Unlike Lucinda, Martin knew exactly what he was doing, arousing concern that he’d see right through us but, as we sat around the kitchen table, I became reassured by the invisible cord of certainty that connected us. Joe kept glancing in my direction, like he sensed what was sitting in my chest. Martin offered a skilled and empathic preamble, then asked Vik if he might be able to talk about what he remembered.
“I would very much like to talk about it.” Vikram said. “Unfortunately, I don’t remember anything, which is disconcerting, quite frankly. Nevertheless, I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
As Martin offered reassuring words in the perfect tone, I was thinking, well, Martin, I was doing some experiments with electro-magnetic fields and I met this man with a unique brain and weird things started to happen, oh, and by the way I fell in love with him and after an explosion in the MRI we all ended up on a facsimile of Ainsdale beach where we spent a good while revisiting our primate past before some of our memories gradually returned. Then, Gabriel disappeared and we all ended up back here and then, by combining an induced seizure with electro-magnetic pulses to the brain, I found out he’d drowned himself and I’ve got to face the prospect of telling the others while I’m sitting here being slowly smothered by the weight of it and the fear of what my interference might have done. That’s the overview, anyway, Martin. Any questions? Sorry, I forgot, I got three months pregnant in about five days as well. Oh, and just a little bonus snippet, ever since the seizure, I’ve had this song going around in my head, ‘Somewhere Beyond the Sea’, a Bobby Darin classic, which is poetic in its irony, particularly as songs in the head is where all this started. What’s that Martin, you think I need help? You want to take me somewhere I’ll be properly looked after?
I admired Martin’s gentle persistence, which lasted for a good forty-five minutes, but we pulled it off. He eventually gave up the ghost and after a spiel about offers of help, they left like three disappointed psychological musketeers.
The hard lump had increased in volume by then and was expelled by act of extreme will. There were no histrionics, we didn’t even talk about it much. Time was needed to let it seep through to the places where it would be truly experienced. I told them about the baby, too, which was at least some hope on an otherwise bleak horizon, particularly for Joe.
That night, creeping downstairs when everyone appeared to be asleep, I was about to head out of the back door when a disembodied voice jolted me.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it.”
I spun around, searching for its owner. Silver-grey light from a crack in the curtains painted the outline of a face.
“Hi Vikram. Couldn’t sleep?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep because I know you and I know the police told us that this lot are being moved on tomorrow, so you have to see what’s happening because you’re a compulsive researcher and even though you’re exhausted and mournful and pregnant and half out of your mind, it’s an opportunity you won’t pass on.”
“Just can’t get out of the habit of looking after me, eh?”
“I have no intention of getting out of that particular habit.”
“I’m going out there, Vikram.”
“How are you going to get past the police they posted at the doors?”
“By knowing that they’re all gabbing over by the gate at this moment in time.”
“I’m going with you, of course.” We pulled our hoods up together.
The rain had left a humid signature, but the night was clear, leaving us free to creep around the side of the house without stumbling. We swung over the drystone wall and mingled with the accumulation. Things were relatively quiet, a few campfires and acoustic guitars, the hum of chatter punctuated by the occasional peal of laughter, shadow puppet forms through lighted tents. The burger grill smell still lingered, along with wood smoke and damp peat. There were a handful of new age travellers and crystal bearing aspirants, eco fascists, born again Christians and past life pamphleteers. But there was no overriding demographic, just a sample of characters that might have seeped through from any conurbation. Vikram stayed so close he felt like an extra backbone.
“They can’t take their eyes off the city.” Vikram whispered. “We might as well be invisible. You know, I seem to remember something Vik said to Gabriel once – You can see the city from the hills, but you can’t see the hills from the city.”
I’d habitually wander from the house to gaze upon the magic below, often at night, especially at Christmas. It hummed with a life of its own, all the little charges of activity conspiring into an entity of biomechanical energy.
A ripple coursed through the harmonious throng we’d secretly invaded as the dancing waves of light that remained over the city stilled. Glancing at the faces of those closest to me, I saw their wonder and was infected by it. The deluge of luminescence popped like sky rockets, releasing slivers of phosphorescent flare that fell casually to the ground.
“Aurora Gabrialis.” Vikram said, his voice thickened by grief. “I wonder what will happen, now.”
A thick set man to my right was scrutinising us, so I nudged Vikram and we beat a hasty retreat. The police copped us on the way back, but PC Barnet was clearly sweet on Vikram, which seemed to do the trick in terms of diminishing the ticking off. We bribed them with tea and Madeira cake, which they were amenable to, knowing that they could get into hot water for taking their eye off the ball in the first place.
Vikram and I languished at the kitchen table, pouring from a refilled pot before the constabulary return of crockery.
“How are you doing, Vikram?”
“I’m all right. It’s a lot to take in, not just the events, you understand. I want to thank you, for all the – you know.”
“No thanks required, but I appreciate it. You’re my dear friend.”
“This baby will be so loved by us all. Have you told Tabitha?”
“Not yet, I have to decide which line to take. I suppose I’ll just make it straightforward – I was seeing Gabriel and got pregnant, which isn’t a lie, is it?”
