Page 2 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
‘Not an actual robot, you numpty. You know. A chatbot. Artificial Intelligence. AI. I can type a few words into this new Kimberkoo Chat software, and it will write anything I want, at the speed of lightning. Amazing, hey? The words just appear on my screen like witchcraft, and it doesn’t cost me a penny.’ He grabbed a wadge of papers from the top of a creaky filing cabinet and slapped them on the desk with a flourish. ‘Just look at this article it wrote on the future of gum disease. It would have taken you hours to put this together, and you probably would have ballsed it up.’
Her throat tightened.Ballsed it up?She was good at writing. Wasn’t she? She snatched up the papers that he’d plonked on the desk like Exhibit A in the surprise takedown of Rosie Featherstone. Her eyes motored through the first half a page. ‘But it sounds... like a robot.’ She had to admit, it wasn’tterrible. And it was hard to write about gum disease and make it sound bubbly. But somehow, the thought of a computer program taking over from real people – impassioned, creative writers – gobbled at her insides.
How was this even happening?
‘When I write something, it’s like a gift,’ she heard herself saying. ‘From my heart to the reader’s. An expression of my soul.’
Kelvin screwed up his face. ‘It’s about periodontitis. What’s that got to do with anyone’s soul? I always did think you were a bit strange.’
Rosie gripped the sides of her chair and pushed herself to standing. ‘I amnotbloody strange! And it’s disingenuous, isn’t it? Pretending it’s written by humans and that it’s heartfelt, authentic, honest. But really, it’s just something puked out by a computer program. How is that right?’
‘Like I said, it’s just perio...’
‘But where does it stop? Next, you’ll get it to write your nan’s birthday card, or impassioned words to loved ones, or your wedding speech, if anyone ever agrees to marry you.’
‘Yep, it can do all of those things and more. They’ve got it writing novels, you know. I bet it could write those romance books you always drool over.’ He nodded to the stash of well-loved paperbacks on the shelf behind her desk, which often kept her company on a quiet lunchtime, when she wanted to escape from the world.
Rosie’s gasp could have emptied the room of air.Writing novels?That robot-worshipping stink bag. ‘Love stories should be written bypeople. Laptops can’t love. They don’t know what it feels like.’
‘Big expert on it, are you?’ He tilted his head.
From his crooked smile and dustbin teeth, she wouldn’t mind betting he was an expert on gum disease. But she wasn’t rude enough to say that. She pursed her lips.
Kelvin held up his hands. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger. Technology is better at some things than us. Artificially intelligent software taking over from mediocre writers is the future. Get over it. Go and find something you’reactuallygood at. Make yourself irreplaceable, as Beyoncé would say. Like me.’
The words caught her in the breastbone like the sharp jab of a knife. Words had power – especially when they came from the mouths of mean people. Goodness knew whethersoftwareshould be left in charge of them.
‘Anyway, I’d usually get my money’s worth and make you work your notice. But Kimberkoo Chat is quicker and better, and it doesn’t use up all my pumpkin spice or try and tart up my office with autumn-leaf bunting. You can take that crap with you, by the way.’
The painful words twisted a little deeper, even if the look on his annoying face suggested he thought he was doing her a favour.
‘And let’s face it, you always were a bit of a spare part. I mean, you’re welcome to stick around and do the cleaning, or something. The bogs are in a right old state. And I think we’ve run out of loo roll...’
Spare part? Bog roll? Rosie felt her jaw clench. She was not hanging around for any more of his verbal bottom trots. Kelvin was probably breaking all sorts of employment laws, and she was sure she had rights. But just then, she had no desire to stick around or fight to spend another excruciating minute there. He could shove his stupid job where the toilet brush didn’t shine.
She charged around her desk, scooping up her precious romance novels, and the bits and bobs she’d brought in to make the place look loved, piling them into her oversized handbag. Then with only the tiniest pang of guilt, she grabbed back her cakes, because she absolutely needed them. He could keep her cold latte.
‘I’m actually not bad at writing,’ she huffed over her shoulder as she marched towards the door. At that moment she wasn’t quite sure she believed it, but she wasn’t admitting that to a bad boss in a sweaty tracksuit. ‘And I won’t be outdone by a robot.’
Rosie stomped through the creaking doors of KJ Marketing and out onto the street, acutely aware that shehadin fact been outdone by a robot, or whatever the hell Kimberkoo Chat was.
The autumn chill hit her in the face in a way that hadn’t bothered her just minutes before. Tears were stinging her eyes, and she could barely make sense of her thoughts – but somehow, her body took over. One foot in front of the other, faster and faster until she knew she was on her way back to the flat. Her hands tore at the cupcake box, splitting it open and shoving one into her mouth to soften the blow. She didn’t care that icing was smearing around her cheeks or that she was blubbering like a two-year-old over ten wasted years, working for someone who thought she was distinctly average and would replace her in a heartbeat. She just had to get home.
Home to the safety of Cassius, who’d be quietly working at his desk, but ready to jump up and give her a big, compassionate, human-sized hug. What she wouldn’t give for one of those. Because some things could not be done better by a robot.
2
Rosie was chomping her way through her fourth cupcake by the time she realised that iced treatsprobablyweren’t the answer. But nobody could blame a girl for trying.
The cold air continued to sting her face. With her nose running and her mind racing, not even the rich colours of autumn had a hope of calming her. She was giving herself a pep talk aboutnotbeing a crummy ‘spare part’, when she turned the corner of the road they called home.
It was Cassius’s flat and had always been too flashy for her taste. It was all white and glass with too much stainless steel like somebody was about to perform an autopsy, and she’d probably never get used to everything being voice-activated. But Cassius was gorgeous in a techy-nerd kind of way, with his slightly wonky glasses and the way he got excited about the latest new digital thingamabob. And he was sweet with her. He hadn’t batted an eyelid when she’d introduced colourful throw cushions, and that robot vacuum cleaner he’d bought her was super handy, even if it wasn’t the most romantic of gestures.
But despite not being her choice of living space, their flat on Cybourne Road had been a sanctuary compared to the Regency townhouse where she’d lived with her family since her sort-of once fiancé James had died. Living with the Featherstones had been like existing in a Cheltenham version ofMade in Chelsea, with her mum Farrah and half-sister Flick casting themselves as party-girl socialites. As much as she loved them, next to those two Rosie had always felt like a gnarly pumpkin at a ball.
Rosie battled with her key in the lock of the flat’s main front door, which had never seemed to like her. ‘Here,’ Cassius would usually say, leaning in to help her and managing first time. She gave a tiny smile through her mouthful of crumbs. She just needed that hug and a day of sobbing on the couch watching reruns ofMurder, She Wrote. She’d always wanted a typewriter like Jessica Fletcher, and at leastsomebodywould never employ Artificial Intelligence to write her words.
The lock finally gave in, and Rosie shoved the door open. Maybe she’d have time to call the maintenance person, now she didn’t have a job to go to. Although Cassius would probably suggest replacing it with something eyeball-activated. She exhaled, feeling the weight of the morning’s shock still heavy on her chest. Her role at KJ Marketing hadn’t been the best of jobs, but it had beenhers. One of the few constant, stable things in her life, for ten whole years. It had seen her through her grief with losing James in that horrific, unexplained cactus accident seven years ago. Working for Kelvin had never exactly been dreamy, but having her role ripped out from under her had come as a huge, earth-wobbling shock. Maybe she was suffering with some bizarre version of Stockholm syndrome.
