‘There’s a promotion at work I’d like to apply for,’ she began nervously. ‘But I don’t know if I’m the right person for it.’
‘Okay, do you have the necessary qualifications or experience?’
‘Yes, I stepped in for my boss for five months when she went on maternity leave.’
‘So today is more about finding your confidence to apply for the role and to prepare for your interview performance?’The avatar nodded. ‘They’re certainly things I can help you work on today.’
Within thirty minutes, Charlie had used his on-site training and experience from the programme to capitalise on his client’s strengths, eliminate her limiting beliefs and build her morale. It was no mean feat for him, someone who no longer felt anything, let alone empathy for his clients.
Two weeks into his coaching job and Charlie had grown accustomed to spending most of his working day in a world where three-dimensional images and avatars were the norm. While this was a new and expanding sector, it had a shelf-life. Everything from the team’s advice to the inflection of their tone was being recorded and studied by Artificial Intelligence’s neural networks with a view to eventually replacing humans altogether.
Removing his headset, he blinked hard to adjust his sight to the daylight of the open-plan office. He estimated there were eighty or so people surrounding him, each in their booths, answering and making prearranged calls to impart their wisdom on a wide range of subjects. He made his way towards a desk across the room and tapped twice on the bridge of Milo’s headset. Milo offered him a thumbs up so Charlie made his way towards the canteen. By the time he’d chosen a table and poured two mugs of tea, his colleague had joined him.
‘How’s your head?’ Charlie began, pushing one towards him.
‘Pounding like a jackhammer after last night,’ Milo replied. ‘Yours?’
‘Same,’ Charlie lied. While out with the football team he’d joined, each vodka and Coke he’d purchased had actually been without the vodka. And he’d surreptitiously poured away those bought for him when no one was looking. ‘It was a good night, though, thanks for inviting me. Are you having a quiet one tonight?’
‘Yeah, deffo, mate.’
On Charlie’s first day of training, Milo had taken him under his wing when he spied the retro Pearl Jam T-shirt Charlie wore. He praised him for his good musical taste but Charlie didn’t want to admit he’d never heard of the band and that it was one of La Maison du Court’s personal shoppers who’d chosen it for him.
The two men worked within the same section and soon slipped into a routine of calling for one another during breaks and lunchtimes. Upstairs in the canteen, they’d sit and chat about football scores and old Marvel movies or take advantage of retro console gaming machines where they’d battle it out in long-forgotten games such as Grand Theft Auto and Call of Duty.
Charlie swiftly had Milo pegged as the gregarious type, and adapted his own personality to form an alliance with him. He used his new friend to replicate the social life he’d once invested so much time in back in Portsmouth. When colleagues came over to chat to Milo, he’d invariably introduce them to Charlie and within the fortnight, he’d tagged along to a birthday meal and a house party, and had joined a football team. In carving out a new life for himself, he was accomplishing all he had set out to do when he’d said goodbye to the first. At least in theory.
Because in reality, Charlie was struggling. The happiness he was supposed to be experiencing with this group just wasn’t there. It wasn’t their fault; they had done nothing wrong. They were a decent, friendly bunch – in fact, they were far more hospitable than his old friends had been at the end. But Charlie wasn’t experiencing the closeness he’d expected. And it wasn’t because they lacked a shared history. There were simply no feelings of contentment or fulfilment in anything to do with this second life, not just this group of people. There was merely an acceptance of his new circumstances.
He struggled to feel fear, regret, affection, longing, anxiety or even guilt and he wondered if his inability tofully connect with others was a temporary blip, and perhaps related to the nulling of his pain receptors. Maybe that procedure alongside the operation to implant coding into his head, plus deep-rooted therapy, analysis and hypnosis, meant that his brain was overloaded. It needed time to adjust and settle into what was expected of it.
Or perhaps it was something much simpler – his subconscious wanted to distance itself from the darkness that dominated his latter years. If it wouldn’t allow him to feel, it meant he couldn’t hurt.
Surely this is a positive thing?he reasoned.I’ve wasted so much time smothered by guilt, that now I’m free of it, I should be elated. Shouldn’t I?
Charlie wanted to answer but he really couldn’t be sure. And he couldn’t muster the effort to care either.
Chapter 23
SINÉAD, EDZELL, SCOTLAND
A sheet of yellow paper was taped to the church door and the word ‘Welcome’ scrawled upon it in a red marker pen. Sinéad pushed it open and waited until she heard voices coming from a side room.
Week one in Edzell had been devoted to learning about the area and planning escape routes. By week two, Sinéad had checked out of the hotel, stopped camping outdoors and signed a six-month lease on a former farming cottage. There, she spent time adjusting to living alone and enjoying life’s simple pleasures such as hiking through the countryside, meditation, reading and the tai chi she’d practised during training. By week three, she had met some of the village’s 1,586 residents. And having built up her confidence one step at a time, now she was itching to make connections her marriage hadn’t allowed.
‘Volunteers required,’ read the note on the Edzell church noticeboard. ‘If you can help with the organising committee for the village fete, the next meeting is on Thursday, 6.45 p.m.’
The soles of Sinéad’s trainers squeaked against the parquet flooring as she entered the room, all heads turning to look at the unfamiliar arrival. A group of ten or so men and women of all ages were sitting around tables pushedtogether in an L-shaped formation. Some had been flicking through papers and folders while others typed on tablets as they discussed how the meeting was to proceed. Sinéad’s cheeks reddened as they eyed her up and down. Her hand moved as if on autopilot towards her eyelashes, before she regained control. It stopped at her chest.
‘The Pilates class is tomorrow morning, hen,’ an elderly man in large-framed glasses began.
‘Actually, I’m hoping to volunteer for the fete if you need an extra pair of hands?’ Sinéad replied. ‘I saw the poster.’
‘I’m sorry, please, come in and join us. What’s your name?’
Sinéad introduced herself and chose an empty plastic chair as a woman she placed at around two decades older than her became the first to make an introduction. ‘I’m Doon,’ she replied, her handshake as warm as her smile. It immediately put Sinéad at ease. As Doon went around the table pointing to and naming each person, Sinéad quickly assessed them all, as she had been trained to do, making snap decisions on their characters based upon their mannerisms and micro-expressions. It was a good indication of who she might trust and who to be wary of.
‘I’m not expecting you to remember all our names,’ Doon joked, but attention to detail was another by-product of Sinéad’s synaesthesia. When she learned the name of a stranger, she silently repeated it to herself in a sing-song tone and every time she saw them again, it would appear above their heads in a bright colour.
