by Alison May
When I first let the flat to her, it’d been empty for about two years, since I bought the house, so it was basically fine, but a bit musty. Now everything is pristine and fragrant. Coming down here always makes me feel like I ought to vacuum when I get back upstairs. I don’t, but I become aware that I could. It actually smells of furniture polish right now. She can’t have found time to dust this weekend, can she?
The book is right where it’s supposed to be. It’s shiny and hardback. Ben must be doing all right. His first book was only in paperback, but this looks all official and important. I flick straight away to the inside dust cover, and see Ben smiling out at me. I wonder how long it took the photographer to get him to smile. It would have been a whole new skill for him.
Benedict Messina was born in 1980 in Whitby, to Italian parents. He graduated with a BSc in Mathematics from the University of York in 2003, and completed his Dphil in the subject at Cambridge in 2007. Since then Ben has lectured at Universities and Schools across the UK, Australia and the USA. His first book, Counting Woes, was published in 2011.
Ben lives with his brother in York, and in his free time enjoys walking and cinema.
I laugh at the last line – walking and cinema – the go-to hobbies for people who don’t actually have any interests. I make a mental note to take the piss out of him about that. I also like ‘lives with his brother’. It’s neater than the alternative; ‘Ben is not married, doesn’t live with a woman, but does not want to be considered a lonely old git, and is definitely not gay.’
I take the book back upstairs and put it down on the arm of the sofa, and then sit at the opposite end and turn the TV on. I spend twenty minutes flicking between repeats of minor celebrities who can’t ice skate and repeats of total unknowns who can’t sing. The book sits quietly and looks at me.
I take my toast plate into the kitchen and run it under the tap. When I come back the book is still looking at me. The annoying thing is that Henri is right. I do really need to read it. If I wasn’t so angry with him about the whole police incident I’d probably have read it earlier.
I pause for a moment to let my anger simmer. And now he’s going to be coming to work. That’s even worse; at the moment work is pretty much my last remaining Ben-free zone. I take a deep breath, pick up the book, and attempt to begin, telling myself that it’s only a book. It’s not even like it’s about him or anything. It’s a maths book. There is no possible way that even Benedict Vittore Messina could annoy me whilst writing about maths. I pick up the book. I skip the introduction. That will just be Ben wittering on and trying to sound intellectual. I can live without that. I flick to the start of the real book and try to apply myself.
Chapter One: In The Beginning
Zero really did start its useful life as nothing. It wasn’t a number, because numbers were for counting things, real things; beans; sheep; fingers and the like. Zero had no business amongst these real hard players of the counting world. The earliest form of Zero, invented by the ancient Babylonians was simply there to tell the reader that there was, quite literally, nothing to see here.
What the Babylonians did was place their numbers in columns according to their value, and then they inserted a placeholder symbol, their fledgling prototype Zero, into the columns where there was no value. To modern mathematicians, indeed to modern nursery school children, this way of writing numbers is utterly self-evident. How could it ever have been different? But it was different. Before the Babylonians, sometime before 1000BC, columns where no number was required were simply omitted, leaving the hapless shopkeeper to guess whether their order was for 12 eggs or 1000002 eggs.
Ben is, even I have to concede, not terrible at explaining this stuff. I’ve been reading about the history of maths and I haven’t yet fallen asleep or been overcome by the desire to stick my head in the oven.
He always was best when he had some piece of burning knowledge that he wanted to impart. I remember when we were at uni. He took this elective course on avionics, which is all to do with aeroplane engineering. Anyway, after the first lecture he was all buzzing about aerodynamics. When he’d learnt something new he always had this need to get anyone else who’d listen enthused about it too.
I remember lying on my bed with him. He was using my teddy bear – yes, I had a teddy bear – to demonstrate the different sorts of roll aeroplanes can experience if they hit turbulence or if their aerodynamic design isn’t right. He was holding the bear up above us and rolling it around. Somehow the conversation ended up with me hitting him with the bear, which ripped his leg. That’s the bear’s leg, not Ben’s, obviously. Afterwards, I always told people Ben had torn it playing aeroplanes, and he’d always argue and say it was my fault for hitting him. I never admitted that he was right.
Chapter Sixteen
Henrietta
I’m wafting down the aisle on my dad’s arm. It feels as though I don’t even have to move my feet. I’m literally floating down the aisle, and I can see myself doing it. My hair is all big and flowing, and not like it is in everyday life at all. And my make-up looks just right, and my waist is tiny and my boobs might be just a little bit bigger than normal.
The congregation is a sea of colour and happy faces and my mum is there at the front of the church, looking just like she did in the pictures Dad’s got from when I was a baby, with her flicky hair and her great big smile. But I don’t walk to the front straight away. I stop and float above it all looking down on Claudio waiting, and looking down on my mum and my dad and Trix. And I float up above the church and I can see the beautiful white pony that pulled the carriage I arrived in. Are white ponies called white? I stop my floating for a moment to wonder. Aren’t you supposed to call white ponies …
‘Grey.’ Danny’s voice interrupts my daydream.
