Almost Perfect Part 1

ALMOST PERFECT.

by James Goss

FIVE RARE TIMES THAT IANTO.

JONES SWEARS*

1. The woman is looking at her burning hands. And she's screaming. And Ianto sees what she sees.2. It's like being inside a giant was.h.i.+ng machine. The back of the ferry is wide open and water is pouring in. And the water's cold and filthy and the loading bay is turning, and Ianto is suddenly looking at a lorry. One of them is upside down. And then suddenly, it doesn't matter.3. The man is sat at a table in the restaurant. It's got a lovely view of Cardiff Bay. The food is laid out before him. The champagne is fizzing in the gla.s.s. He sits there, immaculately dressed. He is a skeleton.4. Ianto thought he wouldn't see anything more disturbing at the club. But then who paints their walls the colour of blood? And then he leans against it and realises the wall is breathing.5. It's Monday morning. The alarm goes off. Ianto wanders into the bathroom, switches on the light and...

* in no particular order

RHYS IS SUNDAY SHOPPING.

WITH THE MISSUS.

Rhys was delighted. 'Look, Gwen, I've found you an alien!'

Gwen looked up from a c.r.a.p jewellery stand. Towering over them was a street performer, covered in metal plate and body armour. Silver tendrils spilled out of the top of his head. 'Yes, love,' she said. 'If only it was that easy.'

A crowd was watching the alien, who must have been almost three metres tall. There was a grim n.o.bility about the performance a stern refusal to move or even acknowledge the shoppers. The alien had a pitch on Queen Street, just away from a man singing into a traffic cone, a cl.u.s.ter of mobile phone shops and some students handing out free samples of a new cereal bar.

A man rolled up next to the alien and opened up his stall of ties, watches and sungla.s.ses. The crowd's attention wandered slightly. Ever professional, the alien s.h.i.+fted its weight subtly, a ma.s.s of heaving tendrils drifting across from behind its head. A small child shrieked, which aroused some 'oohs'.

Rhys was entranced. Gwen giggled. 'What are you like?'

Rhys shrugged. 'Well, yeah but he's very good isn't he? Way better than the Chaplin that used to be here. I know he's made those flappy things out of an old mop, but he's done it well, hasn't he?'

'Suppose,' Gwen's eye was caught by one of the suited children working at a mobile shop. He was edging closer with leaflets and a smile. She shuddered and started to steer Rhys away by the elbow.

'Funny, isn't it?' said Rhys, not quite moving with her. This was the start of a little routine with him, as ritual as the way he licked his knife after b.u.t.tering toast. 'If he were a real alien, we'd all run screaming. But here he is, and we're all... you know... interested... but a bit bored. Not scared.'

'Yeah yeah it's an integration scheme run by the Tourist Board. Now let's go stretch a pound.'

Rhys finally moved away. And as they went, Gwen glanced back at the alien.

It winked.

1. STATUS UPDATES.

EMMA WEBSTER IS...

Emma Webster is still looking for love.

Emma Webster is watching Desperate Housewives (again!!!!) Emma Webster is looking forward to Friday.

Emma Webster is going out again!!!

Emma Webster is recovering.

Emma Webster is hating Monday.

Emma Webster is fancying the new boy.

Emma Webster is flirting.

Emma Webster is getting somewhere.

Emma Webster is going for a drink with the new boy!

Emma Webster isn't the type to kiss and tell.

Emma Webster is going for a long walk in the suns.h.i.+ne.

Emma Webster is all excited.

Emma Webster is seeing him again.

Emma Webster is unable to remember what the film was about.

Emma Webster is going out for a drink with the girls.

Emma Webster is buying a little black dress.

Emma Webster isn't sure what happened there.

Emma Webster is forgetting about the diet.

Emma Webster is avoiding him.

Emma Webster is grateful for the calls.

Emma Webster is not going to text him.

Emma Webster is thinking of getting a cat.

Emma Webster is staying in.

Emma Webster is home to the folks.

Emma Webster is bored out of her mind.

Emma Webster is sick of 'why can't you settle down like your sister?'

Emma Webster isn't afraid of the big three-oh.

