Last Man in London, page 6
He was becoming bored and restless and announced to Tibha, ‘I am going for a walk around the building to see what we have here.’ Tibha didn’t reply. She didn’t hear him. Tibha was away somewhere with Charlotte Smith.
‘And you?’ he asked as he stood up, this time interrupting her. ‘Which of the Romantics do you prefer?’
Tibha looked George directly in the eye. ‘The men,’ she replied. ‘I always prefer the men.’
Chapter Four
A few evenings later George was standing at the window of his own apartment and looked out across the river towards the Complex. From there he could only see the western part and he was thinking about Christmas and the way Charles Dickens had described it. The snow, the open fires, the crowded streets, the decorations, the grubby, happy faces. The story of the Christmas Spirit. He thought about the dirt, the grime, the poverty and cramped living conditions inflicted by generations of democracy that the Corporation had sensibly made a thing of the past.
‘What an imagination Dickens must have had,’ thought George, ‘to have made all of that up in his own mind. No wonder he was such a popular writer. That’s what the best writers do,’ he remembered being taught, ‘make up places that can seem so real when, in fact, they had never existed at all.’
He poured himself a whiskey, lit a smoke and began to mull over Edgar’s words of the other evening. He certainly respected his advice but sometimes could not be sure that Edgar really understood what living in the modern world was like. He hadn’t really done anything, apart from muck about in his laboratory, for as long as George had known him. And, probably, for many years before that too. He thought about Mira. And he thought about Tibha and her expressive description of something he realised he knew nothing about. And so he began to write a list of questions, that he wanted to ask Edgar, onto his hy-dev notepad.
1: Christmas.
2: Love.
3: My mother and father.
4: The last government.
5: His role in the Corporation.
6: His experiments.
7: Religion
Finally he looked up at the time on the wall screen. It was hour 1 and so he placed his device upon the surface in front of him, took a sleeping tab, drained the glass and fell into a deep sleep with his feet up on the table.
The following afternoon George was sat at the seafood bar where he had arranged to meet Will and Marnie in the Central Complex Hydroport. He selected his skyphone app, tapped the icon called Mira and waited. There was no reply. This time he tapped out a message; ‘in Hydroport, should be in Cape Town City by H18. Want to meet at H19.30?’ He placed it back on the bar and received an instant reply.
Mira; ‘Yippee, can’t wait. See you later. Travel safe babes x’
‘She must have seen me calling, it was ten seconds ago,’ thought George. ‘Why not just answer?’
‘Don’t try to understand them son.’ Edgar reminded him, from somewhere deep inside. The trouble was that George wanted to understand. George wanted to understand everything. He tapped onto his hy-dev notebook to add another question for Edgar. The page was blank; the list was no longer there, even though he was certain he had saved the text. He was annoyed with himself. How could he forget to add the list onto his server?
‘Shall we get some food here,’ asked Marnie and she and Will sat down.
‘No let’s eat later,’ Will suggested, ‘drink?’ he offered, and picked up George’s bottle of chilled white wine and poured a couple of glasses.
‘We have thirty minutes,’ warned George. ‘Drink up and let’s get on the plane.’ Within fifteen minutes they had found the boarding gate, scanned their ident-cards, which charged their accounts the twenty-five-dollar ticket fee to Cape Town from the Central Complex. They swiped their fingerprints, grinned at the photo-recognition camera and they were permitted to board the Hydrosonic.
George settled into his seat, pulled out his hy-dev and selected the application that would automatically inform the motor storage unit at the Cape Town Hydroport that he would be collecting his car on arrival, around ninety minutes later. That would give them plenty of time to check her over, charge her up, change the fluids and have her ready at the collection point from the moment he arrived. Ninety-year old vintage cars were not uncommon, especially in Cape Town, but they needed looking after properly if an owner was out of town for long. The motor storage unit were constantly running old engines, checking batteries and servicing the petrol to hydrogen conversion units. Hydro-converters had been fitted to all old cars as soon as hydrogen fuel became free to all members of the Corporation, just after the take over. Free energy had been promised for everyone in the lead up to incorporation. It was one of the things that made the transition so seamless. Who, in their right minds, would want to continue paying heavy government imposed fuel and energy taxes when the alternatives were offering the newly developed hydrogen energy for free, to everybody? The cost of living had then dropped by seventy five percent in a single year.
