P005 → The Couch
An eighteenth-century couch's narration starts within a Loire chateau as he/she observes the antics of the building’s new owner, rockstar, Todd Brightwater. The novel follows the changing fortunes of Todd, his offspring, and on into future generations of the Brightwater family to conclude in a far-off time on Hampstead Heath as the couch becomes the centre of the then inhabitants' evening rituals. As with most of my other novels The Couch has links to the Londonia world as our hero-couch is sold, resold, traded and re-upholstered many times within London during the latter part of the twenty-first century.
“You may be considering it strange that a mere article of furniture has the ability to observe and describe what it observes. Maybe I am unique in this way. I have tried to converse with the other meubles encased within this room but to no avail. The bookcase had once regarded me sulkily when I had mentioned the beauty of a red rhododendron as the morning sun had tapped its petals upon the principle lawn. My comments have been since kept to myself . . .
I have absorbed much information over the passing years. Being entirely static apart from when the maids occasionally move us around to seek out dust could be devastating. Imagine the boredom! So, I have listened to the conversations, the governess’s instructions, people reading poetry to groups of friends. Through this I have a reasonable grasp of French, very good English, if occasionally a little stuck in the 18th century; have retained the names of trees, animals, wines and foods, etc, know a little of various political systems, and am aware of where the Loire is in relation to the rest of this world – of which some visitors have argued is a flat disc rather than a globe. After listening to many geography lessons given by a particularly strident governess in the 1890s I would rather pursue the argument that we are in fact stuck to a turning sphere in space. I could continue these ruminations but the sitting room door is now opening and a man dressed in overly tight garments is striding into the room. Attuned as I am to human moods I can tell the young woman’s excitement has intensified at the sight of him.
“Oh, Todd! This is so wonderful.”
He wears a wolf-like expression, dark eyes, something lustful in his mind – like the man in silk breeches who used to sit opposite the ladies and partake of tea. He never remarked on more than the weather, but I knew what he really desired. Occasionally he would secretly carry it out with one of the young girls who came to answer the room bell: all over in minutes, legs in the air, my stuffing crushed, springs squeaking.
This man is rather more overt. “Happy? Come and show me how much then!”
Copulation. Why always on me?”
Cincturian dweller, Mrs Nash, appreciating her new sofa found at her request by a Londonia Finder in 2073