Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by P.Z. Reizin Ltd.
Cover art and design by Donna Cheng. Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First published in 2020 by Sphere in the United Kingdom.
First U.S. edition: June 2020
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2019957970
ISBN: 978-1-5387-2698-3 (hardcover), 978-1-5387-2696-9 (ebook)
E3-20200415-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Zero
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Acknowledgments
Discover More
About the Author
Also by P.Z. Reizin
For R. And the other R.
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You must have your heart on fire and your brain on ice.
V.I. Lenin
zero
There was a boy at work, a baby researcher called Dylan—don’t bother remembering his name because I won’t be mentioning it again—this Dylan probably quite liked me because he kept leaving sticky notes on my computer. Quotes and sayings, mostly. The latest was: If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got. I thought it might be his way of asking me out.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen—he was about twelve—but the phrase stuck in my head and it must have played a part in why I found myself sitting in a bar in Soho listening (or rather not listening) to a boy called Giles drone on about Brexit while I was thinking about my fridge.
Specifically, I was trying to remember what was in it. Whether there was food, or if I’d have to stop at Kong’s Kitchen on the way home. I was pretty sure there was a pizza deep down in the freezing compartment, but how long had it been there?
Could pizza even go off?
“… so that’s why the European Union will inevitably split into an inner circle of member countries and an outer circle of more loosely affiliated…”
Everything about Giles on the website was unpromising except his profile picture. Oxford graduate (brainbox), worked at an economic policy institute (yawn), hobbies included cycling and bell-ringing (say no more). But the photo was that of a bookishly handsome young man with a twinkle in his eye. My head said: Don’t. Swipe. Right. He’s so not for you (bell-ringing, FFS!!). But then a stupid little voice piped up: If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got!
So I swiped. And what I got was an extended lecture about “Eurocentrism,” which was infuriating because I could have been at home catching up with the Realm of Kingdoms boxset.
It was as if he’d rather listen to himself than to me (the story of my day in TV-land failed to enthrall, apparently).
He was quite easy on the eye, to be fair, but you could have marketed the verbals to the insomniac community.
Were there sausages?
There certainly had been sausages.
“… and then there’s the whole story of what’s been happening on the European money markets, which is fascinating…”
This was a very discouraging thing to hear, because Giles was surely good for at least twenty minutes on effing EuroDollar futures, whatever they may be. (Note to self: Always, always do what you’ve always done. Comfort zones are called that for a reason: They’re comfortable!)
Every article I’ve ever read about internet dating has said: Have an exit plan. A face-saving way of bailing out if you need to cut it short for any reason (e.g., the other party is the human equivalent of a bottle of Nembutal). So where was mine?
Giles, I knew it, was just getting warmed up. A small smile appeared on his face as he paused to consider which route to take through the arse-aching byways of European monetary…
Fuck, had my eyes just closed?!
Had I in fact lapsed into a micro-sleep?
That stuff about endogenous growth theory was some powerful sedative.
Well. Anyway. There was cheese.
There was almost certainly cheese.
And frozen bagels.
Having said that, Kong’s Kitchen did an excellent Emperor Chicken, Pea Shoots and Singapore Noodles.
For no reason at all, a rhyme appeared in my head.
If mist there be on Beeston Peak
Be plastic macs for rest of week.
Actually, I could guess the reason; it came from a long-ago family holiday in north Norfolk when I was really, really—catatonically—bored.
And then I was saved.
An alert on the mobile from my smart fridge. A list of stuff “we” were running low on; a reminder that “we’ve” been out of milk for two days; plus something about an old tub of potato salad that was “developing spores, Daisy!”
It was like the fridge had come to my rescue!
“My flatmate,” I told Giles. (I didn’t have one.) “She needs more meds from the chemist. She’s got flu. I ought to be heading back. It’s been…”
I couldn’t think of a word to describe the evening that wasn’t a downright lie or a synonym for narcoleptic.
We brushed cheekbones. “I hope I haven’t been too dull,”
