“Call in sick, for God’s sake.”
“He’ll smell a rat.”
“He is a rat.”
“I know how to handle rats, babe. Trust me. I’ll be all right.”
“I want to forbid you, Flipp.”
“Well, you can’t. You can’t tell me what to do. Not until tonight.” She winked, trying to be breezy, then her face crumpled. “Oh, don’t look like that. Give me a hug or a kiss or something.”
He blew out, ruffling her hair, and rolled his eyes, then surprised her by ducking down for a long, crushing kiss, transmitting warmth to their chilly bodies. Flipp wished he would go on kissing her forever, nowhere felt so much like home as his arms. But kisses have to end, and his did with a strong hand at the back of her neck, drawing her forehead against his.
“I’m not going to argue with you here,” he said in a low, serious voice. “But I don’t like what you’re going to do, and I want you to know that. I also want you to know that you’re to ring me the moment you get out of there. Take my spare phone—it’s the one I don’t use for Cordwainer’s business. And if it starts to look as if things are getting out of control, I want you to get into the loo and text me straightaway. Will you at least do that for me?”
“I promise.”
He kissed her forehead, grabbing a handful of the back of her hair before releasing her. “Go on, before I change my mind and drag you away on the bike.”
How he tempts me, thought Flipp ruefully, darting back up the pier steps to the light and warmth of the summer. But that temptation would have to be postponed for now.
“This shouldn’t take long,” said Cordwainer, businesslike, clipboard in hand, standing in front of the 3D Motor Racing simulator. Behind his suited form, endless animated Formula One cars sped through chequered flags before crashing spectacularly. “I just need you to list each machine and write a brief comment about its state of repair. If you think it is in need of repair or replacement, underline the comment, please. I’ll be in my office—just come upstairs and knock when you’ve finished.”
There was nothing in his speech or manner to suggest that his intentions were sleazy, Flipp decided. This was simple, face-value overtime, nothing more.
“Understood,” said Flipp with a smile she strove to keep more professional than friendly. “Thanks.”
Cordwainer handed her the clipboard and disappeared upstairs, leaving Flipp entirely alone in the flashing, noisy, empty room. How sinister it seemed without the ranks of acne-cratered youth and the bombastic dads bent on hooking a cheap fluffy toy for their kids. Nobody had hooked the tragic-looking lime-green acrylic duck from its nest of plastic treasure eggs that day and it sat fixing her with a reproachful stare as she went about her business, checking that the mechanism was in working order.
“I know it’s a shit life, mate,” she said, making her pencilled note. “But perhaps somebody nice will take you home tomorrow. We can but hope.”
By the time she had completed her inventory, Flipp had to admit she was more than a little spooked. The jingling of coins, the booming voices, the revving engines all gave the impression of vivid activity, but it was all a trick of electronics. She could imagine everyone in the world dropping dead, yet this warped facsimile of life continuing, sirens blaring into the dead night. On reaching Cordwainer’s office door, she almost believed that the apocalypse had been and gone and left just her, alone with the robots.
So it was a relief, in a strange way, to hear his familiar autocratic tone on the other side. “Enter.”
“I’ve done it,” she said, staying well within easy scarpering distance of the door. She held out the clipboard.
“Thank you. Give it to me, then.” He motioned with his hand, indicating that he expected her to come away from the door and closer to him. Reluctantly she took a few steps in his direction and put the clipboard in his hands. “Any problems?” he asked.
“No, all fine. Well, I’ll get off, then.” She was turning, heading away from his influence, out of the danger zone.
“Have you forgotten, Flipp?” He halted her with a gentle admonition.
“Forgotten?”
“I promised you dinner. I’m a man of my word.”
“Oh…yeah. It’s okay. You don’t have to?”
“I want to. Take a seat.”
“I was going to meet friends?”
“No you weren’t.”
Crouched forward in the chair, knees primed for flight, Flipp looked up sharply. He was calling her a liar, wasn’t he? And in such a way that she couldn’t possibly refute it without starting an argument. Something told her that arguing with Cordwainer was the original definition of time wasting. She braced her hands on her upper legs, looking down at her fingers splayed across the double layer of fishnet and holey nylon tights.
“I don’t know why you think I’m lying,” she said eventually, aiming to keep as much belligerence out of her tone as possible.