The Categorical Universe of Candice Phee (13 page)

“No. The jumping is no problem. But I can't get back to my world. It is
so
frustrating.”

“Is there a me in your world?”

“What?”

“A Candice Phee? You said there was an infinity of earths and therefore an infinity of mes. So have you bumped into an alternative me in your alternative Earth and, if so, what is she—me—like? Is that alternative
Candice your friend? Does she have a religiously confused fish? Or is she normal?”

I liked the idea of a normal me somewhere, doing normal things and thinking normal thoughts—a Candice who wasn't called a shortened form of Special Needs, who had a boyfriend and a phone, who went to sleepovers and drank cider and liked rap songs and confided everything to her sister, who worshipped her and wanted to be just like her when she grew up.

“You must be there somewhere,” said Douglas, “but I haven't met you.”

“Will you do me a favor?” I asked. “If you get back . . .”

“
When
I get back,” said Douglas.

“Yes.
When
you get back, would you look me up? Say hello from me.” I started to get excited at the possibilities. “And, because you are a whiz at all things scientific, perhaps you could invent something whereby we could communicate between our worlds. Letters, preferably, because I can't do e-mail. And maybe the alternative Candice could be my pen pal.” I stopped then, because a horrible thought struck me. What if the alternative Candice was too cool to bother with me? I could cope with the knowledge that Denille was too busy and/or too American to write, but I couldn't face knowing that I didn't like me. So I bit my fingernails, which I do when strange thoughts buzz around my head. If Douglas replied I didn't hear it. I was focused on the probability of being snubbed in an infinite number of worlds.

We arrived at the marina in an atmosphere of confusion. Dad locked the van and we stood for a moment gazing around the parking lot, which, to be honest, didn't look like the perfect site for a birthday celebration. Neither did the sight of masts bobbing in a strange, detached fashion above the roofs of the cars.

“Well,” said Dad. “We're here.”

“True,” I said. “Though, when you think about it, we are always
here
. I mean, at any given moment, here is inevitably where you must be. You can't be there, without moving from the here to the
there
. And every movement is a small
here
. So
here
is a permanent . . .”

“Candice,” said Dad. “I know it's your birthday, but please stop. We're here. At the marina, which is your choice. So what do you want to do? Do you want your birthday party in this parking lot? Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

He started to mutter darkly, so Mum grabbed him by the arm and hauled him off a few meters. There was much waving of arms and subdued growling mingled with the muttering. An occasional word like
selfish
and
pig
and
birthday
fluttered past my ears, as well as the odd phrase like “her day” and “sarcastic bastard.” These were Mum's contributions. Dad just scowled and muttered. Darkly.
Wonderful
, I thought. I was aiming for harmony, but achieving discord.

I took Douglas by the arm and headed toward the boats. Maybe Mum and Dad would notice we'd gone after they'd finished muttering and growling.

“Why
are
we here, Candice?” asked Douglas Benson from Another Dimension.

“To perform a miracle,” I replied.

“Oh,” said Douglas. “Right.”

I took him straight to the marina. There were so many boats it was difficult to see the water between them, but I knew where I was going. After all, I had thrown up on most of this marina, and that helps in the getting of bearings.

I saw Rich Uncle Brian's boat at the far end of a long pier and headed toward it.

Now that I was close to the Big Moment, I was becoming nervous. If Rich Uncle Brian and/or Dad didn't respond appropriately I could be moments from an unpleasant death. That got me thinking again, so I stopped.

“Douglas?” I said. “Do you think there is such a thing as a pleasant death?”

He screwed up his face in concentration. His caterpillar eyebrows writhed.

“Maybe being sucked into a black hole,” he replied finally. “I'm not sure that would be
pleasant
, but it would be amazingly cool. You see, as you approached the event horizon . . .”

“I thought not,” I said and took off for the
Motherboard
once again. Rich Uncle Brian's yacht bobbed in the water in what sailors would probably find an agreeable fashion.
I felt like throwing up. There was no sign of anyone on deck, but Rich Uncle Brian was almost certainly lurking down below, doing whatever nautical people do. I had rung him the day before and he had promised to be there. Rich Uncle Brian keeps his promises.

I glanced over my shoulder. Mum and Dad were following, though they were some distance away. I had time to provide important information to Douglas Benson from Another Dimension.

“Douglas,” I said. “Promise me that whatever happens in the next few minutes, you will do absolutely nothing.”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“I thought it was fairly plain, but I'll rephrase. Promise me that whatever happens in the next few minutes, you will do absolutely nothing.”

“Like what?”

“Like nothing.”

“No.” He shook his head as if to clear away confusion. “I mean, what will happen?”

“Something.” Suddenly an unpleasant thought surprised me. I was getting plenty of surprising thoughts today. Maybe it had something to do with being a teenager. “Unless,” I added, “no one else does anything. If that happens—and
only
if that happens—I want you to leap around like a mountain goat, screaming, pointing, and generally being dramatic. Got it?”

“No,” said Douglas Benson from Another Dimension.

“Good,” I said. “I'm glad we're on the same wavelength.”

Mum and Dad walked along the pier, a hundred meters away. The time had come. I formed a megaphone with my hands and filled my lungs.

“Rich Uncle Brian!” I yelled. There was a pause while I took in the absence of an uncle on the
Motherboard
's deck. I geared myself for another bellow, but was spared by the sight of RUB appearing from the bowels of the boat. It was unnerving. A peaked cap rose into view. Underneath it was RUB's head. For a moment it was like a severed head balancing on the boards. Then his shoulders came into view, followed by the rest of his body. It was like he'd oozed, headfirst, through the fabric of the boat. I might have applauded, but I had other things on my mind.

