Long Division (3 page)

A bitter taste filled my mouth, nothing to do with my beer. ‘So what’s the name of this technology? Is it out yet? I’d imagine that people would be buying it up like mad if it’s as good as you’re making it sound.’

Kaye shook her head, long blonde hair swinging. ‘Won’t be out for another six months. But people are already putting in their orders.’

Walter grinned. ‘I’ve got mine in. Well, two, actually! For research, of course.’

Miranda rolled her eyes. ‘He writes a technology blog.’

I swirled round the last few dregs of my drink. I felt old-fashioned for finding the idea disturbing. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t been fitted with a chip in my head. I’d missed that upgrade by a few years.

Technology had advanced far over the past decade. Intelligent computers, integration, glass, and more new social networking sites with such baffling features I hadn’t even attempted at figuring out. When one wasn’t exactly social, being connected didn’t seem that necessary. Except, perhaps, for some of those intelligent, interactive programmes…

Our talk drifted on to other subjects of technology. Things of the past, Steve Jobs, Google…I was lost through it all but I still found myself interested. Hearing such animated discussions, even something I knew next to nothing about, was still enjoyable considering I hadn’t had much of it over the past few months.

I was fairly certain Ashley and I were the only ones who weren’t pissed when the night finally ended. I wouldn’t have minded, but I supposed I had a higher alcohol tolerance than the others. And Ashley just didn’t seem to be much of a drinker.

I said goodbye to my new acquaintances and then Ashley walked out with me, her arm looped through mine. ‘So, did you have a nice time?’

I glanced back to the yellow lights of the pub. ‘Yeah, yeah, I did, actually.’

She smiled proudly. ‘Mission accomplished.’

I shook my head, baffled by her. ‘“Mission accomplished”? What does that mean?’

She grinned. ‘You’ve been too alone these past few months, Mark. You need to get out again, like you used to! Like before—’

She stopped herself. I was glad she did.

‘Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But don’t do it to
fix
me or whatever. I’m fine, Ashley. Really, I am.’

She crossed her arms and gave me a dubious look.

I sighed. ‘But thank you. It was a good evening. We should do it more often.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, somewhat distantly. ‘We should.’

I wracked my brain. ‘Your place is near here, isn’t it? Do you want me to walk you home?’

She smiled sadly, maybe a little amused. ‘Yeah, I would. But Matt is walking me.’ She pulled her mouth down and studied me for a moment.

‘Ah, well then,’ I scratched the back of my head, feeling terribly awkward. ‘I guess I’ll see you round the library some time.’

She nodded her head, then took a step forward to stand on tiptoes and give me a light kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m glad you came, Mark. Goodnight.’

I was taken aback by her kiss. The spot on my cheek glowed warm. ‘Goodnight.’ I smiled at her and then watched her turn away and head towards the dark silhouette of Matt.

My step still felt a bit lighter as I headed back for the station. Happier than I’d felt in longer than I could remember.

2:Variables

Blood, twisted metal. Me doubled over on the pavement, retching. Police trying to haul me away as I stared at her face. Her perfect, familiar, beautiful face staring blankly up at me. I tried to fight off the unfeeling hands. ‘N—no!’ I wanted to shove them off but pain that rocketed through me…

‘Your fault! Your fault!’ was all I could hear. Over and over. The gathering crowd of friends and family screaming it.

‘YOUR FAULT!’

BUZZ!

From my sleep I heard the noise. It broke through my dreams and I couldn’t recall what I was hearing. It was like an angry swarm of bees trapped in a tin can.

BUZZ!

Bloody phone! I groaned and debated not getting it, but I knew it wouldn’t stop. My eyes opened with great reluctance and I pushed myself from bed to swipe up the infernal device. Perhaps it was Ashley. But no, it seemed much too late for that.

Bleary-eyed, I frowned down at the glowing screen, practically blinding me. A text. From an unknown number.

SO, WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?

I was baffled. It was too late for this. But there was no chance of me sleeping. Not after the nightmare. Not really knowing why, I text back.

SLEEPING. WHO IS THIS?

What person in their right mind sent a text at this hour? Was it someone from overseas? No, couldn’t be. Not knowing if I’d get an answer, I stumbled back to bed and crashed down on the mattress. My eyes closed.