George then selected his notepad application, opened a new page and patiently tapped in the words;
1: Christmas.
2: Love.
3: My mother and father.
4: The last government.
5: His role in the Corporation.
6: His experiments.
7: Religion.
This time he carefully chose the auto-save option that would send a copy of the note to his personal remote server storage that he would later be able to access from anywhere and from any device, if necessary. He also saved a copy directly onto his hy-dev, settled back into his seat and watched through the window as the aircraft left the earth’s atmosphere and turn on its hydrogen powered Pulse Plasma Thrusters. At six thousand kilometres per hour, and skimming the ozone layer, they should all be safely on the ground in Cape Town within seventy five minutes. At the same time Hugo would be speeding through one of the Sub Atlantic Tunnels, on the Pulse Plasma Hydrotrain, at around five thousand kilometres an hour. One of those would deliver him to New York in around forty five minutes.
At the Cape Town Hydroport all three scanned their ident-cards which automatically allowed them access to the African Division. Their hy-devs also sent a location back to the central servers which their supervisors could monitor, if it was thought necessary. Will and Marnie headed for the City-Link which dropped them within a short walk of George’s house in Seapoint, on the side of the mountain range known as Lion’s Back. George had a housekeeper who had been informed as soon as he scanned his ident-card in the Central Complex Hydroport that he was only a few hours away and she would be ready for them to arrive. He made his way to the motor storage unit and could see the staff polishing the spoked wheels of his beloved Old Calendar 1972 Jaguar XJ6 Coupe. The car had been locked in the garage of the house when it had been passed to him and he then spent two years lovingly restoring her.
After collecting the keys and paying the fee with a quick scan of his ident-card, George fired up the straight six cylinder engine which purred into life and pointed it towards the big flat topped mountain known as The Table, which towered above, and protected, the city from its sometimes inclement weather. George felt full of life. His first week at the Corporation had gone well, he had met Tibha, and he was now in his favourite place in the world. And that was the driver’s seat of his old Jaguar and heading towards the Mother City. He snapped on his sunglasses, selected some tunes and poured on the power. In fifteen minutes he was pulling into his car port and would be where, these days, he considered to be home. Will and Marnie would have already arrived and hopefully were opening the wine.
‘You’ve been away a long time this time,’ snapped Constance, his housekeeper.
‘It’s only a few months,’ he replied as he gave her a warm bear hug. Constance had been living at the house for her whole life after her mother had been given a suite of rooms on the ground floor when she began working for the previous owner. Constance didn’t remember the previous owner, or at least said she didn’t. But she adored George and made sure everything was looked after for him whenever he was back at the Albion Central Complex during his final years of training. George had no bag to unpack; he never needed to take anything to Cape Town apart from his hy-dev and ident-card. But his wardrobe was full of freshly ironed clothes suitable for the warm climate he could enjoy now that he had crossed the hemispheres from the cold Albion winter into the warm African sunshine.
On the terrace Will was drawing the cork from a fine bottle of white from the Jordan Wine Estate, one of the many in the wine-lands dotted around the Mother City. He poured Marnie a glass and sat back to admire the magnificent view across the Table Bay, along the West Coast and out over Robben Island, a seven star holiday resort that had been built forty years earlier, just after incorporation.
‘I remember my grandfather telling me that was once a prison island,’ Constance told him as she walked past with another case of wine for the cooler. She was well aware that when George was home she would need to keep the wine and whiskey cold, the ice drawers full and the smoke box topped up. Other than that he asked for very little, apart from the occasional blind eye.
