NewBride: Bride of the Future

NewBride: Wife, of the Future

The parcel arrives on Monday, while Jay is watching daytime TV.  It’s big, up to his waist.  The cardboard is a dull brown, with Russian lettering and the silhouette of a woman in profile.  It reminds him of the opening credits to a James Bond film.  He hands the delivery guy a tenner.

    “Fancy giving me a hand?” he asks.

    The delivery guy agrees.  Together they manhandle the box through the building’s fire doors and into the lift.  It jerks upwards.

    “Is it me,” says the delivery guy, “or does every door in this place open the wrong way?”

    “Maybe it’s a hint,” says Jay.  “They’re making it easier to move my things out than in.”

    The lift shudders to a stop on the second floor.  They get the box into his hallway and lean on the wall to recover.

    The delivery guy gestures at the parcel.  “What is it, anyway?  Washing machine? Dishwasher?”

    “Something like that,” says Jay.  A smile flickers on his lips. “But more multi-use.  I’ll manage from here.  Thanks.”

    With the delivery guy gone, Jay begins to systematically, if a little clumsily, clean his flat.  He dusts, vacuums, arranges his bookshelves, washes some dishes, dries and puts them away.  That done, he showers, shaves, puts on fresh clothes.  He sprays himself with aftershave and goes into the kitchen for a knife.

    Knife in hand, he approaches the box.  He scores through the tape, pulls back the lid, and leans over to see inside.  A naked woman looks up at him.  Her body is packed in tight, knees up to her chin.  She smiles. 

    “Hello,” she says.

      “Hi,” he says.  “I’m Jay.”

    “Nice to meet you.  I am Anna.  Please excuse me a moment.”

    Her legs tense up and, with surprising strength, push forward.  The box tears open.  For a moment she lies on the floor, pale against the dark cardboard.  Next to her are three packets.  She stands and picks one up, bending from the waist.  Her buttocks are tight and smooth.  Straightening up, she turns to Jay.

    “Would you like to examine me before I dress?” she asks. 

    “No,” he says, too abruptly. Without meaning to, he gives her a quick once over.  She is shorter than him, and slim.  Brunette hair frames high cheekbones.  A barcode is tattooed on her left foot.  “Plenty of time for that later, I mean.  Besides, you look pretty good to me.”

    She smiles at this and dresses, quickly but not rushing, putting on jeans and a slim fitting tee-shirt.  It occurs to Jay that she is not wearing any underwear.  She agrees to a tour of the flat:  the kitchen, which is small but good for opening takeaways in; the lounge, with the widescreen TV.  She takes special interest in the widescreen, asks him how much it was.

    “Enough,” he tells her.

  He introduces her to his packed bookshelves.  She nods politely at his taste in literature and seems genuinely interested in the first editions.

    “They’re worth a few hundred quid each,” he says.  “At least.”

    He shows her the bedroom.  They linger there a while, Jay because he feels awkward, Anna because she is waiting for instructions.  He looks at her.  She meets his gaze and he looks away.

    “So,” he says.

    “So.”

    Both sit on the edge of the bed.  Jay leans forward a little, runs a hand over his shaved hair, turns to face her.  She waits and smiles.

      “So how exactly does this trial work?” he asks.

    “Well,” she says, “you have me for the week, until midnight on Sunday.  If you enjoy me, you can buy.”

    “Yeah, I understand that.  What I mean is, you’re basically my wife.”

    “Yes.”

    “And we can do anything a husband and wife would do?”

    She smiles her understanding and leans in to him.  The first kiss is delicate, sweet.  His arms encircle her small frame.  His fingers run through her hair.  They pull away, smiling at each other.

    “It’s going to be a fun week,” he says.

    “I think so,” she says, leaning in again.



    The next days pass in a happy blur.  Jay loves waking up with her. He buys her flowers on the way home from work.  She is happy to see him; delighted with the flowers.  They fall asleep holding each other.  She is sweet to him, happy to let him talk late into the night.

    Thursday is less happy.  When he wakes up she is in the other room, recharging.  He stays in bed, unwilling to see her like that.  Rolling onto her side of the bed, he breathes in her perfume; it is crisp and sweet.  But he knows that she sprayed it there deliberately while he pretended to sleep.  And there is no other smell, no underlying trace of a real person, of hormones or sweat. 

    “Good morning,” she says.  He looks up to see her entering the bedroom.  She stretches in the doorway so that her lilac negligee stretches taught over her breasts. 

    “Good morning,” he says, pushing the doubts from his mind.



Jay finishes early on the Friday.  He sits in the train.  The inspector works his way down the carriage, checks Jay’s monthly pass, and notices the bouquet of roses by his side.

    “For anyone special?” he asks.

    “Maybe.”

