Chaos Theories Collection

by Moody, David

  ‘Hey,’ Steven said and she smiled at him. Brief. Too brief. He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck, nerves compounded by the heat.

  ‘Steven,’ her father said, sliding off his stool.

  ‘Norman,’ he said, mouth dry and pulse racing. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Steven looked at Sam for an explanation. ‘Dad was visiting Shirley and he decided to call in,’ she said.

  ‘I was passing. Couldn’t get this close to my little girl and not come and see her, could I?’

  ‘Suppose not,’ Steven mumbled.

  ‘Especially not with the way things have been.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Do I really have to explain myself? I spoke to Sam yesterday and she sounded upset. More than a little upset, actually.’

  ‘Is this something to do with what happened in the supermarket?’ Steven asked, looking directly at Sam for an answer.

  ‘Partially.’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ Norman said, interrupting unhelpfully. ‘Incidents like that are harder to deal with when you’re not getting any support.’

  ‘We’ve had a difficult few months here, Norman.’

  ‘I understand, but there comes a time when a father needs to step in. I can’t stand to see my daughter hurting like this.’

  ‘All due respect, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Sam’s not a—’

  ‘Sam’s my daughter and she needs me. Seems you’re still incapable of putting your own issues to one side to think about how anyone else might be feeling. Can’t say I’m surprised.’

  ‘Now hang on a second...’ Steven said, moving towards Norman. Sam positioned herself between the two of them. She looked back over her shoulder at her father.

  ‘Give us a minute please, Dad.’

  ‘I need to make a quick call,’ he said, flustered, picking his mobile phone up off the counter and heading for the lounge. Steven watched him disappear. Bloody hell, Norman Hill turning up unannounced was the absolute last thing he needed today. Ridiculous little man with his long shorts and white socks and open, sweat-soaked shirt.

  ‘What’s he doing here, Sam?’ Steven asked when he was sure Norman was out of earshot.

  ‘I told you. He was visiting his sister and he dropped in on the way back.’

  ‘Likely story.’

  ‘Jeez, what’s wrong with you? Shirley’s had a kidney stone removed. I told you about it last week, remember? No, you probably don’t. You’re too wrapped up in your own little world to give a damn about anyone else.’

  ‘Come on, that’s not fair... Look, I don’t want to argue again.’

  ‘Neither do I, so please stop assuming the whole world’s ganging up on you.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you’d spoken to your dad.’

  ‘You didn’t ask. You never do.’

  ‘That’s not true. Okay, I’ll admit things haven’t been great, but I’m trying.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes, I swear. We’re talking again, aren’t we?’

  ‘But there’s talking and talking, isn’t there?’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘You know what I mean. It’s one thing talking crap about the news or the weather or people kicking off in supermarkets or what’s going on in your office, but we need to talk about us.’

  ‘That’s hardly going to happen with your dad here. How long’s he staying?’

  ‘He’s not, you’ll be glad to hear. He’s not even stopping tonight, actually.’

  ‘Well when did he get here?’

  ‘About an hour ago.’

  Steven was puzzled. ‘I don’t get it. You’ve been telling me how much you want to see him, now he’s here and he’s not even stopping over?’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘I am, but that’s not the point. Look, I’ve sorted out next week. I booked Monday and Tuesday off.’

  She was shaking her head. She cleared her throat and wiped sweat from her brow. ‘It’s too late. I’m going to Criccieth with him tonight.’

  Steven paused. Rocked on his feet. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. ‘You’re what?’

  ‘It makes sense if you think about it,’ Sam said, wiping her eyes. ‘You’ve been telling me you’re too busy, and I was already thinking about going on my own. It wasn’t planned like this, Steve, I swear, but it does make sense. I’ll travel back with Dad tonight, then you can come and get me at the weekend.’ She paused, then added, ‘that’s if you want me to come back.’

  Mouth dry. Heart thumping. Head spinning.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I want you to come back?’

  ‘You tell me. We both know things haven’t been good, and I don’t know what else to do. I keep trying, but you’re not giving me anything. I don’t know what you want anymore. I think we’ll both benefit from some space. A few days apart to clear our heads.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to go...’

  ‘That’s funny, ’cause I feel like you don’t want me here.’

  ‘I don’t make you feel anything...’

  ‘And that’s half the problem. We can’t go on like this, love.’

  Steven looked around and saw that Norman was standing in the hallway behind him. Angry, but doing all he could not to let it show, he pushed the door shut. ‘I’m sorry, Sam... please stay...’

  ‘I don’t even think you know what you’re sorry for. You take me for granted, Steve. I’m forever making allowances for you, but you never give me an inch. You don’t want me to go back to work... you never want to talk about Jack. Listen, I get all that I really do, but has it occurred to you that I might need to talk? Have you ever stopped to think that talking about the baby we lost might actually help us both come to terms with it?’

  Steven stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like a pet fish on a carpet, bowl smashed and water gone, full of so many conflicting emotions that he couldn’t feel any of them. He was numb. ‘Is there anything I can say...?’ He didn’t finish his sentence because he knew there wasn’t any point.

