The Marriage Act(47)
‘No.’
‘Might that be something that interests you? If so, I have a discount code. You never know, you could be all loved up by the end of the week if your Match has already signed up.’
‘No thank you,’ Arthur declined politely but firmly. June was the woman who had been made for him. He didn’t need his DNA testing to prove that.
‘Okay, matey. So what age bracket are we looking at here? Someone your own age? Perhaps someone a little younger? We have all kinds on the system, even undergraduates looking for a sugar daddy if that floats your boat.’
Arthur shook his head.
‘All righty. What about occupation? Would you prefer your future spouse to be working or retired?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘Full-time or part-time?’
‘Either.’
‘Widowed or divorced?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Let’s put both. Own house, own car?’
Arthur shrugged.
‘We’ll tick both boxes for that too. Good health, I assume? I mean, you don’t want to be a widow again in a hurry, do you?!’ Jax laughed, Arthur did not.
‘What about hair colour, buddy? Are you into blondes or brunettes? Or maybe dark or a natural grey?’
‘Anything.’
‘Do you like the collar and cuffs to match?’
Arthur came close to spitting out his tea.
‘I’m just pulling your leg here, buddy.’ Jax laughed again.
The more the questions continued, the more frequently Arthur flushed. Jax wanted to know everything from his preferred breast size to the acceptable number of past lovers a date might have. And Arthur didn’t escape the intimate questioning. He had to put on record any moles or skin tags, medical ailments and if he was capable of maintaining an erection without the use of medication.
‘Is this really necessary?’ Arthur asked, exasperated. He knew all the medication in the world couldn’t help him to be intimate with another woman.
‘Sorry, matey, but it’s my job to help find you Ms Right,’ Jax replied. ‘There’s no point in scrimping on the detail and wasting everyone’s time.’
When the survey was eventually complete, Arthur was as exhausted as he was relieved.
‘All righty,’ Jax said. ‘In the next five minutes, you should receive an email from me containing a selection of ladies who fit your criteria and vice versa. How does that sound, buddy?’
Arthur wanted to say it sounded like hell but he knew that he couldn’t. His lawyer had also warned that Arthur was being assessed on the openness of his answers and keenness to participate. A rating from a boy half a century younger than him could be the difference between freedom and prison.
‘Is there anything else I can help you with today, Artie?’ Jax continued.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Good to know, bruv. And the best of luck, I hope you find the woman of your dreams.’
I already had her, thought Arthur.
By the time he had returned from the kitchen with a fresh mug of tea, the envelope icon on his television was flashing. The first email was from Mr Warner, informing him that the court had accepted his guilty pleas for both fraudulent pension claims and failing to report June’s death, but with diminished responsibility. However, because he was making an effort to find a new partner, his lawyer was confident that, along with no criminal record and an exemplary career, a custodial sentence was unlikely.
Arthur turned to the spot on the sofa June had favoured and stared at it. He had been too bound by grief to bring himself to sit on that couch since her death.
‘How has it come to this, June?’ he asked aloud, but there was no response. He badly missed hearing her voice, even if it was only in his head.
But if she wasn’t going to respond after her body had been removed from their house, she was unlikely to return now he was planning to meet other women, whether he wanted to or not.
36
Anthony
Anthony closed his eyes and rested his head against the tiled wall of the shower. The four hours he had slept had been good, solid sleep, the kind he resented waking from when his alarm sounded. Despite the heat of the water bouncing off his shoulder blades, a shiver ran down his spine when his watch began to vibrate in varying lengths of frenetic bursts. The message spelled ‘priority’. He couldn’t ignore it.
‘Have you seen the news?’ the next one said.
‘No,’ he dictated quietly, hoping Jada was still asleep in the bedroom.
A moment later a video clip appeared. ‘Shower off,’ he said and ordered his watch to play. It was footage taken from a news channel.
‘Up to a dozen members of opposition party Freedom for All were killed last night in three separate arson attacks,’ a broadcaster began. ‘The properties in Old Brighton, Old Dorset and Old Nottingham were all set ablaze in what police believe to have been reprisal attacks following the death of Jem Jones. While three people escaped from an address in Old Coventry, an adult and two children are thought to have died as a result of smoke inhalation.’
The clip stopped and Anthony’s watch pulsed again.
‘The spirit of Jem Jones lives on,’ read the message. ‘Good work again.’
He didn’t move. A cold brush of air made every hair on his naked body stand upright. He may not have killed those people with his own hands, but he might as well have.