Sharon was often late, but not this time. She turned up at two o'clock precisely, where the New River Walk started on Canonbury Road, a mile north of their home, the one Danny hadn't been able to live in for a while.
"I wasn't sure you meant here," she said, breathlessly. "You could have been outside the public library on Dover Road, at the start of Astey's Row. That's New River too, in a way."
"Shut up. Come here." Danny wrapped his arms around her without ceremony and
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hugged her close, smelling her skin, her hair, thinking that maybe he should forget about everything else and go home. But there was no long term future in that, not until the plan had gone through and the business of Frank had been dealt with.
"God, I've missed you," said Sharon.
"I know exactly how that feels." Danny realised he was squeezing too hard and eased off.
They stayed glued together for a long time. He didn't look at her directly until his eyes cleared.
"Do I get to find out what's going on?"
she asked.
"Of course, sweetheart. But first, how's Danielle?"
"She's better."
They walked through the iron gate to begin the half mile ribbon of trees, grass and water that formed New River Walk, following the route of the first man-made watercourse to bring fresh drinking water to the City of London, in 1613. Apart from the mouth of the Regent's Canal tunnel, this was the only place in Islington where tall trees were found next to water. To compensate, in some perverse way, for its beautiful streets of Georgian houses, Islington had very few parks. Mankind had taken over all available space for its dwellings and the private
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gardens that went with them. At least this public park, small and thin as it was, was very pretty.
"Did you get her disconnected?"
"Yes."
The man responsible for the New River scheme featured in one of the paintings on Danny's dining room walls. He was the companion of the gentleman that Lewis had pointed out in the Hogarth painting, the man sharing a pipe with Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Hugh Middleton, whose statue also adorned Islington Green.
The watercourse itself was still there, on their left, restored, a little artificial, around ten feet wide and originally four feet deep, now more like two. Two feet deep was shallow enough for Danny to cope with. Four feet would have been too much. Sharon had made sure the first time they walked this route was at the end of winter, when the water was clear for its entire length and he'd been able to see the shallow bottom. Now it didn't matter if became cloudy or covered in algae, he had a mental map to recall that it was safe.
"And did Dr Russell put up much of a fight?"
"Surprisingly, no. She said that what was happening to Danielle was irrational, defied
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common sense, and if I'd sign the consent form she'd be happy to try disconnecting her, but she couldn't do it without."
"Wise doctor."
"Within two hours, Danielle was off the danger list. She might even wake up today."
They passed the ancient watchman's hut with the waterway curving around it. Clean water was a precious commodity back in the seventeenth century, and often stolen. Water poachers gave rise to water gamekeepers. The hut was tiny and round, with bulbous walls like a boletus mushroom, and a peaked roof with a bobble on top, much like a reclining breast.
"So what is going on?" asked Sharon.
As they walked, hand in hand, Danny explained about the creation of Frank, his involvement, their falling out, the consequences.
He mentioned how Frank could intercept calls and trace a mobile's location, and talked of Lewis, the get-out-of-jail card. He didn't mention the fire at Moorhen or his visit to Eric's flat - at least for now.
Sharon turned. They hugged again. "I feel foolish," she said. "I had no idea about all this. I knew something was going on, but not how important it was."
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"There's no reason to feel foolish. It was my mistake - not telling you."
"But yesterday, when you came back, I was there with… your enemy."
"You didn't know who he was."
"It still doesn't feel good."
They started walking again. The trees were lovely. Willows and gum trees, others that Sharon could probably name but Danny didn't recognise. The watercourse itself was best ignored. In this section the water was the colour of tea, with milk. It was there purely for ornamentation and didn't appear to flow. Half a dozen mallards scooted around, oblivious to the colour. Later in summer, the still water would turn green with algae, and the mallards waddled awkwardly out of it with brilliant green bellies.
In winter it would freeze over, by then the mallards had gone elsewhere and blue-grey pigeons tiptoed over the meagre ice, picking at whatever had fallen from the trees, flapping their wings furiously when the frozen water broke beneath their feet.