“Why do you think he did it? The lights, I mean, not the baby, obviously.”
“Gabriel? Who says he did? It could have been a side effect of the storm.”
“Why would you say that? You know it was something of him, Cairo. Anyway, that’s not what I mean. Why did he drown himself?”
“Gizmo said it’s because he had no other choice.” It was what I had to believe, or my anger might know no bounds.
Thirty-one
We all processed things in our own way, keeping busy in the daytime and allowing our thoughts and feelings free reign once the evening meal was over. Vikram busied himself with re-honing his legal skills and Gizmo started to refurbish the lab, with Joe’s help. The crowds were dispersed, the press moved on to their next target and official visits diminished until they stopped altogether. They installed outdoor cameras and left a couple of officers around in the daytime to catch the occasional interloper, but we were generally left in peace to confront the pain and disorder. Like anyone forced to deal with the absence of a body, however, no matter how hard we tried, none of us could quite believe the possibility that Gabriel was dead.
I wanted to get back to work, but it proved impossible. The university was inundated with communications and requests relating to my celebrity status to the point it could no longer cope. They put me on leave, until things calmed down, they said, but I already knew my life as it was had ended. I entertained thoughts of full-time motherhood, but even as I did, the call of the lab provided a background melody, especially as Gizmo was busy making the state of the art more so. I’d been thinking about the pulses, about how it might be possible to kick start the whole thing again, only this time using two groups, one comprised of people who were skilled in meditation and the other of people who weren’t. if there was a signific
ant difference in success rate, we might be on to a reliable process – and it would add weight to the theory I’d formulated when looking for Gabriel. Then I’d think that’s how the whole mess started, then I’d think about how it would at least give some meaning to it. Then I’d think about the collective memory idea, a resource of unknown magnitude, but maybe that was where the whole mess started, too. Then there was the mysterious essence I’d speculated about, something with the potential for exciting discoveries. I went over to the lab to discuss it with Gizmo, but she was immersed in designing a programme that would alert her to any record of an unidentified person fitting Gabriel’s description.
“You’re clutching at straws, Giz.” I said.
“Well, that’s pretty rich coming from Mrs Please Will You Induce a Seizure. You used to be a scientist, remember?”
“Science isn’t as comforting as it used to be.”
“I’d never forgive myself if he was out there somewhere and we didn’t know. By the way, you have seven hundred and thirty-six unread emails. You should get to them, there might be something important.”
“Yes, that’s what Gabriel would do if he were out there somewhere – email me. I don’t even understand why you’re fixing the lab up. We won’t get any peace for at least a year.”
I could see her filling up a little, I’d gone too far.
“I’ll sort them out later, I promise – the emails. And I’ll switch my phone on, which I haven’t done for quite some time. Come on, let’s get the others.”
“Why?”
“We need some fresh air.”
Joe and Vikram were watching television. I was about to prise them from their seats when Joe nodded in my direction, then nodded towards the screen. It was a discussion programme on the news channel.
“Events in Manchester, coincidence or communication? The story thus far. A terrifying electro-magnetic storm that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. A minor earthquake, mysterious lights in the sky, thousands of people reporting sightings of Gabriel Meredith. Claims that there have been changes to the faces of the statues, Another Place and The Dream and that a Roman Mosaic unearthed in Castlefield bears a remarkable likeness to the neuroscientist, Cairo Shore, who was lost in the storm in which Gabriel Meredith disappeared. A blue plaque appearing on the wall of the Pankhurst Library stating it was designed by him and a mass shrine at the Peerage apartment complex that was his home.”
I’d read that Dave Cheetham intended to turn the Castlefield site into a Visitor’s Centre in Gabriel’s honour and that Arlo had agreed to design it. I’d also read that since the blue plaque, several architects had come forward saying that Roland Stenkesson had claimed credit for their work. I longed to go to the city and witness events for myself, to meet Arlo, who knew Gabriel so much better than I did, to see Gabriel’s apartment, to feel him again, but I couldn’t risk it yet. I was too recognisable. In any case, what would I say? The world couldn’t be broached until I had something coherent to broach it with.
“The latest news is that the Pharmaceutical company, Janz Kolbe has been the victim of a massive security breach and all their records have appeared in the public domain, some of them containing references that could relate to Cairo Shore’s recent experiments on electro-magnetic fields and the brain. There are those who say these events are either coincidental or related to the electro-magnetic storm, others who claim it’s Government cover up for experiments gone wrong, whilst another substantial group believe Gabriel Meredith to be the new Messiah and that all these events are directly related to him. To discuss these issues, we have…”
It would never end for any of us; the people who survived the mysterious and terrifying event. It was probably only a matter of time until the authorities found something awry. There were things that worked in our favour; lack of witnesses, they didn’t know what we knew, plausible denial, no CCTV images surviving for miles around the event. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help thinking they’d rolled over way too easily. Maybe they were spying on us, waiting for our next move. And for those who believed that Gabriel was a Messiah, we’d be a spiritual freak show. If it became known that Gabriel was the father of my baby, what would the freak show become then?