    He arrives home to the aroma of slow cooked lamb.  Anna is in the kitchen, chopping carrots.  Some envelopes are on the worktop.  Putting down the flowers, Jay sifts through them; a couple of circulars, a phone bill, and his bank statement.  They are already open.

    “Hi,” he says.

    She doesn’t turn to face him.  “Dinner will be ready soon.”

    “Okay.” He leans on the worktop a few seconds, watching her work.  “It was a tough day today.”

    No response.

    “The phone wouldn’t stop ringing,” he said. “It felt like a nightmare.  How was your day?”

    “I had to reboot,” she says. 

    “I asked you not to talk about that.  I don’t want reminding that...” he pauses, looks for the right words.  “You know.”

    She keeps working on the carrots, her knife coming down hard, rattling the glass chopping board.  The sound fills the small kitchen.

    “Are you listening?” he asks.

    “Yes,” she says.  The knife gains speed and force.  Several pieces of carrot fall to the floor.  One rolls towards him, spins, and stops at his feet.

      “Careful, Anna.  Jesus!”

    She lets go of the knife and grips at the worktop with both hands.  Head down, she seems to be crying. A shudder runs through her.  Jay comes up behind and tries to put his arms around her.  She shrugs him off.

    “It’s okay,” he says.  “I’m not angry.  I just don’t like reminding, that’s all.”  He tries to hug her again.  This time she lets him.  Her body sags back into his.

    “But you need reminding!” she says.  “The trial ends midnight Sunday, and I saw your bank balance.  If that’s all your money then...”  She doesn’t finish the thought.  Jay is amazed to hear genuine fear in her voice.

    “Hey,” he says.  “Hey.  Don’t worry about that.  I can get the money.”

    “How?”

    “I’ve already figured everything out.  I’m taking my first editions to a dealer tomorrow.  And I’ve got another account, ready to dip into.”

    “And that will be enough?” she asks.

    He turns her round to face him.  Her eyes are surprisingly clear, her face dry. The sight makes him shiver.  Pulling her head to his chest, he says:

    “If not then I guess we’ll have to get used to watching a smaller TV.”

    Anna gives him a quick squeeze and looks up, smiling.  She notices the roses on the worktop.

    “Thank-you, Jason.”

    “Any time.  So can we enjoy the rest of the weekend?”

    “Of course we can,” she says.  “Are those flowers for me?”



Saturday comes and goes.  It sees the television disappear, along with Jay’s most valuable books.  Anna is more excited than Jay has seen her.  She reminds him of his sister an hour before her first big birthday party.  He accepts her affection awkwardly, finds himself constantly kissing the top of her head.

    On Sunday they sit down to a late dinner.  A single red candle flickers between them, the only light in the room.  Anna raises her wine glass.

    “A toast! To the end of the trial.”

    “To the end,” says Jay.  They clink glasses.

    “I really appreciate what you have sacrificed for me.” She gestures at the TV and the bookshelves.  “I know they meant a lot to you.”

    “Life is more important than things,” says Jay.  He doesn’t quite meet her eye as he speaks, can’t help looking at the gaps between his books.

    “I’m glad you think so,” she says.  She grins at him in the candlelight.  “Shall we celebrate life in the bedroom?  It would be a perfect end to the week.”

    “Indeed it would.”

    Anna is as compliant as ever in the bedroom.  She whispers in his ear, pants and moans when it gets going, her face becomes flushed.  But she doesn’t sweat.  Her skin remains cool to the touch. 

    Afterwards, she falls asleep in his arms.  Jay watches her face and gently kisses her.  He glances at the clock.  Almost midnight.

    “Sorry, old thing,” he murmurs.

    He eases her head from his chest and onto her pillow.  Turning his back to her, he closes his eyes.

    A minute after midnight, Anna stirs.  He doesn’t move, makes his breathing deep and even.  He feels her leave the bed.  The door clicks closed behind her.  Jay keeps still and, after a few hours, manages to sleep.

    He wakes up alone.  Anna is gone.  He rolls over and buries his nose in her pillow.  There is still a faint trace of her perfume.

    “It was the smell,” he says to himself.  Until now he never realised how important a woman’s scent is to him, how much he misses it.

    Jay gets up and goes to work as usual.  That evening he takes his books and TV from the building’s storage room and puts them back in place, fingering the spines of the books, checking the picture on the TV.  Afterwards he checks his emails.  There’s a welcome message from the new dating site he looked up at work, and one from NewBride.com asking why he has chosen not to extend Anna’s trial.

    He deletes the NewBride email without replying, turns off the computer, and makes himself a quick dinner.  As he sits down to his meal, he tells himself there is no need for guilt.  No smell, no soul, he tells himself.  No, he definitely doesn’t have to feel guilty about Anna, about the trial.