Authors: Kate Thompson
Nemia looked thoughtful. ‘Do I enjoy my work? I think I am lucky to have a job that is so well paid. In Mauritius, they might think I am a millionairess! And I am lucky too that I get on well with Daphne. To be honest with you, I am a man’s woman, and Daphne likes me for that. I get the feeling that she doesn’t much care for women, you know? Does that make sense?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Daphne was a very beautiful woman once. A sexy lady. She preferred always the company of men to that of women. I can understand that. I adore men.’
‘That must make it difficult for you, living in the back of beyond.’
‘Ah – but I will make up for it on holiday!’ Nemia’s phone went, and she checked out the display. ‘Excuse me, Dervla. I need to take this – it’s the travel agent.’
‘No worries. I’ll go and talk to Daphne.’
Dervla got up and went into the sitting room. Daphne was wearing a fleecy gilet over her nightgown, and a pair of velvet slippers. There was a Beanie Baby polar bear on her lap. She turned stony eyes upon Dervla as she came through the door.
‘Hello, Daphne,’ said Dervla.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Dervla, your daughter-in-law.’
‘Are you my daughter?’
‘No. I’m your daughter-in-
law
. What’s David Attenborough talking about today?’
‘Yes. It’s very interesting. But I’ve had enough of him now.’
‘OK. I’ll turn him off. Shall we do the crossword?’
‘Yes. I’d like that.’
Dervla reached for the crossword book on the coffee table and a Biro, then sat down in the armchair across from Daphne. Clearing her throat she said – very loud and clear – ‘One across. “Old-fashioned rural roof covering.” Six letters.’
Daphne thought for a minute, then: ‘Thatch,’ she said.
‘Yes. It must be thatch.’ Dervla moved on to two down. ‘“Suspend canine with shamefaced look.”’
‘Suspend what?’
‘“Suspend
canine
with shamefaced look.”’
‘With what look?’
‘Shamefaced. Seven letters. The first letter’s H.’
‘What does that mean?’
Dervla wrote HANGDOG along two down. ‘I don’t know,’
she said. ‘It’s a tough one, isn’t it? Let’s go on to the next one.’
She ran her Biro along the clues, trying to find an easier one, then skipped to thirteen across. ‘“Old Nick. Satan.”’
‘Old who?’
‘“Old Nick”, or “Satan”. Five letters.’
Daphne thought again.
‘It might start with a D,’ prompted Dervla.
‘Devil!’ pronounced Daphne triumphantly.
Dervla wrote DEVIL, then moved on to another clue. ‘“Sign of the fishes. Six letters.”’
‘What do they
mean
by “sign of the fishes”?’
‘I think it might be a Zodiac sign, Daphne.’
‘Oh. I had a car once called a Zodiac,’ said Daphne, proudly.
‘What a lovely name for a car. “Lie back and relax”,’ continued Dervla.
‘What? I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you very much.’
‘No – it’s a crossword clue. “Lie back and relax.” Seven letters.’ Dervla wrote RECLINE, and waited.
‘I don’t know what that is. Go on to the next one.’
‘“Sound of a horse.” Five letters.’
‘Gallops.’
‘Yes. It must be gallops,’ said Dervla, writing NEIGH along twenty across. ‘“A wheeled vehicle.” Three letters.’
‘Pram.’
‘Pram. Hmm. That’s a good guess, but it’s one letter too many. How about this? “A child’s dog.” Six letters.’
‘Bow-wow,’ came the immediate response. ‘I think I’ll buy a dog. I used to have a dog. It was a Lakeland terrier. They’re known as toy dogs, you know.’
‘How now, Daphne!’ Nemia said brightly as she came into the room. ‘Doing the crossword, are we?’
‘Yes. Who is it?’
‘It’s Nemia, Daphne.’
‘Oh, Nemia! I love Nemia.’ Daphne’s stony eyes softened. ‘Did I tell you about my giraffes?’
‘Giraffes?’ Nemia and Dervla exchanged glances.
