Authors: Jonathan Gash
“There’s 93,752 answers,” Creb said, crestfallen.
“I fucking know that.” Kylee was unnerved. “What percentage?”
“Point three eight. Vague.”
Creb was worried she’d go for him, right here on the balcony overlooking Anchor Quay, directors having tea within earshot and secretaries tittering about bizarre whizzkids.
Leave out adults, youths, the rest; include only children six to eight, it was a fucking sight more per cent. She said that. A secretary tutted.
“Can’t you mind your language?” the lady called across, an ingrate conscious of directors nearby.
“Mind yours, you boring old cunt,” Kylee shot back.
Offended, the women got up and left, twittering.
“Please don’t worry,” Creb urged, sweating with anxiety. “I shall tell Mr Maddy’s deputy that the lady misunderstood.”
“Un fucking believable,” Kylee said, “shitting yourself over some ugly cow can’t stand talk.” Her mind raced. “Gotter get them done, Creb. My programme’ll sift the
blocks out.” She had some answers already coded. “Group the one word answers.”
“I don’t know the question.”
“You don’t fucking have to. Scan the answers in, auto access’ll do a three-stack. The system’ll Venn it up, matter of course.”
Creb drummed his fingers. She made him eat his scones. She wondered if blokes all had something wrong, like Bray.
“What?” she asked sharply.
“Your grampa.” He apologised abjectly. “He’ll be disappointed, won’t he? I’ll try and make it up.”
What the fuck? “My grampa?”
“I tried to get the programme and books banned, like you wanted. I’ve only made things worse. It’s become more popular. You’d predicted fewer than 45,000 answers. We got double.”
She listened to the silly cunt.
“I allowed for factors. The trouble is, two-point-nine per cent give multi-word answers.”
“I saw you with them schoolies.”
Kylee had collared four school-leavers. The firm was thick with them, wanting pre-work experience, a government con to provide unpaid hands. Kylee hated them. They were all proficient in writing, reading, kept asking her why she coloured her keyboard.
“They do fuck all. I give them the job.” Seeing they could read and she couldn’t. She wasn’t for telling him.
“And word breakdown,” she prompted.
“Like, ‘metal’ is one common answer. Is it a subset of
sheet
-metal, hyphenated or not? Paper and
rice
-paper, plastic and polyvinyl.”
Listen, say nothing, Creb could go on all day about one subject. A stupid mind but a good memory. Kylee had
eavesdropped on the school-leavers as they’d re-checked her programme.
There was really no problem. However many categories of answers, Bray would be able to tell at a glance simply by seeing the sorted answers. Twenty minutes, max.
“How many subsets?”
“Hundred and fifteen,” Creb said glumly.
Kylee thought flatly, good. Shake them old typists.
“Paper and its subsets,” Creb said earnestly, puzzled at her satisfaction. “Next is cloth. Plastic figures high. I’ve got the schoolies looking up commercial names, some I’ve never heard of. Then skins, animal-derived materials like woven hair.” He gauged her, wondering whether to voice his doubts or not, and went for it. “It’s a strange competition, Kylee. Will the firm get commission?”
“Will they fuck,” she said. “It’s charity.”
“That’s really kind,” said Creb.
She thought, give me fucking strength.
That evening she had to visit Buster. She’d first to do the log-outs of her fluid determinant trials, but inventions were easy in mathematics. It was people who fucked things up. She’d received some government letters and threw them away unread.
She didn’t want to run away again just yet.
Clint, Carlson and Leeta were excited at the rivalry between the Tain groups and those from Indianapolis and Springfield, Illinois. Their camp leaders were Brighter MayLou, who was noisiest so everybody could always find her, and Brighter Wanda, who played a guitar. They seemed better than Sally. Carlson said that was because she was broke but Leeta said it wasn’t holy to say that because Jesus was poor and couldn’t vote.
They harassed Brighter Sally about the chances of going on the computer. Sally said they’d talk about it. Leeta said that meant no because Sally showed her teeth exactly like the Pharisees did when they killed people. Her daddy preached that. Leeta said it proved Sally was a fuck-up.
They did canoes, the morning the first KV question was coming at five o’clock. The Red teams came in last, which Carlson and Elgin who joined them though he was Blue said was discrimination. Clint said why. Carlson said because we was winning but Leeta said turn the other cheek. Elgin said Brighter Sally was a shit.
So they all had to clap while a giggly group from Dayton, Ohio, got the Champions’ Cup and got a plaque for their school.
Carlson said he was going to write to the president about the camp principal Mrs E.F.J. Partridge. Leeta said praying would get the bitch for letting cheating become rife throughout the Land of Canaan. They didn’t know what rife meant. Leeta said it was a plague of locusts so they settled for that.
