Phantom Energy

PHANTOM ENERGY

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®He doesnÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їt hit you? Go off with other women? Take drugs? Get drunk?Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

She shook her head. Nothing like that.

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Then why, Angie?Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї her parents demanded.

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Because. . .Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї and she shut her lips tight and nuzzled GaryÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs sweet smelling hair, holding him tight as a lifebelt.

Listening at doors she heard Ð'ÐŽÐ'®. . .post natal depression.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®At two and a half years?Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®HasnÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їt been treated, has it? WonÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їt admit to it. Hereditary.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®I never had it.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Migod!Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®No I didnÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їt. You were so bloody unhelpful, to say the least. MickÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs the same.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Escalating arguments. Their foul tempers radiating outwards to everyone theyÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їd meet for the rest of the day. Ripples of anger spreading eternally through space-time.

Her father hated his new wheelchair existence. His own space-time contracting into months, then days, hours. His personal cosmos ending in a Big Crunch.

Hawking, Mick said. Mocking. Because Hawking was a brilliant mind not a retired pharmacist. Mick said, Hawking formulated the quantum state of a universe created from nothing. I propose the self-created universe. Five dimensional de Sitter space. Sum-over-hysteria formulation.

Hysteria? That canÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їt be right. No physicist succumbs to hysteria. ItÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs a womanÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs wandering womb problem. Did I play enough Beethoven to in-womb Gary? Eat the right foods? No alcohol, no pain relievers, no cream cheese, no patÐ'ЁÐ'¦ and watch the peanuts.

Life was calmer in her uncleÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs house. He breakfasted at nine, long after sheÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їd dropped Gary at Mum and DadÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs and arrived at DebenhamÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs. He played retirement golf with fellow accountants, ate meals at his club and his chores were competently completed by his lady-who-did and had-done for thirty years.

Angie picked up Gary at her parents after school.

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Teacher very pleased. HeÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs racing through the new curriculum,Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї Mum told her. Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Beats me why he has to be assessed and examined at his age. MotherÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs job.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Angie said nothing.

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Not in your case dear. I didnÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їt mean. . .Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®No offence, Mum.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

She played with Gary till bath time. Foam baths. They threw the white bubbles at each other, drowned little boats and upended plastic ducks with smiling beaks.

She showed him the dark winter night beyond the sun-rotted curtains whose crimson stripes had faded to pale rose. Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Out there. Lots of other worlds,Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї she said.

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Moon. We can go to the moon one day, Mummy?Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®One day. When youÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їre big,Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї and IÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їve made a million or three and DaddyÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs new geometries can violate causality.

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Stars are holes.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®No dear.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Holes for the rain, Mummy. Ð'ÐŽÐ'ЇCos rain is thin.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Other suns.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї A first lesson in not believing everything grownups tell you. Ð'ÐŽÐ'®TheyÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їre tiny because theyÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їre so far away in space.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї

He sucked his fingers noisily.

Ð'ÐŽÐ'®Space.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї She lingered on the word, running pine scented bath bubbles through her fingers. Ð'ÐŽÐ'®ItÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs a sort of foam.Ð'ÐŽÐ'Ї Space-time bubbling and seething, popping noiselessly in the frozen bath of the sky. Large holes collapsing into the froth, reborn at the edges of bubbles. Multi rainbow colours glimmering as they slide round the bubblesÐ'ÐŽÐ'Ї surfaces. A cauldron of continuous creation where the spell binding witches are the forces of gravity and electromagnetism.

She collected the suds round the plug hole and dangled them onto his plump hand. He was asleep before she laid him down, his eyes hidden by floppy hair as fair as MickÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs, his chubby fingers falling from his mouth.

If he woke in the night she soothed him with classical music CDs for babies. Mozart to increase mental capacity. At three in the morning she almost believed the advertising hype. She sat in her bed listening to his snuffles and snorts, relishing the empty space beside her. GaryÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs demands seemed so small compared with MickÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs nightmares.

Angie enjoyed her own efficiency. She was the serene centre of her department, sorting personnel and floor management with equal ease. On line for promotion. She had always been the higher earner, the pragmatic problem solver creating calm out of MickÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs chaos. He covered the plain backs of utility bills with his hieroglyphics. Formulae appeared on scraps of loo paper and his rage was disproportionate when she wiped her bum with them. Notes round the edges of newspapers, the telephone directory, even her shopping lists. She bought him notepads and jotters and in his scribbling haste heÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їd tear the pages out until the floor was littered with an autumnal gale of loose leaves. She suspected