Robin's Fourth Girlfriend, Chapter Three

When Presh and Robin returned to Joe’s house there was no sign of their host, nor any of his other guests. That however made sense, since he had said earlier he was going to need his space-car. By teatime no-one was back, so the Mini-Flashes first fed the cats and then made the most of the well-stocked kitchen to load up a pair of trays for themselves.

These they solemnly carted upstairs all the way to the attic again, which seemed to be where you went in this house whenever you had something to do. Why Joe so neglected the three floors below was a mystery to both Presh and Robin, but when they passed the living-room door the latter knew something of the chill he’d felt back in the toy department. For reasons Robin couldn’t define, though his uneasiness was very real, he was glad Joe seemed to keep that one closed.

Uneasiness however was no longer quite the word for Robin once he and Presh were sitting together on the old battered couch, their tea-trays invitingly weighty on their laps, and a science fiction film of Pre-Nottingham Earth beaming from Joe’s television. The attic window was wide-open on the end of that summer day.

“It’s nothing like the movies I’m used to,” was Presh’s first comment. “Interesting, isn’t it, that the Earthlings should have made this before they’d even made interstellar contact?”

Robin supposed it was, at that. It was surprising too how much they’d managed to get right. The planetary desert on which they opened, for example, riddled with smoking potholes – there were worlds like that. So too the astro-bar and nightclub seen a little later, its clientele the least desirable of galactic rough types. Giant gleaming spaceships however looked funny to Robin, because they were crewed by humans. It had always seemed to him that the whole point of Neetra and Joe and Dean and other Earth-folk of whom he knew was they were unaccustomed to such things, although living at present among peoples such as his, for whom cosmic cruisers and star-voyages were the norm.

And if truth be told, the manmade constellations on that small TV screen weren’t absolutely holding Robin’s attention.

Of easily as much interest to him were those which twinkled about Presh’s lips, sugar-crumbs left behind from her dainty slices of Swiss roll.

“Oh, Robin, look!” she exclaimed at length. “They’re past the barrier!”

“Are you following this?” he asked, rather huskily.

Presh didn’t answer, but merely whispered again: “Past the barrier. To the place where the universe ends. Just like in the song.”

Her eyes were alight.

“It’s exactly what I was telling you, Robin, about leaders,” she went on. “Nobody trusted the one who led them there. That large Earthling still doesn’t. But all a leader ever wants to do is show us the way to a better world. For that, they’re misjudged and condemned and branded bad guys. Just for having a vision. Don’t you think we’ve found a better world today?”

Robin was taken aback by the almost pleading tone in which she addressed to him this last.

“It’s…nice,” was what he managed. “Got to say though, chap rather prefers Nottingham. Nottingham’s real, Presh. Isn’t this more like a sort of dream?”

“Yes,” she replied, patiently. “A dream of Joe’s, which he’s brought into being.”

Next moment her curly head was resting on Robin’s shoulder, and he had to admit, the press of Presh against his flank felt totes real to him.

“This has been the happiest day of my life,” said she. “I never imagined I’d share it with one of your gender. Thank you for helping me out at the toystore.”

With that, she fell asleep. Instantaneously.

Robin wasn’t far behind. He’d had a long drive and a big day, not to mention apricot jam and butter icing and a king-size toffee-flavoured yoghurt. Nevertheless his heavy-lidded eyes dwelled to the last on peaceful Presh so near to him, still sugar-speckled about the mouth, her lips slightly parted and glossed with chocolate milk.

He’d given up on trying to make out the film. Something to do with what Pre-Nottingham Earthlings had envisaged as the pulsating heart of the universe.

Robin’s final thought was that the heart of his universe was pulsating too.

Thus, neither Mini-Flash saw how it all panned out. Credits rolled, and Jerry Goldsmith played for an oblivious audience of two, feet tucked, faces touching.

Beyond the window the sky by now was deepest blue. Starships and warp-drives and distant planets had carried Presh and Robin from daylight to near-dark. Everything around them was sinking into shadow, but for a narrow strip of floor in the path of the television’s glow. Above this was the banister rail, where earlier that day Presh had proudly stood her new action figure.

There he remained, unpackaged, suave, his gun and briefcase in his hands. The attic gloomed before him, and the tall plane of window was behind.

A powerful and taciturn silhouette, outlined by night, watching.

THE END