And then my phone vibrated.

SLEEP? OH, YES, I SUPPOSE IT IS RATHER LATE.

I stared at the number for a moment. It seemed vaguely familiar, so I went back through my phone to the call records. Ah, yes. Now I knew where I’d seen it. It was the person who’d called me earlier by mistake. So, why was he texting me now? Surely he hadn’t made the same mistake twice.

YOU CALLED ME EARLIER TODAY. I WAS A WRONG NUMBER. WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME NOW?

I waited a few ticks, thinking about falling asleep again. Once he realised his mistake he probably wouldn’t write back.

I was wrong.

CAN’T SLEEP. WHY NOT?

I laughed to myself. I was intrigued now. I couldn’t help it.

BUT YOU DON’T KNOW ME!

I was baffled by this entire exchange. Why the hell was he talking to me? Best not to bother questioning why I was encouraging it.

SO? IF YOU TEXT BACK I WILL. WHAT IS SO DIFFICULT ABOUT THIS?

I sighed. Debated for a moment, and then wondered, what was the harm? I wasn’t going to sleep, my mysterious texter was not going to sleep, so why not?

RIGHT. WELL MY NAME IS MARK HURT. YOU?

Probably not wise to give him my name, but with information these days, if he had my number he could just as easily learn everything there was to know.

What I really wanted to ask him about was his accidental call. That theory he’d been talking about. I had to admit: with as excited as he’d sounded on the phone, I was rather intrigued. I had to remind myself that I didn’t know this man. I had no right to ask. So I pushed my curiosity aside and impatiently waited for the reply so I could finally find out what the name of this mysterious person was.

NIGHTGOOD. JAMES. PLEASURE.

I grinned. James Nightgood. Never heard of him, but at least it was something.

DO YOU LIVE IN LONDON?

YES. MOST OF THE TIME.

And on it went. I wasn’t sure how late we talked. Until I fell asleep, which had to have been well after four. It was one of the most bizarre nights of my life. There I was, staying up for hours, texting with a man I knew absolutely nothing about. We didn’t talk about anything important. And when I’d finally stopped replying from exhaustion, I felt as if I’d given most of the information, whilst he’d simply typed back short little queries about me.

I did learn one thing, however: James loved maths. He seemed to be absolutely mad about it. I couldn’t help but feel a slight disappointment in the pit of my stomach. Fantastic, yet another brilliant person I’d met who I could not in any way compete with. Couldn’t I just meet someone on my own level for once?

My alarm jolted me awake and it took me a dizzy moment to remember where I was. The room spun. I groaned and slapped about till I finally turned the machine off. Bloody hell, another late night. It was a wonder I was still functioning.

I glanced at my phone. Three new texts. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. It gave me a warm feeling of being wanted.

All three of them were from James. I knew his number now that I’d saved it in my phone.

IT’S POSITIVELY SIMPLE ONCE YOU UNDERSTAND THE PROCESS OF IT. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW SOMEONE CANNOT COMPREHEND IT.

Ah, there he was, going off about some maths nonsense I didn’t understand. I’d given up on the conversation pretty early when he’d started, since I couldn’t grasp a word of it. He didn’t seem to need much more than the occasional ‘Ah’, or ‘I see’, to keep him going and so I’d let him have it.

Then was the second: SORRY. WAS THAT TOO STRONG? I’VE BEEN TOLD I COME OFF TOO STRONG.

The third text was sent an hour after the last two.

AH, YOU MUST BE ASLEEP. WELL, UNTIL THE NEXT TIME.

I rolled up to a sitting position and, not really pausing to consider, text him back. He had said next time, hadn’t he?

SORRY. FELL ASLEEP. OBVIOUS. AND NO, YOU DON’T COME OFF TOO STRONG.

I dropped the phone back to the table and cleaned up for the day. For the first time in I didn’t know how long, it didn’t feel absolutely impossible to start my morning routine. By the time I sat down with some toast and
Fruit and Fibre
I was actually ahead of schedule. I was unsure of what to do with the unusual pocket of time.

As I bit into my toast, I caught myself glancing towards my dark phone for probably the fiftieth time in the last hour. What the hell was wrong with me? Was I afraid that James Nightgood
wasn’t
going to text answer? Yes.

