Now however, eleven years on, as he dipped his head below the surface of the now lukewarm bath water, he remembered the exhilaration he had once experienced as a true scientist. Back then, he had felt like an early explorer sailing the seven seas in search of new worlds. His voyages had been charted to the edge of knowledge itself, and what lay beyond was the stuff of dreams. Every so often there would be tantalising hints of mainland, but except for a few small and seemingly disconnected islands, the new world had so far remained elusive. Of course, there was always the possibility that nothing was left to discover but more small islands. Perhaps no unified theory existed. Perhaps the laws of the universe were governed by no more than collections of random oddities - islands of logic in a sea of chaos. If so, further attempts at unification would be futile. But did he really believe that? More likely it was just another convenient excuse to abandon the search. The universe and its governing laws, as so far discovered, were, he believed, far too elegant not to fit together in some beautifully satisfying way.
He recalled his forays into string theory, the most promising avenue to date for such unification of the basic laws. In truth, it was more a group of theories in which space-time was argued to compose of tiny filament loops vibrating through as many as ten spatial dimensions. Peter found the concept fascinating, but while providing a framework potentially capable of explaining many aspects of the observable universe, it had so far been impossible to verify experimentally. Furthermore, the mathematics involved in any exploration of the field was fiendish. Most of the equations in their full form were either unsolvable, or required so many assumptions and trial and error, one was left wondering whether the endeavour was one of discovery or invention. Peter was a keen and competent mathematician, but string theory had eventually proved too much even for him.
His thoughts once more returned to his brother. As a violinist, Martin had been fascinated by the idea of everything boiling down to vibrating strings, but had quickly become lost as Peter elaborated. Martin’s last statement, “I know everything" once again echoed in his mind. Had Martin finally discovered the meaning of life, the universe and everything? He chuckled to himself. When it came to science, Martin couldn’t discover his own arse with both hands.
The next morning, Peter was awoken by an aroma of fresh coffee and the sound of the dishwasher being emptied in the kitchen below. It was several moments before he could work out where he was. Sunlight filtered through the curtains bathing the room in a warm and optimistic golden glow. He drew the curtains and opened the window, closing his eyes to the sun, now rising over the eastern ridge of the valley, and sucked in the cool, earthy morning air. A thin layer of mist hovered a few feet above fields, still damp from the night’s rain, and a crescent moon hung in a cobalt sky alive with birdsong from the copse at the end of the garden. Spring was on its way. If there could be a heaven half as good as this, Peter mused, his brother would be happy.
It was certainly a far cry from Bracknell. Eight-thirty - Abigail would just be dropping off the children at school - he would call after breakfast. He found Isabelle in the kitchen reading the paper. A loaf of home-made bread sat on the hot-plate of the Aga next to a pot of steaming coffee.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here.”
She smiled. “Help yourself, Peter. You know where everything is.”
He sat down and buttered some bread. For a continental, Isabelle had adopted the English country life as though born to it.
“Will you stay here? - Keep the house, I mean.”
“I don’t know. It’s a big house. Seems a bit silly now it’s only me.”
It was the sort of house that needed a family. Peter knew they had wanted children, but for some reason it hadn’t happened. He now regretted the question. “I’ll start on the den after I’ve called Abigail. Is there anything else you'd like me to do while I'm here?”
“No, just the den would be lovely. Thanks again, Peter. I really appreciate this.”
