Interzone 251 Read Online Free PDF

her. It’s far from the first time it’s happened today. She’s exquisite, a jewel cut by a master craftsman, just as she was when she was five. And I think to myself yet again how very easy it would be, if things were different… But things
aren’t
different. I’ve never felt that each of us has only one soulmate out there in the world. If anything were ever to happen to Dverna, I wouldn’t resign myself to never finding someone else to whom I’d feel equally close. But I cannot figure Lindsay as a soulmate. I love her in that almost-family way. I think she’s beautiful and wonderful and amazing, and I’m fascinated by her presence the way I’d be fascinated by the over-brightness of a jewelled automaton, and the streak of lust I have for her right now is like a guitar string being tightened too far, but she’s not the person I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with.
    None of this do I say. Instead I say, “What’re you going to tell your parents this evening?”
    “Nothing.”
    “They’ll be wanting to know, won’t they?”
    “They respect my privacy, I respect theirs.”
    “Like I can believe that.”
    She gives my hand a squeeze. We’re approaching the bright lights and the noise of Marble Arch. “Do believe me,” she says.
    And suddenly I see things from her viewpoint. Here she is, pregnant by the man she believes she’s loved ever since childhood, and he’s saying, no, it was nothing to do with me, and planning to catch a train back to the wife he never told her about…
    “Aw, hell, Lindsay…”
    I pull her into my arms, feeling her breasts against my chest, running my hands down her back to the curve of her behind, kissing her the way I’ve never kissed anyone in my life before except Dverna, holding her for an unadvisedly long moment before stepping away from her on the darkened grass.
    “I wish…” I say.
    She touches my cheek with her fingertips.
    “So do I, Nick. So do I.”

    ***

    So by the time I get home it’s nearly ten. What I’ve had is about one more expensive can of beer than I should have had during the train trip down from London to Bristol. I’m not sloshed, but it would be kind of useful to find a bed for the night. The taxi drops me off at the gate, and I give the driver an extra-large tip because…well, because of that extra beer. Dverna hates it when I drink too much. On the other hand, Dverna hates it when other women accuse me of fathering their children. I figure she’ll forgive me, just this once, the lesser crime.
    I ring the doorbell and this guy appears I’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a grey vest, too many muscles, and a lot of tattoos.
    “Yeah?”
    “Who’re you?”
    He stares at me. “David Hamilton. You?”
    I’ve had about as much strangeness as I can manage today. “Where’s Dverna?”
    “Who?”
    Someone else who’s never heard of Dverna. “My wife.”
    “Who’s there?” a voice shouts in the distance. All the while I’ve been talking with this monstrous stranger there’ve been the cries of small children in the distance.
    “Just some nutter, love!” he yells.
    A small round woman appears, rubbing her hands dry on a tea-towel.
    “I think I may have the wrong address,” I say.

    ***

    Instinct suggests I walk the couple of miles, sobering all the while, to where I used to live. The house is in the slum part of Bristol’s outskirts. I had the upstairs. An ever-enlargening family called Mulligan had the downstairs – and obviously still have. Standing in front of the place, I can hear the usual Mulligan clatter from the brightly lit downstairs. Upstairs, the windows are dark.
    I go to the downstairs door and press the bell.
    Tim Mulligan appears. He looks more like David Hamilton than I would ever dare to tell either of them.
    I am horribly, horribly lost.
    “Hey, Nick!” says Tim, reeking of cheap beer. “Ye’ve forgotten yer fackin’ key again…”
    He fishes in his pocket for his wallet, fishes in his wallet