Quantum Poppers (19 page)

He saw them
straight away, as if they were spot lit amongst the throngs of children
flooding out of the gate in a chattering rush. They were together, joking
playfully, all smiles and contentment, leaving the school day behind them and
approaching what John was praying would be further smiles and contentment back
home. All of a sudden he questioned whether his return really was a good thing.
Would they be pleased to see their father who had vanished for two weeks? What
had Caroline told them? Were they on his side? None of it mattered. The past
year fell away, drowned in the good will that exploded from Jessica and
Jennifer as they saw him, their smiles growing impossibly large as they flung
their arms out in unison and attacked him with hugs. He was almost swept off
his feet. They didn't need to say a word, the love they showed was enough. It
was almost as great as the resentment he suddenly felt for Bartley for keeping
him away for so long.

It wasn’t until
bedtime that he allowed the questions to come. Over dinner he and Caroline half
ignored, half waved away their attempts at explanations for his whereabouts.
Work related travel had been the halfhearted excuse given; Caroline too would
be asking more questions soon.

Now, surrounded
by an avalanche of Tiggers within the bedroom the two girls shared, he allowed
the questions to come. The hum of the TV emanated from downstairs which was
complimented by the moonlight that lit the scene, bathing the bunk in which
Jessica and Jennifer shared in a gentle twilight - as if it were an additional
comforting blanket.

It was Jessica,
the younger of the two who seemed to have most questions. Perhaps Jennifer’s
four extra years of life had taught her that there were not always answers.
Either that or she knew that both he and Caroline hadn’t got their stories
straight yet.

‘Why didn’t you
tell us you were leaving Dad?’ said Jessica. Her round face poked out of the
end of the duvet, her eyes glistening. He couldn’t believe how much she’d grown
in their time apart.

‘I’m sorry
sweetie, it all happened so quickly. This work thing we do, it sometimes just
gets in the way of life.’

‘You didn’t
even say goodbye.’

‘I know, I’m so
sorry. I would have if I could.’

‘You can always
say goodbye.’

He didn’t say
anything and wondered whether Jennifer in the bunk below had fallen asleep.

‘You’re back though aren’t you, for
good?’

‘I certainly
am. I’ll never leave you again,’ said John, unsure quite how true this
statement was. His future, and foremost his family’s safety whilst he remained,
was so fogged it was impossible to see even to tomorrow. ‘If I had had a
choice, I never would have left before.’

‘It’s been
horrible since you’ve been gone. Mum missed you.’

‘And I missed
her.’

‘And me?’

‘And you.’

‘And Jen?’

‘And Jen.’

‘Who did you
miss the most?’

‘I missed you
all as much as each other.’ John smiled and held Jessica’s head in his hand.
‘Now go to seep and I promise I’ll be here when you get up in the morning.’ He
kissed her and felt the first tear spilling from his eye.

He now sat down
on the bottom bunk, slowly at first incase Jennifer was asleep but he soon saw
that she wasn’t. She was facing the wall, her arms clasped round herself in a
defensive hug.

‘Good night
Jennifer,’

‘Good night,’
she said without turning around.

‘I love you
very much.’

She turned to
look at him. ‘What hurts the most is that Mum didn’t even have a clue where you
were, or when you’d be back. How could you do that to her?’ She was whispering,
not wanting to ruin her baby sister’s enclosed view of the world.

‘I told her
what I could. Sometimes we really don’t have control over the things we do, or
the things we don’t. Just know that I have never loved any of the three of you
as much as I do now. I always have, always will. The past year was hell without
you.’

‘We were always
here,’ she said and turned back to face the wall.

John leaned
over and kissed her cheek.

‘Glad you’re
home Dad.’

This triggered
tears in John which he was unable to control. Standing outside the girl’s
bedroom he let them fall. There was no need to hold them back. It was more than
just himself that had been confined in that complex. His happiness had been
confined and sated, and now with waves of relief he let it all come out. A joy
he couldn't lose again. All he needed was to keep his promise to Jessica that
he was no longer going anywhere.

That night he
and Caroline made love. The year’s worth of pent up loneliness was such a
relief that its expulsion was prodigious in its release. He never wanted it to
end. The pinnacle of physical connection was so strong that he feared no longer
having it as they broke apart, their hands touching in order to not fully break
the connection.

‘It hasn’t been
like that for a while,’ said Caroline. They both lay looking up at the ceiling.
It glowed with light of passing cars.

‘It certainly
hasn’t,’ said John. He clasped Caroline’s hand tighter and shifted even closer
to her. Their bodies now inseparable from each other.