‘I looked out of the window the other day, and there were two giraffes in the garden. The people in the house down the road own them, you know, and they came to visit me.’ ‘Oh, Daphne!’ Nemia reached for the remote, and aimed it at the television. ‘It’s time for
Murder She Wrote
. You mustn’t miss it. Would you like some tea?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. I’ll bring you a cup.’
Nemia left the room, and Dervla followed her back into the kitchen.
‘What did she mean by giraffes? Has she been hallucinating, do you think?’
‘No. I think she must mean the peacocks. There are white peacocks living in the garden of the house down the road, and they fly onto the patio sometimes. I got quite a fright when I first saw them. They have a really spooky call. Haven’t you seen them?’
‘No. They haven’t been around to our side of the house. How weird that she would get giraffes mixed up with peacocks.’
Nemia poured tea into two mugs, and reached for a cup and saucer. ‘She likes her tea in this porcelain cup,’ she told Dervla. ‘And she prefers Hermesetas to sugar.’
Dervla watched Nemia stir Daphne’s tea with a silver spoon.
‘She’s a very lucky lady,’ she said, ‘to have someone like you looking after her.’
‘Yes,’ said Nemia, as she headed for the kitchen door. ‘She’s a very lucky lady indeed.’
The Second Life adventure that Fleur had planned for Flirty LittleBoots hadn’t happened. She’d fallen into the virtual sea around Welcome Island and hadn’t been able to get out, so in the end she’d logged off and called it a day. But this evening –her second on Second Life – things were looking up. She’d worked out how to emerge from the sea and had been flying around, searching randomly for a likely location, before finding herself outside a lap-dancing club. Walking through the door, Flirty took a look around. Inside, all was shiny chrome and glass, but the place was empty. There were, however, two people above on the mezzanine level. She could read their conversation as it appeared on her screen, but she could not see them.
I’m not sure I can do this
, someone called Ariella was saying.
Come on, baby
, her partner replied.
It’s cool. I’ll help you
.
I don’t think I want to, Dave.
Is it your first time?
Yes.
It’s easy
, Dave reassured Ariella.
The camera is at the very top of your screen. Just activate—
I can’t. I’m sorry.
And suddenly Ariella was gone.
Aha! thought Fleur. It looks as though I may have a candidate in Dave. If he’s been sweet-talking his ladyfriend, he may be in the mood for some action.
Making her way over to the staircase that accessed the mezzanine, Flirty sashayed up the steps. At the top stood a hunk of beefcake, wearing tight jeans and a tighter T-shirt that displayed musculature and tattoos to effect.
Hello, Dave,
said Flirty.
Hi.
Not a great buzz in here tonight.
Well ma’am, that might be because it’s only 7 p.m. in Austin, Texas, and most folk are eating.
Texas! That’s where you’re from?
Yep.
Fleur settled back and flexed her fingers.
Do you own this place
? she asked.
No. I’m the manager.
Hmm. Fleur decided that the manager of a virtual nightclub that featured pole dancers would know his stuff. Casting aside any reservations as to whether or not she was doing the right thing, she opted for the upfront approach.
Do you mind if I ask you some questions, Dave?
Shoot
, came the laconic response.
In Second Life, avatars can touch, kiss, make out, yes?
Sure
, Dave told her.
Can you help me?
You want to make out?
Yes. I’m a journalist, and I’m doing a little research.
LOL. I’d be glad to help.
Thank you
, said Flirty.
That’s very kind of you
.
My pleasure, ma’am.
Um. So how do we get started?
It’s easy. See those two coloured balls to your right?
Flirty turned. To her right was a dodgy-looking contraption resembling a dentist’s chair, but with stirrups and restraints. She hoped that this would not come into play in her little experiment. Next to the chair were suspended two spheres, one of which bore the legend ‘Missionary M’, the other ‘Missionary F’. Missionary, she was sure she could manage.
I see them.
They’re pose balls. Touch the one marked Missionary F.
Fleur clicked and touched. Nothing happened. She turned back to Dave and shrugged.
LOL. Try again
, he said.
She repeated the action. This time, something definitely did happen. Flirty suddenly appeared to have tumbled backwards onto the floor. Dave, from her POV, was standing above her.
Oh!
she exclaimed.
That worked. Um. Now what?
Hang on.
Another kind of tumbling moment occurred.
