The Chapel

by S. T. Boston

  The shoes her mother had chosen were open toed yellow gladiator sandals, Ellie wasn’t quite sure they rocked the dress as she intended but they were passable. She'd even braved a little makeup, not enough to make her look over the top, just some tasteful eyeliner and blue eyeshadow that went with the dress. It was probably the freshest she'd seen her look in a long time, she looked good and it was nice to see her this way, instead of tired and worn. Regardless of the motive behind it, the little self-pampering was deserved, and the little makeup had even helped to hide those thin crow’s feet at the corners of her brown eyes, the ones that over the last year, with all of its stresses and strains, had become oh so more prevalent.

  Her mother secretaried at the local first school until half three Monday through Friday, then before getting home, she went to the rest home to spend an hour with gramps. The drive across town alone took half an hour and was in the opposite direction to the family home, so when she did kiss him goodbye and get to the car it was even further for her to go, and by then the rush hour traffic had set in, increasing her journey time even more. A schedule like that was bound to wear anyone thin over time and she’d been living it for shy of a year with no let-up, save for the weekend and odd school holiday. Even then she went to the home every Saturday morning anyway. Saturday's she'd spend an extra hour there, taking gramps for a leisurely stroll through the pine tree-filled grounds. Ellie often joined her and would help her mother push the wheelchair. Thankfully the paths around the grounds were blacktopped with tarmac, facilitating the easy movement of wheelchair-bound guests around the various short walks that they'd done countless times, and would continue to do until whoever decided it was your time said, “Mr. Goth, room 33 – come on down!” That's how Ellie thought of the room numbers, displayed in white enamelled plastic above every door. It was that resident’s number and a few times a week someone's number came up, just like it did when you took a ticket at the Sainsbury's Deli counter and waited patiently to be served with your weekly choice of cut meats.

  Since the weekday rest home visits started her mother was always the last one home, and Ellie and her father had taken over the meal preparing mantle and the collection of Henry. The meal preparing practice was not such a bad thing considering her imminent move to university. So far she'd learned to cook a pretty mean spaghetti bolognese, she cooked a passable cottage pie and had even managed to roast a whole chicken without giving everyone E.coli or some other bout of serious food poisoning. Whilst she was still far from being a culinary goddess, a young Nigella, she knew enough so that when September came around and she left home for the first time, she’d be able to cook real food and not live off Pot Noodles and Crunchy Nut Cornflakes like so many students were rumoured to do.

  Rounding the back wall of the cottage, the sound of social chatter grew louder, and the grounds to the rear fully opened up. The path led into a large patio area that could not be seen from the shingle courtyard at the front. The brick style paving was the same as the path, old looking and just a trifle dangerous. A misplaced foot in the dark would certainly see someone turn an ankle or take a tumble.

  Most of the group, a good twenty or so people at Ellie’s rough guess, were gathered here. A few stood chatting on the lawn where an array of sunchairs and recliners, as well as the odd table, had been placed. Ellie guess that the distribution of the garden furniture was solely down to the fact that the close-cropped and withering grass was a whole lot more level than the patio.

  The lawn continued its sun-baked mottled appearance all the way to the bottom of the garden, where a small path, just big enough to fit a ride on lawn mower through, led between two oaks that stood like natural towering gateposts. The other side of the two trees it opened out into another, smaller clearing. Through those trees, Ellie could see what looked like a goodish sized stone barn. The barn, surrounded by green oak canopies and towering pines, had a dark grey slate roof that looked to be reaching a point in its life where it needed replacing. The outbuilding, hidden away as it was, seemed cut off from the rest of the property and gave Ellie the impression that it was being devoured by the forest, as if the vegetation grew in protest of its very existence.

  The spacious rear garden wasn't symmetrical in the slightest, more like a large and lopsided Trivial Pursuit wedge, cleaved out of the dense forest. The barbeque was a permanent fixture, set into an outdoor kitchen that was no doubt a later addition to the property. Obviously, there was no fridge, but it did have worktops made from thick, polished marble that looked a little too modern against this period property. Ellie saw it as an odd mixture of old and new that didn’t look quite right. Thankfully, with the fire hazard of the thatched roof, this impressive, if not out of place looking outside kitchen sat at the far end of the patio where stone ended, and organic life took over.

