The Information Junkie by Roderick Leyland Page B

just a skeleton held together by cartilage until that, too, gave way. I was now looking at a heap of bones until they, too, disintegrated and became a pile of white dust. At the end I was looking down on a mound of white powder in a bleached room.
    Now, buddies, this is not the story you anticipated. This is not the ending you were expecting. But what other ending could there be, but the truth...? Cybernurse was an obvious middle-age fantasy but Ffion I adored. I couldn't get Ffion out of my mind or out of my body. She was there at my flat door with torrents of red hair, waving me in. She was almost saying, Welcome home, Charlie. Everything's going to be all right. But as soon as she'd greeted me, I turned and she'd gone.
    I couldn't see into the car park to check if Martin's car was still there. Somehow I had got home and had driven myself part of the way. So, I thought back to Ffion: Welsh, rose-red, the colour of foxgloves. And from foxgloves derives digitalis: a stimulant of the heart. Poison. A very toxic drug.
    In the distance, very faintly, I sensed someone coming up to me—or him, or it—sitting in a chair, and laying down a cup of coffee. It probably went on to the mouse mat but I'm not sure. There was no X&O note. I'm not even sure that the person sitting was me. I don't know who laid down the coffee, but whoever it was broke a rule. I know it was a woman because I could smell her, and she broke the rule by speaking. She put two hands on my/his/its shoulder, brought her mouth close to his/its left ear and said,
    'Careful. Don't overdo it.'
    In section one Charlie said he was getting older, said he was getting wiser. As an assurance of that a machine is switched off, something powers down without the data having been saved. And whoever it was that was told not to overdo it has taken notice of the advice. He has powered down, he has switched off. The person, whoever he is, picks up the coffee, walks downstairs and outside where he sees green grass. He looks up to see blue sky and clouds. High up a jet leaves a vapour trail. Beyond that the vast blueness of the sky; beyond that an even vaster unknown; behind which an infinite vastness.
     
     

 
    8
     
    Darling, you've asked me to collate your notes while you're away. Thank you for trusting me. Sweetheart, of course I understand why you went. I was surprised, though, when you said Romney Marsh—sounds damp. Desolate. And that power station—promise me you won't go too close.
    So, you thought it might be fun if I did your acknowledgements. Wouldn't it be better to weave them into the text? Only you can make that decision. I've found all your bits and pieces and loved the paper-chase—it was fun searching for them. I think I've got them all: some on paper, several on floppy disc, others on hard disc, even found that one in the answering machine on the other side of the tape. Who's a clever boy? I'll rearrange your particles when you come home.
    I do love you, Charlie. Don't always understand you but do adore you. Sweetheart, I'll always be here.
    Difficult for me to find the right tone for this; reminds me of when I was working for Allied Chemcorp Inc., writing somebody else's words. Anyway, here goes:
    You say you were influenced by Christopher Priest's The Affirmation and two of B. S. Johnson's works: his novel Christy Malry's Own Double Entry , his short piece Everyone Knows Somebody Who's Dead . You also want to touch your cap to Anthony Burgess for his narrative style in A Clockwork Orange and for two scenes in particular from Tremor of Intent . So that leaves Martin Amis; you've also listed: James Joyce, V. Woolf and the Big Bad Wolf! Darling, you can't credit the Big Bad Wolf!!!
    I really don't know how to bring this all together, baby, but I'll try. I'll do a few different versions and then just leave them on a floppy for you. See what you think when you get back. Hope you're okay. Is there any real marsh there? Sounds cold: Frontiersville.
    I'm still