The plane lurches and my souvenir stacks collapse, scattering paintings, movies, dishes, dolls and love notes all over the cabin. More lights flare in the cockpit, and a voice crackles on the radio.
R? Helloooo? Are you okay?
Perry’s face has gone cold, all playfulness gone. ‘Bad stuff is coming, R. Some of it’s waiting for you right outside this graveyard. You’re right, wanting change is step one, but step two is taking it. When the flood comes, I don’t want to see you dreaming your way through it. You’ve got my little girl with you now.’
Okay, you’re creeping me out. Wake up!
‘I know I didn’t deserve her,’ Perry says, his quiet murmur somehow rising above the noise. ‘She offered me everything and I pissed on it. So now it’s your turn, R. Go keep her safe. She’s a lot softer than she seems.’
God damn it, you ass**le! Wake up or I’ll f**king shoot you!
I nod. Perry nods. Then he turns to face the window and folds his arms across his chest while the controls shake wildly. The storm clouds peel apart and we are diving to Earth, hurtling directly towards the Stadium, and there they are, the infamous R and J, sitting on a blanket on the rain-soaked roof. R looks up and sees us, his eyes open wide just as we—
My eyes open wide and I blink reality into focus. I am standing in front of a small grave in an amateur cemetery. Julie’s hand is on my shoulder.
‘Are you back?’ she asks. ‘What the hell was that about?’
I clear my throat and look around. ‘Sorry. Daydreaming.’
‘God, you’re weird. Come on, I don’t want to be here any more.’ She strides briskly towards the exit.
Nora and I follow her. Nora keeps pace with me, eyeing me sideways. ‘Daydreaming?’ she asks.
I nod.
‘You were talking to yourself a little.’
I look at her.
‘Some pretty big words, too. I think I heard “miraculous”.’
I shrug.
The waterfall noise of the city rushes into our ears as the guards open the doors and we step back into the Stadium proper. The doors have barely slammed shut behind us when I feel that baby kick in my stomach again. A voice whispers, Here it comes, R. Are you ready?
‘Oh, this is lovely,’ Julie says under her breath.
There he is, marching around the street corner in front of us: Julie’s dad, General Grigio. He strides directly towards us, flanked on each side by an officer of some kind, although none of them wear traditional military attire. Their uniforms are light grey shirts and work pants, no decorations or rank insignias, just pockets and tool loops and laminated ID badges. High-calibre side arms gleam softly in their belt holsters.
‘Be cool, R,’ Julie whispers. ‘Don’t say anything, just, um . . . pretend you’re shy.’
‘Julie!’ the general calls out from an awkward distance.
‘Hi, Dad,’ Julie says.
He and his retinue stop in front of us. He gives Julie’s shoulder a quick squeeze. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. Just went to see Mom.’
His jaw muscle twitches, but he doesn’t respond. He looks at Nora, gives her a nod, then looks at me. He looks at me very hard. He pulls out a walkie-talkie. ‘Ted. The individual who slipped past you yesterday. You said it was a young man in a red tie? Tall, thin, poorly complected?’
‘Dad,’ Julie says.
The walkie squawks. The general puts it away and pulls a pair of thumb cuffs from his belt. ‘You are detained for unauthorised entry,’ he recites. ‘You will be held in—’
‘Jesus Christ, Dad.’ Julie steps forward to push his hands away. ‘What is wrong with you? He’s not an intruder, he’s visiting from Goldman Dome. And he almost died on the way here so cut him some slack on the legalities, will you?’
‘Who is he?’ the general demands.
Julie edges in front of me as if to block me from responding. ‘His name is . . . Archie – it was Archie, right?’ She glances at me and I nod. ‘He’s Nora’s new boyfriend. I just met him today.’
Nora grins and squeezes my arm. ‘Can you believe what a nice dresser he is? I didn’t think guys knew how to wear a tie any more.’
The general hesitates, then puts the cuffs away and forces a thin smile. ‘Pleased to meet you, Archie. You’re aware of course that if you want to stay any longer than three days you’ll need to register with our immigration officer.’
I nod and try to avoid eye contact, but I can’t seem to look away from his face. Although that tense dinner I witnessed in my visions couldn’t have been more than a few years ago, he looks a decade older. His skin is thin and papery. His cheek-bones protrude. His veins are green in his forehead.
One of the officers with him clears his throat. ‘So sorry to hear about Perry, Miss Cabernet. We’ll miss him very much.’ Colonel Rosso is older than Grigio but has aged more gracefully. He is short and thick, with strong arms and a muscular chest above the inevitable old-man paunch. His thin hair is wispy and white, blue eyes big and watery behind thick glasses. Julie gives him a smile that seems genuine.
‘Thanks, Rosy. So will I.’
Their exchange sounds proper but rings false, as if paddling above deep undercurrents. I suspect they have already shared a less professional moment of grief somewhere away from Grigio’s officious gaze. ‘We appreciate your condolences, Colonel Rosso,’ he says. ‘However, I’ll thank you not replace our surname when addressing my daughter, whatever such “revisions” she may have embraced.’