Page 64 of Chaos Theory
‘Had to drive to the next town. They’ve a big supermarket.’
I accept the peppermint tea with gratitude. ‘You’re an angel.’
‘How’s the patient?’ He peeks over my shoulder in the doorway.
‘He’s still in sleep mode, doing a full recharge. So we won’t really know if he’s fully functional until he wakes up, but’ – I open the door fully – ‘come in and see for yourself. We made some changes to his body.’
Matthew is packing away his tools in the corner of the room. ‘I better go and check in on Lizzie,’ he says. ‘I’ll leave ye to it. Come and find me when you’ve news.’
Shane walks over to Kobi, propped up in his portable sleep pod in the middle of the room. Kobi’s upper half looks the same, just a little dulled and grimy.
‘Um, where are his legs?’ he asks.
I point to the corner of the room, where Kobi’s legs are standing somewhat awkwardly by themselves, like a wallflower at a disco.
‘They’ve been nothing but trouble since day one,’ I say brightly. ‘They had to go. I’ve gone old-school instead.’
I point to Kobi’s lower half, which now looks pleasingly steampunk, with a hint of patriotism. His lower section is hard green plastic with vertical leather strips at intervals, giving a green-and-black-stripes effect. It’s amazing the uses you can findfor an old lawnmower. Attached on either side are two large wheels.
‘Are those parts from the wheelchair?’ Shane asks.
I nod. ‘And…’ I open one of the leather strips to reveal a series of smaller, hidden wheels within, of varying sizes and colours, including several shades of pink. Lizzie’s old roller skates are about to get a new lease of life.
The last two hours have been frenetic. Seeing that toy space monkey reminded me that all the trouble started when Kobi tried to walk on the other-worldly Burren rocks. My dad loved cycling. ‘Four wheels good, two wheels better,’ he used to say. I talked to Matthew about my idea, and between us we were able to come up with a plan. Matthew said it was ‘recycling at its best’. I’m not sure what Josh will say, but I couldn’t just leave Kobi immobilised, with neither legs nor wheelchair. It didn’t seem right.
‘I know it looks a bit weird,’ I say with a smile. ‘Kobi really came into himself in that chair somehow. And boy, did he move fast when he needed to. So I reckoned he might like to retain that speed advantage. And also, to have a reminder of what he did.’
I open a little panel on the side of Kobi’s torso. ‘Look, I’ll show you how it works. So, the large wheels will be slightly raised up most of the time, just adding some extra balance – you know, like stabilisers on a bike. But then, if he needs to go really fast, he can activate this function here to mechanically pop the wheels down to the ground, and boom – he can bomb along really fast. We’ve added a gentle braking mechanism – here – and an emergency stop. Really, he’s almost half bicycle now.’
‘Maeve, have you just reinvented the wheel?’ Shane laughs. ‘This is amazing.’
He circles Kobi, and when he gets back to his starting point, he suddenly lifts me up by the hips and does a half-turn with me, placing me down lightly. ‘You’re amazing,’ he says, facing me.
I laugh too. ‘Put me down!’ I say, even though I’m already down. ‘But do you think he’ll like it?’
‘I think he’ll love it!’ His hands are still on my hips.
I look up at him and we lock eyes. We’re standing very close to each other. My breathing gets shallow. Adrenaline is still buzzing through me. My overall suddenly feels too warm. I want to unzip it, but my limbs are so heavy that I can’t seem to move a muscle. I can’t remember what I was about to say.
Kobi emits a mild electrical sound. I break away from Shane, clear my throat. ‘Let’s not jinx it. Let’s see how he is when he wakes up, after a full battery charge.’
‘Maeve,’ he says. ‘Why can’t we just?—’
But I cut him off. ‘Thanks so much for the tea.’ I get the cup from the dresser and sit on the edge of the bed. ‘It could be a while until he wakes up.’
‘I’ll wait with you.’ His tone is flat.
‘Sure,’ I say.
He sits on the floor at my feet, cross-legged. I know he wants something from me, something I can’t give him. He leans his back against the bed. His Nikes have mud on them.
‘Sorry about your shoes,’ I say. ‘Farm life.’
‘I don’t care about the shoes.’
I hold my breath, then exhale. A memory is coming to me.
‘Let me tell you a funny story about shoes.’