  Ellie spotted Lucinda almost right away, she was flitting from one guest to the next, a bottle of expensive looking champagne in her hand. Her reddish hair shone like silk in the late evening sunshine. She looks like a walking talking shampoo and conditioner commercial, Ellie thought with some amusement.

  Lucinda wore a one-piece black jumpsuit, although instead of full-length trousers, this ended in shorts just above the knee. Her tanned lower legs ran into sandals similar in design to those of her mother’s, only Lucinda’s were dark grey, and did go with her outfit, they also looked designer and expensive. The silky material hugged her figure in a way that would make a woman half her age jealous. Ellie couldn't place how old she was, mid-forties she guessed at the most, which meant she was more than twice her age, and even she felt a pang of envy at how good she looked.

  Ellie watched as she filled a guest’s glass, an attractive guy who Ellie pegged as being in his thirties with thick dark hair and a film star smile. The bubbly liquid fizzed in the glass and spilt slightly down the side in a single stream of bubbles. Film star smile guy nodded his appreciation and took a sip, bringing the beverage’s level down enough to keep it in the delicate looking glass. He noticed Ellie and the family and nodded in greeting, adding to it a raise of his brimmed glass. Ellie smiled back and blushed a little, thinking to herself that maybe some rich, slightly older men might not be so bad, not that her mother would approve.

  Noticing film star smile guy’s distraction, Lucinda herself looked up and spotted them, a broad smile of her own forming on highly clear glossed lips. She plugged a cork into the neck of the bottle, grabbed three fresh glasses from a trestle table that donned a good six different styles of salad, all still in bowls and with clingfilm over the top, and made her way over.

  “Welcome,” she said warmly, passing Ellie’s parents a glass each before placing the third in Ellie’s hand. “Champagne?” She looked at Ellie, and Ellie knew she was trying to judge her age. “If it’s okay with mum and dad that is?”

  “I’m eighteen,” Ellie cut in quickly, making it clear that no matter what they thought she was going to get her share of the free booze. She tipped the glass toward their host who removed the cork from the bottle, it offered a small squeak before it broke free of the neck with a pop. Lucinda filled Ellie’s glass first and Ellie drained half of the best tasting bubbly that had ever passed her lips before her parents’ glasses had even been filled.

  “Take it slow Ells,” her father said, the bottle feeding its contents into his glass with slow glugs that sounded like water going down a narrow drain. “That’s a Bollinger, to be enjoyed and not necked like you’re at a house party.”

  “It’s fine, really,” Lucinda said smiling, “I have plenty in.” She winked at Ellie and before filling her mother’s glass, she gave her a gladly received top up. “That’s what holidays are for, am I right?” She leaned in toward Ellie and lowered her voice a little as she spoke, her breath smelt of strawberries and champagne.

  “Totally,” Ellie agreed, she took another slug from her glass and said, “Although maybe not ones with your parents.”

  “Well, that may be so, but I’m sure they won’t mind.
Just don’t go being sick later, it’s expensive carpet the Reeds had laid.” Lucinda grinned, letting Ellie know she wasn’t being all the way serious.

  “We brought a prosecco,” her father said meekly, pulling it out of the bag. “Kinda feel a bit cheap now.” He regarded the bottle a little sheepishly before dropping it back into the bag where he no doubt considered it best hidden from the view of people with more expensive tastes.

  Lucinda shook her head, once again making it appear that she was a Loreal cover girl letting everyone know she was worth it. “Nonsense,” she replied. “You keep a hold of that, you didn’t need to bring a single thing.” She bent down to Henry’s height, “And how about you handsome, what would you like?”

  “I brought some orange juice,” he said shyly, one hand wrapped tightly around his mother’s leg, he half looked out from around her upper thigh as he spoke.

  "You did! Well, I have plenty of that, and Apple and even Elderflower, so if you run out just you let me know, okay?” She winked and patted him on the head, something he hated but on this occasion, he let it pass without so much as a winge or whine.