"So where did you stay last night?"
"I've been adopted by a very interesting American lady who's also keen on destroying Frank. Her name's Angela."
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Sharon stopped. "Angela!" Then she carried on walking again, but didn't look at Danny directly for a while.
"Do you know her?'
"No."
"Oh. It sounded like…" Or maybe it didn't. This wasn't a time to find ghosts and shadows. Danny explained about Angela and her place in the scheme of things, without the spy in the spire part, the weird camera, and realised as he talked about her how little he knew himself, not that Sharon seemed bothered by the many omissions.
After a while, she said, "You remember we talked about whether sex with a robot was infidelity?"
"Of course."
"And I said it depends on whether the robot seems to be human. If it is, that's infidelity.
If it isn't, it's not."
"Forget it. Really, forget it. I overreacted."
"Frank recited erotic poetry."
"Clever bastard."
"I'm sorry." She drew her arm around his waist. "It's all very confusing. I thought it didn't matter with something that's so obviously a machine. But it does. I won't do it again."
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Danny knew this day would be difficult, but it was getting harder by the minute.
At the end of the first section they crossed Willow Bridge Road and came to the most beautiful section of the walk. Here the thin green oasis squeezed between rows of houses widened out a little, or at least appeared to. The water was clear, the willows were bigger and mixed with enormous chestnut trees, with their dazzling displays of white flowers in upright cones, four inches wide and six high, turning the mass of leaves into giant flowerbeds. The weather was agreeable, crisp white clouds with plenty of blue between them.
"You remember something else you said?" began Danny. "Your fantasy. You said you'd like to make love to somebody else while I watched."
"I blew that. Forget it. Anyway, you hated the idea."
"At the time."
He waited for her to follow up that invitation. She didn't.
"It's important to me," he said. There was going to be no right time to say this. He'd have blurt it out and deal with the outcome. A squirrel ran across their path, half-tame, stopping in the middle of the tarmac and standing on its rear legs
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to see if it would be offered food by the slothful bipeds.
"I should have brought squirrel-food,"
said Sharon.
"Fuck the squirrels."
She frowned at him. That hadn't been the right thing to say. He needed to improve on that.
He stopped and regarded the squirrel, still upright in its begging position.
"We're supposed to be the top species because we got up off the dirt and stood on our hind legs, and that freed up our hands to use tools. How long before we're caught up by squirrels, meer-cats and kangaroos?"
That was stupid, too. A reflection of what was swirling around in his own mind, not hers.
Yet it seemed to half-amuse her.
"There's something important I need to ask you," he said. "It's going to sound pretty weird, but bear with me."
Sharon's mobile rang.
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" yelled Danny.
The interruption was doubly frustrating because Sharon didn't have a mobile. Yet she went through all the motions of having one - digging it out of her handbag, pressing the answer button and saying hello.
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She listened for a few seconds, making eye contact with Danny from time to time. He had a moment of panic, but it passed quickly. If Frank or his goons were using this mobile that appeared to belong to Sharon to track him down, it was unlikely that they'd ring to let anybody know.
"How the hell did you get this number,"
said Sharon, indignantly.
The earpiece mumbled to itself. She lowered the phone without saying goodbye and pressed to end the call.
"Who was that?" asked Danny.
"The mobile phone shop, ringing to see if I want an upgrade. I can't believe it! I only bought the damn thing an hour ago."
"I thought you hated mobiles?"
"I do."
"You know, you really should have switched it off. I mentioned how Frank tracks mobiles. Why didn't you tell me about it?"
"It's brand new."
"Anybody looking for me will know who you are."
"It's a pay-as-you-go."
"They could still track you down from the credit card payment."
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"Darling, I may not be technical, but I'm not stupid. I paid cash. Is cash ok? I wanted to be careful. I thought it might make a nice present for a fugitive."
Danny stopped. The Chestnut trees were behind them now and the view was less pretty.
"You mean, you bought it for me?"
"At least that way I could call you, from work or a call box. I'd get to hear your voice.
That would be nice."
