Chaos Theories Collection

by Moody, David

  Eight o’clock, almost pitch-black, and the temperature was still in the high-twenties. Steven wanted a break from the heat now, even if it was only temporary. He sat on the sofa in a state of uncharacteristic slovenliness, his bare back sticking to the leather, a can of drink in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He flicked through the channels, but his choices were limited: shitty soaps and reality TV, documentaries about the police, a day in an A&E department, a man with a tumour the size of a baby, Brits behaving badly abroad... He couldn’t find anything worth watching and eventually settled on a sitcom re-run he’d seen so many times he could almost recite the script word perfect.

  He was just about settled, almost comfortable, when the phone rang. He shot up and answered it.

  ‘Hello Steven.’

  ‘Norman. You well?’

  ‘Fine, thank you. Yourself?’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  ‘Good. Put Sam on, would you.’

  ‘She’s not here at the moment.’

  ‘Right. When will she be home?’

  ‘Not until late I shouldn’t think.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to her.’

  ‘Well I didn’t think you were phoning to talk to me.’

  ‘There’s no need to be flippant. Just tell her I called.’

  ‘Okay. Look, do you want me to...?’

  The click of disconnection left Steven in little doubt that there wasn’t anything his father-in-law wanted him to do. Good. That suited him. Better they kept their communications to the absolute minimum. They held each other in equally low regard. Steven often thought that if he was a bigger man he’d swallow his pride and try and make a clean start for Sam’s sake. But he also thought that Norman was an insufferable arsehole incapable of dealing with the subtleties of interpersonal relationships, so what he did or didn’t do wouldn’t make a scrap of difference. That was, after all, why he lived on his own on the coast of North Wales now, hundreds of miles from his only daughter and the rest of his family. Not far enough for Steven’s liking.

  Back to the TV. He liked this programme, and this was one of his favourite episodes. Watching it reminded him of his student days when he’d had next to nothing to worry about, when life had been free of fucked-up father-in-laws and other complications. He was enjoying the distraction but within minutes he was asleep.

  ✽✽✽

  When Steven woke up, little over an hour later, Sam still wasn’t back. He was disorientated at first, nauseous with sleep. He flicked over onto the news and his interest was immediately piqued when he saw the headlines were being read by Anita something-or-other. He quite fancied her. He had a thing about women in smart office gear with long hair tied up. That was how Sam had looked when they’d first met. He’d walked into the law firm and hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Even now he was lost again, picturing her back then, remembering how he’d never been as nervous nor as paradoxically confident as when he’d returned to her office later that same day to ask her out. He felt a comforting nostalgic glow when he remembered, though the rose-tinted sheen of recollection was beginning to fade. Things felt different now, had done for a while.

  His eyes refocused on the TV screen.

  At first the news headlines were as predictable and dull as expected. A reporter was droning on about the weather and Steven stopped listening, knowing it wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t already heard a hundred times or more in recent weeks. He didn’t know how the staff on these twenty-four hour rolling news channels managed to stay so professional and feign interest. Just a few minutes of listening to the same old shite going around on a loop and he’d had enough already.

  But wait a second... this sounded different. This felt different.

  Gone were the endless pictures of crowded beaches and smiling faces, gone were the talking heads: people being stopped in the streets to tell the camera how they couldn’t ever remember it being so hot for so long and how the kids were having a great time but others were struggling... In their place now were other images. Half-empty reservoirs and bleached fields, desiccated crops too brittle to be harvested effectively. And now footage from other parts of the world was being shown. Steven had become immune to ten-a-penny drought footage from Africa. Although this looked the same, it wasn’t Africa he was watching now. The people suffering on screen were more Middle-Eastern in appearance, possibly European. And he struggled to place the shots of endless grey rock plains and jagged, pebble-strewn shorelines now being shown... Christ, he realised these were the Arctic fringes, remarkably free of snow and ice. The apparent severity of this unnaturally prolonged heat was sobering. Unnecessarily flashy graphics showed how the global temperature had steadily risen week by week.

  The pudgy face of a vacuous, public school-educated government minister Steven particularly disliked now filled the screen. He instinctively reached for the remote again to change the channel but he stopped. And, for once, he listened. This moron couldn’t win: he was either sweating in a suit or looking awkward in shirtsleeves, sans tie. Today, he looked more uncomfortable than ever. But it was his tone which disturbed Steven. He had a different air about him tonight. There was all the usual smarm and spin, of course – the empty reassurances and trendy buzzwords: lessons will be learnt... I can assure you that everything which can be done is being done... our top people are working on this as we speak... – but was Steven detecting a slight nervousness too? A chink in the usual armour of bullshit?

  Back to the studio. Like the politician, there was an unexpected edge to Anita Whatever’s voice as she introduced two studio guests. She sounded less rehearsed than normal, more involved. He always thought he’d have made a particularly crap newsreader himself, primarily because the older he got, the harder he found pretending to give a shit about anything that didn’t interest him. Likewise, he’d have made a godawful politician, having to lie on demand and change his opinion according to the party line or the direction the wind happened to be blowing at any given moment. It was the insincerity of both politics and the media he struggled with, and that, he decided, was what was different about what he was seeing tonight. There was a genuinely attentive tone to the woman’s voice, a real interest in what the experts in the studio were saying. He turned the TV up again.