“Come on” I said. “Let’s go outside.”
The moors were a tribe of sleeping giants, oblivious to the forces that cast upon them. Peat and heather had fixed themselves to their blankets, summer green and purple, sticky autumn black, winter straw, parched and bowing, but the green would always return. The light could be silver, gold, slate, clouds, thick and rolling, fluffy, ash, lazy or scudding, wind, warm breath or howling, but still the giants slept. In unstable times, their eternity soothed.
The ground was dry, allowing us to sit in a line in Vikram’s favourite spot.
“What do you think those things were? Those things they were talking about on the TV.” Said Vikram.
“Things that mattered to him.” Said Joe. “Maybe they were his dreams, or things that had been on his mind, or things he’d thought he’d change if he could. Maybe we haven’t seen the last of them.”
“You know, Vikram said, “I was thinking about the beach. I was thinking that even when we weren’t ourselves, so to speak, we were still ourselves. The first time I met Gabriel was right on this spot, he said it was like looking at the Emerald City.”
Sundown had created the pink mist backdrop that always seemed designed to silhouette the city, it’s journey punctuated by Joe’s intermittent humming.
“You know, said Vikram, “I love the world, but since we came back, I find it embarrassing. When I imagine someone, anyone, looking in from the outside, it makes me feel like we’re children caught having a food fight.”
Joe started humming again.
“What’s that song, Joe?” I said.
“Oh, ‘Somewhere Beyond the Sea’. Sorry, didn’t realise I was doing that.”
“I dreamt about that song.” Vik said. “It was being sung by a strange monkey.”
I looked at Gizmo, who nodded. “I downloaded it, I don’t even know why.”
“You’d think one of us would have mentioned it.” I said.
A flipping sensation, like something had made me jump, followed by a zone blip. “You know what’s in the second verse of that song? Bloody hell. Gizmo, you remember when you said you wondered if Gabriel was lost in the system? You compared it to a computer crashing. What was it?”
“Oh, something about a hardware exception that can’t be handled or loss of internal self-consistency.”
“What if it wasn’t Gabriel who was the hardware exception that couldn’t be handled? What if it was me?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Another Place was real. Something of me travelled from this reality into that one, from this time to that one. The earthquake, the lights, all that other stuff, what if they were symptoms of it? And if there was a crash in the system, there’s a chance, however remote, that Gabriel’s back. We need to extend the search.”
“To where?”
“Everywhere.”
“What? You want me to check for unidentified people, dead or alive, all over the world?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, holy hell, it’s either a feast or a famine with you. Have you any idea of the logistics?”
“Well, start with America, that’s somewhere beyond the sea and it’s where the song comes from.”
“Two words, needle – and haystack.”
“Best get to it, then.”
*
Waiting for Gizmo to set things up was making us all jumpy and we drifted off one by one. I was tempted to re-evaluate my wardrobe as a form of distraction, but decided to keep my promise to Gizmo and work through some of the emails. As the majority said things like ‘Important, please read now’, I didn’t quite know where to start, so deci
ded to take the oldest first, but soon began to drift. The hope that shone from everyone’s eyes when I found a rationale to extend the search revealed what I already suspected – they’d never stop looking for Gabriel. Despite my protestations, neither would I. The fear and grief momentarily dispelled, leaving a waterfall of memories that led me to the core; the miracle. In a way, we held the world in our hands. Whatever might happen, our experience with Gabriel had shown us how much more there was to life, to reality itself. Human potential had entered a new chapter and this rag-tag family that had formed itself were its guardians.
Glancing out of the window, I saw Tabitha walking up the path. I wondered how she’d take to being called Granny.
Cairo’s unread email number 713.
Subject: Please read ASAP
Hi Cairo, it’s your favourite ex-student here. Tried to phone, but can’t get hold of you anywhere, I hope you’re recovered now. It’s mind-blowing, hope you’re okay, seen you on the news etcetera, what is going on? Anyway, you know I’m in my own Manchester, just the one in Massachusetts and they asked me to check a patient out today. History – rescued by fisherman two weeks ago. Speculation that someone had tried to drown him, or he’d drowned himself – piece of rope tied around his leg, looked like there’d been something at the other end of it. Pretty beaten up, initially comatose, came out of it, but unresponsive. They asked me to examine him in case it’s neurological. Anyway, I was with him just now and he grabbed hold of me and whispered, “I need to find Cairo, get me to Cairo, but for God’s sake don’t tell anyone.” He had a British accent, northern, I’d say, I’ve spent enough time up there to know. Obviously, I thought he was talking about Cairo, Egypt. After he’d said it, he glazed over again. Funny thing was, I didn’t tell anybody, I can’t even explain why. Then it crossed my mind he might be talking about you, maybe an ex-patient? It was almost like he knew I knew you – does that sound creepy coming from a hard scientist like me? It’s a long shot, but I took a photo of him with my phone – attached. If you don’t know him, I’ll get on to the authorities over there, anyway, what with the accent and all. Going to get him down to the MRI soon as, to see what’s going on in there. Here’s hoping. Best, Lynden.
The Cairo Pulse Page 19