“Pumpkin!” he shouted. He might even have waved an arm. I cannot be sure. “Happy birthday, my girl. Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, Rich Uncle Brian,” I replied.

Then I threw myself off the pier and into the water.

It was very wet, which was no great surprise, but also very cold, which was. I resisted the urge for a sharp intake of breath, which was probably wise.

I sank like a stone and waited. For rescue or death, whichever came first.

I'm confident you'll work out which.

This is the way I explained it to Douglas Benson from Another Dimension:

“My family is a mess, Douglas. My father hates my uncle. My uncle loves my father, but cannot back down. My mother is torn by family loyalties. I thought if my uncle and my father were united in a common purpose (saving me from drowning), they would forget their differences and bond. I pictured them throwing themselves into the water, hauling me to the surface. One clearing my airways while the other performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. And then, while I spluttered and drew breath, there would be much weeping and wailing. But there would also be hugging and tears of joy. A reconciliation.”

“You're an idiot, Candice,” replied Douglas.

“Yes,” I said. “Certainly.”

It hadn't happened like that.

Rich Uncle Brian
had
thrown himself overboard (so Douglas Benson from Another Dimension reported to me later), but hit his head on the side of the neighboring
yacht. Luckily he did no damage to it. The yacht, I mean. His head was another matter.

Dad hurled himself off the pier while trying to take off his jacket in the time-honored Hollywood fashion. Being a computer geek, however, he couldn't get his arms out. As a result, he fluttered like a wounded bird and cracked his head against Rich Uncle Brian's knee. The two floated in a growing pool of blood-stained water and had to be rescued by the captain of a neighboring yacht.

My mother fainted.

Douglas Benson from Another Dimension was confused about my instructions. I'd told him to act
only
if nobody did anything. Someone (in fact, everyone)
had
done something, so he stood for a minute or two working through the problem. His logical mind told him to stand still, but I
had
been underwater for some time and showed no signs of resurfacing. Eventually he leaped around like a mountain goat, screaming, pointing, and generally being dramatic. Unfortunately, there was no one still conscious who could pay attention, so he jumped into the ocean as well.

Frankly, by this time, he might as well have, since anyone who was anyone was either floating or thrashing about madly. With the exception of my mother, that is.

And me, of course.

While all the excitement was happening on the surface, I was sinking deeper into cold and darkness. Part of me wondered why the rescue was taking so long. But mostly I watched the images floating before my eyes.

They say that when you're dying, your whole life flashes before your eyes. It's a slight exaggeration. I saw my mother when she was younger, before she had forgotten how to smile. I saw Dad and Rich Uncle Brian laughing and joking together. I saw Douglas Benson from Another Dimension jumping from a tree and fading from sight before he hit the ground. I saw Earth-Pig Fish floating on the surface of the water in her bowl.

I saw Sky. Not as a baby, but as she would be now. She was saying something, but I couldn't work out what it was. Her face was serious, though, and I could tell by her eyes that what she wanted to say was very important. It was a curious mixture of images from my life and (maybe) images from beyond my death.

I didn't know what to make of it.

It was Sky's face that saved me. That and Douglas Benson from Another Dimension's birthday present. I cannot remember doing this, but I must have pressed the trigger of the can that I'd put in my pocket before we set off. The can that was connected by a plastic tube to my false breasts.

It was the passion in Sky's face that pressed that trigger. I don't want to get mystical, but my dead sister was yelling at me to
do
something. She was pulling me from death, from joining her. I read it in her face.

The can injected pressurized air into my false breasts, which inflated to maximum size. In effect, I was now wearing 32DDD floaties and they catapulted me to the
surface, where I must have made a dramatic entrance, like a strangely endowed dolphin jumping through a hoop. Luckily, no one threw me a fish.

Douglas Benson from Another Dimension dragged me to the pier where people, alerted by the drama, pulled me onto dry land. Well, dry wood, since I was lying next to my unconscious mother. Her eyelids fluttered open and her gaze went to my chest. One breast had deflated in the trauma of my impersonation of a surface-to-air missile. The other ballooned in a bizarre fashion.

I vomited.

My mother fainted again.

Douglas Benson from Another Dimension kissed me.

It was my first kiss, and it was strange. His lips were cold and wet and I had vomited a bucketful of salty water, so it wasn't in ideal conditions. But I remember wondering why people made such a fuss of it.

For all that, I was glad he did it.

The rest of my birthday passed in a haze. Two ambulances arrived. One took Dad and Rich Uncle Brian to the hospital, while the other took me, Mum, and Douglas Benson from Another Dimension. This was not the most harmonious of combinations. I would have mentioned this, but the paramedics were too busy applying an oxygen mask to my face to listen.

I heard later that Dad woke up on the journey and found himself centimeters away from his brother. In his concussed state, Dad remembered that Rich Uncle Brian
had kneed him in the head, preventing him from rescuing his daughter. So he tried to strangle RUB and had to be restrained.

How would I rate the success of my plan to reconcile my family? On a scale of zero to ten?

Around minus fifteen.

Still, I didn't have to eat chicken parmigiana and listen to a chorus of “Happy Birthday to You.” That was a silver lining. The majority of the cloud, however, was still very dark.