REJOIN | ✔️

Chapter Five

The answer was yes. Yes, it could. I was sat in the living room of some stranger's house, having tea and biscuits with his grandmother.

Within the first half an hour, I'd learned the man was Remy. I should have guessed, but my brain was clearly working so sluggishly that day that I hadn't put two and two together.

The amount of surprise I'd felt when he'd introduced himself was a little embarrassing. Perhaps it should have been obvious to begin with. It only clicked after I'd had time to process what had happened outside, the bandage wrapped around my hand a stinging reminder. A few of the paint splinters had been pushed so deep they wouldn't come out. I'd be scarred for life. Okay, probably until like, next Tuesday, but still.

I'd also learned that Remy really was tall. He stood at 6ft1, making him a whole foot taller than me. At least his grandmother was small too so I didn't feel entirely out of place. It made me feel better having someone nearby that understood only feeling tall around toddlers.

His grandmother, Beatrice, really was tiny, mainly due to the fact she had a bit of a hunchback from old age. Her breathy voice was thickly accented with a French twang and she had the kindest face I'd ever seen, lined with years of knowledge and laughter. Sometimes she spoke so quickly it was hard to catch everything she was saying, but we talked about rejoinings over Twinings Extra Strong and custard creams.

At least they had the good stuff.

Beatrice told me all about how she was widowed a long time ago in Marseille and hadn't remarried. She had been into J. Caw to get matched already and whilst she did have the gene, she'd found out her match had passed away of natural causes before they could get permission to regenerate or to share their information.

I'd finally read Clara's pamphlet and learnt that J. Caw checked DNA samples every weekday to see if anyone had passed on and needed regeneration. But if someone had been gone more than seven days, J. Caw wouldn't regenerate. Apparently their soul moves on after that point.

Beatrice had taken it as a sign to simply live out the rest of her days and die naturally too. She'd signed a Do Not Regenerate order the very same day before leaving the clinic.

I got the courage to ask her why and she shifted under the pile of blankets on her armchair to get a better look at me, her cloudy eyes searching my face.

"I've had my great love, ma chérie. I'll live and love by God, just as I'll die by God in the end... as my Henri did all those years ago." She said his name like 'on-ree', with so much love in her voice still I wondered if Henri hadn't been her soulmate after all. Some lucky people stumble across their matches without the need for clinical intervention. "I don't know that I trust all this science nonsense anyway, we were made to live and die."

Beatrice hacked a cough into her closed fist, so forcefully I wondered where all the energy had come from. Since my Achilles' heel has always been sweet maternal figures, I felt strangely attached to this woman already. I fluttered my hands, unsure what to do.

Remy emerged from the kitchen carrying a glass of water. He squatted beside her to help her drink, handing her a small mountain of pills. "Maybe if you stopped smoking, hey, Grandmère?"

Almost as if on cue, Beatrice produced a packet of foreign cigarettes and a heavy metal Zippo lighter from underneath the topmost blanket. "Help me to the porch, mon petit chou," she requested feebly, patting his cheek.

I'll admit first-hand that I failed French before dropping it completely, but doesn't 'chou' mean 'cabbage'? I could have sworn she'd called him her little cabbage.

"You know I only help you because I know you'd kill yourself trying to get there on your own," he said, disapproval thick in his tone.

She rolled her eyes with a scoff, saying something in French that I didn't catch. Remy half laughed and half sighed though so he must have understood.