CHAPTER 36
LifePartner ceremony rooms, Upper London
24 June 2113
ALTHOUGH THE DOSE
of medication I took just before lunch is making me feel floaty and surreal, I can’t suppress a flutter of excitement as the official from ACID’s LifePartnering department enters the room.
Evan’s standing beside me, gazing straight ahead. He looks even more handsome than usual, his honey-blond hair combed back, and the purple silk of his tie – which matches the colour of my silk sheath dress exactly – bringing out the blue in his eyes. As the LifePartnering official greets his parents and fourteen-year-old sister Suki, who are sitting on plush chairs behind us, I sneak glances at him. The air is filled with the scent of the flowers that stand in vases on plinths around us, and soft classical music drifts from hidden speakers. Everything is perfect.
A lump rises in my throat. If only
my
mother and father were here to see this. But when the roto my parents, brother and I were taking up to Scotland for our summer holiday last year crashed, I was the only one to
survive
. I was in hospital for three months, and a rehabilitation unit, receiving physiotherapy and counselling, for another two. Then, as neither of my parents had siblings and both sets of my grandparents died when I was very young, I moved into a supervised living facility. It’s OK, but it looks and smells just like the rehab unit, and I’m glad that this morning was the last time I’ll ever see it.
The medication I take, administered three times a day by a micro-needle concealed in the pretty silver bracelet I wear at all times on my right wrist, even at night, is to stop the nightmares and flashbacks that were making it impossible for me to move on, even after my physical injuries had finally healed. I’ve been on it since March, and although my doctors have had to adjust the dose several times to get it right, it’s finally starting to work. Which means I’ve been able to be LifePartnered and that, very soon, I’ll be starting a new job. Everything’s back to normal – almost.
I swallow the lump in my throat back down, blink away the tears that have sprung up in my eyes and try to smile at the LifePartnering official as he takes his place in front of me and Evan. He smiles back, distantly. Evan’s expression doesn’t change. I wonder if he’s nervous. He’s never
seemed
nervous before now; in fact, this last month, during our chaperoned twice-weekly meetings at his house, he’s come across as being quite the opposite – impatient to get the ceremony over with so we can move into our apartment and away from his parents who, he confided in me once when they were briefly out of
earshot
, drive him crazy with their constant fussing. Privately, I think he’s lucky; I’d give anything to have my parents back to fuss over me. But I didn’t say that to him, of course.
The LifePartnering official clears his throat and begins reading out the LifePartnering vows for me to say after him.
‘I, Jessica Stone . . .’
‘I, Jessica Stone . . .’ I repeat.
‘Take Evan Denbrough . . .’
‘Take Evan Denbrough . . .’
‘As my LifePartner, to whom I agree to be joined for the rest of my natural life.’
I repeat the sentence, relieved at getting through it without stumbling or forgetting any of the words. Then it’s Evan’s turn.
‘I, Evan Denbrough . . .’
‘I, Evan Denbrough . . .’ Evan intones.
‘Take Jessica Stone . . .’
When it’s over, Evan turns to kiss me, his lips brushing against mine so briefly I wonder if I imagined it. The LifePartnering official gives us another, warmer smile. ‘Congratulations,’ he says. ‘If you’d like to say goodbye to everyone, a car is waiting for you outside to take you to your apartment.’
Evan takes my hand, his strong grip crushing my fingers, and leads me over to his mum, dad and Suki, who are getting up from their chairs. While his mum and his sister are both petite with curly, light brown hair, Evan
looks
just like his dad – although his dad’s hair is speckled with grey and there are faint lines at the corners of his eyes. ‘Good luck, darling,’ his mother says, sniffling. ‘I do hope your apartment’s nice. Don’t hesitate to link us if you need anything, and don’t forget to bring Jess over for lunch tomorrow. I need to go over the plans for your Partnering party with you, and—’
‘We’ll be there, Mum,’ Evan says, a barely disguised note of irritation tinging his voice. He moves on to shake his father’s hand while his mum hugs me and dabs at her eyes again. I feel another twinge of sorrow, remembering my own mum hugging me, and I’m suddenly very glad of the medication bubbling through my bloodstream. If I wasn’t on it, I’d be a sobbing wreck right now.