George joined them, sat down, took a long draw on a tumbler of wine and announced, ‘I am off to a jazz club later, you guys coming or do you have other plans?’
Will looked at Marnie who shrugged her approval and replied, ‘of course we are coming. Jazz on the Long Street of a Friday night, what is there not to look forward too?’
‘Ok,’ said George, ‘we are meeting Mira at hour 19.30, she said she preferred to join us there instead of coming here first.’ Constance stopped and looked at George, before saying nothing. He continued, ‘we are meeting Marvin, Beth, Gus, Gemma and a few others and Ben E’s Jazz Band are playing live. I have asked him to reserve us our favourite table.’
Marnie clapped her excitement.
‘Good work Georgie Boy,’ said Will. ‘A quick shower and we are ready to go.’ Marnie followed him to their bedroom. Will had chosen it from George’s four spare rooms, several years earlier, for the view across the bay. And for the large walk in bathroom.
Marvin was the first to arrive at the Long Street Café, a large two part room with a long bar on one side and a small stage at the far end, partly hidden by a mirrored dividing wall. The owner of the club, Costas, a long time friend of George and Will’s, noticed Marvin and greeted him warmly.
‘The others on their way?’ he asked as he led Marv to the big table. Before he could answer Gemma and Beth danced in through the doors, creating attention for themselves.
‘I can see they have started early,’ said Costas as Marv waved the girls over.
Both in their early twenties Beth and Gemma were typical examples of what George called the Cape Town Pirates. Like so many of their age group they were on their final ASPP but really couldn’t be bothered to learn much. They were only interested in the next party and who was going to pay for it.
It was a sense of entitlement girls in this town had if they were pretty and well dressed. They flirted with everybody and anybody who might give them something for nothing. They never gave anything back; despite suggesting, or even offering, so much. They were raiders. They were takers and leavers. They were pirates but, even so, fun to have around. George had slept with Beth once after she had passed out at his house and he had woken up with her climbing into his bed. She was a beautiful girl and it was an opportunity George had taken advantage of. He didn’t regret it but was not so proud of himself either. The following morning he had strolled to the local deli for coffee and pastries after leaving her fast asleep. When he returned she was gone. They never spoke of it again.
Will, George and Marnie were next in and sat down; Costas brought a bottle of fifteen-year-old Jameson to the table and joined them. Marvin produced a small glass bottle filled with cocaine and the girls giggled as they asked, ‘may we?’ Marv nodded his approval and the girls snapped it up and headed for the bathrooms.
‘You know you are not going to get anywhere with those two Marv?’ Costas told him. ‘They are in here every week poncing off someone or other. I have never seen them pay for a drink, or leave with anybody except each other, despite flirting around the bar all night.’
‘Cape Town girls,’ said Marv, ‘take them or leave them.’
‘Leave them,’ said Will, as Marnie nodded her approval.
‘Take them,’ cried Costas, ‘I do.’
George looked down at his hy-dev and tapped, ‘we in Long Street Café, where you?’
There was no reply. Girls were different here than they were in the Northern Hemisphere and two perfect examples danced back to the table, giggling with each other. They were dabbing numb, tingling noses with delicate knuckles and grooming their long hair with bony fingers.
Gus arrived and said to them, ‘you two have started early haven’t you?’ They ignored him and Costas poured out another glass. Gus looked around, ‘No Mira?’ he asked George.
‘Not yet,’ he shook his head, before checking his hy-dev. There was still no reply. Another girl tottered across on high heels, leant forward and planted a kiss on Gus’ forehead.
‘Maria,’ he said.
’How are you?’ she squealed. The word ‘you’ was delivered in a tone that changed three times and sent poisoned darts into George’s ear drum. Her perfume, which thickened the air, was cheap enough to taste.
‘Has somebody been polishing the tables?’ Marv asked nobody in particular. With that, Maria turned quickly to look over Gus’ head at somebody else and then off she went in a new direction.
George looked at Gus. ‘She is..’ he started,
‘I’m not interested,’ interrupted George.
