Luke lived on even higher ground than the zoo, at the top floor of a turn-of-the-century chateau-style apartment block with a green turret in one corner. He’d bought the flat because of the turret, which he used as his bedroom despite its draughty windows and curved walls. It was impossible to furnish, but in the end he settled for piles of books and a bed on the floor heaped with blankets, to compensate for the indoor weather.
No matter what frustrations his life threw up, the sweeping views from his room consoled him. Three great open vistas to east, south and west made him feel like the captain of a ship, navigating a vast landscape. He didn’t even have to imagine the wind in his face. But now, for the first time, the outlook disturbed him. Reflections from vast puddles below filled his room with a strange flickery light. At night, the water made undulating patterns on his ceiling, like messages he couldn’t interpret. Hail banging against his windows sounded eerie. When he dozed off for a few minutes, he dreamt of little pounding fists trying to get in.
His alarm clock glowed pale green in the dark: 3.25 a.m. Another sleepless night.
Local government offices issued repeated reassurances that the problem was under control. But when the mercury climbed past 47 degrees a state of emergency was called, and when it began to snow the newspapers ran headlines screaming APOCALYPSE NOW!
With a sigh, Luke got out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and went to stand at the window. The night was awful and beautiful, black and silver like an old photograph, its entire surface overlaid with grey streaks of rain. For a moment he longed for the particular – not the whole drowning world, but something personal: a partner in the foreground, putting everything else into perspective. A child.
He stood for a long time, watching the scene below. Neon signs fritzed on and off. Frozen fog softened the outlines of the landscape, transforming rectangles and squares into gentle lozenges and oblongs. Finally, at 4 a.m., with the half moon fizzing in the sky like an Alka-Seltzer tablet, he went back to bed.
25
By the time he was fully awake, the bell had been ringing for several minutes. At this time of the morning? He’d only just managed to fall asleep again.
‘Hello.’ The person at the door grinned. He had never laid eyes on her before. ‘I’m your downstairs neighbour.’
Oh joy, thought Luke. ‘How can I help you?’ He barely managed to sound polite.
‘I really hope you can? Aren’t you going to, like, offer me a cup of tea?’ The girl cocked her head. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, with the kind of smooth-featured face that looked even younger. ‘You’re not a morning person, are you? That’s OK. I’ll make the tea.’
Was he dreaming? The girl he’d never seen before was now in his kitchen making tea.
‘Where do you keep the teabags?’ And, when he pointed, ‘I don’t suppose you have soy?’
He stared at her. ‘Sauce?’
‘Milk. Never mind. I’ll have mine, like, black? But you should really, like, try soy. I used to have all sorts of problems with things like, you know, bloat?’
She handed him a cup of tea. Despite all the chatter, he was glad of it. ‘My name’s Skype? I bet you’re, like, wondering why I’m here?’
‘I don’t mean to appear rude, but, yes. I am.’ He glanced at his watch. Six fifteen. What sort of mad person goes around making friends at this hour?
She had found a seat at his table and he was awake enough, now, to look at her properly. She wore a T-shirt and hooded sweatshirt over a pleated school skirt; her broad smile revealed slightly uneven teeth.
‘I need a, like, job?’
At this hour of the morning? He wondered at her inflections. Was she unsure about her need for a job? ‘Do your parents know you’re here? What about school?’
‘I’ve only got one parent, actually, and I’m old enough to, like, come up here without telling my mum?’ She grinned. ‘School’s nearly over. The thing is, you work at the zoo?’
He nodded. ‘How do you happen to know that?’
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a brown envelope. ‘Your payslip. It came to us by mistake?’
Luke’s smile lacked enthusiasm. He reached for the envelope, wishing he could exchange this conversation for another ten minutes in bed.
‘The thing is, I really need a job. And what with all the weather weirditude, I bet you need help?’
‘Doing what, exactly?’