The LifePartnering official is holding the door open for us, the music that played throughout the ceremony fading. It’s time for us to go. As I follow Evan out into the foyer, I can’t resist a glance at the next couple who are waiting to be called in. The girl is red-haired and slim, the boy dark and athletic-looking. Their outfits, like mine and Evan’s, are understatedly expensive, although, secretly, I think my dress fits me better than the girl’s does her. She catches my eye and gives me an appraising stare; for a moment, I think she can tell – about my accident, about the meds – but I remind myself that this isn’t possible. The surgeons performed intricate surgery on my face, erasing every last mark from the wounds I suffered when I went through the roto windshield. To look at me, you wouldn’t think anything had
ever
happened. The only scars I have left are inside.
And with the meds, they’re getting wiped away too.
Holding my head high, I let Evan lead me through the foyer and down the steps outside, to where a silver car is waiting by the kerb. From now on, we’ll be able to link for a car whenever we want to go anywhere, even if it’s just down the road. The driver’s standing next to it and opens the back door as we approach. The sun pours down from a cloudless blue sky.
‘Thank God that’s over,’ Evan grumbles, getting in after me and slumping into the seat. He yanks his tie loose and tosses it in my direction. ‘Get that for me, would you, babe?’
The medication slows my reactions a little, and I fumble and drop it. As I lean down to pick it up, the car starts to move, its electric motor whirring softly. I buckle my seat belt and look out of the window, watching the streets slide past outside. We’re in Upper London’s business and commerce district, but you’d hardly know it. The shops look like houses and offices that just happen to have goods tastefully displayed in their large front windows. I remember visiting some of them with Lucy and Eri, my best friends, before the accident, when we used to come up here at weekends. We’d head straight for the most expensive clothes boutiques and put whatever we wanted onto our parents’ accounts, staggering out with our arms full of bags and boxes, laughing and chatting as we headed somewhere for a coffee.
They came to see me a few times in the hospital, but
their
visits got further and further apart, and I haven’t seen them at all since I got out of the rehabilitation unit. I’ve thought about linking them a couple of times, but the last time I saw them they were both about to be LifePartnered and kept going on about how busy they were. I kept telling myself I
would
get in touch with them anyway, but every time I decided to do it, something stopped me, and now it’s got to the point where it’s easier not to bother.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m moving on. It’s healthier for me to cut the ties to my old life.
I continue to gaze out of the window, at the larger buildings soaring skywards behind the shops, graceful constructions of glass and silvery steel that gleam in the sun. Beyond them, because this district is at Upper’s edge, I can see the tall screen of poplars that marks the boundary between Upper and Middle. People walk along the wide, clean pavements with the careless air of those who have nothing to worry about, taking their time, stopping to talk with friends. I suddenly feel very lucky to be part of all this, and even luckier that when we have children, Evan and I will be bringing them up to have all this too. My Upper London childhood was idyllic and I want theirs to be the same.
Then my mood changes. At first, I think I’m about to have a flashback, and I feel my palms turn clammy and my heartbeat speed up. But it’s something else; a deeper memory. Disjointed images I can’t make sense of flood into my mind: crowded streets hemmed in by concrete
apartment
blocks that are halfway to being derelict; litter, graffiti, misery. Where is this place? I’ve never been anywhere like that, have I?
It’s too early to take another dose of my meds. I breathe in and out, telling myself,
I am Jessica Denbrough. I am in a car with my new LifePartner on the way to my new apartment
. Identifying who I am and where I am, like they taught me at the rehab centre. Slowly, the thoughts fade.
‘Are you OK?’ Evan says. I look round and see he’s watching me.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I’m just tired. It’s been a – a big day for me.’
Evan nods. We haven’t talked about my problems much, but he seems pretty accepting, which I’m grateful for.
I sit back in my seat, feeling myself relax. Soon, we’ve left the commercial district behind and are driving through one of the residential areas. Everywhere I look, summer flowers foam from the window boxes planted by Upper’s maintenance crews, who buzz about discreetly early in the mornings and last thing at night, keeping our city looking perfect. At last, the driver pulls into a cul-de-sac and we stop outside an elegant apartment building, five storeys high.
