Sequela (44 page)

'No! That's not what I'm about at all.'

'It's not?' Cherry looked around the room as if she could see through the walls, into every room in V, as if she could see what was going on there – the viruses being developed, the couples in the exchange booths, the employees further down the chain wringing their hands over who they needed to sleep with next to get ahead. 'You could have fooled me.'

'The truth is I'm a mess,' Kester admitted. He felt himself crack right down the middle, spill out, couldn't control it, let go. 'I've been taken in. I just – I feel like I'm giving it all away, like I'm losing it, losing everything. They're treating me like I'm just a prostitute – sorry, no offense – like a prostitute, but I'm a scientist. I was a scientist. And I…my friends. All my friends have just lost their jobs because of the first attack – I've been publicly berated by the Director of the Institute…' He glanced up at Cherry. She had a look on her face he hadn't seen for a long time. Not quite pity, more like empathy, she understood. He could tell her. 'I've got things I want to achieve. I see what the press are thinking – the press that Yule hasn't got back onside – they think this is it for me. They think I've peaked and this is me on my way down, but this was all stupid play for me. It was mostly for the money. The fame just…it was for Farrell. I won't say I wasn't starting to enjoy it…but that's not the point. This isn't what I'm here for. I've got things I want to achieve.'

'Like what?'

Kester looked up at Cherry. Her shoulders were drawn in as if she were cold. She folded her arms.

'I'm developing a new screen.' Why was he telling her this? 'A screen that anyone can use – a screen that won't make people dependent on our drugs, or destroy their immune systems. There's no complicated procedure, so it'll be affordable.'

'You can really do it? But why would the company pay you to undermine their cartel?'

'They wouldn't. They aren't. They don't know about it yet. I'm doing it on my own time, but the company – it's complicated – the market for the drugs is dwindling. The number of people who need the drugs is getting smaller and smaller as the existing population's immune systems die off, plus the drugs are going to be deregulated soon. The company needs something new. Farrell promised to take it to Chen but now…' Whenever he thought about it he felt a weight in his chest; it was the weight of future failure, of a promise he knew could only be broken. 'It was going to be our bargaining chip – it was going to get us out of this mess. Fuck, my head hurts.'

'Your binge, right. The others were talking about it. We were sort of surprised to see you this morning to be honest. I mean I don't know much about it, I haven't read the reports, but it sounds like you made things pretty clear last night.'

'I did?' A fuzzy memory lurched into view – the sea of faces at
Brass
. What had he said?

'But you can really make these things – we all thought it was just the vodka talking. That's great. You've got something you can go and do. You don't need to worry about all this any more.' She sounded like a mother scraping the burnt tops off a child's fairy cakes, assuring him they would taste fine.

Kester looked up. Cherry was staring at him. Her dark eyes were hard to read. She was looking straight into him, digging around, doing something.

'Never mind,' Cherry said. 'You know it seems like you've cleared up one mess by making another. Maybe you need to jump before you're pushed. Just leave. Take your stuff with you. Do it yourself.'

They sat on their separate couches. She made it sound so simple. So obvious. He let the suggestion ring true in his mind for a moment, pushing out all doubts about funding, politics, the consequences, and let his problems be solved. Cherry was beautiful, Kester reflected. An exotic fruit. Velvet flesh, rich colours, a hard core that could cross oceans unscathed. He wished he wasn't so sore, wished they weren't sitting on separate couches, wished they weren't having this conversation.

'I wish it were that easy. If it were, an old friend and I would have done it years ago.'

'An old friend? An ex-friend?'

'A reinstated friend. She was really pissed off at me when I joined the company. We didn't speak for months. It got quite nasty. But we've made up, I think.'

'Why was she so pissed off?'

'Because she thinks I'm wasting my talents working for big business.'

'That's all?'

Kester looked up at Cherry. She wasn't convinced. Her expression couldn't have been plainer.

'It was…' Kester rolled back through the year in his mind. There was Dee with golden eyes; there was Dee with bleeding eyes. 'It was more to do with the fact I infected her with one of my viruses. She didn't know about it. I mean it was a pretty one and curable. She did wear it for a while in the end, but…' It wasn't making much sense to Kester any more.

'That's what she was pissed off about? Why would she care about one little virus when everyone does it here? And why would she wear it if she hated the idea so much? That's really what she was pissed off about? I mean she was
really
pissed off at you.' The sudden certainty in Cherry's voice spooked Kester. She knew. She had seen into his memories. 'Wasn't she?'

Shrinks were supposed to just listen, weren't they, not question you constantly?

'Yes. She was.'

'And you stopped sleeping together then.'

'We only slept together that once, when I gave her the virus.'

This opening-up business was seeming less and less of a good idea to Kester. He felt like she was interrogating him, like she was on Dee's side. It was getting out of control.

'Right.' Cherry sounded as if she had sussed him out, but he wasn't sure what there was to suss. 'Why were you wearing a virus anyway?' More questions. 'I thought the famous Doctor Lowe didn't wear.'

'No.'

She was accusing him of something. The room was drifting out of focus. He had been wearing the virus for Farrell. A gift for Farrell. There was Dee's face in his memory again: black and white, blood in her eyes, red flushes on her cheeks, stylised, a picture from a graphic novel. Her mouth was moving in slow motion –
you slept with her
.

'Whatever.' Cherry's voice brought him back to the room. 'It's none of my business.'

