The Marriage Act(63)



‘On one last adventure.’

She was right, he thought. If it was a choice between spending the rest of his days living alone in a one-room hostel or on the run with his wife, he knew what he was going to do.

*

As they lay together on their bed, Arthur turned to witness the sparkle in June’s eyes that first captivated him a lifetime ago.

‘Shall we get going?’ June asked, as the sun’s light began to dim.

He nodded.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Arthur replied.

Arthur lifted himself up off the bed and picked up two suitcases he had packed earlier with their clothes and toiletries. She followed him as he slowly made his way back downstairs, taking in the framed photos in the hallway for the last time. They walked through the kitchen and out into the garage where their beloved van stood before them.

‘There she is,’ beamed June. She patted the roof, opened the door and picked up the plastic bag where he had stored half her ashes. ‘Oh, come on, Artie,’ she teased, lifting it up and dangling it. ‘You could’ve put me in an urn by now.’

‘Hush or I’ll put you in next door’s cat litter tray.’

She made herself comfortable on the passenger seat and wound down the window. Then she moved her arm through it, bobbing it up and down as if caught by a breeze, before winding it up again. ‘How many miles have we done in her?’ she asked.

‘More than a hundred and fifty thousand,’ said Arthur.

‘Have you checked we’ve got enough fuel?’

‘She’s as ready for us as we are for her.’

‘Then let’s go.’

Arthur opened the boot and placed the suitcases inside. Then, from the workbench, he picked up the hosepipe and, using parcel tape, attached one end to the exhaust pipe and the other to a crack in the side window, padding the rest of the gap with an old beach towel. Finally, he climbed into the van to join June and turned on the ignition.

‘Where do you fancy going then?’ June asked as the engine chugged. ‘We never made it to Barcelona and I always wanted to climb the steps up La Sagrada Família. It looks so beautiful in photographs.’

‘Then let’s go there first.’

She reached out her hand to entwine her fingers around his. His eyes welled as he offered his wife a grin as broad as any he had given her during their lifetime together. Then he wiped the tears away and closed his eyes.

‘It’s you and me to the end, girl,’ Arthur whispered.

‘You and me,’ she repeated, and he could smell her apple blossom shampoo as she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

And together, they set off on their final adventure together.





47


Anthony




Anthony watched from the opposite side of the road as the queue outside the art deco building slowly decreased in size. Each person waiting in line was frisked by security staff then scanned with a metal and plastics detector before being allowed inside. He’d assumed Freedom for All members might be keeping a low profile after the recent arson attacks. Instead, they were united and defiant, ignoring passing vehicles that blasted their horns in support at them or hurled abuse from open windows. Fearing Government surveillance might be at work, he pulled down his baseball cap to partially obscure his face and lifted his collar up.

A little voice inside him, the one that was starting to question if he was fighting for the correct side, urged him to venture inside. He’d invested so much energy into trying to destroy FFA’s reputation, it was time he saw for himself just how deserving they were of their notoriety. He crossed the road and became one of the last people to join the line. After being scanned, he placed his phone and Smart watch inside a secure ziplocked bag and walked along a short, darkened corridor until he reached a set of fire doors. Beyond them was the middle level of an auditorium.

He hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly not vast numbers like this. At least four to five hundred people of all ages and descriptions were seated and directing their collective attention towards the stage. Anthony looked towards a giant white screen. Below it was a handful of figures sitting around a table, facing the audience. He took the nearest empty seat as the lights dipped and listened as a young woman made an emotional speech about the recent arson attacks. Guilt tore another chunk from his soul as images of the victims were shown.

A second speaker discussed how AI should never have been allowed to identify problems in marriages in the first place. ‘Artificial Intelligence Programs will never have a sense of humour,’ he began. ‘They will never appreciate art, beauty, or love. They will never feel lonely. They will never have empathy for other people, for animals, for the environment. They will never enjoy music, or cry at the drop of a hat. Those aren’t my words. It’s what AI had to say about itself – specifically a program called GPT-3 which was developed to mimic human language. When prompted by a researcher, AI wrote that its programs lack consciousness and self-awareness. That was in 2020. Even back then, AI was already warning us of its limitations. Yet it was still allowed to dictate the fate of human relationships.’

Other speakers discussed the legalities of a forthcoming protest march in London, culminating in a planned mass gathering in Kennington Park. Anthony wondered if the location was deliberate given supporters of the Chartist Movement campaigning for political reform had once gathered there for a protest for democracy in an industrial society. Almost 200 years had passed and the FFA was fighting for similar rights. History repeats itself, he thought.

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