Thanks, you say. No, really.
I mean it, she says.
You stop outside a tall arched gate. Through the railings you can see a light set back among the trees. This is my house, she says.
Right, you say.
Do I look all right? she says. Like I don’t look…?
You look perfect, you say.
Will you be okay getting back?
Sure.
Okay. She taps a code into the intercom and the gates glide open to receive her. The moon is out, everything is silver, the cars in the distance go down the dual carriageway like breaths. You have no idea how to get from here to where you are kissing her, it is a chasm with no bridge across. Goodnight, then, she says.
Goodnight, you say with a dry mouth. With every second the chasm grows wider and your heart sinks lower as slowly you wake from her spell to the reality that this is over and soon everything that happened, her hand in your hand, the swings the park the doughnuts, all of it will be gone into the past and
and then she is kissing you, her arms are wrapped around you, her mouth minty and soft. You are so stunned that it takes you a moment to remember to kiss her back. You put your arms around her waist and push your lips against hers.
Have you ever kissed anyone before? she says.
Yes, you say, though only your mother and various aunts and not like this at all, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because she is kissing you again, the tip of her tongue tracing sideways-8s on the tip of yours, sending you spinning and the whole sky and universe with you, and when she pulls away everything is still swimming, everywhere you look there are stars.
Okay, she says again.
Okay, you say through the dizziness and smiles and stars. So many stars, everywhere you look! They are coming from her, that’s what’s happening, swarming up out of her like friendly silver hornets, like they must have come spilling out of nothing when the Big Bang banged. Goodnight, Daniel, Lori says, as the gates close like arms around her, scooping her into them.
Goodnight, you say, not moving, smiling at the stars everywhere
II
Heartland
People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.
Albert Einstein
The phone rings shortly after dawn, the bland electronic tinkle exploding the quiet of the bedroom like a bomb blast. Howard, though he’s been waiting for it all night, doesn’t move; instead, deferring the moment until there is absolutely no way out, he lies with his eyes closed, listening to Halley’s murmurous protest, the rustling crash of the sheets as she reaches over to the dresser. ‘Hello… yes, Greg…’ Her voice burrs with sleep, like her mouth is full of leaves. ‘No, that’s fine… no, sure, I’ll just get him for you…’ The bed creaks as she rolls back to him. ‘It’s for you,’ she says. He opens his eyes to meet hers, just awoken, incandescently blue and bright, quizzing him.
‘Thanks,’ he says, taking the phone from her and turning away with it. ‘Hello?’
‘Howard?’ the voice crackles tersely in his ear.
‘Greg!’ He tries to sound like this is a pleasant surprise.
‘Howard, I want you in my office in exactly one hour.’
‘Of course,’ Howard says smilingly, and continues to smile as the line goes dead in his ear. ‘See you then.’ He swings his legs out of the bed and begins to put on his clothes, attempting to comport himself as though nothing is out of the ordinary. Halley props herself on her elbows, squinting against the day.
‘Are you going out?’ she says. In the morning light her bare breasts are like silver apples, the fruit of a fairy-tale land already disappearing out of his reach…
‘Oh, yeah, did I not say? I promised I’d go and talk to Greg about the programme notes for this concert of his.’
‘But it’s Saturday.’ She rubs her nose. ‘And it’s the holidays.’
Howard shrugs woodenly. ‘You know what he’s like. Everything has to be just right.’
‘Okay,’ she yawns, drawing the covers back up over her, claiming his abandoned share too. Her voice is muffled by eiderdown: ‘I think it’s good the way you’re taking part in school activities more.’
‘Yeah, well, you get out what you put in, don’t you.’ Howard buttons up his coat. ‘I shouldn’t be too long. Keep a spot for me.’ He winks at her as he passes through the door, realizing as he does so that this is the first time he has winked in the whole span of their relationship.
The roads are eerily deserted, as though they have been cleared by decree to hasten his journey. A single car – Greg’s – waits in the school car park; inside, the empty classrooms and corridors seem nothing more than an elaborate façade, a huge, byzantine foyer to the single occupied room. Mounting the stairs, every footstep clangorously echoing, Howard feels like some unfortunate in a Greek myth sent to do battle with the Minotaur.
Outside the Principal’s Office, on the bench known to generations as Death Row, Howard finds the lone figure of Brian ‘Jeekers’ Prendergast. He is chewing his nails and has a stranded look about him, as though he’s been here for centuries, some minor fixture in a legend.
‘Mr Costigan in there?’ Howard points to the door; but before the boy can even reply, a voice comes booming from within, ‘Get in here, Howard.’
Howard finds the Automator poised pugilistically in the dead centre of the room, as though ready to defend it against all comers. He is in his weekend wear – pale blue cotton shirt with a yellow sweater slung over the shoulders, beige slacks and brown Hush Puppies; it looks totally incongruous, like Godzilla in sweatpants.
‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting at the moment, may I take a message?’ Trudy, phone trapped between cheek and shoulder, leans and writes a name at the end of a list of names on the desk. ‘Yes… we think a tummy bug is going round… Thank you, he’ll call you later this morning…’
‘Damn it,’ the Automator mutters, pacing back and forth, scratching his jaw, and then, raising his voice, ‘Well, damn it, Howard, sit down, man.’
Obediently, Howard seats himself on the other side of the desk from Trudy. The transformation in train on his last visit is now nearly complete: the high-backed African chairs have been replaced by ergonomic office models, and the aquarium by the door, where the multicoloured fish continue serenely to drift, oblivious to the changes, is now the only reminder of the room’s previous incumbent.
‘Would you like anything, Howard?’ Trudy whispers solicitously. ‘Tea? Coffee? Juice?’
‘Damn it, Trudy, don’t offer him juice! We have a very serious situation here!’
‘Yes, dear,’ she apologizes, setting down the phone, which immediately begins to ring again. ‘Hello, Acting Principal’s office?’
‘Damn it,’ the Automator repeats preparatorily, like a chain-saw warming up, and then, in a louder voice, ‘Howard, what the hell? I mean – what in the name of God?’
‘I –’ Howard begins.
‘In all my days as an educator, never once, not once have I witnessed anything that comes close to what I saw last night. Not once. Damn it – damn it, I put you in charge! Didn’t I give you strict instructions as to – I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, one of those instructions wasn’t to let the thing descend into a Roman orgy, was it?’
‘N–’
‘You’re damn right it wasn’t! And yet here we are with this on our hands – ’ he points to the phone ‘– parents ringing me all morning, wanting to know why little Johnny came home from an official supervised school Hop covered in puke and even more slack-jawed than usual! What do you think I should tell them, Howard? “You should have seen the shape he was in a half-hour before?” God damn it, do you have any clue what kind of a mess you’ve dropped us into here? I mean, what the hell happened in there?’