Kester felt heavy. He didn't need all this brought back to him now. Dee's rage had nothing to do with his present avalanche of woes. But as its white roar tumbled closer, threatening to engulf him, he thought he could see a little girl at the top of the mountain, smiling, her tiny hands freshly sprung apart from a single clap. No. He wouldn't feel guilty any more. They had come past that. They had made up.

'We made up.'

'You said that. You surprise me.'

'Why are you here?' Kester asked. He needed respite from her questioning, to hear her talk for a while, to hear about something other than his own mess. 'How did you end up working for us?'

Cherry frowned briefly. Her expression hardly changed, but the shadows on her face seemed to deepen.

'Why am I here?' She stared, unblinking. 'I was a sex worker…and I got the chance to come and work as a model. Isn't it obvious why I'm here?'

'You wanted to get out? Or to get in? To get into the City, I mean.'

Kester looked at her encouragingly as she sorted her thoughts.

'If you're a high-flying banker, or a lawyer, or even a scientist,' she indicated him, 'you can get a pass to come and live and work in the City. I could never have got back in – there's no head-hunting for Britain's top prostitutes. At least until now.' She gave a short laugh. 'You hardly need them in here. Those who want sex have each other, or the Pigs or whatever.'

'Back in? You lived here before?'

'When I was a child. It's complicated.'    

'But why do you want to be in here? I mean it's perfectly nice outside the City, outside London.'

Cherry raised her eyebrows.

'My mother lives outside,' Kester said. 'I grew up outside. I know there are the less salubrious areas, but mostly it's just the same. Maybe not the same as the
City
. But you know, not that different from London. It's not like we've got all the candy hoarded up in here. You could have got a modelling job outside.'

'You flatter me. No. It had to be here.' She paused for a moment. She was a lid teetering on the balance of its hinges; any second she would fall open, or fall shut. 'My mother was tried and convicted in here on terrorism charges. I can't find out the truth about what she did from out there, what happened in the trial, anything. I was placed by a dodgy foster agency into the hands of a madam when she was convicted – if she even was convicted. I have a few things I'd like to sort out.'

'Right.' Kester felt a blush rising to his cheeks. 'I see. Yes, I can see how you might want to…you really can't find out about her from outside?'

'Look, the one thing I know is that I didn't do anything wrong, so there's no reason that I should have been got rid of in the manner I was. I've tried to find out the whole story through the archives, but it's impossible. The coverage just fizzles out. It doesn't even give way to conspiracy theories – it just stops, like nobody cared. I need to get into the official court records and I can only do that here in the City.' Cherry sighed and dropped her forehead into her hand for a moment, before looking back up. 'Doctor Lowe, it may look dodgy me being here, but even if I wanted to follow in my mother's footsteps I wouldn't know where to start.'

'Cherry – I didn't mean that. Nobody thinks that. Not at all. I just…'

Just what? Kester thought for a moment. He needed to get back to his desk before he was sick. He stood up and his hangover lurched. His whole body was scrambled. He felt weak. But he could do something good here maybe, though it was just a small thing. Cherry stood up in response and Kester found himself standing too close to her.

'You know if there's any way I can help,' he said. 'Alexis knows people at the Population Monitor and the records office too. Perhaps I could set something up after the show. If there is a show.'

Cherry looked as if she was puzzling through something.

'OK. Thanks,' she said. She put out a hand to touch him on the arm. 'Thank you. That's really good of you.'

Before his mind could stop it, Kester's body had replied to her touch in the way it had become accustomed, sending his shaking hand to her waist.

'That's OK.' He stiffened, aware that the gesture was not what it should be, an acknowledgement of her thanks.

'Are we going to?' Cherry screwed up her face.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – it's just automatic.'

'Yes.' Cherry let out a breathy laugh. 'After all, who would pay who?'

Kester walked to the doors, then turned and attempted a smile. 'Thank you,' he said.

Kester returned to his office and slouched down into his desk chair. How could it still be Monday? He picked up his Book. It was only two o'clock. His hands were shaking. He needed it to be bedtime. He groaned as he noticed the message icon.

'Kester…darling,' Kester sat staring at his Book as the message played. His mother sounded as if she was struggling to call him darling. 'Son, I just wanted to call to say.' Her voice was breaking. 'I just wanted to say that I've seen all the news stories. I've seen…' She gave a small sob. 'Sorry, I've seen the pictures. I just wanted to. I'm…'

Her voice trailed off for a moment into thick snuffly silence. Kester's sore brain filled in the words: appalled, disgusted, hurt, embarrassed, inconsolable.

'I wanted to tell you I'm not angry, I just…'

Another pause: hate you, can't believe you did those things, can't believe you did that to your friends.

'I'm just a little surprised, Kester. I know…'

Tears welled up in Kester's eyes, making the room wobble. He let them settle there and fatten, staring, unblinking.

'…I know you're having a hard time of it. I just…' Another snuffle released a torrent of words. '…I just wanted you to know that I love you and I don't care what silly things you've done – I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to be OK and just talk to me or talk to one of your friends or…just, I am proud of you, darling. It was so brave of you to make that speech, never mind that you were drunk. It was true, everything you said and if they won't make your screens, then I'm sure there's someone who will. And if you need somewhere to stay you know you can always come home. It'll all be right.' The dog barked in the background, calling out an involuntary teary laugh. The message ended there.