There. How’s that?
Dave asked.
You’re on top of me?
Yes. What can you see?
Um. I can see your arm…Or is that mine?
LOL. Try moving your mouse.
It doesn’t seem to be working. Everything’s blurry…although it looks like you’re moving to and fro. Are you
sans culottes
?
Culottes?
Pants.
LOL. No. I still have them on.
Pah!
said Flirty.
This is useless.
You must be in mouse-look mode. Go to esc.
Esc?
The key at the left-hand top of your computer.
That doesn’t seem to be working either.
Hmm. Let’s see if there’s anything I can do at my end, while I pump away. Where are you from, Flirty?
Ireland.
And you’re a writer?
Journalist.
Cool. What’s the research for?
A magazine feature on Second Life.
Merde!
This feels ridiculous. To judge by the image on her screen, Flirty was still lying in ‘Missionary F’ with Dave working away in ‘Missionary M’ on top of her. What do you do? she asked, conversationally, keen that no embarrassing silences should descend upon her time in the sun with Dave. It reminded Fleur of the last time she’d been spread-eagled in her gynaecologist’s chair, talking about the weather and Barack Obama.
I’m with Brinks Mat
, Dave told her.
So you have a secure job. Ha ha.
Yeah. I’m very lucky. Times are hard everywhere these days.
Another conversational gambit was clearly called for. Do you come here often? Flirty asked.
I have to put in a few hours a week cos I’m manager here.
Do you enjoy SL?
Passes the time, Flirty. Hmm. Not sure I can do anything about this.
But if I can’t move my cursor, does that mean that my avatar is going to end up here humping for all eternity? Fleur twiddled her mouse. Hey – I’ve got a great view of the ceiling now.
LOL. Try pressing esc again. Keep your finger down hard on it this time.
OK
.
She aimed a forefinger at the key marked Esc, and pressed long and hard.
Suddenly she was on her feet again. She and Dave were erect at last, standing proudly face to face, no longer stuck in supine ‘Missionary F’ and ‘Missionary M’ on the shiny floor of the mezzanine.
Yay – it worked!
typed Fleur, before clicking on ‘Laugh’. Then she clicked again and again.
Phew!
Dave followed suit, and suddenly there they were laughing like virtual drains in a virtual nightclub in a virtual world, and in real life, Fleur was laughing too.
When they’d finished laughing, Fleur resumed her businesslike demeanour.
Well, that was very useful, Dave,
she said.
Thank you for your time.
You’re welcome, ma’am. Glad to have been of service. I hope you got the info you needed?
Enough to know that I never want to do something as deadly dull as
that
again, Fleur wanted to say – but didn’t. She was clued-in enough about heterosexual men to know that any disparagement cast upon their masculinity – even their virtual masculinity – was a kick to the
cojones
, and Dave had done her a real favour. She did, however, draw the line at telling him the earth had moved for her.
I got the info
, she told him.
Thanks. You’re a gent.
My pleasure, ma’am.
All of a sudden Dave’s avatar went skittering like a gibbon to the other side of the mezzanine. Flirty turned to see a girl climbing the stairs. It was Ariella. She was Barbie, resplendent in hot pink hotpants, belly top, body-piercing
and glittering heels, and she had a determined look about her.
Hello, Dave
, she said, marching towards him.
Hi, Ariella.
If it were possible for an avatar to look sheepish, Dave was that avatar.
Ariella turned and glared at Flirty.
Hi, Ariella,
Flirty said.
Ariella responded by putting her hands on her hips.
Oops, thought Fleur, hoping that she hadn’t been responsible for the end of a beautiful virtual romance. She’d leave them to it.
Looks like I may be
de trop
here,
she said.
Au revoir
, Dave. Thanks again for your help.
Good luck with your article.
And as Fleur moved her cursor to cut the connection, in her headphones she heard burly Dave chuckle.
So, she thought, leaning back in her chair, it really was possible to have sex in Second Life. Clicking on her Google toolbar, she typed in ‘Sex in Second Life’. There were 25,300,000 results. Doh – hello, Fleur? Why didn’t you do that earlier instead of going to the trouble of having virtual sex with Dave?