Garnet And Gold

Chapter 11

Rick decided to immerse himself in work for a day or two as an antidote to the mental strife generated by quantum physics. It was also a convenient excuse to delay the third phase of his plan: confiding in Esme. How many times had he run over the best way to explain to her? Frustratingly, he abandoned each possible approach as inadequate. So it was with foreboding he answered his phone with her name on the display. Today would have to be the day! No more putting it off.

“Esme, you’re up and about early this chilly Tuesday morning!”

“I thought it was about time one of us made an effort at communication.”

“I guess I know when I’m being reprimanded. Look, why don’t I make it up to you by inviting you for the best coffee in Cambridge?”

“Sounds good, but where would that be?”

“The Round Church on Bridge Street? Know it?”

“That would be the Church of the Holy Sepulchre?”

“Only for the pedantic among us!”

“You really are going out of your way to be reprimanded, Rick.”

He chuckled and put on an artificially conciliatory voice, “I would be greatly obliged if we could meet there in a quarter of an hour. There’s an excellent coffee shop close by.”

“I know it; they do wonderful chocolate cake too!”

Rick imitated the grunt of a pig and rang off before she could react.

The morning air was fresh so Rick was glad of his scarf as he strode to the twelfth-century church. He had always had a liking for the building, one of only four round medieval churches in England. He didn’t linger this morning to admire the architecture, the nip in the air saw to that. Instead, a swift peck on Esme’s cheek and he hurried her into the warmth of the Coffee House, a matter of thirty paces from the place of worship.

They took a window seat, but the usual charming view was obscured due to the heavy condensation on the glass.

“Quite a contrast with outdoors,” Rick said, unwinding his scarf and placing it over the back of his chair.

“So, what have you being doing to make you so busy you can’t phone your friends?”

“Is that what we are, Esme? Friends?”

She tilted her head and smiled, with a coquettish expression.

“Either that, or I’m the most neglected girlfriend in Cambridge.”

“I’m sorry, Esme, you’re right and that’s why I asked you here today – to explain. But let’s order first.” Rick caught the eye of a barista.

“I’d love some of your exquisite chocolate cake,” Esme told him, “if it’s not too piggy of me,” she glared at Rick.

“Not at all. I’ll have a slice too and a cappuccino. You, Esme?”

“Me too, please.”

When they had finished their food, Rick sat back and gazed at Esme. This needed to go well, but where to start? Best get straight to the point.

“What would you say if I told you I’d been seeing a psychiatrist?”

Her expression made him regret his opening gambit.

“Why what’s wrong, are you having trouble with your Master’s?”

He loosened the top button of his shirt, wishing they’d turn off the heating. It was too stuffy in the cosy café.

“Nothing like that but what I’m about to tell you will have you questioning my sanity.”

“Oh dear, Rick, you’re frightening me now.” The almond-shaped eyes narrowed to oriental proportions and her full lips pursed.

Rick reached across the table to take her hand and stare into the widening eyes which were like twin brown pools.

“In a sense it’s frightening but I’m not a danger to anyone if that’s what you think. Actually, quite the opposite; I’m hoping to save lives.”

“Rick, you are talking like those Anglo-Saxon riddles you’re so fond of.”

In effect, there was no way to tell her without sounding crazy, but if he didn’t get this done, he would genuinely go insane.

“What would you say if I told you I’d been back in time – I mean physically, to visit ninth-century England?”

“I’d say you were trying to make some kind of joke or else you were truly in need of a psychiatrist.”

Rick still had not let go of her hand. Now he squeezed it and said, “OK, I’m not joking. I went back to 870 AD.”

Esme pulled her hand away and stared hard at her boyfriend.

“Oh my God, you’re not joking, are you? So what exactly is the point of this?”

“The point, Esme, is to make you understand what’s been happening to me.”

“You mean how you are going crazy and need a psychiatrist because you are imagining impossible things? I can understand your love of all things Anglo-Saxon but to go as far as believing you can go back and visit them...! That’s absurd, ridiculous!”

This was going worse than Rick had feared. He didn’t know how she would react, but he had hoped for calm analytical consideration. Instead, there was anger; yes, definitely that on her face. She continued, “I resent you taking me for a fool, Rick Hughes. Even a backward primary school child knows there’s no such thing as time travel. Is this some sort of convoluted excuse for neglecting our relationship? Is there someone else?”

“Keep your voice down, Esme, people are staring.”

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” Back went her chair and she strode out of the café.

Rick put his head in his hands. There was no point in chasing after her. He would ring her later when she’d calmed down.

The trouble with that plan was that he rang six times throughout the day and only at the sixth attempt did she deign to answer.

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to explain to you exactly how I travelled back in time.”

“Listen, Rick, don’t take me for a fool. At least have the goodness to change the tune if you want to save our relationship.”

“Esme, you don’t understand–”

“The first intelligent thing you’ve said.”

“All right, hear me out. I went to Lincolnshire to a historical re-enactment, which was when...”

“I know,” there was an edge to her voice, “you went back in time. Look, I don’t mean to be rude but you’re exasperating! If you went back in time, which I don’t believe for one moment, bring me proof. Until then, I think it’s best if we don’t see each other. Don’t bother ringing.”