Abigail’s mother answered the phone and Peter instinctively moved the receiver six inches from his ear. Her voice, while not particularly loud, had a certain combination of pitch and tone which could carry great distances and this morning it seemed to penetrate to the very centre of his skull. After some five minutes discussing the church service, and what a shame it had been that the weather hadn't been nicer, he finally managed to get her to put Abigail on. He knew at once he’d called at a bad time. Sam and Kate, it transpired, had been particularly stubborn that morning in their preparations for school. It had all started when Sam had told Kate that uncle Martin would go to hell. Apparently, he had heard somewhere that committing suicide was a sin and that sinful people were duly barred from the pearly gates. Sam was ten years old and just tended to accept things, good or bad. Kate, on the other hand, at seven and half, was distraught. Martin had always had a particularly soft spot for his niece and she had utterly adored her uncle. News of the death had been bad enough, but Abigail had consoled her with the thought of seeing him again in heaven one day. Now however, the little girl had confronted the reality of never seeing her uncle Martin again. Abigail was cross with Peter. She hadn't wanted to tell them it was suicide, but after some intense debate, Peter had convinced her they were old enough to know the truth. Perhaps it had been a bad call, but now there was nothing could be done to change it.
“I can’t deal with it any more, you’re going to have to come home and sort it out yourself. You can explain it to them because I’ve had it up to here!” she screamed and then hung up. He looked across at Isabelle, calmly reading the paper and wondered whether she ever erupted like Abigail. Somehow he couldn't imagine it. He would call back in the evening when tempers had subsided. Perhaps he would try to explain things to Kate, although for the moment he hadn't the faintest idea what to say. He didn't actually believe in heaven and hell - nor God for that matter - but had grudgingly agreed to make believe he did for the children’s sake. He wasn’t at all comfortable with this decision, but could see no lasting harm in playing along until such time Kate and Sam could make up their own minds based on a more complete appraisal of the facts. He recalled the story of a friend whose father, having dressed up as Santa Claus for his fourth Christmas, removed the beard and hat explaining that the jolly, red-suited fellow did not really exist. His friend claimed he had never recovered from the shock and Peter had often thought it might explain a few things about the chap’s generally misanthropic character. He poured himself another coffee and headed for the den.
CHAPTER 2
Doug’s mobile bleeped twice. Forcing his eyelids apart, he slowly brought his watch into focus. It was 11:30 am and his head felt as though it had been clenched all night in a vice. He scooped the mobile off the floor.
“Yeah?” he managed to croak, his large hands almost crushing the flimsy plastic. His throat was dry and sore from whiskey and self-rolled filter-less cigarettes. There was no answer. He squinted at the phone’s display and realised it was just a text message from Kal:
Check it out! DZ13 in drop
He flung the phone on the bed and slumped wearily in front of the PC. Sure enough, a file named DZ13 was sitting in Kal’s drop box on one of the department’s communal servers. He started the download and went in search of the coffee whose aroma was drifting down the corridor. In the kitchen was a medium height, slim girl with jet black hair wearing nothing but his flatmate’s rugby shirt. Unfortunately the shirt nearly reached her knees.
“Good party wasn’t it?” chirped the girl.
“Obviously better for some than others,” Doug replied, “I assume Brian’s the lucky man?”
There was a slight pause and a look of confused indignation and then she said “No, I'm with you, you plonker. Don’t you remember anything?”
For a moment, Doug was in a panic, until the girl broke into high-pitched laughter.
“Got you there didn't I?” she shrieked. “Don’t worry; I didn’t touch you – yet.”
Her
accent was a paradox, somewhere between Cockney and Surrey, but with a hint of the exotic. Her eyes were something different again, shining with intelligence and yet playful and promiscuous. There was definitely more to this girl than met the eye, although what met the eye was pleasantly sufficient for Doug in his current state of mind.
“Yeah, I think I would’ve remembered,” he said.
“You better believe it, big-boy!”
She eyed him up and down, her gaze lingering a little longer on the down.
“You must be Doug then.”
There were two cups of instant coffee on the draining board. “That’s me,” he said, grabbing one of them and heading back to his room.
“Oy, that’s Brian’s!” cried the girl.
“I thought you said you’re with me,” he said, without turning. “Bacon and eggs will do fine,” he added. That lucky bastard, he thought.