‘No John, I
mean it. This may sound terrible but in the past, it was as if we had become
two other people. This time...I’ve never felt as though we were both so fully
here, in the moment. Does that make sense?’

‘I know exactly
what you mean.’ John kissed her bare shoulder. Since his escape he had
discovered that it was the little things he had missed the most. Lying in a
bed, not alone, being the greatest.

They lay like
that for time immeasurable. In silence. The passing cars had reduced in
frequency, turning the light show on the ceiling from a free-for-all into an
occasional slur of artificial light as a lone vehicle turned out of the
junction opposite the house and off to its desired location.

‘I really hope
work are ok with you tomorrow,’ Caroline finally said.

‘I’m sure they
will be.’

‘Are you ready
to tell me yet where you were?’

‘Not right now
princess. I will tomorrow, I promise. Let me sort out work first, get my head
in order, and I’ll have all the answers you need.’

‘I don’t want
to push you John, but I need to know,’ she said before adding, ‘
we
need
to know.’

‘As I’ve said,
it will never happen again.’

‘It really
can’t John.’ She then raised his arm and rested it gently on her stomach. ‘We
need you,’ she repeated. ‘Your son won’t want his dad disappearing when he
needs him most.’

John could deal
with the framed photograph. Even the imposter kissing his children before bed
each night now seemed an inconvenience that had befallen his family. This, this
was unnatural. Unfair. And surely untrue. Caroline wasn’t the only one in need
of answers. This now involved an overwhelming betrayal. Bartley had taken away
his last twelve months - and had now taken away his son. The child growing
within the woman beside him was an abomination. To think of Caroline’s child in
this way made him flinch, but it was true. Whoever the imposter was, everyone
appeared to believe it had been him. The man who had become the father, the
husband, the son, had impregnated his wife.

His exterior
remained impassive, and he was thankful for the darkness surrounding them. He
forced a smile and turned to Caroline who was facing him. She appeared genuinely
happy. This just made things worse. He screwed his eyes up tight in order to
kiss her, not wanting to see her up close. This was a form of infidelity, all
be it unaware, culminating with a life growing inside which was simply not his.

‘You wouldn’t
leave him would you?’ she whispered.

‘Never,' said
John in a whisper so low he doubted she had heard it.

‘Good,' she
said and rolled away from him. He cuddled up behind her, his left arm almost
afraid to touch her belly.

His eyes
remained open for hours as he stared over her head and into the tabletop mirror
opposite. His reflection stared back. He looked at it for hours until the faint
pull of sleep began dragging him down for the night. After all that had
happened, he had never felt so far from home.

It was all so
real. The wind sweeping across his face, the gritty crunch beneath his shoes,
the glint of the sun that made him squint. There was a smell in the air of
bonfire, the smoke couldn’t be seen but that unmistakable tang of burning wood
triggered the sensory perception in his brain to accept that it was there. This
place certainly had substance.

Tony past a
vegetable stool, the various colours glowed, and the smells, so unnoticeable
until now, followed him further down the high street. He brushed his hand
through a hedge that centred the pavement and as he reached the beginnings of
the pub he touched its white mottled walls, applying pressure and not letting
his hand leave the stone. He stroked it with his fingers before applying more pressure
the further he went. Soon his clenched fist was dragging along the wall; any
more pressure and blood would be drawn. He even wanted to stop for a second,
punch the wall, perhaps put a fist through a window just for ultimate
confirmation that all around was a physical force with substance, and not just
shadow like the people.

Further
sensations were triggered as he neared the entrance of The Smack. The smell of
fumes from the passing cars fleeing and entering Hambleton; the sound of birds
and the bark of a dog seemed amplified now that he was fully paying attention.
Quite why he should only be paying attention to his surroundings here he could
not tell - perhaps it was an attempt to prove Bartley wrong, and that he hadn’t
gone anywhere at all.

The entrance to
The Smack was around the side of the building. He followed the path into the
car park which opened out into its mammoth garden. It heaved with people on
what was a surprisingly warm afternoon. Families, couples, and the obligatory
lone gentleman sat at benches nursing their drinks, and as with everything else
around him, their presence was amplified. The mumble of chatter clashed with
the sound of singing birds. The occasional beeping horn from the main road
played out alongside the screaming of kids. For a moment Tony just stared from
the proximity of the car park. If these people were really what Bartley had
told him then...what exactly were they? Who was defining their being? Who had
created this world? Who maintained the rules by which they were governed? He
could have asked the same questions wherever he was. The individual was still
making the decisions, implementing the rules. These beings were always in
control.

