The Bell family lived in the suburbs, in a house built of glass and steel, designed by Mr. Bell. Their neighbors in Wyn-ston Avenue, who also lived in glass houses, had planted tall dense hedges to shield them from view. Mr. and Mrs. Bell said what was the point of a beautiful house if no one else could enjoy it, and built themselves a low brick wall. However, they liked their privacy as much as anyone, and it was fortunate that the house was secluded by being set on a bend in the road. There was also a huge lime tree in the front garden that veiled one side of the building.
The center of the house was an atrium, paved with brick and full of plants and flowers. A wide hallway opening onto it connected the ground-floor rooms. There was a half-landing with an office, exercise room and study area; bedrooms and bathrooms were on the top floor. The land at the back was divided into grass, a vegetable garden and a slightly wild overgrown patch at the far end.
As dawn approached, the birds in the lime tree began their chorus. A gray cat slinked across the lawn and over the brick wall. Seconds later the house swept a sensor around the garden for the hundredth time that night to check for intruders. It took the outside temperature and barometric pressure. Today was going to be a mild day with the possibility of a light shower before the evening.
A noise downstairs alerted the house that someone was up. It turned on its electronic eye in the kitchen and saw that the butler was at work. He was chopping something on a large wooden board and talking to the kettle.
Room by room, the house checked its occupants. Fleur Bell was buried so deeply in the duvet that it was impossible to tell which way up she was. The house zoomed in somewhere about her middle to reassure itself that she was still breathing. Satisfied that the duvet was gently rising and falling, the house turned its eye to the bedroom next door. Fleur’s younger brother, Gavin Bell, was sprawled across the bed, the covers thrown off as if he had been wrestling in his sleep. Normal, concluded the house promptly, with barely a glance at him.
Charlotte Bell, lying in a cot in the nursery, was twitching in her sleep. No cause for alarm there. In the main bedroom Mr. and Mrs. Bell looked comfortable enough, but Mr. Bell was muttering to himself and the house considered that he might have a fever. It looked for other symptoms, found none, and decided that he was nearing the end of a dream cycle.
The hours passed and the house grew busier—waking everyone up and setting the temperature for showers and baths. It checked the gobetween for news that might interest the Bells, adjusted roof panels to create more heat and raised the blinds on the day ahead.
Gavin was the first to come downstairs. He was in a bad mood, though he didn’t know why. It felt as if his body had been given a good shake and parts of him had fallen back into the wrong place. He had been looking forward to today. After home study he was going to the learning center for a game of liveball. That was the good bit. On the other hand, he was sure he had instructed the house to wake him with his favorite music; instead, a shrill voice had screeched “Wakey! Wakey!” in his ear. He hadn’t had breakfast yet, and he had a nagging feeling that his mum and dad were going to have one of their Discussions. He jumped the final steps and burst into the dining room, his shirt half undone and one of his socks twisted.
“Where is everyone?”
“Your mother is in the shower and your father is changing Charlotte’s nappy,” replied the house in a soothing, feminine voice. “Your sister is—”
“All right,” snapped Gavin. “I didn’t really expect an answer. It was a rit…. ret…”
“Rhetorical question?” prompted the house.
“Yes, I know.” Gavin sat down to adjust his sock. “Anyway, you’re not supposed to be on in here. You know Mum doesn’t like machines in the dining room.”
“I am not a machine,” corrected the house.
“Yes you are, drybrain. You just don’t have a body.” He looked up. “Go on then, turn yourself off.”
There was a long pause before the green light beside the door began to flicker, and an even longer pause before it went out. Gavin frowned. He knew that machines were not supposed to have personalities, apart from the one people might choose for them. But if anyone had asked him, he would have said that the house was stubborn and sulky.
His father came into the room carrying the baby and placed her in the high chair. Gavin kissed Charlotte on the forehead. Normally, he didn’t do a lot of kissing, but his little sister was an exception. Charlotte craned her neck to look at him and chuckled, revealing a dimple and a row of tiny white teeth.
“Morning,” said Mr. Bell. He was wearing a high-necked jacket and slim-legged trousers. A narrow piece of cloth poked up behind the collar of the jacket.
“Morning, Dad. You look interesting.”
“Interesting?” said Mr. Bell.
Gavin eyed his father up and down. “Well, like something out of the twentieth century. All you need is a watch on your wrist instead of a jinn, and a top hat.”
“Top hats are Victorian, I think you’ll find. I’ve a very important meeting today and I think I look very smart.”
Gavin’s dad hardly ever dressed up. He worked with a lot of other architects who also looked most of the time as if they had just got out of bed.
“I’m meeting the top people at LifeCorp,” he continued. “We’re going to build them a new factory.”
“Euphoric, Dad! Congratulations. But how come they’ve chosen you? I don’t remember you mentioning it.”
Mr. Bell looked guilty. He tied a bib around Charlotte’s neck and sat down beside her. “I didn’t,” he admitted. “They held a competition to choose the architects last summer. We were asked not to tell anyone but since we’ve won we can hardly keep it a secret anymore. Now, I wonder what’s for breakfast?”