‘What?’ I’m not floating any more. I’m sitting at a table in the pub near my dad’s house. It’s Sunday evening. Just forty-eight hours since Claudio picked me up for our date. Forty-eight hours and we’re engaged, and we’ve announced our engagement to our friends and my dad and Claudio’s parents, and now we’re sitting with my dad and Danny and they’re talking about our wedding.
I look around the pub. We used to come here for Sunday lunch when I was a little girl. Sometimes we still do. It’s the same lady behind the bar. She still tries to give me twenty pence for sweets. My dad’s doodling something on his napkin. It looks like a wedding cake. Claudio and Danny are staring at me.
‘Grey suits, for me and the ushers?’ Claudio clarifies.
I nod, and try to pretend I’ve been paying attention. I think I mainly was paying attention. Anyway, I’m the bride. Brides are supposed to be pre-occupied.
We definitely agreed that it would be OK to have the wedding in six weeks’ time. Dad thinks he can find a venue through the hotels he does work for, and he’s already phoned the vicar at the village church. Claudio says that finding a photographer is a best man job, and Ben’s not here to complain, so that’s dealt with. Claudio thinks finding cars is a best man job too. I do think carriages and ponies are so much prettier than cars. It’s probably not as practical though. I don’t say anything. I’m sure a car will be just as nice.
Ben and Trix should really be here for wedding planning, but Ben’s going to Edinburgh next week and claimed he had to pack, and Trix isn’t answering her phone. Danny’s here; he seems to be enthusiastic enough for both of them. I only called him to check something for work tomorrow, and he practically insisted on coming along.
He and Claudio are talking about suits now, which Danny seems to think he should look after rather than Ben. He’s probably right. I don’t think Ben really thinks much about clothes.
That means that Trix and me just need to do dresses and flowers, and I can totally picture my dress already. It’s happening. It really is going to be perfect just like I imagined it.
‘So I think we’ve reached the point where, as their friends, we owe it to them to intervene.’ Danny interrupts my thoughts a sec
ond time.
Claudio nods. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Just a little light deception and subterfuge.’
I must look confused, because Danny glares at me and starts to explain more.
‘You see, the thing with Benjamin and Trixabelle is that neither of them will make the first move. They’re too scared.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Because I really don’t.
‘Well isn’t it obvious?’
It’s not.
‘They’re utterly in love with one another. You don’t get that amount of hate unless it’s really true love.’
I’m not sure about that, but Danny seems convinced. ‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely. So we just have to make each of them aware that the other is up for it.’
‘Why?’
‘So they’ll feel confident enough to make a move.’
Claudio laughs. ‘Genius. What’s the plan?’
And Danny really does have a whole plan. I tried to get out of being part of it, but he said I was the glue that holds the whole scheme together. I think he has a grand vision of them declaring their great love for one another at the wedding. I’m not sure about that. It is my wedding after all. Everyone seems very excited about it though so I didn’t want to put them down.
Chapter Seventeen
Ben
The hotel room in Edinburgh is every bit as bad as I expected. The room is too hot, which hotel rooms always are, there’s no way of turning the heating down, which there never is, and the windows only open about three millimetres, which is about three millimetres more than they normally open. Aside from anything else, it’s a ridiculous waste of energy. It’s about two degrees outside and I’m still struggling to open a window to make up for the central heating in here.
I don’t even particularly want to be here. I blame my publisher, and my agent. I mean, I did do promotion with my last book, but it was all sixth form maths clubs and stuff like that. It was a slowburn success, and by success I mean that it was in fact the second highest selling maths-related title of 2011. I kid you not.
Only now, that level of success doesn’t seem to be enough. Someone has decided that I’m going to be a great populariser, which means I end up sitting at these little tables with big piles of books and lines of people who want them signed. Half of them are fine, because half of them are the proper nerds – my people, if you like. All they want to talk about is an inconsistency that they found on page 173. It’s the others I can’t deal with, the ones who joined the line, just because there was a line. They probably joined the line for Wincey Willis last week, and they’ll be there for Bill Bryson next week. I’m just something to pass the time.
I lie down on the bed to rest for a few minutes before I set off to find food. I don’t move again though until I’m jolted awake by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I contort on the bed and lift it to my ear without looking at the screen. ‘Hello.’
There doesn’t seem to be anyone there. It sounds like one of those calls where someone accidentally calls someone by sitting on their phone.
I glance at the screen – ‘Claudio calling’. I lift the phone back to my ear. ‘Hello?’
Claudio
He answers it. Very slowly and carefully I put the phone down on the table between me and Danny. I can still hear Ben’s voice at the other end. ‘Hello?’
I nod at Danny, who makes a start. ‘Well, I’m sorry Claudio but you know we can’t tell him.’
Ben hasn’t hung up. I can hear his muffled voice from the phone. ‘Claudio, are you there? Hello?’
If we don’t get his attention pretty fast he’s going to hang up. I jab my finger pointedly at Danny, which I know Ben won’t see, but it can’t hurt to get into character. ‘I have to tell him. He’s my brother.’
Ben’s gone quiet now, but he’s still there. I guess he’s interested.
