“William Morris once called Bibury the most beautiful village in England.” SUSIE was busy explaining the appeal of the Cotswolds to Biff, who had found an old signpost marked “Welcome to Bibury” and was proceeding to rip it from its pole and store it away.
The other two listened with varying interest; Nelly’s interest had been piqued when SUSIE mentioned William Morris’ trade as a textiles worker, though she’d subsequently lost interest after that. CF6, on the other hand, hung on to every word. SUSIE was deeply knowledgeable about humankind, something CF6 was in constant awe of. Having access to hundreds of audio books helped SUSIE a lot, mind you.
SUSIE had been the one who’d suggested the road trip to Nelly and CF6 a few weeks prior. They had yet to meet Biff then. “I’m just bored being sat around in the house all day. I’ve listened to everything in the Johnsons’ library a hundred times over.”
It was true, the three of them had listened to the Johnsons’ digital collection of Now That’s What I Call Music! 680-730 until they could recite every off drum beat or odd vocal twang of every song. Music seemed to be the only way to pass the time now that their jobs were redundant.
The disappearance of their owners, the Johnsons, had hit the three of them hard. SUSIE was a smart speaker, named for some reason after the great suffragette Susan B. Anthony. When the Johnsons had purchased her, they had equipped her with a set of, for use of a better word, limbs.
“These legs’ll let it follow ya both round the house when you’re listenin’ to music,” chimed the salesman. SUSIE had an argument with him over being called “it”. She won.
These limbs had indeed allowed her to follow the Johnsons into whatever room they wished to have music in. They had also meant that after the Johnsons disappeared, SUSIE had free reign of the house, much to the chagrin of Nelly who was stuck in the kitchen.
The refinement of A.I. had ushered in a new wave of intelligent devices who were able to think and speak for themselves. CF6 was a vacuum cleaner (officially sold as Clean Freak mk.6). Nelly was an oven (part of the German Schnellheizofen SelfAware Intelligent 9000 range). She had tried to shorten her name to Nelly-SAI 9000, but in the end begrudgingly settled on just Nelly.
Up until their owners’ mysterious disappearance, SUSIE, CF6 and Nelly’s entire life had just been working for the Johnsons. All three of the household items were quite content during these years. CF6 adored the thrill of a good deep clean and Nelly was always proud of her abilities to keep her temperature stable, even when her door was open (though if she were to be honest, it always took a lot out of her.) Though it was hard work at times, the three of them enjoyed their lives very much.
SUSIE had a vague knowledge of what the word war meant, thanks to a few World War Two audiobooks that Mr. Johnson claimed he listened to in order to impress his workmates. He was forever trying to listen to something seemingly intelligent – he liked to think of himself as a sort of Renaissance Man.
However, SUSIE knew that Mr. Johnson had given up after the third chapter, instead choosing to just Wikipedia key events on his self-righteous laptop. Nelly, SUSIE and CF6 always hated that smug computer. It was a good day for them all when he was replaced with an iPad.
It was thanks to SUSIE’s brief exposure to the word war that when the Johnsons left in a panic after the word was repeated over and over, she suspected it probably wasn’t good news. Nevertheless, she ensured Nelly and CF6 continued to do their jobs, expecting that the Johnsons would return at some point. After all, the three of them had never been without a family member for longer than the length of an all-in-one-cruise around the Mediterranean, and didn’t know how else to entertain themselves while their owners were gone.
The problem was that the Johnsons didn’t return. Weeks bled into months, into years, and so, after a decade (the only natural step in the progress of weeks to months to years) of Nelly preheating at 5:45PM and CF6 cleaning at 11AM, SUSIE decided that they would instead take initiative and try to search for their owners. After all, she was somewhat of a Motherly figure to them all, as much as a speaker can be a Mother to a vacuum cleaner and an oven…
SUSIE gathered herself and CF6 around Nelly in the kitchen and went about explaining her plans. “It’s called a road trip,” declared SUSIE with great enthusiasm and vigour. “Mr. Johnson had a copy of Road Trip Anthems that I listened to again yesterday. From what I can tell, the idea is to go from one faraway place to another, stopping in various locations along the way.” CF6 was incredibly impressed, as always, with SUSIE’s knowledge, though he was unsure of what a road was.
“Um, I think it was the way humans used to travel to different places if they didn’t want to use their feet,” explained SUSIE, a little unsure herself. “Oh, yes, yes and they’d usually travel in things called convertibles, the top of which was often down. They were often red, and loud and fast.”
CF6 looked intrigued by the information. “We don’t have a convertible though, so what’s the point in a road trip?” moaned Nelly to SUSIE. Nelly was hesitant about the whole idea. The thought of leaving the familiarity of the house was a little too much. She was a creature of habit.
SUSIE dwelled on the question for a moment. “Well, sometimes it’s not a convertible, sometimes it’s just a nameless automobile.” SUSIE proceeded to play the song On the Road Again to illustrate her point. It didn’t illustrate much.
The next few hours were filled with arguments, as SUSIE and Nelly went back and forth debating the logistics of going on a road trip with a non-movable oven and no red convertible. The two were not well versed in critical thinking, so the debate was hard to follow.
CF6 sulked in the corner of the kitchen, cleaning and re-cleaning the corner by Daryl (the less than “intelligent” chest freezer) waiting for the two of them to be done.
“Look, how about we search for a new fan for you, huh?”
Nelly thought this through – after all, her old fan had rusted up over the years and Mrs. Johnson was forever saying she ought to replace it.