Gavin had a sneaking feeling his father was changing the subject. They examined the dining table. “Bowls and side plates,” mused Mr. Bell. “Well, that doesn’t look too ominous.”
The door slid open and Mrs. Bell and Fleur entered. They too stared at the table.
“Cereal and toast. That’s OK,” said Fleur with relief.
His mum kissed Gavin. “Morning,” she murmured. “Did you sleep well?”
He wondered whether to tell her about the house screeching in his ear and decided not to. It would be just like her to go back to alarm clocks, or to volunteer to wake him herself. At least with the house he could tell it to let him snooze for ten minutes.
They joined Mr. Bell at the table.
“Dad’s going to build a new factory for LifeCorp,” Gavin told his sister.
“Really?” said Fleur. “Whereabouts?”
“Don’t get excited,” their father said. “It’s on the edge of the city. I was hoping it might be somewhere exotic like Italy or Tanzania so I’d be allowed to travel.”
The door opened and the butler rolled into the room, to an accompaniment of squeaks and whirrs.
“Good evening,” he said in a gravelly voice.
Fleur and Gavin exchanged looks of alarm.
“Actually, Grumps…,” began Mr. Bell.
A ring indicated that the food lift had arrived. Mr. Bell left his sentence unfinished. The butler creaked his way toward the lift and took out a large tureen.
“Soup is served,” he announced, setting down the tureen in the center of the table.
“Soup!” echoed Fleur. “For breakf—?”
“Shhh,” said her mum. “You’ll hurt his feelings. Thank you, Grumps.”
“Tomato soup,” intoned the butler. He lifted the lid. Steam wafted up and the unmistakable smell of cooked tomatoes filled the room.
The family stared in silence at the tureen. Grumps waited patiently, the lid in his hand.
“Perhaps a ladle?” said Mrs. Bell at last. “And some cereal and a yogurt for Charlotte.”
“I forgot. I am most sorry.” The butler replaced the lid and trundled out of the door. They heard him squeaking down the hallway.
“He doesn’t have any feelings, Chloe,” Mr. Bell said to his wife. “He’s a machine.”
“You know what I think,” she retorted. “Grumps cares for us just like one of the family.”
“He’s programmed to care for us. The fridge cares for us too by looking after our food, but we don’t get sentimental about it.” Mr. Bell was growing a little tetchy, as he often did when they had this conversation.
This was exactly the Discussion that Gavin had feared. He wondered how far it would go today.
“My digestion cannot possibly tolerate the odor of soup at this hour,” Gavin said grandly. “Why can’t we have cereal too?” He looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s eight o’clock. Eight o’clock in the morning!”
“It’s only a vegetable,” said his mother.
“Or a fruit,” said Fleur. “Tomatoes are both.”
“Chloe,” urged Mr. Bell. “We really can’t go on like this.….”
The door opened and Grumps entered with Charlotte’s food, a ladle and a plate of bread rolls. He put the rolls on the table with a flourish. “Hot,” he said, “with the compliments of the oven.”
“We’d like some jam,” said Fleur.
“Jam?”
Mr. Bell looked up from feeding Charlotte. “And marmalade,” he added.
“Very well,” said the butler, “if that’s what you want.” He looked inquiringly at Mrs. Bell.
She nodded and he went out. Gavin buried his head in his hands. “Bread and jam,” he groaned. “What kind of a breakfast is that?”
“A perfectly respectable one,” replied his mother. “Please sit up straight. And pass me your bowl.”
Gavin’s jaw dropped as his mother ladled tomato soup into his bowl. He would have liked to protest but he knew her too well. She could be very funny where Grumps was concerned.
“Just a small bowl for me, please,” said Fleur in a small voice. “I’m not feeling very hungry.”
Gavin shot her a look. Mrs. Bell tipped the hot scarlet liquid into her own bowl, then handed the ladle to her husband.
“Umm,” she said, “makes a nice change. Especially on a chilly spring day.”
“Actually, it’s warm today. I just checked the weather and pollution levels on the gobey,” said Fleur.
Her mum ignored her. “In lots of countries, soup is a common food for breakfast. India, for example.”
“My friend Sarupa in Bombay has cornflakes,” declared Fleur.
Mr. Bell dropped the ladle in the tureen with a clatter. “We need to talk about this….”
Grumps entered with a collection of jars on a silver tray.
“Jam,” he declared, “and marmalade.”
Gavin seized one of the jars and unscrewed the lid. “Euphoric! Rations arrive just in time to save the starving troops.”
“Will there be anything else?” Grumps stood stiffly in the doorway. Everyone’s attention turned to Charlotte, who was swinging her bowl above her head.
“No, thank you,” said Mrs. Bell distractedly.
Grumps exited. Mr. Bell took the bowl from Charlotte and placed it gingerly in front of her. Mrs. Bell put down her spoon and looked at her family around the table. “All right,” she sighed. “I give in.”