Dark Matter (2 page)

John was convinced that there was more going on than he knew about, much, much more and that his research was at the heart of it. 
First,
he thought,
I need to write this damn report and get my laboratory working again.  Then I can review my work properly and maybe, just maybe, find out what the bloody hell is going on.

15:38
              11 October  [15:38  11 October GMT]

Cambridge University, Cambridge, England.

Edward Deeth had taken the afternoon off to visit his brother.  Less than an hour’s drive from his home, university life was a million miles from his own experience.  Eddie was on a mission.  John had not been returning his calls for two days and that was most unlike John,
unless
, Eddie told himself,
John has slipped back under the influence of the Black Dog
.  Black Dog was how Winston Churchill had referred to his depression. 
John also had, has,
Eddie corrected himself,
depression. 

Eddie parked on campus, near to John's research laboratory.  As Eddie approached the laboratory, he could hear shouting, a lot of shouting.  He quickened his pace realising that the voice shouting belonged to that of his brother.  As he rounded the corner of the building, he could see his brother shouting at a bricklayer who was trying to rebuild the wall whilst simultaneously trying not to punch John for shouting at him.  Eddie ascertained from what John was shouting that he thought that the whole wall be rebuilt considerably thicker.  Eddie tapped John on the shoulder and managed to avoid the punch that John sent sailing through the air.

'Whoa John, it's me Eddie.'

John's focus fixed on Eddie and the wildness left his eyes.  He hugged his brother rather too hard, like he had been lost at sea and suddenly rescued.

John walked Eddie over to the refectory.  Sitting there together sipping their tea they started chatting aimlessly, a ritual for them both.  Finally, Eddie brought the conversation around to the accident.  John started to recount the event.

'I would have been right in front of it; I was, just a minute beforehand.  See that large hole in the wall?  That would have been me.  Gone.  Dead.'

That is the real issue,
thought Eddie, knowing John as he did.  Eddie knew that John would accept death as the natural outcome of being alive.  It was the thought of no more John Deeth.  That was the point.  Since entering the academic realm, Eddie had seen John transformed.  John, who had always argued passionately, often about the smallest things, now had a real focus for both his passion and his perfectionism. 

Eddie and John talked at some length.  Eddie had John recount the accident three times; the third time John managed to recount it all without becoming overwhelmed.  Eddie looked straight at John.

'I think you have been through a traumatic event, I think you don't know how much it has affected you and I think you should talk to someone who knows how to help you.  I really think you need a couple of weeks back in the clinic.'

17:55 
              13 October  [17:55  13 October  GMT]

The Branchflower Clinic, Cambridge, England.

Two days later Eddie was driving up the gravel drive to the clinic.  It was a revelation, a beautiful converted Tudor manor house; essentially a health spa, but with Psychiatrists, Therapists and Nurses all set in a few acres of wild countryside.  All were friendly, mostly local and those that weren’t spoke good English.  This was not the “insane asylum” that Eddie had seen in movies or read about.  This was a private clinic that cost a lot of money, a fact reflected in the patients.  They had good jobs that provided private health insurance or they could afford to pay for themselves.  These were not people in straightjackets, sitting on their bed in a long ward, rocking back and forth or staring aimlessly out of a window.  These patients were all dressed, casual, but clean and smart; they sat in the “music room” on comfortable, almost palatial sofas, reading or just chatting quietly. 

John poured his brother a cup of tea and guided him to a free sofa.  Alike in so many ways, but so different as well, Eddie kept away from the main issue as he could see his brother wasn’t ready yet.  Instead, he chatted about the family, about times and experiences that they had shared.  Nothing about how John was in the clinic for a second time.

John's first time in the clinic was just after his finals.  As a mature student, he had entered the academic realm with little in the way of formal qualifications; certainly, nothing like what was usually required for entrance to Cambridge.  He had been very lucky.  Cambridge was going through another period of diversification offering some places to mature students based on interview alone.  John had gone mostly out of curiosity.  No one in his family had ever gone to university and he didn't really expect to be the first.  He knew he had a good head on his shoulders but frankly, he believed that everyone thought as much and as deeply about everything as he did.  He chose mathematics as he had been good at it at school and he had always found it interesting.  He had no idea what lay in store for him.

Interviewed by the head of the School of Physical Sciences, Professor Neale questioned John’s knowledge of mathematics.  This part was very short.  Sighing, the Professor finished the interview with some general conversation just to be polite.

‘…and finally, whom, within the sciences, do you most admire?’ 

'Albert Einstein'

'Oh really, why?'

‘Einstein worked in a pattern office, he was not, with all due respect, a professor, or other member of academia, and yet his work fundamentally changed physics.'

'I see.'

'Of course his was wrong about the speed of light.’  John added.

‘Was he indeed?  Would you care to expand on that statement?’

'Well,' John began, 'the idea that the universe would impose some arbitrary limit on something like speed is frankly ridiculous.  For example, if nothing can escape a black hole and its gravitational pull on objects increases with their proximity to it, then everything that falls under its influence would accelerate as they approach the centre of the black hole.  Why would photons, which have mass after all, behave any differently?  They wouldn't of course, they would accelerate, and therefore they would exceed their initial velocity or the speed of light if you prefer.'

John stopped, his focus returning to the room.  He had felt that the professor was winding up the interview and that it had not gone well.  He had just wanted to show that he could think for himself.