‘I can do anything. Phones, admin, sweeping up. I could work for free for a while if you don’t believe me?’ For someone on the begging side of a non-existent job interview, Skype remained remarkably upbeat. ‘And, by the way, this weather isn’t going to last? I’ve done all the star charts and my friend Betts who’s UH-mazing with predictions and stuff says another few weeks, max?’
Another few weeks? Great. Luke sighed. ‘Let me think about it, if you don’t mind. I’m not, as you said, much of a morning person. Besides, we haven’t got the budget. Especially now.’ He stood up, the universal signal (please, God) for dismissal.
Skype appeared unfazed. ‘Great! I’ll just finish my tea and be gone? Begone! Forsooth! Don’t you love words like that? Zounds! Anyway, I can’t stay cos I’ve got tai chi this morning? You ought to come, it would do you, like, so much good?’
Luke couldn’t think of an appropriate response, but despite himself he smiled. Maybe he could find something for her to do. Wear a mouse costume and do a dance. Cheer up the troops.
She hovered by the door. ‘I bet you thought I was, like, never going to leave? Mum says I’m like chewing gum on the bottom of a shoe.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t forget, any job at all? Really, cos I’m desperate?’
He shut the door and finished his tea. He’d lived here three years and didn’t know any of his neighbours, except by sight. A woman in her forties had recently moved in downstairs. Skype’s mother? She’d looked fairly normal.
Luke pulled off his T-shirt and turned on the shower. They could probably use a bit of ticket-office cover for the people who couldn’t get to work. What kind of a name was Skype, for Christ’s sake? She was exactly the sort of kid who drove him mad, with her question-statements and her New Age soya milk. But enthusiasm was thin on the ground these days. Everyone was grumpy. Him, most of all.
26
Bob couldn’t ever remember days passing this slowly. Mr B was buried in work, unwilling to engage in conversation – particularly on the subject of Lucy. The file Bob had accepted with bad grace this morning remained untouched. No way was he in any state to concentrate on Bumblebee Blight, obviously, what with not even liking bees, or honey, duh.
Bob kept shaking his watch, certain it had stopped, unable to accept that no time at all had passed since last he’d looked. At one point he actually watched the hands go from noon backwards to eleven, and if he’d been on speaking terms with Mr B he might have accused him of implementing one of his stupid lessons in forbearance.
Eventually it was time. He’d already changed outfits a dozen times, and without B’s interference had settled upon narrow black jeans with a finely knitted T-shirt. It was too hot for anything else. At the last moment, he pulled on a pair of black Converse sneakers, grabbed an umbrella and told Eck not to leave the flat under any circumstances.
He felt awkward, worried that he’d chosen the wrong outfit to make a good impression on Lucy, but the truth was he didn’t actually look bad. His face, when not screwed up in resentment, was not a bad face. He had fine cheekbones, a straight nose and clear skin, and at this moment his eyes (so often glazed over from too much sleep or self-abuse) looked bright with anticipation.
Eck watched him go without regret.
And then Bob was at the zoo, standing by the employees’ gate. Waiting.
He had no idea what time Lucy actually finished work. Opening hours were listed on a sign at the entrance, and an hour or so after closing had seemed reasonable, but to be absolutely certain he
’d arrived an hour before. Perhaps she worked till eight each night. How was he to know? Shouldn’t Mr B have offered a briefing, composed a helpful call-sheet? Either would have been useful – or even a bit of last-minute advice. But no, always occupied with more important things, that was Mr B all over.
He felt hot. Wretched. Where was she? He checked his watch. He’d been standing around for nearly three hours. Did humans do this all the time? What a colossal waste of energy. Sex or no sex, he’d much rather be somewhere else. Submerged in a cool infinity pool off the coast of …
Just then, Lucy appeared in a flimsy dress printed with brightly coloured butterflies. Bob blinked. A cool breeze swept in from nowhere.
‘Hello.’ She looked away, blushing. She was shy, of course she was. Lovely Lucy, modest creature. Hardly more than a butterfly herself. Yes, he thought, delighted, she was a butterfly, a flitting creature, at once delicate and rare.
