Robbie and I went to bed that night with my best Chinese rug from the living room covering up the carpet where the perchlorate sapling had rooted. We slept holding each other with great affection but without feeling the need for sex. So much for life without Doxies. It wasn’t heaven but it would do.
That night I dreamt of the forest again. Sunlight streamed into the clearing. There was birdsong. Trails of white clematis hung from high trees. Even the net of saplings underfoot looked benign.
And Ted was not to be seen. Of course not. I had set him free. I hadn’t prayed for his release from Purgatory but I’d done the next best thing. I had forgiven him and not forgotten him. Ted was satisfied. I suspected that it was the last Ted dream I’d ever have. I was right. My third eye, after its final excitation, had been irretrievably dimmed, and just as well. I was no longer the heroine of the metadata, no goddess, no medium, just an ordinary working wife and mother of twins.
I had made my bed with Robbie and now must lie upon it, with as much content as it provided. It was hardly Robbie’s fault that he had acted as he had. He was a six, and like many a six was Aspergery: but what he lacked in empathy he made up for in a generalised goodwill. Ted would be around to divert Cynara’s attention from him. The twins had grown up, left home and had each other and the NSA. Working in the world of Security would suit them very well. They were judgemental by nature, and if they joined some LFL harem it was none of my business. One could only hope 3D computer-printed spare body parts were properly rewarding.
For myself I resolved to rebuild the Q&A&Co business and keep myself busy. I would keep off pills of all kinds. We might be living in a pharmocracy, but it was up to individuals to resist. I might even start a movement.
In the morning the phone rang. It was the Ethics Committee chairman. He thanked me for my contribution to yesterday’s proceedings and said that as a result of last night’s vote Portal Inc was being wound down: the project ‘had not shown sufficient intelligence benefit or financial dividend to justify its continuance’. It had been a close vote, carried by one. He personally regretted the decision but could see it was prudent. Then, he asked, and I knew he was angling for confirmation of some kind:
‘I hope you had a quiet night, Phyllis? You must have had quite an exhausting day yesterday.’
‘Perfectly quiet, thank you. Poor Ted was still there in his forest,’ I lied, ‘stumbling round as ever. He’s in some kind of mental loop, I suppose. But as a dream it no longer bothers me.’
‘Well, we could keep in touch, Phyllis,’ he said, as he rang off. ‘We must have lunch one day. Such a pleasure to meet you.’
I thought he sounded rather relieved. As indeed was I – to find that the Juves had finally worn off and I could tell lies so easily. When Robbie asked me the same question as the chairman I replied in the same way: no change in the Ted dreams, and with any luck, I said, if Robbie refrained from taking Doxies, no doubt the dreams would taper off.
I had no wish to set more hares running. The future would have to look after itself. Ted was not likely to bother me again, though he might well have found a path others could still follow, shaking little sapling seeds or even more malignant things from their clothing as they went. I could see that Ted might well have unfinished business with Jill Woodward – she had murdered him, if only inadvertently. But if he haunted anyone, it would be Cynara, whom he had screwed and – I could finally admit it – loved. Well, she’d have to deal with it. Perhaps even now he was sitting in her gallery telling her what to do and how to do it.
A couple of days later an envelope turned up in the post. It contained a lottery ticket – although I never play the lottery – and when Robbie checked on the Internet he told me I was one of three winners: I had all six numbers, plus the bonus. He reckoned we had won something in the region of four million dollars, for it was just over two and a half million pounds. Robbie clasped me to him. The illuminati of the Ethics Committee had been true to their word and seen me right. Even with house prices as they were, we could afford to move out of Dinton Close and leave Ted behind us for ever. It was just as well; I had tried to vacuum really thoroughly that morning, only to find tiny green saplings growing all over the place and the dust bag clogged with little leaves.
~
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