He turned to
the pub. Oak beams framed the large double doors which were propped open by a
sandwich board declaring two meals for a fiver and an apparent world famous
beer festival. It looked like a black hole against the side of the sheer white
building, a black hole he needed to penetrate. But not yet. He stood, composing
himself for what potentially lay inside. Part of him didn’t want it to be true.
An unnatural, almost perverse element reared its head like a beast, dousing the
great and earth-shattering conclusion for which he prayed. All it needed was
for him to take a few more steps, enter the dark cavern ahead and be welcomed
by the ultimate proof of all - the thing which would turn all of his beliefs of
Bartley, of anything, on its head. He approached, at first cautious but with
growing intent as he began ascending the small number of stairs. The harsh
sunlight heightened the darkness of the entrance; his eyes struggled to adjust
to the shadows. With one final hesitant step he entered The Smack.

The darkness,
coupled with the cold chill, emphasised the cavern-like quality of the pub. The
only thing missing was the dank walls and continuous drip-drop sound of water
falling from distant stalactites. A hushed background music hung in the air,
pumped from hidden speakers. A few random people were interspersed throughout
but on the whole the pub was empty; nothing compared to the beer garden where
people were making the most of the sunshine. Most of those inside were
scattered along the bar yet still outnumbered 2-to-1 by the staff. He saw
Trevor, pulling a pint before chucking a packet of crisps down onto the counter
which a man then lobbed to his son who in turn carried outside to a waiting
mother. Trevor glanced past Tony but made no acknowledgement, and why would he?
Still nothing was answered but he couldn’t help the growing sensation that all
was to be revealed soon.

He stepped
further in, his feet sticking to the tiled floor the closer he got to the bar.
Other staff members crossed in front of him, most balancing plates on carefully
stacked arms, others scampering in from outdoors mumbling orders -
gourmet
burger and chips twice, gourmet burger and chips twice
- none paying the
slightest bit of attention to him. A man, hidden behind a beard of various
greys then ambled from around the side of the bar leading a dog, leading not
quite being the operative word - he was being dragged, a feat not made any
easier by the sticky surface. The man held in his hand a pint, and as he past
Tony, the barmaid who must have served him came into view.

Tony stopped.
All Bartley had said was true. It was a great release and at the same time a
sensation of great pain poured upon him. He suddenly couldn’t deal with a word
he had been told. It was easy to dismiss it all when Bartley had told him from
the comfort of his lounge. He had assumed the stranger was insane and spouting
nonsense. Even reappearing broken windows and people floating in the air
created more questions than solidifying any sort of belief. But these now
seemed insignificant to this one undeniable truth. For crossing behind the bar,
dragging a dishcloth to soak up any rogue spills, passed Emma Ronen. She wore
the contracted black t-shirt (complete with golden ship emblem) and had her
hair tied back in a ponytail. Tony just stared. Not even breathing. The
undeniable truth that this couldn’t be happening was barging through the words
that Bartley had uttered, forcing him to not accept this was possible. It
couldn’t be. Simple answer was: they had buried the wrong person, she never
died. Tony almost laughed at this pathetic attempt to explain what he was
seeing. She had died, and now here she was. At least some semblance of her,
from some time.

Seconds passed
before Tony realised he hadn’t breathed. He sucked in air, shaking away all
conceived notions as to what was happening and began approaching the bar. Emma
stood with her back to him as she dusted down a shelf of liqueurs and restocked
the lemon jar. A customer appeared at the end of the bar, but it was Trevor who
honed into view to serve them. He passed Emma, gently brushing a hand playfully
through her hair. She turned her head and giggled. Tony rested his hand upon
the bar. It was even stickier than the floor, but for now he didn’t care. He
tried to say her name, but nothing came out. Part of him didn’t want this to
happen. He didn't want to look her in the eye; he didn't believe he could
without collapsing or losing his mind. But seeing those eyes was the one thing
he needed. They brought the light that ignited his world, and now he craved
that luminance one more time.

‘Hey,’ he said,
in the most casual way he could muster.

She turned, the
luminance that broke out when she smiled near broke his heart.

‘Hey,' she
said, dropping the dishcloth on the counter and leaning upon the bar towards
him. ‘What you doing here? Manage to drag yourself away from your game long
enough for that drink?’

She seemed so
real - was she? All he could do, whilst holding back tears, was to smile and
nod pathetically.

‘Are you ok?
You don’t seem quite with it.’

‘Yeah,’ he
said, pausing to compose himself. ‘Just came down to see you. Get some time
away from the game.’ And then it all became easy again to speak to her.
Whoever, whatever this was, it was Emma. ‘It’s good to see you.’ He smiled and
hoped his own eyes were given off the same glowing radiance that hers did. He
must have been giving something off as the look in Emma’s eye changed to a
questioning gaze, one delved in a shadow he couldn’t explain. As if she was
realising something herself.