Great. A thoughtful present, a very thoughtful present, shopped for with care and attention to detail, and he'd just had a go at her about it. This was all working out just peachy.
"You had something important to tell me," said Sharon.
The seconds passed.
"Later."
"Stop shuffling your feet and say it."
"This really isn't a good time."
"I'm asking."
Danny breathed out heavily and collected himself. "Ok. It's about your fantasy, the one I shouldn't have asked you about."
And there was a rat, a big brown one, coming out of the shallow bank of the unmoving New River and across the grass to the housing estate on Danny's right. Best ignored. He forcibly
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stopped his eyes tracking it. "I'd like to make it real for you, I really would. While I watch, I'd like you to sleep with Frank."
"What! You want me to sleep with a… a machine that's been trying to harm you, trying to kill my sister, that it turns out you built, that I had some… I don't know… mild flirtation with, that I now regret?"
"Darling, I don't… I would never have mentioned this if it didn't fit your fantasy. I promise. You understand?"
"No, not really. You're trying to manipulate me for some reason. I can hear it.
That's bullshit. The only reason I'm not giving you hell is because I asked the question, so I have to deal with the answer."
That was harsher, also intuitive and correct. Danny knew his last line had been a mistake. "What you say is true. I admit it. I'll explain it all to you in a moment, the outcome I want, that's for both of us, is why I asked, and you can judge for yourself if it's worthwhile."
That came out clumsily, but at least it was truthful. "It's the only way we can deal with Frank, get him off our backs, my back, maybe that's the wrong expression. I've got a plan. Just listen to it and see what you think, please?"
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"Of course I'll listen. Then I'll tell you there's absolutely no chance of me sleeping with a machine that persecutes my lover and tries to kill my sister. So why waste your time?" Sharon started walking again, rapidly, and she didn't take Danny's hand. "Anyway, isn't this all a bit academic? Frank is a machine, the inside a computer. How the hell do you expect me to have sex with a computer?"
"We're working on that."
"Oh, thank you."
Sharon stamped the ground and made a noise in her throat like she was trying to shift a chicken bone. She turned and lodged her head over his shoulder, gripping his chest so hard it cleared the breath from his lungs. The anger in her voice gave way to a pleading sadness. "Oh Danny. I hate you being away. I can't stand it.
When are you coming home?" She began to sob, in her strange staccato way, very slowly, unbelievably slowly, like she'd turned the very timing of it into an art form.
She had an unusual style of crying, hardly ever full-on but instead sporadic and suppressed, the way most people cry when they've got over the worst of the upset and are in the process of recovery, with deep sobs separated by silences.
That was how Sharon started out when she cried,
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and then when she began to recover she stopped altogether. It was like hiccups in a way, and meant she could go about other business while still crying, if she wanted to, because it didn't wholly get in the way.
Danny adjusted to the python grip and hugged her again, not tired by the repeated occasions, enjoying them, relishing them, wishing they could be frozen in time and enjoyed forever. Of all the poems he knew, there was one that came to mind for a moment this sentimental.
Slowly, quietly, he floated the words into Sharon's ear:
"Say do the elm-clumps greatly stand
Still guardians of that holy land?
The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream,
The yet unacademic stream?
Is dawn a secret shy and cold
Anadyomene, silver-gold?
And sunset still a golden sea
From Haslingfield to Madingley?
And after, ere the night is born,
Do hares come out about the corn?
Oh, is the water sweet and cool,
Gentle and brown, above the pool?
And laughs the immortal river still
Under the mill, under the mill?
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Say, is there Beauty yet to find?
And Certainty? and Quiet kind?
Deep meadows yet, for to forget
The lies, and truths, and pain? …oh! yet
Stands the Church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?"
Sharon stopped sobbing half way through.
She drew back slightly to look at Danny. Her eyes and cheeks were still wet, but she was smiling. "Plenty of honey. No milk, I'm afraid, but yes, plenty of honey." And she laughed, for the first time that afternoon, but not in any pleasant way that Danny hoped to hear again.