Danny pulls a ‘What the fuck?’ face at the finger pointing, but does his bit. ‘I know he’s your brother. And he’s my friend, but you know how he’ll react.’
‘I guess.’ I nod at Danny to continue.
‘He’ll make her life hell.’
‘You’re probably right. If he had any idea how Trix felt about him though …’
I think I hear an intake of breath from the other end of the phone line. Danny grins.
‘Well, he can’t find out, and you’re not to tell him. Henrietta shouldn’t even have told you.’
‘I won’t tell him. I just wish Trix would.’
Danny is getting into his Laurence Olivier stride. ‘Bare her heart, just to have it torn apart by his callous, unfeeling ... er?’ He looks over to me.
‘Er… thoughtless?’
‘Thoughtless. Yes definitely. Bare her heart just to have it torn apart by his callous, unfeeling, thoughtless jokes at her expense,’ Danny shakes his head. I’m struggling to stop myself from laughing. ‘Not Trix. She couldn’t bear it if he rejected her.’
I’m still stifling a laugh. ‘You’re right,’ I splutter. ‘Ben’s not exactly open to love and romance, is he?’
‘Which is a shame, because they could both be so happy.’
‘So happy,’ I echo with my best rock ballad backing singer intonation.
Danny glances at the phone. ‘So just to recap, Trix definitely told Henrietta that she’s in love with Ben.’
‘Definitely.’
‘But he’s not to be told.’
‘Because of him being callous and unfeeling,’ I confirm.
‘And thoughtless.’
‘And thoughtless. Of course.’
‘Right.’ Danny looks at me and then at the phone and nods.
‘Ah, well. I’m sure she’ll get over him. It’s not like he’s ever gonna find ...’ and I press the ‘End Call’ button.
I look up at Danny, who grins. ‘Phase one complete. Another pint?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
Danny heads to the bar. He’s left his own phone on the table. It rings just as he manages to attract the barman’s attention. ‘John’ flashes up on the screen, and the options ‘Answer’ or ‘Reject’. Danny is engrossed in conversation with the barman.
I pick up the phone and hit ‘Answer.’
‘Where are you?’ The voice at the other end is slightly slurred.
‘Hi John. It’s Claudio. We’re in the Duck.’
‘Where’s Danny?’
‘He’s here too. At the bar. Do you want me to get him to ring you?’
‘Nah. I’m happy talking to you.’
‘Ok.’
‘Are you having a nice engagement, Claudio?’
‘Yeah. It’s fine. We’re getting sorted for the wedding.’
‘Oh. The wedding. Yeah. Gotta be all sorted for the wedding. Bet Danny’s all hands on deck to help with that.’
‘He’s been great. Yeah.’
‘Of course. Perfect Danny helping perfect Henrietta plan the perfect wedding. Bet you’d prefer to be having some real fun.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what.’ And he laughs, and then he hangs up.
Danny puts a pint down in front of me. ‘Was that someone on my phone?’
‘John.’
‘Oh?’
‘Just seeing where you were I think.’
Danny takes the phone off me. ‘I’ll just ring him back.’
He gestures towards the door. ‘Quieter out there.’
He strides towards the door fiddling with his phone. I don’t point out that we’ve just made two calls sitting right here, and could hear everything just fine.
Chapter Eighteen
Ben
I think my brain has decided that the best response to shock is to only process events occurring in the current thirty second period. Wider thought has been shut down, meaning that I sleepwalk through the rest of my trip to Edinburgh. I know I did a local radio interview, because I remember leaving the building. I have no idea what I said. I know I talked to my agent because h
er number is on my phone’s call log. It was more than half a minute ago, so all other detail has been erased from my mind.
Once I get on the train to come home, all the activity stops. There are no more places to be, people to talk to, extracts to read, or books to sign. My brain is empty, and the thoughts I’ve been holding at arm’s length fill the vacuum.
Normally train journeys are useful thinking time. They’re like showers and buildings with noisy air conditioning; it’s something to do with the constant background noise. My first thought is that Claudio and Danny have made a mistake. I mean, Trix and me? Me and Trix. I’m not one to dwell on the past, but if I were I might well conclude that that particular ship had well and truly sailed. I might conclude that that was no bad thing.
But that’s not necessarily the best approach. You shouldn’t reach any sort of conclusion without a proper evaluation of the evidence. I try to review the evidence. Trix has been single for a long time now. So far as I know, there hasn’t been anyone serious since, well since me. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? It would explain why she had never committed to anyone else if she was still in love with me.
In love? The whole notion feels erroneous. I mean, we’re never going to get together. Trix is far too proud. She’ll never tell me. And even if she would it’s not as though I’m looking for someone, so it wouldn’t make any difference.
The train pulls into Berwick, and I watch the people waiting to get on. It’s fascinating this – you can see it in any busy doorway. People bunch up and then there’s this moment where everyone sort of moves together. You can try to recreate the effect using marbles being channelled through a narrow opening, but it never quite gives the same results. To understand it properly you have to factor in the human combination of reserve and desperation to get a seat. And it’s different in different countries, somehow culturally specific, you know.