‘Ok, but don’t you just love that old fashioned lycra material they use again these days?’ George had to admit that he did and the pair watched as she sashayed towards another table in her cling-tight top, hipster jeans and dangerous heels. Maria knew George, and knew he didn’t like her.
‘The shine of her star will fade soon enough;’ said George, ‘and then nobody will be looking at her anymore.’
‘I violated her in the back of a taxi about a year ago, for the small price of a single line.’ Marv added. ‘With a couple of shooters and a few lines inside her well, you can get almost anything you want inside her.’
George checked his hy-dev again, to find nothing. He glanced towards the door and out into the street. There was still no sight or sound of Mira.
Beth and Gemma were chatting the chat they began in the bathroom and they all knew that within twenty minutes they would be feeling fantastic about themselves. They would become city princesses and everything would be going their way. It would become their world and the rest would be simply living in it, making it happen for them. Costas ordered them a pair of shots each. He knew they wouldn’t be buying anything tonight and so what the hell. Maybe they would one day, when they grew up. The girls love the magic dust. It feeds extra feeling into their nerve endings like pouring warm oil into the soul, or as writing a beautiful line for them will. Everything tingles. Tummy’s turn, defect’s real or imagined vanish in the haze. For a while.
‘We might as well join them,’ Marvin offered.
‘Rude not to,’ replied Gus.
They all then took their turns on the little trip to the tiled shelf in the bathroom. Finally the glass vial was passed to George, who had told himself he was never doing it again, as soon as he had finished his training and started contributing. But it looked as though nobody had heard him and so off he went too. Gus stared across at the giggling girls opposite who were counting down from five before tossing back their free shots.
‘I wonder,’ he thought, ‘what your contribution is going to be? What will become of you when the Corporation realise you have nothing to add to society?’
Ben E, the tall double bass player wandered over to the table with a home grown hash tab dangling from his lips.
’Looking good Bennie,’ called Will.
‘Cheers dudes,’ he drawled. ‘If I am going to be steaming tonight then I at least want to be stoned too.’
Without introduction the band sprang into life with a drum fill and Ben E hurried towards the stage. Behind the keyboards sat one hundred and fifty kilos of rhythm and blues meat. The legendary Clem Hemming had his head hunched low and his jet black hands jumped and danced along the snow white keyboard, spraying arcs of sweat as he played his intro, which sounded like the first thing that came into his head. He had his own beat.
‘You are all crazy tonight,’ he yelled into the microphone. He was probably right.
‘You don’t have to die to find paradise,’ he cried. ‘No man, take some of those jumping beans over there and come with me just for one night only.’
He meant, of course, ecstasy. It could be bought in most bars at the weekends since the Corporation legalised all previously banned drugs. It kept the profits up and the potential trouble makers otherwise distracted for a few days. It also meant they could control which areas of the Divisions received exactly how much of what kind of recreational drugs that they alone decided were suitable. Keeping the main part of the population superficially happy and partly docile had been company policy since Incorporation. That was also why anybody could pick up diazepam from almost anywhere for a single dollar a box.
Clem hunched and he rocked and he played. The girls were up and dancing, heads were bobbing, fingers drumming and hearts were bumping. Ben E rolled back and forth to the beat with his eyes closed and his slim fingers laying a rhythm down beneath Clem’s twinkling tunes.
‘Man alive,’ shouted Marvin as the cocaine started to work its way into his single-inch brain. ‘This place is hard core, we are all alive tonight like we have never lived before.’
Gus laughed and looked at George. He laughed too, looked towards the door and finally saw Mira. She was two hours late. Her short, slim frame was dwarfed by the doorway as she brushed her long, dark hair away from her face and looked around. George watched as she peered across the crowded room. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased she had finally turned up or not. Time would tell. He turned away to watch the band and moments later Mira slipped quietly into the seat next to him placing the palm of her hand onto his thigh and quietly attracting his attention. She smiled warmly as he looked at her and then jumped up and wrapped her arms around him.