She laughed. ‘Stop looking at me like that.’
‘Like what?’ His entire face had disappeared behind huge infatuated eyes.
‘Like that,’ she giggled. ‘Like a crocodile contemplating lunch.’ She took his arm. ‘I’m glad you’ve got an umbrella. I lost mine at work yesterday and do you think anyone’s turned it in? I wouldn’t. This weather beggars belief, don’t you think? It’s boiling hot one minute and snowing the next.’
Her smile immobilized him. ‘C-c-come,’ was all he managed to stammer. ‘Let’s find something to eat.’
She knew a first-floor place nearby with air-conditioning. He’d have agreed to sky diving in the black hole of Calcutta as long as he could rest his hand on the curve of her waist forever.
The restaurant was crowded with people seeking refuge from the heat. Bob and Lucy waited, drinking ice water by a fan, till a couple got up to leave. While Bob was still looking around, captivated at finding himself in so human a place, Lucy greeted the waiter and ordered wine. She propped her chin up on two plump white hands. ‘Hello,’ she said, tilting her head happily to the left.
He gazed back at her, full of wonder. ‘Hello.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking how incredible it is that I managed to find you.’
‘Amazing,’ she smiled. ‘I was thinking just the same.’
‘You were?’
Her face was solemn. ‘I was. I thought this job might turn out to be kind of lonely. Most of the visitors have kids, and most of the staff are either too old or too young. Or too ugly.’ She grimaced and looked away, feeling a momentary pang about Luke, who was neither old nor ugly. Just mean. ‘And then you turn up in the path of Izzy and me like you dropped off a cloud or something.’
‘I’m the answer to your prayers.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Come on.’ Her voice dropped suddenly, turning low, seductive. ‘Tell me. What really brought you to the zoo?’
Bob hadn’t prepared an answer to this question. He couldn’t tell her how he scanned the planet day after day for girls, ending up in all sorts of strange places. Ashrams. Igloos. Zoos.
‘I love animals,’ Bob said, thinking mainly of mermaids. ‘All animals, really.’
At that exact moment the statement was true. At that exact moment, staring at the beautiful arc of Lucy’s cheekbone, with the warmth of her smile radiating across the table towards him, his pride and passion for all the creatures he’d created threatened to overwhelm him. A tear came to his eye for all the good he’d done, all the wonders he could claim credit for. Tonight, the world was a perfect place. Sitting close to Lucy in the tiny restaurant, cooled by the fans while moonlight slid silently across the windows, he couldn’t think of a single way to improve it. Too much heat, maybe. Outside, the temperature plunged. He gazed at Lucy, who gazed back at him.
‘I sensed you loved animals. But you’d better fill in the rest. I don’t know anything at all about you, not even your last name.’
He looked down. ‘You couldn’t possibly be interested.’
‘But I am.’ She sat back. ‘Go on.’
‘OK, then. Let’s see.’ Bob took a deep breath. ‘I come from a galaxy about four hundred million light years away, and came here ages ago when the job of supreme godhead was unexpectedly offered to me. Then I created everything, heaven and earth, beasts of the field, creatures of the sea and sky, etc., and one day while hanging around I saw your prayer and it all led up to me sitting here tonight with you.’
‘Nice story,’ laughed Lucy.
Bob shrugged. Unsmiling, he lowered his hand next to her elbow, settling his forearm gently beside a pool of tomato sauce and oily mozzarella. ‘Everything in my life has led me to this moment, sitting beside you. So tell me all about you.’
‘No, it’s not good enough. What do you do? Where are you from? Seriously, this time. Your accent, for starters … I can’t place it.’ She folded her arms. ‘Go on, start from the beginning.’
‘The beginning?’
‘Yup. “I was born … I grew up …”’
‘I was born in … I grew up …’ His eyes skittered to the corners of the room. ‘We travelled all over the place when I was little. I learned lots of languages. That’s why you can’t place me.’