Emma Webster is making a change.

EMMA WEBSTER HAS A PLAN.

FOR A BRAND NEW ME.

Emma was out jogging. Like most new plans in Emma's life it had required shopping. Shopping for lovely trainers, a nice sports bra and the d.i.n.kiest music player on the market. In pink, of course. She'd set off late, but managed to make it from Grangetown down through the Bay and off towards Penarth. It was dark, she was out of breath, her feet hurt, she kept having little breaks, and she was sweating like an old tea bag. But she had Girls Aloud in her ears and she was convinced the fat was melting off her thighs.

And that was when Emma saw the body on the beach. The street lights were bad, but it was unmistakeable. Lying on the rocks was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Emma scrambled over, her music still playing as she stood over the body. Emma had never been good with dead animals. One of her earliest memories was of the cat leaping onto her bed with a dead vole. Her reaction was similar now she just stood there, whimpering a little. She breathed really deeply, knelt down and, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her eyes shut, reached out to touch the corpse. Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, oh my G.o.d... It felt normal. A bit cold and a lot wet, but normal. Emma opened one eye. There was a chance the body wasn't dead.

Emma stood up and screamed for help, but it was Sunday night and no one was around. She didn't have her mobile it was just her, a body, and the tinny sound of 'Something Kinda Oooh' leaking from her headphones.

Emma felt for a pulse there was one. Gentle, quiet, and faint. She ran her fingers up and down the woman's neck, distracted for just a second by how... perfect it was. She struggled to remember how to do CPR. It was something to do with pressing down on the chest several times and then giving the kiss of life. But how many times to do each thing? She remembered practising at work on a dummy a weird old thing that whiffed of TCP and made a noise like a creaking bed when you pressed down on it. This was different. No noise. Just a strange wet feeling as she pushed the chest. When she tilted back the head and tried to breathe into it, a small trickle of water came out. Kissing her felt funny and must have seemed b.l.o.o.d.y weird to anyone watching. But Emma kept on pus.h.i.+ng on the chest and breathing into those full, dead lips.

It was actually quite dull, despite her rising feeling of oh G.o.d-oh G.o.d panic. She was convinced she'd done it for hours, but when she checked her watch it turned out to be a couple of minutes. And no sign of life. On TV, some hunky doctor would be brus.h.i.+ng her out of the way, yelling 'Clear!' and applying the shock pads. But this was just Emma. Alone.

With nothing but the beach and the woman, Emma started to notice things. Like the fact that the woman was wearing man's clothes. Quite a good suit, soaked through, though. She carried on pus.h.i.+ng down on the really firm chest. It all felt weird. Those cold, cold lips, kissing a corpse. How had the woman even got here? All that beauty and here she was, poor thing, dead on a beach. She could only be in her mid twenties.

Eventually, she spread the woman out and sat back on her heels, exhausted. She'd tried to save a life and she'd failed. The wind was getting up, and the waves were slapping at the rocks around them. Everything smelt of oil and rotting seaweed. Emma felt colder than she'd ever felt before.

It was then that she noticed the object clutched in the woman's hand. About the size of an iPod, but like a flat snowglobe, glowing slightly. Curious, Emma took it from the woman's grasp and held it up to the light it was filled with a liquid that was a complicated blue that formed dancing shapes. As she looked into the globe she realised the shapes were straight lines and right angles and knotted cubes and so many shapes and colours and more shapes and- Hey there, baby doll.

'What?' Emma gasped. She spun round. There was no one else on the beach with her. No one, anywhere. Even her music was silent. She was utterly alone. But still she was breathing quickly with shock.

Oi! I am speaking to you, darlin'.

The voice was female, strong, northern and very definitely in her head.

I'm the machine.

This time there was a sigh. It was the long-suffering sigh that gave it away.

'Cheryl?' Emma gulped. What was Cheryl from Girls Aloud doing in her head?

Yeah. Right. Finally! I'm merely a representation of the machine's mental interface, babe. You just listen up and Cheryl will give you an exclusive.

'This machine?' Emma shook it. Her head filled with a shriek.

Hold on there, sister! That will not happen again! Understand? You get me, you stupid little b.i.t.c.h?