  ‘You’ve had enough chances, don’t insult me by asking for one more now. I think this is for the best. I’ll let you know when we get to Dad’s then I’ll see you in a couple of days, okay?’

  ‘I’ll call in sick. I’ll come with you...’

  She was shaking her head. ‘Like I said, I think a few days apart will be good for us both. It’ll help us both decide exactly what we want.’

  ‘But I know what I want...’

  ‘I’m not so sure anymore.’ She wiped a tear from her eye, then leant forward and kissed his cheek. ‘See you at the weekend, Steve.’

  And with that she was gone.

  ✽✽✽

  When they’d first found this house, the year before last, there’d been some talk of it being too big for the two of them, but they’d convinced themselves they’d grow into it. Plenty of room for when people come and stay, Sam had said, big enough to raise a whole tribe of kids if we want... Optimistic excitement had carried them through the stresses of moving home and the effort of getting the place exactly how they wanted it; decorating this, knocking down that... removing all traces of the previous owner and making it their own. They’d spent a fortune and the place was perfect: a warm, luxurious, comfortable home which reflected both of them. But all their grand plans and aspirations had been cruelly derailed back in the early part of the summer, leaving parts of the house virtual no-go areas. Steven was in the nursery now, the first time he’d been in this room for months, trying to work out what the hell was going on.

  Times past he’d have given himself a pep talk and a kick up the backside by now, but he was long past that stage. A fucking metric ton of dynamite wouldn’t have been enough to kick-start this unholy fucking mess, he thought. He’d worked hard, tried hard, and it felt like the more effort he put in, the more shit got thrown back at him in return. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered. He could fee
l it all slipping through his fingers. First his son, now his wife.

  He lay on the nursery floor for hours. Other than a short-lived flurry of hope just before midnight (a single line text message from Sam: At Dad’s x), he gazed up at the ceiling as today became tomorrow, concentrating on tracing cracks in the plaster to try and block out everything else.

  Whenever he moved or made even the slightest noise, all it did was remind him how large and empty this house felt tonight.

  8

  WEDNESDAY 15 OCTOBER

  Steven sat in his first floor office and looked out of the window at the people in the street below with envious eyes. Despite the tireless sun and intense heat, he’d have gladly swapped places. He’d have rather been anywhere than here. Anywhere except home, perhaps.

  The rest of his staff were leaving him alone. Good. Maybe they’d picked up on the fact he was struggling today. Then again, he had been for a while. Now that he thought about it, they’d been giving him an increasingly wide berth for a couple of weeks. He’d put it down to the conditions, but that was just a pathetic excuse he’d come up with to pacify himself and he knew it. He could hear them – those who’d turned up for work (a couple were absent without leave) – messing around in the open plan main office, chatting more than working. There was barely anything being done out there, but then again, they’d hardly seen any customers all morning. He hadn’t heard the phone ring more than a couple of times. Steven’s only appointment of the day, a woman with substantial mortgage arrears and no obvious way of clearing them, had cancelled just before she’d been due to come in. He’d called her up to find out why. She’d told him she’d got more important things to worry about, and he admired her honesty, not that it would help her much when the bailiffs called. At least she was trying. When faced with his own crisis, he’d simply clung onto the comfort of routine.

  The only noise in the office now was the steady whirring of an electric fan. Unworked files and other piles of paperwork sat on his desk, wedged under makeshift weights to stop them blowing away. Steven spent more time looking at his phone than at his computer screen. He thought he should try and contact Sam, but then he decided he’d better not. He wavered for a while, to the point where he started writing a message only to press cancel instead of send. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t know how to say it.

  He found himself browsing the news online. The headlines were a strange mix of the usual and the less so. Plenty of the stuff that always seemed to be there: political wrangling, terrorism, a gratuitous helping of celebrity bullshit... and yet all that seemed to be taking second place today. The weather was the main headline. It had been for some time, but this was subtly different. It was a continuation of the kind of thing he’d seen on the TV the other night, a plethora of expert opinions which was beginning to sound uncomfortably like damage limitation, empty reassurances. They all reminded him of his mother, the way she instinctively always tried to put a positive spin on everything, infuriatingly telling him ‘not to worry’ or that she was ‘sure everything will be fine.’ He’d learned to take everything she said with a pinch of salt. Strange how he was feeling the same way about the BBC today.

  What if the weather doesn’t break? How much more of this can we take? What if the temperature keeps climbing?

  He was staring into space now, so distracted that he didn’t notice Janice, one of the other members of staff, standing in the doorway. She coughed and he looked up. ‘Sorry, Steve,’ she said. ‘Didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘I was just looking at the news,’ he said, explaining himself even though he didn’t have to.

  ‘I try not to these days,’ Janice replied. ‘Listen, it’s dead out there. Do you think we could shut up shop and try and beat the traffic?’

  He glanced at the clock. Just over an hour to go. ‘Why not. I’ll be here for a while longer. You lot get off.’ And she was gone before he could say anything else.