  ‘And are there any signs of a respite in these extreme conditions?’

  A wild-haired man in a tweed jacket shifted awkwardly on his chair. ‘It’s extremely difficult to make longer-term predictions. You know, this isn’t just about the local weather... this prolonged heat is undoubtedly linked to the activity we’ve been monitoring in and around the sun, though we can’t be sure to what extent.’

  ‘Or is it that you just don’t want to say?’ another guest said. The woman, late fifties, glasses on a chain around her neck, briefly looked from face to face before continuing. ‘The facts speak for themselves. Not only are these conditions way outside the norm for the United Kingdom, you also can’t ignore the fact, Dr Cross, that this is a global phenomenon. The report we’ve just seen backs that up. From what I understand there’s every indication that the activity you’ve detected is going to continue for the foreseeable future, if not increase.’

  ‘I think you’re being alarmist, Janet,’ Dr Cross said, quickly and dismissively. ‘There’s no need to—’

  ‘I’m not being alarmist,’ she protested. ‘There’s no point being alarmist. It wouldn’t matter what I said or how loud I shouted because it won’t make any difference to the facts. Let’s be honest here, we’re completely at the mercy of the sun and there’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do to change that.’

  ‘You make it sound as if—’

  ‘I’m not making anything sound like anything,’ she said quickly and angrily. ‘I’m a realist and I—’

  ‘Realist or pessimist?’

  ‘We’re both scientists, Dr Cross, it’s our duty to consider all eventualities.’

  ‘Yes, but there’s a world of difference between detecting some signs of
unusual solar activity and predicting the death of the sun.’

  A flurry of activity as the newsreader interjected. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this short as we’re expecting a statement from the Prime Minister who’s just finished chairing a meeting of COBRA, so thank you to Dr Clive Cross of the European Space Project and Janet Hawes from the Institute for Meteorological Studies in Oxford.’

  Cut to footage of a door surrounded by reporters through which the PM would inevitably appear at some point. When he didn’t immediately appear, the director cut to VT. A piece about a report into the nutritional content of free school meals. Hardly earth-shattering.

  The front door opened. Steven turned the TV down again and looked up as Sam walked into the room. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You okay?’ She sat down in the armchair opposite. ‘Bit dark in here, isn’t it?’

  ‘I fell asleep.’

  ‘Busy day?’

  ‘They all are. You had a good evening? Yvonne okay?’

  ‘She’s fine. We had a really nice time, actually. Ended up eating at The Oak.’

  ‘Weren’t we going to go there...?’

  ‘I got bored waiting, Steve. You’ve been saying you’ll take me out for weeks.’

  He shuffled upright in his seat, peeling himself off the leather again. ‘Was the food good?’

  ‘It was lovely. Very reasonable and plenty of choice. Have you eaten?’

  ‘I had something when I got in. I made a sandwich.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve had? Want me to make you something?’

  ‘No thanks. Not that bothered. Too hot. Your dad phoned, by the way.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing much. Didn’t want to talk to me, he just wanted you. I offered to pass on a message but he hung up.’

  ‘I’ll call him back tomorrow. How did he sound?’

  ‘Like he always sounds when he talks to me.’

  ‘Isn’t it about time you two sorted this out?’

  ‘He won’t talk to me long enough to let me try. Everything I say, he shuts it straight down.’

  ‘He’s had a tough few years.’

  ‘I know. You keep telling me. Anyway, it’s not me who’s got the problem.’

  She looked across at him, her face illuminated by the flickering TV light. He caught her eye and became self-conscious. Sitting in front of the box in his underwear with a can of beer in his hand: he looked like a slob and he knew it. ‘So is that it?’ she said.

  ‘Is what it?’

  ‘Is that all you’re going to tell me about your day?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not much else to tell, really. Very dull. Busy, but dull.’

  ‘I spoke to Jill at the office today,’ she said, and she paused for his response. He didn’t react. Kept his eyes on the TV. ‘I’m thinking about going back to work in the next few weeks.’

  ‘Why?’ he said, a little more animated now. ‘Are you sure you’re ready? You don’t have to rush back, you know. We’re okay for cash.’

  ‘It’s not just about the money though, is it? I need more than this, Steve. This house is so empty during the day, so quiet. And it’s not much better when you get home. You’re always too tired... We hardly even talk some nights.’

  ‘I think you’re rushing into it.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that, but it’s not just about what you think, is it? Don’t I have a say?’

  ‘Of course you do. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. It’s just...’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No, come on...’

  ‘I don’t think you’re ready.’

  ‘It’s been more than two months. Believe me, I’m ready. I’m bored and I’m lonely, Steve. Sitting here all day every day is doing me more harm than good. I’m going to meet up with Jill early next week and talk it through, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘That’s all you’ve got to say?’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve made up your mind. What else do you want me to say?’