'Oi!' Emma was outraged. 'Why are you in my head? What are you?'

The voice seemed calmer, more soothing.

Well now. This will take some explaining. Shall we go somewhere warm and snug so we can get to know each other better?

'What about the body I found y-?' Emma didn't even get to finish the sentence.

Oh, don't worry about that that was just a civilian. It brought me ash.o.r.e. It'll wake up in a bit, go home, get some kip, forget all this happened. Now come on let's get back to your charming one-bedroom flat in Grangetown with an eighty-five per cent mortgage and talk about the future. Let's just say there's a lot in it for you, Emma darling.

'What?' Cheryl had an odd way of speaking, thought Emma.

Hey, sorry, babe. It's just my way. Forgive me, yeah? Cheryl is your favourite, isn't she? Would you prefer if I was Nicola?

Emma thought about it. 'No,' she said.

So, Emma found herself turning away from the woman's body and walking off the beach and back to her flat. Oddly, neither she nor the machine spoke to each other on the way although the voice was humming along to the tune on her iPod. Thinking about it, Emma couldn't remember much about the walk. But suddenly there she was, sat on her sofa, staring at her coffee table which contained the machine and a mug of her favourite instant hot chocolate (Midnight Orange Murmur, since you ask).

Well now, this is cosy.

'Yeah,' said Emma, feeling a touch defensive.

But it could be better. Don't yer think? There was something about the voice it was all caring and bright, but there was a real touch of steel behind it. But perhaps that was just Cheryl. There was something about the voice it was all caring and bright, but there was a real touch of steel behind it. But perhaps that was just Cheryl. And that's what I'm here for. Let's just say I'm a real dream machine, sweetheart And that's what I'm here for. Let's just say I'm a real dream machine, sweetheart.

'So, you're like a genie? And I get three wishes?'

A tinkle of laughter. Oh, Emma, honey, you get waaaaay more than three wishes. I just have to look into your mind and I can give you what you want. I can make you what you've always dreamed of. Taller, thinner, better hair. Darling, there's no limit to what you can achieve with knockout t.i.ts and a nice smile Oh, Emma, honey, you get waaaaay more than three wishes. I just have to look into your mind and I can give you what you want. I can make you what you've always dreamed of. Taller, thinner, better hair. Darling, there's no limit to what you can achieve with knockout t.i.ts and a nice smile.

Emma reached out a trembling hand for her mug and took an uncertain sip of her chocolate. There was an excited fluttering in her stomach. 'Really? Does it hurt? How much does it cost?'

Ah, that's the best bit. There's no cost. I'm just chuffed to be able to help. And it's started already. Want to see what you can look like? Go on girl take a butcher's in the mirror.

Emma stood up and crossed to the wicker-framed lounge mirror. And she dropped her mug in shock. She bolted off to the kitchen and returned with a damp cloth. She scrubbed away at the carpet, staring at herself in the mirror and repeating over and over 'oh my G.o.d oh my G.o.d oh my G.o.d oh my G.o.d' while the voice of Cheryl giggled delightedly in her head.

When she was eventually satisfied that there wouldn't be a stain, she stood up, nervously straightening out her jogging trousers and staring at herself. She turned sideways and then sneaked a look at her b.u.m.

And, finally, Emma laughed. She was suddenly gorgeous. Her figure was firmer, taller, and her eyes bluer and yet she was still herself. She felt warm and confident and brilliant, and her skin was radiant.

And that, Em, is just the start of what we can do. We're gonna have such a laugh. Things are going to be just perfect.

GWEN IS LATE FOR WORK.

Gwen was late for reasons that bored even her. She briefly toyed with an apology to Jack that took in Rhys's eccentric approach to whites-only laundry, but figured 'life is too, too short'. So she slumped down at her desk, grabbed a bite of her Greggs pastry thing, logged in to the baffling swirl of her Torchwood desktop, and then noticed the New And Upsetting Thing.

'Er, h.e.l.lo!' she said, grinning broadly at the stunning woman tidying a workstation.

The woman looked up briefly, smiled weakly, and went back to watering the plants.