The download was 60% through. He lit a cigarette, leant back with his feet on the desk and sipped the coffee. “You forgot the sugar!” he shouted. The hangover was a killer. He searched in vain for some aspirin, wondering what had got Kal so fired up after a good party. Why the hell wasn’t he in bed suffering like the rest of us? DZ, standing for Dream-Zone, was Kal’s pet name for the evolving fractal patterns they had discovered. By performing some carefully chosen mathematical transformations on a number of Mandelbrot sets, they had created a moving sequence of constantly evolving patterns. The cool thing about them, was that when viewed on the computer screen, the shifting images would evoke a sort of trance, lasting only thirty seconds, but seeming much longer. Sometimes, this would be followed by bizarre and vivid dreams. Kal had coined the term “Dream-Zone,” and had even persuaded him to co-author a paper on it, though Doug hadn't really considered it a very serious avenue of research and had since tried to distance himself from the whole thing. Kal on the other hand, was convinced that it represented a major breakthrough, not perhaps for their chosen degree course of mathematics and computing, but in the area of cognitive science. Lately Kal had seemed quite obsessed with it all, claiming he was on the verge of something big, but then Kal was often like that. Even at the party, he had wanted to show him something. “It’ll blow your mind,” he had told him, but having spent the entire day slumped over a screen at the computing centre, Doug had been in no mood.
He reached for the phone and dialled his friend, only to be met with another stupid voicemail greeting:
“Congratulations on calling Kal, the king of cool. Kindly converse after this.”
“Pick up the call you crazy clown!” shouted Doug, immediately thinking of a four lettered c-word which would have continued the alliteration more satisfyingly.
After a few seconds silence he added, “It's Doug - I’m downloading - I’ll call after.”
He checked the screen. The transfer rate had slowed right down and the download was still only 65% complete. He got up and stretched, memories of the previous night starting to break through the haze. In many ways, it had been a typical student party except, being organised by Kal, had boasted a more agreeable female to male ratio. Quite how he achieved this remained a mystery. To Doug, Kal was basically short and chubby with bad skin and slicked back hair, and yet swarms of attractive girls appeared drawn to him like flies. Admittedly, the guy had a keen sense of humour, and he always seemed able to afford the trendiest gear, but beyond that, it was a puzzle. Doug on the other hand, who considered he ought to be fairly attractive to the opposite sex, had not managed to pull for months. At the party, he had seemed to be getting all the right signals from a tall, elegant, but slightly older looking girl by the name of Susan, but somewhere in the course of events, she had disappeared and Doug had found himself getting incredibly drunk instead - or perhaps the getting drunk had come first - he couldn’t remember.
He stripped off, wrapped a towel around his waist and headed to the shower-room. Campus accommodation at the University of Essex was fairly basic - half a dozen almost identical concrete tower blocks deposited in the middle of picturesque Wivenhoe Park on the outskirts of Colchester. What had once been the inspiration of John Constable was now a tribute to the worst of sixties architecture. Doug’s room was on the twelfth floor of “William Morris”, the first tower as you approached from town. Kal’s was three blocks further in and on the thirteenth floor. The wood and plaster was scratched and dented from a myriad careless students tramping in and out, but it was warm, dry, five minutes from the lecture halls, and relatively cheap. Doug held in his stomach as he passed the kitchen, but the girl had already disappeared back into Brian’s room. He could hear them arguing about something as he passed. Perhaps he ought to try his luck later, he mused mischievously.
On the bathroom floor was a small puddle of vomit, but with no recollection of having been responsible, he stepped gingerly over it and into the shower. The water felt good and slowly the vice began to loosen its grip. As he massaged the shampoo into his scalp, he heard the bathroom door open. “Morning!” he shouted - to no response. “Miserable git,” he muttered. Of the eight other guys on Doug’s floor, Brian was the only one he could really call a friend. Although reading history and philosophy, which had little in common with his own combination of maths and computing, Brian also played second row for the university’s first rugby team and since the beginning of the season the two had become close friends. Each standing about six foot four and weighing in at some two hundred and ten pounds apiece, some people even mistook them for brothers, but beyond their muscular builds and short spiky hair, the resemblance was only superficial.