‘Ha! I thought so. You don’t sound like anyone I’ve met before. So – Africa? Asia? America? Was your father in the navy or something?’
Bob looked away. ‘Something like that.’
‘Much more interesting than my family. My dad’s a solicitor, defends people with tax havens. Mum wears blouses with bows and helps my godfather out at the church. Very sensible.’ She giggled.
An image of Mona floated uninvited into Bob’s head. ‘She sounds great, actually. My mother’s a fruitcake.’
‘Really?’ Lucy looked worried. ‘So, not really cut out to be a navy wife?’
Bob shook his head mournfully. ‘She ran off. Soon after I was born.’ This much, at least, was true.
Lucy reached for his arm. ‘Poor you. You probably don’t trust women an inch.’ She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his family history, but nonetheless sensed something vulnerable in Bob, something lonely and worthy of love. Her fingers closed over his.
Bob kissed her and the room began to crackle and hum with sheet lightning. A bottle slid off the table. The electrical disturbance lasted only a few seconds, for the duration of the kiss. Lucy pulled back, a little dazed, hands trembling, eyes darting around the room. When she collected herself, she took in the broken glass, the stack of menus now splayed across the floor. The restaurant owner gripped on to the edge of the bar as if uncertain whether to trust his chair.
‘What was that?’ Lucy’s eyes were wide.
‘What?’ He could still feel her mouth on his.
‘What? You must have felt it.’ She glanced at the other diners to confirm what she’d seen. Nervous laughter had lasted only a moment, and normal conversation was returning slowly.
Bob didn’t seem to hear. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. ‘It might have been the foundations of the building settling … you know, all this water?’
Lucy nodded, frowning a little, and he pressed the entire bundle of her fingers to his lips. ‘Lucy, I …’ He could barely speak. ‘You’re so beautiful.’ He disengaged one hand and touched her cheek with his fingers. ‘So perfect. Such a perfect, perfect girl.’ Any words he might once have planned deserted him. He realized with a jolt that Lucy was his creation. How had he managed to make a creature so elegant, so eloquent, so full of empathy? And so willing to love him? He gazed at her with wonder, humble wonder for the existence of this girl. None of his powers allowed him to make sense of what he felt.
Tears filled his eyes and he had to turn away. The aloneness of his life up until this moment made him gasp. He thought of a boy, impaled through the gut on the uprights of a metal railing, gasping his last gasps of life. That’s how he had always felt. Run through with loneline
ss.
Her glass was nearly empty and he tipped the last of the wine into it, his hand unsteady with emotion.
‘Careful,’ she smiled. ‘You’ll have to carry me home.’
‘I would do that gladly.’ He could almost feel her soft weight in his arms.
‘You’d do yourself an injury,’ she giggled.
Time passed and the hour grew late. The waiter settled quietly at a corner table with his accounts. They were the only customers left, talking softly together.
‘I never thought I’d meet anyone in my job either,’ Bob whispered.
‘What is your job?’
‘Oh, you know.’ He looked away. ‘Just one of those jobs. Executive consultancy sort of thing. Too boring to go into.’
‘Aren’t you a bit –’ she frowned – ‘young, to be a consultant?’
Bob shrugged. ‘You know how it goes. Right time, right place.’
Business prodigy or family connections, Lucy thought.
Bob met her eyes. ‘I don’t want to talk about work. I want to talk about you.’ He leaned in close and whispered. ‘Tell me a secret.’
‘Me?’ She laughed. ‘I haven’t got one.’ And then, lowering her voice, expression grave, she said, ‘I let one of the capybaras escape. I still haven’t found him.’
Bob frowned. ‘Capybara?’
‘They’re a kind of giant rodent. Like a guinea pig crossed with a hippo.’ She looked mournful. ‘Skinny little legs. Bristly hair. They’re actually quite sweet.’
He vaguely remembered creating something of that description, but couldn’t remember why. ‘Will you be in trouble?’