  ✽✽✽

  He couldn’t face sitting at home alone. He made dinner and got changed, then caught a bus back into the city centre in search of distraction. He thought about a movie, but drink seemed the safer option. The first bar he found open was a sports bar, not his usual kind of haunt. Normally when he walked past this place it was heaving, packed solid with punters. Today it was virtually empty, just a few lonely souls like him dotted about. One wall of the large, characterless room was a vast screen which normally showed live sports or music videos, but it had been switched off today. ‘Pretty obvious really, mate,’ the man behind the bar told him when he asked about it. ‘There’s no bloody sport left on. It’s too bloody hot.’

  Steven sat down at the bar with an ice-cold beer, enjoying the feel of the cool glass between his palms, knowing it wouldn’t last.

  ‘Penny for them.’

  He looked around and saw that a woman had sat down next to him. How long she’d been there, he didn’t know. She looked a few years older than he was, perhaps, and she was very attractive. He thought she had a lovely face... strong features and bright, hazel eyes which studied him as hard as he studied her. ‘Sorry?’ he mumbled, conscious that he was staring. Her body was hardly covered by the short black dress she was wearing.

  ‘I said penny for them. You looked like you were deep in thought.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Want to talk or should I shut up and go away?’

  ‘No... sorry, it’s me. I’m not good company at the moment.’

  ‘It’s all getting a bit shitty, isn’t it?’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘I’m Lydia,’ she said.

  ‘Steven.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Steven. Want another drink?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she grumbled and she caught the barman’s eye. In the absence of many other customers, she didn’t have to wait long. ‘So here we both are then,’ she continued, unaffected by his obvious reticence. ‘What brings you to this particularly shitty little dive on your own late on a Wednesday evening? Drowning your sorrows like the rest of us?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Good on you. Nothing like a crisis to get you soul searching, eh?’

  ‘Crisis?’

  ‘No one’s calling it that, but that’s what it is, isn’t it?’

  ‘What, the weather?’

  ‘What else? I take it you’ve not seen the news today?’

  ‘Too busy.’

  ‘But not so busy that you can’t waste away your evening here?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’ He adjusted his collar, feeling even hotter than he already was.

  ‘I’m sure it is.’

  ‘So what’s on the news?’

  Lydia finished her shot and ordered another, a cider this time. ‘They’re finally admitting how bad things are getting. I’m starting to think we might not make it back from this. By the time the sun starts behaving itself again, if it starts behaving itself again, I reckon it might be too late.’

  Steven smirked. ‘What kind of news programmes have you been watching? This is a joke, right?’

  ‘I’ll admit it wasn’t the BBC. It was something my husband had on, some obscure foreign channel he’s always glued to online. Trevor’s a bit of a panicker. Likes to make mountains out of molehills, you know? Gets on my nerves, actually. Bit of a weed at times. Nothing like you.’

  Steven shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, struggling with her flirting and trying not to stare. Sweat trickled down his back. ‘So what’s your husband saying? Does he think the world’s about to end? Do you think the world’s gonna end?’

  ‘I don’t know what I think. Look at things logically though, Steve... it’s the middle of October and I’m barely wearing anything.’ She shifted slightly on her stool, angling herself towards him, the movement subtle but undeniable.

  ‘I should be going.’

  ‘You only just got here,’ she said quickly, enjoying exploiting his obvious unease. ‘Don’t
go. I need someone to talk to. I had an epiphany this afternoon,’ she told him.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Me and Trevor... we were just rattling around the house like always, hardly even seeing each other, just passing in the kitchen from time to time. Then he starts rushing around in full-on panic mode. One thing you should know about Trevor is that he doesn’t rush around much, never has done, so I could tell he was properly spooked by something. He starts blathering about building a shelter and getting in supplies, and I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Strange how you can live with someone for years yet hardly know them, isn’t it?’

  ‘Suppose.’

  ‘He took me into his study. I never go in there if I can help it and he rarely comes out. He shows me a website and that TV channel I was just telling you about. He said he’s been following this since the heat-wave started, and he shows me all these charts he’s printed off from the Internet. I tell him you don’t need charts to know it’s hot and getting hotter, and he says to me we need to do something.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said. He starts spouting on about it being the end of days and all that crap...’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I was just laughing at him. But then it hit me, he was dead serious. I’ve never seen him so scared.’ She stopped speaking and ran her fingers up and down the side of her tall glass. ‘Do you think it’s serious, Steve?’

  He fumbled for an answer. ‘It could be. If it keeps getting hotter then yes, maybe...’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘So was that your epiphany?’

  She shook her head and sipped her drink. ‘No, not really... maybe... Trev printed off a load more stuff he found, some kind of survival guide. He was talking about building some kind of shelter in the garage and stocking up with water, that kind of thing. He reckoned it was the coolest place in the house.’

  ‘Sounds sensible.’

  ‘It does. I’ll give Trev his due, that’s what I thought at first. So he ends up back at his computer again, digging up all kinds of stuff. I’m too naïve, me, too trusting. I ask him how come all the people behind these dodgy websites know all this stuff, but the politicians and scientists don’t seem to have a bloody clue. He says they know everything too, they’re just not telling us. They don’t want us to start panicking.’