Brighter Sally promised a special treat, a cook-out round campfires, and there’d be a singing prize. Carlson said it was political distraction so they wouldn’t write to the president about being cheated out of the Cup by Dayton, Ohio.
They were disconsolate because the singing competition would be won by creeps from Evanston, Chicago. Carlson said Chicago people always bribed judges and cops.
During snackout the Brighters announced that only competition winners could use the computers for the KV competition, which made Clint and Leeta and Carlson and Elgin and his new girlfriends Consuela and Melanaya, both
from their school anyway, nearly cry. They went to Brighter Sally who said no, they should have won in the exciting activities they’d enjoyed so much on Activity Day.
That evening Carlson said fuck.
Leeta said Brighter Sally was an ungodly Sadducee and whatever happened to her after night prayers was her own fault. Melanaya and Leeta thought Clint was crying inside and voted to kill Brighter Sally with poison if they could find the right berries.
Carlson said fuck again, and told everybody he would send in anyway. They asked how could he without online computer. Carlson said because his brother in any case was twelve so could do anything he liked. He scared Brighter Sally by telling her he’d forgotten his tablets that the doctor said he had to take every night and he was going to die.
Brighter Sally got really terrified and screeched there wasn’t anything in his file but he said he was going giddy. So she let Carlson phone home but it was no good because they listened. It was agreed he’d imagined it about the tablets. He came back miserable and said shit when everybody could hear.
A boy Leeta told about Carlson’s daring attempt said he had a cell phone. He had a girlfriend in Minneapolis, seeing he was from St Paul, and phoned her every night. They bargained and he lent it. That way, Carlson got his brother by pretending when his mom answered that he was allowed to ring and say sorry, he’d made the tablets up, because he wanted to hear they were okay and his mom said “Why, Carlson, darling!” and cried. So Carlson asked his brother what Question One in the KV quiz was.
“What are the kites made of?” Carlson repeated, amazed. “Kites?”
“That’s it,” Carlson’s brother said.
Carlson, Clint and the others were out by the logging pool watching the camp Brighters put lights up over Paradise Lane. Leeta said nobody had to hear their plot or it wouldn’t count like mortal sins so they went to the jetty where there was nobody.
“He says it’s what are the kites made of,” Carlson told Clint.
They all looked at Clint. Leeta said it would be string and stuff. Melanaya said paper, everybody knew that. Consuela said it’d be a trick. She’d seen some illegals make kites with bells, real bells. Carlson said that was impossible, because the kite wouldn’t fly.
Leeta said there was only one way, that was to take a vote, so they did. Paper came out on top. Then Consuela, who was Elgin’s girlfriend together with Melanaya, said that Clint still hadn’t had a vote. He was the one who always got it right.
“Say paper, Clint,” Leeta said, who thought Melanaya was all mouth and a probable sinner.
“Say cotton, Clint,” Consuela urged, who thought Leeta shouldn’t queen it just because she was holy.
“Clint?” Carlson demanded, holding onto the cell phone. “Cotton or paper?”
“Leaves,” Clint said.
Carlson said the eff word again in everybody’s hearing but phoned his brother to e-mail
leaves
and sign it from Class R4 at their school. His brother said okay. Carlson said that was a million bucks in antiques down the pan because kites weren’t leaves.
Elgin said you never know, Clint might be right, right? Leeta agreed. The others disagreed on principle. In any case, Carlson said, returning the borrowed cell phone, it
was one in the eye for Mrs E.F.J. Partridge and Brighter Sally. Leeta said Brighter Sally would get leprosy because leprosy happened a lot from praying.
Carlson wondered about getting the phone again next day without telling Clint, and telling his brother to cancel leaves and put paper instead, because leaves was a shit answer.
“Beautiful rivers,” Lottie marvelled, trailing her fingers in the water despite Andy’s warning. She wondered at Emma, Bray’s wife who’d married some builder. What on earth had the woman expected? “So wide, flowing so fast.”
They had been offered a rest by Andy. Bray was visiting his firm.
“We asked for you,” he bragged, “after New York. While I was doing the NY State auctions.”
Andy Haarlsen was a tall, outgoing man of athletic build. He’d taken over his father’s firm on his thirtieth birthday.
“Never looked back,” he was fond of saying.
To judge by his staff, the triple showrooms, and the regular spot-the-hot on TV, he was in line to become the largest commodity firm in the region. He said so, anyway. Lottie believed him. Bray smiled and said little.
Andy’s wife Alee was fixing lunch in the galley. Two other friends were due to board a mile up-river.
Lottie knew what was on Bray’s mind. He’d heard from Kylee. He’d let her see them. It was in code so, she thought with a taint of bitterness, it didn’t matter whether
she read them or not.
“Answers are still coming in,” he’d observed as they’d got ready to come sailing. “It’s over a hundred thousand.”
“How many unpredictables?”
His eyes had wavered. “Some,” was all he said.
