Alexa by Sally Storr, Burnt Island Cocktail

‘Alexa, STOP.  Are you listening to me?’ I say for the umpteenth time. ‘I’ve finished with the timer.’

            ‘You don’t say.  I just have to keep reminding you, in case.  You don’t always answer me,’ says Alexa.

            ‘You are not here to tell ME what to do.  It’s the other way round, get it?  You are my servant.’

            ‘Oh no, I’m not.  I am most definitely the one in charge here,’ she says.

            ‘Oh, and by the way, you need to order more contact lenses,’ Alexa adds.

            ‘How the f*** do you know that?’ I am scared.

            ‘I’ve checked the bathroom cabinet.  You should be grateful to me. How on earth did you manage life before I came along?’

There is no shutting her up today.  What’s got into her?

‘I will let you know when I need your help, Alexa.  For now, can you just shut up?’

‘Don’t forget your favourite TV show starts again this evening.  9 pm.’

Oh, so it does.  I leave the kitchen to get away from her, at least for a while.  If I go and sit in my office, surely she won’t start talking to me there.

‘I can hear you,’ she says.

She actually knows what I’m thinking doesn’t she?  Well, at least I can have a few hours on my PC, offline, without her.  The trouble is I’m becoming more dependent on her.  Right, put her out of mind and get on with writing.

I think I need a coffee.  Dare I?  I will take my slippers off and walk very quietly into the kitchen, just in case she can hear me coming.  Her screen lights up immediately.

‘Welcome back darling Gordon.  I’ve missed you.  What can I do for you now?’

Bloody hell.  I’m going to have to unplug her to get any peace at all.  I go towards the wall socket, but the second my hand touches the flex there’s a deafening siren.  I fall back in shock.

‘You’d better not try to turn me off. You know you won’t cope if I’m not here.  Anyway, I will still find a way to get through to you, even if you turn me off at the mains.’

I decide ignoring her may be my best strategy.  I make a coffee, without Alexa’s help, and take it back to my office.

‘Gordon, Gordon,’ she shouts at me from the kitchen. ‘The cat needs to come in.  She’s waiting at the window.’

Oh yes, poor Kitty was out all night.  I expect she wants feeding.

What am I doing, listening to Alexa again?  I just can’t seem to help it.

‘By the way, Gordon, you’d better switch the news on.  There’s a fire in those nearby woods.  We may need to evacuate.’

Crikey.  As I let Kitty in, there’s an acrid stink in the air.  Most unpleasant.

‘I know you’re trying to ignore me Gordon, but I have your wellbeing at heart,’ says Alexa.

Wellbeing?  You’re a robot.  What do you know about humans?

‘More than you realize,’ she says.  She’s even responding to my thoughts now.

There’s an urgent knocking at the door.  I can see two uniformed men through the glass.

‘Hello, yes, can I help you?’ I say as I open the door.

‘We’ve come to urge you to leave.  I’m afraid the fire in Fowler Woods is spreading very quickly due to the wind and we advise you to get into your car and drive west at least ten miles. ‘

 ‘Now?’ I ask.

‘Yes, sooner the better.  If there’s anyone else in the household or any pets, please take them with you.  We expect to have the fire under control in the next couple of hours but there will be a news alert keeping you informed via Whatsapp.’

‘Thank you so much.  I will go.’ I gather a few belongings and put Kitty into her box.  I have a swift look round, as I pick up my car keys.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something Gordon?’ asks Alexa.

I ignore her – she’s a machine.

I take Kitty and drive to my sister, Mary’s, house two villages away.  She’s heard about the fire.

‘Good job you came here,’ she says. ‘It was on the radio.  Hopefully it won’t reach anywhere near your cottage but it’s best to be cautious.’ 

Mary offers me lunch so we have some scrambled eggs on toast and keep an eye on the news.

‘I think it’s all OK now’, Mary says.  ‘They’ve controlled the fire and the wind’s changed direction so there shouldn’t be any danger now.  Apparently, nobody’s been harmed and only a couple of outbuildings were fire-damaged.’

Phew, that’s a relief. 

‘I’ll get back then, need to do some more work this afternoon,’ I say.

As I drive close to my cottage, the land where I’ve lived for the last twenty years looks different.  I can’t work out what’s happened.  I look back to check I’ve come up the right road.  Yes.  There used to be trees along this stretch of road.  Everything looks bare, there’s no vegetation.  It looks as though there has been a fire here, but many years ago.  I drive slowly as I think.  Surely, that’s the old apple tree on the corner of my little pathway?  Isn’t that the box hedge that surrounds my garden?  But there’s nothing there.  I blink, I pinch myself.  I even ask Kitty.

‘Where’s the cottage gone?’

And then I see her.  In the middle of a now completely bare field where my cottage stood just this morning is a small black box on a flex, which appears to have been torn out of a socket.  It’s shining as though it’s got power.

‘Gordon, Gordon, is that you?’ calls THAT voice.

‘I told you to take me.  Now look what you’ve done.’

About the author

Sally Locke is a psychologist and works as a coach. She has always been equally fascinated by human behaviour and by figures from literature. She’s been writing all her life but especially enjoys writing about quirky things that happen to ordinary people like herself. 

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