As Doug stepped out, he heard one of the other showers running and turned to see who it was. Glistening under the fluorescent-lit jets of steaming water and now wearing nothing but a broad grin, was the girl from the kitchen. Doug stepped back into the vomit, small pieces of diced carrot squelching up between his toes. “Shit!”
“No, that would’ve been worse,” said the girl, still facing him, “...but only just,” she added. “I was going to ask you to soap my back, but with that on your feet….”
He wrapped the towel around his waist and stuck his foot back under the shower. As he came out, she was proffering the soap invitingly. He looked at her properly now, his mouth gaping unconsciously. She was incredibly well toned, her breasts round and firm, while her shoulders, arms and stomach were defined, but not overly muscular.
“Look I can’t. Brian’s a mate!” he said, walking towards her.
“Don’t worry about him,” said the girl, pulling the towel away and tossing it on the floor.
“What if he comes in though?” he said, as he stepped into the cubicle with her.
“It’s finished between me and him,” she replied, pulling him closer.
“Well I suppose that’s all right then,” whispered Doug as their lips came together.
“I’d say so. By the way, I’m Cindy.”
“Doug,” he replied, still somewhat stunned at how quickly things were happening. Not unlike some of his recent dreams, he half expected to be catapulted into some other improbable scenario with the typically frustrating incongruence of such fantasies. She put her arms around his waist and squeezed while sucking hard on his tongue. She was strong. For several minutes they twisted and turned, kissing and exploring each other’s bodies with their fingertips.
“How come I missed you at the party last night. You’re bloody gorgeous,” he finally offered.
“It’s probably something to do with the fact that you were pissed as a newt by the time I got there.” She glanced at the door and paused, clearly slightly concerned at the prospect of interruption.
“Listen, why don’t I go and get my stuff from Brian’s room and meet you in ten.”
“Good idea, I’m in room nine.”
He didn't feel entirely comfortable about stealing Brian’s date, but lust was getting the better of him.
Back in the room, the download had bombed at 65%, but he couldn't care less. The empty beer cans and pizza
boxes decorating the floor were crammed into the bin and the ashtray emptied on top. He straightened the bed and looked around, the room suddenly tidier than it had been in weeks. That’ll do, he thought, regarding himself in the mirror. He flexed his muscles in what he imagined to be a body-builder pose. He was in pretty good shape thanks to rugby training, but could still lose a pound or two around the middle. He wondered what she did to keep in such perfect condition. Perhaps it was just lots of sex. He pondered this for a moment, the thought intriguing him immensely. He found most aerobic exercise as boring as hell, but sex was said to be equivalent to quite a workout, and he couldn't ever imagine tiring of that.
There was a knock at the door and in danced Cindy dressed in black leather jeans and a tight black cotton top that stopped somewhere short of her navel. Her hair was still wet and fell limply about her shoulders. He took in her face properly for the first time. She had delicate, sculptured features with high cheekbones and a small straight nose. Her eyes were emerald green and full of life. She was really quite beautiful, he decided.
“Can I – err - get you anything?” he asked awkwardly, suddenly aware of how little he knew about this girl, other than the fact that she seemed to want to have sex with him - not that he had a problem with this, but it seemed an odd reversal of roles nonetheless.
“No thanks, I have everything I need right here,” and with that, her arms flew up above her head and the top was gone. Almost as quickly the jeans were round her ankles and kicked off.
“Yes I can see that.” He barely managed to say the words before she had pushed him onto the bed and thrust her tongue into his mouth. He gasped for air as she finally pulled back and started to work her way down his neck and chest, her head moving in slow circles, each getting tantalisingly lower. The sensation of her warm lips and the way her cool damp hair lightly tickled his skin sent Doug into a trance. Time froze. Never before had felt so aroused.
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