The driver gets out and opens my door. As I clamber out of the car, I gaze at the building which is now my home. I feel that flutter of excitement inside me again. Even from the outside, it looks beautiful, built from pinkish stone with cream trim and arched windows. Wide
steps
lead up to the front door, which is flanked by cream-coloured columns and a tree in a pot on each side. An engraved sign next to the door says
LABURNUM HOUSE
, 5–10
ITALY CRESCENT
, and a small holoscreen shows a list of names: ours and our neighbours’. We’re in Apartment 10, on the top floor.
‘Your c-cards work the door to the building and give you exclusive access to your apartment,’ the driver says as Evan gets out of the car too. ‘You should receive all the information about your new jobs over the kommweb tonight.’
Then, with a slight bow of his head, he ducks back into the car and drives away.
‘D’you want to go first?’ Evan says.
‘Um, yes, thank you,’ I say. I climb the steps to the front door with him right behind me.
‘Here.’ He reaches past me to wave his c-card across the scanlock, then pushes the door open with his fingertips so I can go through. I step into a hallway with a real wooden floor and cream walls. It’s spotless and the air smells of lemons. We walk down to the lift, which has more wooden panelling inside, and gleaming gold-trimmed touchpads.
‘Well, here we are,’ Evan says as we reach our apartment. He waves his c-card at the scanlock and holds the door open for me again, and I step through and into the huge, open-plan living room of my new apartment. I feel like I’m stepping into the beginning of a whole new life.
Evan slings his jacket on a hook near the door, removes his komm and shoves it in his pocket, then slumps onto one of the sofas (there are two, made from soft brown leather, smelling brand-new but with a finish that makes them look like well-cared-for antiques). He switches on the news screen that takes up almost all the wall opposite where he’s sitting. I leave him watching it and start exploring.
Above a long dining table, a window looks out across Upper. I can see the city glittering in the sun, and the trees at the Upper boundary, with the jumble of buildings that make up Middle just visible beyond. Outer is no more than a smudge on the horizon, and I’m glad. I’ve never been there, but I heard plenty of horror stories about what it’s like from my parents when I was younger, and at school – tiny, overcrowded flats, drug addicts and criminals everywhere, despite ACID’s attempts to keep them in check. It sounds like a dreadful place.
Just off the living room is an equally large kitchen, all steel and glass, so well stocked it would put any restaurant to shame. Jars filled with pasta and rice and lentils and all sorts of other things line a set of shelves beside the refrigerator. Fresh fruit spills from a gigantic wire basket on the counter next to the hob, and there are ropes of garlic and onions, bunches of dried herbs and chillies and gleaming copper pans hanging from a rack above a long island in the middle of the room, which has a fancy-looking oven and hob built into it. A holoscreen memo panel on the wall near the door has a message
informing
me that a cleaning service will visit every other day while Evan and I are at work.
And then there are the bedrooms – two, each with a king-sized bed in it, and in the master, a wardrobe full of new clothes and shoes for me and Evan. Both bedrooms have their own en-suite bathroom with a shower and a jacuzzi, baskets of soaps and bottles of bath oil and shampoo on shelves above the tubs. As I go back into the living room, I notice the sensor panels tracking the air temperature and our body temperatures, readings scrolling across little holoscreens on the walls as the heating and air conditioning adjust automatically to keep the apartment at an optimum temperature.
‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ I say, dropping onto the second sofa, which has been arranged at a right-angle to the other one.
Evan glances round at me before returning his gaze to the news screen, which is showing a report about ACID finding an illegal cigarette and whisky haul in Outer. ‘Yeah, ’s OK,’ he says.
My eyes sting briefly with tears as I think about how my parents and my brother will never come to visit me here; will never see how well I’m doing for myself.
To distract myself, I get up again. The display at the top of the news screen says it’s almost eighteen hundred hours. ‘Are you hungry?’ I ask Evan. ‘Do you want me to cook something?’ I’m determined to be a good LifePartner to him, to take care of him and make sure he doesn’t want for anything.