  “I’m so glad you decided to come,” Lucinda said, standing up and aiming her patter at Ellie’s mother, who she could no doubt sense, in a way that only another woman could, that she wasn’t feeling overly comfortable at the situation. “I know it might feel a bit awkward, but we’re a friendly bunch, so just,” she shrugged her shoulders, “mingle!”

  Ellie saw her mother relax a little, she took a sip of her bubbly and said, “You have a lovely home here. Did you say you’ve lived in the village your whole life?”

  “Born and bred,” Lucinda said with marked enthusiasm. “This home has been passed down through my family for generations. When you live somewhere as perfect at this there is just no point moving anywhere else.”

  “It’s just idyllic, do you live alone or is there a mister Horner to help out?”

  “On and off,” Lucinda answered, her pretty green eyes still holding an enchanting smile. She then realised that her answer would have sounded confusing and added quickly, “My husband, Seth, works for Cern, so he’s away on the continent an awful lot. Things do get on top of me at times. You’ve no doubt noticed the grass.”

  “He works at Cern?” her father asked, sounding impressed. “On that collider thing?”

  “Large Hadron Collider, Dad!” Ellie said in a voice that told him in no uncertain terms he was an embarrassment. She felt like adding a roll of the eyes but it might have seemed a little overdramatic.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Lucinda added.

  “So, he’s a scientist?”

  “Specialises in Astroparticle research and other mind-numbingly boring stuff," she said as nonchalantly as if she’d told them he fitted tyres at the local Kwik-Fit. "Trust me, it's not as interesting as it sounds. I'm sure he'd love to tell you all about it. Honestly, when he tries to tell me about the things he is working on I just about fall to sleep.” She laughed lightly at her own joke, then added, “He is home at the moment, just over there talking to the Robeys and Mr. and Mrs. Wanderson. The Robeys, they live in the house right at the other end of the village. Nice couple I will introduce you later. Then there’s the Lowes, they are around somewhere, they live next door. You also have the Vaughans, the Howgates, the Whittles, the Suttons,” Lucinda pointed out the other villagers, although in the mingling crowd it wasn’t easy to see just who she was referring to. “Just over there are the Pearsons and talking to them is Mrs. Southerns, Judy, her husband should be along later, he’s a banker and works in London. The lady over there with the black hair in a bob is Celine Rutter, her husband is around somewhere. Oh, and the Utleys haven’t turned up yet, but they will. I think that just about covers everyone.”

  Seth Horner, who stood at side profile to them around ten or so metres away, chatted animatedly to a couple in their late forties or early fifties, it was hard to tell. The female, who Ellie figured must be Mrs. Robey, had just about the longest blonde hair she'd ever seen. Save for maybe Rapunzel. It flowed down her back and over her shoulders like a mane and must have been nothing short of an absolute bitch to get in order every day. Her face, like that of Lucinda's, was clear and youngish looking and she had a feeling it belied her true age.

  Seth, husband to the somewhat hypnotic and lovely Lucinda, had salt and pepper hair that looked freshly barbered to a grade two on the sides, blended to a neat crop on top. He was tall, too. Ellie had him pegged at over six three, a good foot taller than her. She wagered that he was early fifties and in good shape. He wasn’t muscular but had more of an appearance of a cardio fan, over a bench pumping gym monkey. He suddenly noticed his wife with their latest guests, made his excuses and strode over, a wide smile broadening on his lips as he drew closer. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that suited the defined angles of his face, and as he approached, Ellie could see a sharp intellect behind his bespectacled hazel eyes. He wasn't what she'd class as a handsome man, but he wasn't exactly ugly, either. Nonetheless, Ellie thought he was punching a bit above his weight with Lucinda, but what he lacked in chiselled good looks he no doubt made up for with brains.

  “You must be the Harrisons,” he more stated than asked, his voice both soft and intelligent. A hand was extended to her father who accepted it, he pumped it up and down enthusiastically. Ellie noticed that his nails were perfectly trimmed and looked to have been manicured.