  ‘I don’t know, something positive, perhaps? A little support? Anything?’ But he had nothing to offer. He felt her eyes on him, kept his own gaze fixed on the TV screen, looking anywhere but at her. ‘I think we need a holiday, Steve.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘I think we need some time away together, away from here. We agreed that going away would have been a bad idea while I was pregnant, but things have changed and I really think we should do it. I’d suggest going somewhere where we’re going to be guaranteed some decent sunshine...’

  ‘Try finding somewhere that isn’t these days,’ he said, managing a flicker of a smile.

  ‘I know, tell me about it. I was talking to Yvonne about how I’ve been feeling and going back to work and—’

  ‘Wait,’ he said, looking at her pointedly, ‘you’ve been talking to Yvonne about this, but not me?’

  She held his gaze. ‘I talk a lot to you, Steve, you just don’t talk back.’

  ‘I do, it’s just...’

  ‘You don’t. And spare me all the usual excuses... you’re tired, bad day at the office...’

  ‘But that’s all true.’

  ‘It might well be, but it’s not good enough anymore. I tried to talk to you last night, but you just shut the conversation down, remember?’

  Steven rubbed his face and wiped sweat from his forehead. He really didn’t need this, not now. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You did. I’m worried, love. I’m worried about us and I want to do something positive before things get out of hand. We need to connect again.’

  ‘We do connect.’

  ‘We don’t. We co-exist. We’re like flatmates at the moment, not husband and wife. We haven’t had sex in weeks. You barely even look at me...’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘It is true.’ She sighed and slumped forward in her chair. ‘Since Jack died we—’

  ‘We’re okay, Sam,’ he interrupted fast. ‘Just a rough few weeks. I’ll get things sorted at work and this heat will start easing off and...’

  ‘You’ve been saying that since just after we lost him. You’re not listening to me, are you? This isn’t about the weather or your job or me going back to work, it’s about us. Yvonne said—’

  ‘Who cares what Yvonne said? I can’t believe you’ve been talking to Yvonne about this. Shit, you’d go crazy if I went around talking to other people about our relationship.’

  ‘Who would you tell?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me, who would you tell? You don’t talk to anyone else. You never go out with your mates anymore and you’re always telling me how you don’t get on with anyone at work. You make it impossible for me to see Dad and if I didn’t make the effort we’d hardly ever see your family either...’

  ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Oh change the bloody record.’

  ‘You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like.’

  ‘I understand a hell of a lot more than you ever give me credit for. There are things we need to deal with, love, and the longer we leave them, the harder it’s going to get.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘I can’t believe you even have to ask me that. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Jack... all the plans we had... starting a family, maybe moving house...’

  ‘Well that’s all fucked now, isn’t it.’

  ‘We can try again.’

  ‘What, and go through all that again? All that for nothing?’

  ‘Statistically the chances of what happened happening again are next to—’

  ‘Statistically speaking, what happened shouldn’t have happened in the first place.’

  ‘It was no one’s fault. It was down to chance. No one could have predicted it. We couldn’t have done anything different.’

  ‘Maybe we could? Maybe I could?’

  ‘Like what?’

  Steven said nothing. He switched off
the TV and stared at the empty screen. He could feel Sam’s eyes burning into him. The tension in the room was unbearable and the only way he could find to diffuse it was to leave. He got up. ‘It’s too hot in here. You want a drink?’

  ‘No thanks. I’m going to bed. You coming?’

  ‘I’ll be up in a few minutes.’

  ✽✽✽

  And in the morning, he was still downstairs.

  4

  THURSDAY 9 OCTOBER

  It was the first time either of them had had a business meeting in the park. Sitting on a bench under a tree was infinitely preferable to being shut away in Steven’s office, poring over figures and performance reports. ‘To hell with confidentiality,’ she told him, ‘it’s too bloody hot to be indoors.’

  Steven had known Rebecca as long as he’d been with the company. They’d started at the same branch within weeks of each other and had both climbed the ranks with admirable speed. Rebecca, however, had climbed higher while Steven’s progress had stalled. She had a steely, determined streak which Steven couldn’t match at the moment; ruthless without being cruel, harsh without being a bitch.

  Steven found it hard to concentrate out here. The park was dry and barren. Everything looked increasingly alien, or was it that he felt increasingly detached? Rebecca had no such problem, rattling through various sets of figures and performance indicators, then briefing him on the marketing activity for the coming few months.

  Then she stopped.

  Steven knew her well enough to know she hadn’t finished. He’d been on the same management courses as she had. He knew exactly what she was doing. Give them the good news before you get to the unpleasant stuff. Get them onside before you stick the knife in...

  ‘Can you believe I used to pay to use sunbeds?’ she said unexpectedly.

  ‘Never been a fan.’

  ‘It’s a girl thing, I think.’

  ‘That’s what Sam says.’

  ‘Makes you laugh though, doesn’t it. Can you imagine anyone using sun beds at the moment? You know Stuart Jinks? He’s had a tanning centre and a sauna go bump near his branch. Had to call in their borrowing.’