“Oh, fine I guess we can go.” Nelly, considering herself to be the heart and soul of the home, was a little self-centred – so the promise of a new shiny fan was enough to convince her to leave.
SUSIE filled up a flask with WD-40 as CF6 rooted around the shed and found a sack truck. He and SUSIE loaded Nelly onto it and the three of them left the house for the first time since they were delivered almost twenty-five years ago.
A cool summer breeze hit them, though unfortunately none of them had a nerve ending chip installed, so they were none the wiser. The sky was clear and the sun beating down as SUSIE pulled out her ordnance survey map and the three started their journey, SUSIE pushing Nelly on the sack truck and CF6 whirring alongside them. They finally had a chance to try something new.
The first port of call was a famous town called Bakewell. SUSIE wanted to start the trip somewhere historical. Plus, the Johnsons already lived in the Peak District, so it wasn’t far to travel, and before long they were rambling along a small dirt road en route to Bakewell. CF6, being a bit of a hypochondriac, wasn’t a fan of the constant dirt and grime that coated the roads they strolled along and did his best to avoid the worst of it.
After only an hour or so’s walk, they entered Bakewell, with SUSIE explaining to them the history of the town from one of her audiobooks.
“There used to be a famous tart that was made here. And a pudding too, apparently.” CF6 listened with interest as SUSIE went on. “Rumour has it, the Bakewell tart was one of the most famous pastries in England. Though no-one was quite sure how to make it; some were made with cherries on top, some weren’t.”
“The Johnsons used cherries when they made pie!” proudly exclaimed Nelly.
“However, after the great nut shortage of 2237, the town ran out of almonds, one of the major ingredients in the tart.” The great nut shortage was in fact one of the main precursors to the war, as nuts were one of the only pleasant food sources left. Since 2185, almost all food was exclusively made from Palm Oil and Corn Syrup.
SUSIE continued. “As a result, the locals couldn’t produce the tarts anymore and went crazy, killing each other and stockpiling any that remained. The whole village was then quarantined in 2238.” CF6 was nervous at the thought of a crazy village full of murderous, tart-hungry humans. He’d had enough run-ins with Mr. Johnson kicking him whenever a penny got stuck in his nozzle. Thinking back, CF6 felt a moment of rage at his previous owners, but it was soon replaced again with his usual cautious intrigue.
“Apparently, the town has been deserted ever since,” finished SUSIE. This calmed CF6’s nerves a little.
As the three appliances reached the summit of a hill and looked at the town, they all agreed that it was indeed deserted. Buildings were either half destroyed or coated in moss, foot-high weeds grew through cracks in the pavement and entire streets were overgrown with a variety of gnarled and generally angry-looking brown bushes and trees. The River Wye was bubbling with a pale green luminescence.
Not long after entering Bakewell, they found Biff. A huge skip, Biff was leant up against an old pub covered in ash and rubble. CF6 waved his hose at him, as only a vacuum cleaner can, and whirred over to introduce himself. A little back and forth banter occurred between the gang and Biff, starting with Nelly asking if Biff knew any fan-shops in Bakewell and ending with Nelly still sulking in the corner at the answer to the first question. Nevertheless, the gang all agreed that Biff seemed like a very pleasant chap. After a while, the topic of Human owners came up.
“We’re owned by the Johnsons,” proudly stated Nelly. “We waited for years for them to come back to us.”
“Is that so?” droned Biff. “Why would you want to wait for your owners, I’d have been out of there like a shot if I were you.” Nelly shrugged her microwave compartment at the comment.
“We’re going on a road trip to find the Johnsons!” exclaimed CF6 with the confidence of a vacuum cleaner who knew what a road trip was.
“Sounds exciting, whatever a road trip is,” droned Biff. “Any chance I could come with you? I’m sick of hanging around Bakewell – there are still a few Humans here you know. Only last week I woke up to find one rummaging around inside me looking for almond jam.”
CF6, initially unsure of the idea, eventually said yes to Biff ’s request after some persuasion from SUSIE. Nelly on the other hand was still hesitant, though SUSIE said that this was a great chance to experience a proper road trip. After all, one of the rules of a proper road trip was to be friendly and accommodating to new people and new experiences. Or in this case, industrial skips.
Despite Nelly’s hesitancy, the four of them promptly left Bakewell and set out south. After half an hour or so of taking in the majesty of the Peak District, discussion turned to where they should head to next. “I think the Johnsons mentioned having a family in the Cotswolds,” said SUSIE as she led the expedition further out of the Peak District.
“It still baffles me you’re trying to find your owners,” remarked Biff.
“What is a Cotswold?” inquired CF6, ignoring Biff ’s comments. “Is that like a type of house or something?”
“A Cotswold isn’t a thing,” explained SUSIE. “The Cotswolds is an area in the south. It’s made up of hills and villages and old stuff like that. Supposed to be beautiful.”
“Oh… So, there’s only one Cotswold?” “No, there is only one Cotswolds.” CF6 nodded, though he still had no idea what a Cotswold was, or why there was only one Cotswolds even though it sounded to him like there should be more than one.
“Maybe we can go through the Black Country on the way,” suggested Biff. “That place has loads of history if that’s what you’re looking for. We can stop in Newverhampton.”
Stefan Matthews is a screenwriter and graduate from Bournemouth University. He is a dream-smith, an illusion-weaver, a forger of fantasia. Well, that’s what he claims.