Professor Neale looked down at his notes, scribbled a bit, and then looked up at John.  'If I were to offer you a place, would you be willing to complete a summer mathematics course I will be running?'

'Yes', John stammered ‘yes I would, of course.'

'Good,' he said, making another note, 'once you complete the course it will be my pleasure to enrol you in a joint degree of Mathematics and Physics; it will give you the chance to prove your theory.'

The summer course proved to be incredibly intense.  There was no curriculum as such, Professor Neale tutored and lectured John in both mathematics and physics.  There were no other students, the professor had taken time away from his own studies to teach and mentor John.  Professor Neale went back all the way to when John's school had frankly abandoned him at age eleven.  Starting there in four solid weeks John had caught up to age sixteen.  In the following four weeks, he completed the equivalent of 'A' levels.  The final four weeks John earned a joint first degree.  The professor having decided that John was capable of attaining a Master’s degree in Pure Mathematics and Quantum Physics.  John went straight into this as soon as he finished his summer course.

John would have just been simply wrecked if he had done his Masters in the normal way; learn enough and move on.  However, he went at it with a passion; he read widely around every subject, questioned everything, and tested himself as well as the professor's patience to the limit.  By the time John finished his thesis it had been too much and he had lost himself in the process.  He went to the doctor’s to get some sleeping pills with the probable intention of taking them all, in one dose.  Fortunately, his doctor recognised the signs; asked how he was feeling, when was the last time he had had fun, handed him tissues when the tears had arrived. 

‘Do you have medical insurance?’

‘I think so, why?  I think it is part of my bursary, I have this letter…’

The doctor took the screwed up piece of paper with the professor's name and number on it and picked up her phone.  Professor Neale was out but his secretary looked up the insurance details.  The doctor phoned the Branchflower clinic and then for a taxi for John. 

‘It’s going to be OK John, you're not going home, not today.' she told him, 'You're going to get some help.'

Two years later and John was back in the clinic.  It was different this time, easier for him in many ways.  He didn't feel like a failure.  It was like breaking your leg for the second time when skiing, you know that you shouldn't try the fast, dangerous off-piste skiing but it's been a long time since you broke your leg and the pain and frustration have both faded.  So it was for John, however, this time it was a near death experience that triggered another stay at the clinic.

Eddie sat his cup down; it was nearly time for the relatives group.  Eddie hadn't come to the clinic the first time.  Their mum and dad had come and assured Eddie that John was going to be OK, that John was in a good place and needed to rest.  In truth Eddie should have visited.  Their mum and dad just didn't like to worry anyone.  However, Eddie was here for his brother this time.

When the dinner bell rang, John followed the other patients to the dining hall.  Eddie watched him go, then turned and walked towards the Cherry Tree room for the relatives group.  As he sat down he looked around at the other relatives,
they all look quite normal,
he thought,
just like me
.

John sat at the dining table, the anti-depressants just beginning to kick in.  He looked across the table at the patient opposite. 
She certainly isn't tall, probably not much more than five feet,
he estimated,
but she is nicely formed
.  Long blonde hair, darkly intense brown eyes with just a hint of mischief in them, he decided what the heck and introduced himself.

'I'm Jane.'  She replied. 

Jane it turned out was a journalist with Global Disclosure, an independent worldwide news organisation founded in London and run by journalists.  At thirty-eight Jane looked ten years younger than her true age, but when she talked it was with the experience of having travelled extensively and being widely read.  John decided she had a fine mind, someone with whom he could make a connection.  

They met up again after dinner, outside in the smoking hut.  Others were there and introductions made but John was intent on talking more with Jane, she it appeared was just as interested in finding out more about John.  Jane had two divorces and two children, Rebecca 16 and Julia 7.  John already knew what had driven Jane to the clinic; she had opened up in group therapy that afternoon.

After her supposedly amicable divorce from her second husband Graham, who also worked at Global Disclosure, she had started demanding tougher and tougher assignments, the more dangerous the better.  Even when she was shot on assignment, she barely skipped a beat; once the physical wound had healed, she was back at work, pushing herself further, harder than most.  Her boss worried about her; treading the fine line between caring and interfering, he couldn’t change her assignments without risking sexual discrimination.  He knew that Jane would only pursue that to get to assignments worthy of her, it would be nothing to do with status, money, or equal rights.  Jane was not wired that way; she had dealt with the best and worst of humanity and had found that it had nothing to do with their gender.

Jane found John something of an enigma.  He was good looking, with short blonde hair, rather fetching glasses, a long oval, rugged face but with dimples he had probably had since he was young.  Six feet, with a fit but not overly worked body, Jane could see that he must be popular with women.  He came across as confident, even brash maybe and certainly didn't seem remotely depressed.  However, she sensed another side to him, one where he was actually somewhat shy, unsure of his looks, not even aware of how attractive he was.  This other side of him came through when he talked about why he was there.  Jane found his vulnerability quite endearing.

18:09                13 October  [18:09  13 October  GMT]

Relatives Group, The Branchflower Clinic, Cambridge, England.

Eddie found it all very emotional.  These were everyday people, even though the reason for their relatives to be there were often different, there were some common themes; drink, drugs, gambling, relationships and work all either caused by or lead to a severe, often suicidal depression.  The patients themselves were often successful; many were white collar, often managerial, no person, or job being immune from depression.  A thread running through all of their stories was often that the patients were deeply caring, thoughtful people, who were passionate about life and what they did with it.