could sort things out so you'd end up with who you really wanted all along. Like me,' she added, with a hint of surprise in her voice. ‘Not to worry,' she said briskly. ‘Like they say, worse things happen at sea.'

Paul looked puzzled. ‘Shipboard romances, you mean?'

‘What? Oh, yes, right. Look, we'd better get out of this cell. After all, one of the reasons why I came here was to rescue you.'

‘It was?' She could almost hear the click as the connection was made in Paul's mind. ‘You never did say how you came to be here,' he said.

‘Yes, well . . .'

‘Or where “here” is,' Paul went on, uncharacteristically forceful. ‘Or who's holding me, or what's going on, or how you got here or anything like that. In fact, you were asking me.' He looked at her. ‘Karen? And what was all that crazy stuff about if you're going to be human, do it properly? I don't understand.'

‘No,' Karen replied. ‘You don't. Deal with it.' She stepped back a couple of paces from the door. ‘You aren't going to understand this, either,' she said. ‘In fact, there's a serious risk that if you watch what I'm just about to do, it'll freak you out so badly your brain will blow out of your ears. You may prefer to close your eyes.'

‘This is silly,' Paul said. ‘Maybe you should rest. Lie down or something.'

‘No,' Karen said. ‘You lie down. On the floor; no, better still, under that bench, because there may be flying masonry and stuff.' She scowled at him. ‘Under the bench,' she snapped. ‘Now.'

He scuttled under the bench like a hermit crab. ‘All right,' he said. ‘I'm ready.'

‘Fine. Now, don't be alarmed, this is actually all perfectly natural—'

She closed her eyes and felt for her wings and tail. They weren't there.

It was one of those last-step-of-the-escalator moments. The jolt was physically painful; the shock of not being in the body she'd expected to be. Suddenly, her human skin felt unbearably tight, like being in clothes three sizes too small. She swore and tried again. The shock was rather worse. That was all.

‘Karen,' Paul called out from under the bench, ‘are you all right?'

‘Yes. Shut up.' She closed her eyes again, looked for her third eye; it was there, but she couldn't see anything through it at all. With all the strength she could muster, she grabbed for her wings and tail, and hurled herself at the wall. It was a very solid wall, and she hurled herself at it very hard indeed.

‘Ungh,' she gasped, and hit the floor.

There was a long moment of silence.

‘Was that it?' Paul asked from under his ledge.

‘Urg.'

‘It's all right,' Paul said, slithering out from his hiding place. ‘You needn't worry, it didn't freak me out after all. What was it, some kind of Taekwondo thing? I tried to learn that stuff a year or two ago, but there was a seven-year-old in our class who kept picking on me . . . Are you all right?'