Rick stared at the mute phone in his hand and swallowed hard, remaining in his armchair to brood. Had his approach been clumsy? How else could he have broached time travel without seeming ridiculous to her? Had he lost her for good? He loved her and they were meant to be together yet never had he felt so distant from her. He cursed himself for his awkwardness. She hadn’t given him a chance to mention Gary. But would she believe him about Gary? Even if he got her to speak with him, would she suspect some sort of immature male prank? Rick sighed heavily and closed his eyes to think, but only succeeded in dozing.

When he jolted awake, his ideas were clearer. Rather than Gary, he needed Professor Faulkner to convince Esme. Great! That was the solution, but hang on...first he had to convince Professor Faulkner about his time travel. Back to square one – what could he do?

Over the next few days, and despite her ban, Rick tried to call Esme but without success. In the end he decided to meet her face to face so went round to her laboratory, but her colleagues told him she hadn’t been in the department for three days. This, they told him, was unheard of and would he go to her house to make sure all was well?

The house, a 1930s mock-Tudor semi, she shared with two other researchers, one a chemist, the other a biologist. No-one answered the door, so in a state of near panic, Rick rang her number again. There was little comfort to be had from the ring tone and she did not answer. Rick glanced at the digital clock on his phone, 17.30. It was getting late; surely one of the women would return home within the hour. He decided to wait and in order not to arouse suspicion by lurking near the door, he went to the front gate and sat next to it on the red brick wall. He was scrolling through an article on alliteration in Old English verse when his patience was rewarded.

“Excuse me, why are you sitting on our wall?”

The oval face, pink from the cold, peered at him from under a woollen patterned hat and from deep within a matching scarf.

“Oh, hello, I’m Rick, Esme’s boyfriend. I was hoping to catch her on her way in.”

“Not much chance of that, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s gone down with the ’flu. I’m on my way back from the chemist’s with medicine for her.”

Rick grimaced, “That’s strange, she didn’t mention it to me. Did she say how she’s feeling?”

The pert face creased into a frown. “How do you expect? Pretty rough. I hope I don’t catch it. It made me really ill last year.”

“Do you think I could come in and see her?”

The woman looked perplexed, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, for several reasons.”

“We didn’t quarrel if that’s what you’re thinking,” Rick said, “but she isn’t answering her phone. Anyway, thanks for your help...Dr...er...”

er“Russell. Suzy Russell.”

“Thanks anyway, Dr Russell. Good night.”

Rick decided there was no point in ringing Esme. She’d clearly given up on him and the ‘flu would hardly make her feel like rebuilding their failed relationship. The more he thought about it, the less he blamed her. He tried to imagine his own reaction if the roles had been reversed. Esme asks me out for a drink then tells me she’s been to the ninth century! Sure, I’d think she was a raving loony and try to make her talk sense. But Esme didn’t even try to talk sense into me. She just called me absurd and ridiculous, got angry and left.

. Esme asks me out for a drink then tells me she’s been to the ninth century! Sure, I’d think she was a raving loony and try to make her talk sense. But Esme didn’t even try to talk sense into me. She just called me absurd and ridiculous, got angry and left.Rick kept going over what he might have done better, what he should have said, and what he hadn’t, but in the end, he began to resent Esme’s quick temper. She hadn’t given him a chance. He’d show her and the only way to do so was to prove her wrong or rather, prove himself right. Proof might be impossible to find since it meant overturning the accepted principles of physics. He could hang on to one reassuring fact: he had been back in time more than once, so it was possible. “Whatever is possible can be explained,” he announced to the mirror in the bathroom before flinging cold water on his face to make himself feel more alive. Vigorous towelling of his face made him more determined. Three more days and there’s the physics conference. I’ll spend them swotting up on quantum physics on the internet.

Three more days and there’s the physics conference.I’ll spend them swotting up on quantum physics on the internet.He sat in front of his computer and began to search for ‘quantum mechanics of time travel.’ To his surprise he got ten pages of links and he began to click on them avidly, saving any articles he thought promising on his desktop as web archive pages. When he reached twenty he stopped. Better read them.

He began with the first article but after only a few lines, the writing was blue – a link – he clicked on it to find out the meaning of the term. No use, it was too complicated and anyway this link took him to others. No good, it was like a series of Chinese boxes. He would try another article later. It didn’t help that his concentration kept drifting to thoughts of Esme.

His phone pinged. A message! It was from Esme and said: Stop pestering me. It’s over.

Stop pestering me. It’s over.As brutal as that... Rick’s thumb raced over the small keyboard. No it isn’t, I love you! Just give me time. He hesitated. Should he write more? Should he even send it? He pressed the send arrow: too late now, deed done.

As brutal as that...No it isn’t, I love you! Just give me time. His reading about the quantum mechanics of time travel gave him a shaky grounding on the subject before the conference. He knew he was out of his depth but the one thing he had gleaned from his reading was that many physicists had an open mind about the meaning of time and indeed about its very existence. Rick began to look forward to Monday morning. He might after all find some answers to his questions and with it a way of saving his relationship. Esme hadn’t answered his text message – but then, he didn’t expect her to.