‘You to,’ she
said. ‘You down here on your own? No Andy, or the glass spitter.’

‘No, it’s just
me,’ he said before realising one fundamental truth: ‘I’m the only one here.’

‘So, what can I
get you?’

‘Surprise me.’

‘A half pint of
Guinness half Strongbow combination.’

‘I’ll take
that, but double the Strongbow and lose the Guinness.’

‘Done.’

She grabbed a
glass and began to pull the pint. Tony's peripheral vision faded and all that
remained was Emma, pinpointed at the end of a tunnel. More people had joined
the bar and were being served by various members of staff, but nothing penetrated
his gaze that focused solely on Emma.

‘Thanks,’ he
said grabbing the pint as the world around him flooded back into vision. The
wet cold glass was another sensation that anchored him back into this world. He
took a sip, whoever controlled these plains sure knew how to recreate the taste
of a crispy cider.

‘Are you able
to join me for a bit?’ he asked.

‘A bit of
what?’

‘Well I...’
said Tony caught off guard. This had often been a running joke between the two
of them. Not particularly funny but a response that was always made by the
other to the aforementioned question. But this time he couldn’t fathom what she
was intimating. He stumbled for words.

‘Yeah, I can
have a break. Can get someone to cover me,’ she said, not registering the
internal conflict that was now calming inside Tony.

‘Cool,’ he
sipped again, regaining composure.

‘I’ll clock off
out back and meet you outside?’

‘Sounds good.’

She turned to
leave, the staff still outnumbering indoor customers. All Tony could do was
watch her, transfixed as she walked away. Talk of shadows and idents were now
meaningless. An embodiment of Emma was there for all to see, the stability of
this incarnation irrelevant.

The beer garden
was almost full to capacity, the contrast with the emptiness of inside was
shocking. The noise of raised voices and the warm breeze carried Tony to the
one remaining table. Its free state was explained by the crooked leg which
pitched the entire surface at a twenty-degree angle. Although this seemed
somehow fitting - Tony sitting in this world at a crooked slant, a person off
centre to all those enjoying their time around him. He took a large enough
mouthful of his drink so it wouldn’t spill when placed on the table.

It was soon
joined by a lemonade and packet of crisps, delivered to the table by Emma.

‘What service,’
said Tony. He stood, wanting to hug her. The urge to touch her had never been
so great and the risk of annihilation insignificant to his desire. But
Bartley’s words about not touching anything reigned loud and clear within.
Whether or not annihilations would ensue he didn’t know and he cursed Bartley
for putting him in a situation where wrapping his arms around Emma was not a
possibility. His gesture turned into a stretch and Emma circled the table in
order to sit opposite. There was one connection that surely couldn’t cause
paradoxical destruction; as Emma began to sit he blew her an exaggerated kiss
with the pretence she wouldn’t take it seriously.

‘What was that
for?’

‘No particular
reason, just good see you.’

‘Well it has
been a while. What’s it been? Two whole days?’

‘Is that all
it’s been? Feels longer than that.’

There was now
suspicion in her eye as he sat down, taking another deep gulp from his drink.
Emma opened the crisps, tearing the packet in two for them to share. She took a
crisp and chewed, her gaze not moving from Tony. It was almost looking through
him.

‘What?’ said
Tony.

‘Nothing.’

‘No, what?’

‘Well, the
kiss. The way you looked at me earlier. The way you’re looking at me now. It’s
almost as if you’ve seen a gho...,’

‘Don’t say it.
Please, don’t say it.’

‘Ok, moving on.
Perhaps it’s the interview tomorrow. The nerves.’

‘You’ve got an
interview tomorrow? What for?’

‘No, you’re the
one with the interview, you couldn’t have forgotten.’

‘Yeah the
interview. So many of them I just get confused. It’ll be fine. The bathroom
one.’ This was almost a question, a need to verify his position.

‘Possibly, you
know I don’t keep track.’

‘I’ll get one
soon - a job.’

‘Yeah, when you
least expect it - crash, it’ll appear.’

The emphasis on
the word sent a shudder through Tony. He gripped his glass tight before
grabbing a handful of crisps and biting into the overly salted snack. He took
more of his drink to wash the taste away.

‘Don’t say
that,’ said Tony.

‘Why not? It probably
will.’

‘No, don’t say
crash,’ he said. And then, ‘more of a pop.’

‘A pop?
Possibly. I say crash, you say pop. Done.’

They sat in
silence for a moment. The bitter taste of the crisps wasn’t leaving Tony but it
didn’t matter.

‘You remember
that guy I told you about at Stayx the other day?’ Emma asked, breaking the
silence.