  “Lucinda said you’d be happy to fill me in on the joys of Astroparticle research," her father said, both the smile on his face and the tone of his voice a sign that he was joking. “Impressive stuff, not that I have a clue what it involves. Insurance is more my thing.”

  “It’s not as enthralling as it sounds, trust me.” Seth Horner replied with a grin. “When people find out you work at the collider they seem to think you’re some kind of rock and roll scientist, the truth is somewhat more mundane.” His smile was a winning one and presented a line of perfectly white teeth that had no doubt seen more than one cosmetic dentistry visit.

  Ellie, not being much of a drinker and a total lightweight, was already feeling the expensive champagne. The fact that Seth Horner worked at the mystery-clad LHC enthralled her. It was the topic of one conspiracy theory that she’d been steered to in the suggested section of her Youtube account. Foolishly she'd clicked the fifteen-minute presentation by Secureteam10, one of the net’s foremost channels for all things unexplained, and then ended up hooked on researching it for close to a month before she'd had to ditch it for fear it would drive her mad. Lubricated by the Bollinger, and before she thought better of it, Ellie found herself saying, “Is it true that one of your experiments created a wobble in our reality and caused the Mandela Effect?” She cringed inwardly as it left her lips and she glanced regretfully at the almost empty glass that had no doubt been partly to blame for her question.

  Seth Horner laughed, not a flitting laugh, but one of genuine amusement as if she’d just cracked a killer joke. He propped his glasses back up on his nose and said, “I’m sorry, I get asked all sorts of things about what it is we do down there. The conspiracy theories run from us all being a crazy bunch of satanic worshippers to insane megalomaniacs trying to punch our way through to other realities. As I said, the actual work is sadly, not that exciting.”

  “But you have heard of it?” Ellie responded; her initial embarrassment gone at his good-natured reply.

  “Of course, a term coined in regard to the mass misremembering of facts. Initially drawn from a whole bunch of people remembering Nelson Mandela dying whilst incarcerated, and yet he obviously didn’t. That's just the tip of a very big iceberg, though. This misremembering thing, The Mandela Effect as you call it, covers everything from movie lines, movie scenes to product names and logos, the list is endless." His eagerness to talk had put Ellie at ease and whilst she didn't expect him to come clean if they had in fact caused it, it was her kind of conversation. Seth put a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, "The tin-foil hatte
rs, to coin another phrase,” he continued, “think that us crazy scientists," he waved his hands by his head as he spoke as if to highlight the point, "with our mystical collider went and punched a hole right through this reality and warped it with other, very similar realities, causing some minor changes." He regarded Ellie with his hazel eyes, eyes made to look larger due to his wire-rimmed glasses. There was a sudden playfulness in them, and Ellie now wasn’t sure if he was indulging or mocking her. He seemed to sense her unease and added, “It’s fascinating stuff, how tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people all unconnected can misremember the same small detail. But sadly – no, I can’t lay a claim to anything quite as spectacular as that.” He crouched down a little, reducing his height a little closer to that of Ellie’s average five foot three and said in a lower voice, “Although the multiverse theory is a widely accepted one, one I personally subscribe to and something we are looking at.” He gave her a wink, that left her unsure of its meaning. For a serious scientist, he seemed to have known maybe a little too much about what he claimed to be a tinfoil hatter's conspiracy theory. But then she guessed he'd been asked before and had likely read up on it.

  Bored of adult conversation Henry broke free of his mother’s leg and darted off across the lawn to look at a pair of butterflies engaged in a dance of copulation over a blackberry bush at the edge of the woodland. He stood, head cocked, obviously trying to figure out what they were doing. Their wings beat the air furiously then seemed to become one for the briefest of moments before parting again and taking up the resemblance of a falling yellow leaf.

  “Stay in the garden,” their mother called after him. “If you go wandering in the woods there will be trouble!” Henry didn’t bother to acknowledge her, instead opting for that sudden deafness that seems to afflict young children when the situation suited them. Turning her attention to Seth, who now had a hand around his wife’s waist, she said, “Please excuse my daughter, she has a bit of an active imagination for such things.”