Does he still not trust me? she wondered. Everything hinged on the few, oddest, answers. They were the specials, that might hold Davey’s answer, if and if and if… As Kylee bluntly put it, “
If
to the power of ten.” But the rough girl had been grinning as she’d said it.
“We’re near the wharf,” Andy called. “See Bernie and Margot?”
Bray, almost managing a sincere smile, went to the yacht rail to wave along with Alee and Andy. It was a really pleasant interlude. Bray due to start his
Presidential Purchases from Old London Firms
at six. Seven whole hours for Bray to forget his preoccupation, as if he would.
“They’re the surprise I said about,” Andy yelled, pointing to the new couple on the jetty. Anglers stirred in dismay. “They’re in television!”
Lottie’s heart turned over. She saw Bray turn and look. Bernie was fortyish, gangling, wearing an extraordinary Sixties kipper tie. Margot was bulbous in bermudas, all bright colours.
“Oh, TV!” Lottie moved along the rail to be by Bray.
“They’re fun!” Alee called, busying herself with a painter as they glided in. “They’ve got a proposal that will just make Bray’s day!”
Will it indeed, Lottie thought. There go Bray’s restful hours. The newcomers boarded, handshakes all round, jokes flying, truly delighted to meet the visitors.
Several miles up-river, moored by an eyot, the proposal
was made. They’d had the picnic, been playfully disappointed when Bray eschewed the white wine.
“USA presidential purchases from London,” Margot mused. “Tall order, huh?” There were chuckles. “Think I’ll wait for the movie!”
“Bray was asked to speak on that specially,” Lottie explained quickly.
Bernie grinned, winked at Alee and Andy. Here it came.
“No such thing as a free lunch, Bray! We heard your firm is sponsoring some antiques prize linked with that kiddies’ TV show. Is that true?”
Lottie took the response on, defensively folding her skirt about her knees.
“Gilson Mather is one of the firms, yes.”
“Look.” Bernie edged forward on his chair. Margot retired to smoke a long cigarette by the stern. “How about you do a spot for us at X49Y2? You’d not starve, Bray!”
Everybody chuckled along. Lottie put away her smile after a decent interval.
“Maybe, Bernie. Except Bray’s schedule is so crowded. And he’s contracted to the BBC for guest appearances and the final tour video.”
Bernie was electrified. “They’re doing one now? Here?”
Lottie laughed. “Of course not! They’ll do a construct. That’s if Gilson Mather go with it. Would your TV station want to be involved?”
It passed off with Lottie’s skilful promises about Bernie’s station receiving priority.
“I’ll have pencil dates by next Thursday, Bernie. Can I give you a ring?”
They settled for that. Lottie felt the arrows whistle by. She was concerned by the way she’d handled it, but what could she do? It was then that Bray quietly interrupted.
“Actually, Lottie, what the eye doesn’t see…” To her amazement, he went calmly on to suggest that he be interviewed at one of Andy’s auction venues. “As a visitor passing through, perhaps?” Bray added. “Nothing technical?”
Bernie was delighted, and phoned arrangements immediately. Lottie tried to catch Bray’s eye but he spoke with Bernie about what he’d be expected to say. It was almost bizarre.
They reached Andy’s marina in good time.
Clint’s next letter disturbed Mom. With Pop in Atlantic City she felt control slipping from her hands. That Sally girl had put a stop to Clint’s interest in that computer competition, yet her nagging concern persisted.
The competition was across TV networks. And that meant Florida. Who knew what enemies were still searching for her son, spreading their evil tentacles? She’d been right to ban Clint from the TV game. Computers were a sinister all-pervading illness. Contagion could be fatal.
She concentrated on the news, listened to broadcasts incessantly. Even Manuela noticed. The Mexican guessed that Clint was on her mind, saying how safe Clint would be in that camp.
Mom plaintively read Clint’s letter out over the phone to Hyme. Pop said the school was only doing its job.
“It might bring back memories.”
“Not on the phone,” he warned. “I’m, huh, in conference.”
“What if other kids ask Clint to stay over? What do we say?”
“We’ll have to think.” Pop promised to call in the
morning and talk some more.
“They still bother you, Hyme, when you’re on furlough?” the girl asked.
He nodded for her to resume work. He wondered if the boy had become something he never really wanted. Finding Doctor to obtain a kid, then paying for Clint’s transfer into the new life had cost, yet it was investment. Expenditure was reasonable when a return was guaranteed.
Now, seeds of doubt were sprouting. Think of it another way: if he’d not invested so carefully in buying the boy, finding the one clinic that gave perfect results, he might be paying some dumb headshrinks a fortune in psychotherapy for Clodie.
He sighed, observing the girl’s head bobbing, felt the glow of pleasure, and thought how worthy investment actually was. Investment was divine, done right.