I was tempted to run a search for his name online. I was certain I’d come up with something, yet—I couldn’t explain why—something held me back. Perhaps I didn’t want to know. If there was some disappointing, disagreeable side to him, I’d rather not find out about it. I’d rather keep him as a distant voice, not real, not have a face. It made it easier to talk with, easier to not compare. I knew the sound of his voice; that was enough. I wanted my illusions to stay intact.

He hadn’t replied by the time I did finally leave for work and I was beginning to feel a bit depressed about the fact—which I did acknowledge was really stupid. Had I somehow screwed up? Become too boring? Perhaps that’s all I had been, some midnight amusement for whoever James Nightgood was and now that the sun had risen I was forgotten with the new day.

In the end, it didn’t matter. I had my own life, such as it was, that I had to bother with.

As I climbed the last few steps out of the station, I pulled my phone out to look. It was flashing. A new text. I must have missed it in the daily chaos that was public transportation.

GOOD. SLEPT LATE. PROBLEMS TODAY. BEST OF LUCK AT WORK.

I text him back something along the same lines he’d sent me—though I supposed less cryptic—and smiled to myself as I pocketed my phone. I hadn’t lost that, at least.

The hours past in a sleepy haze for me. My brain distractedly jumped from the shopping I would have to do, to paying bills, to my late night conversations, to the night at the pub I’d had with Ashley, all in a blur I couldn’t decipher.

And then, as if my thought had magically summoned her, I spotted Ashley standing from one of the computers. I gripped the randomly discarded books I’d been gathering tighter in my arms and trotted her way.

She saw me and waited, smiling. That was at least a little encouraging. ‘Hiya!’

I grinned. ‘Hey! Glad to see you.’ I struggled to get my thoughts in order. ‘Listen, thanks again for last night.’

She laughed lightly. ‘Oh, you really do need to get out more, Mark. God, did you sleep at all?’

I must have looked rougher than I thought. I felt my lips twitch. ‘Yeah, fine. Just couldn’t turn my brain off.’

Ashely gave me a slightly dubious look. ‘Well, at least it’s still working.’

I shook my head. ‘Oi. You watch it.’

That beautiful, soft mouth of hers pulled up in amusement. She seemed about to say something, but then glanced at her phone. She swore. ‘I’m sorry, Mark. I’ve got to go. I was supposed to meet up with Matt for lunch and it’s completely slipped my mind.’

Disappointment bubbled inside of me. I prayed my expression didn’t show it. ‘Right…Got me own job to do, anyhow,’ I finished lamely.

She gathered her things, reddish brown hair swinging like a curtain in front of her face. I tried not to stare. ‘We’ll have to see each other again, all right? Hate to just dash off.’ She gave me a sad look. ‘Have a good day, Mark. I mean it.’ With her books to her chest she started past me.

Suddenly, a mad idea sparked in my mind. I couldn’t even begin to say where it came from except the
Advanced Calculus
spine I spotted. And all of my notions of keeping my own imagination untainted were shattered involuntarily by my compulsion. ‘Hey,’ I grabbed her arm, shifting the books in my own grasp. ‘This is a completely random question, but do you know someone by the name of James Nightgood? I only ask because you’re into all of that difficult maths stuff and I thought you might perhaps have heard the name before.’

Ashley laughed. ‘I do know him, actually! I’m just a little surprised you do.’

I may have been even more surprised than her. ‘You do actually know a man named James Nightgood?’

She gave me a puzzled look. ‘Yeah. He comes to the university sometimes.’

I blinked. ‘This college?’

She nodded. ‘He’ll crash Professor Anderson’s classes sometimes. He’s incredibly clever when it comes to that stuff. He obsesses over it. He’s proved the Prof wrong a time or two, right in class. A bit odd, though. How do you know of him?’

I shook my head, thoughts wheeling. ‘Don’t remember. Just heard it in passing.’

She narrowed her eyes, still seeming to want to work it all out. ‘Do you want to meet him?’

My stomach gave a funny little twist at the idea. ‘Meet him? What do you mean?’

She sat against the table. ‘He’s teaching a seminar at the end of next month. Here at the college. He does from time to time. He’s sort of a legend round here, actually. People go just to hear him talk, even if they don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.’

‘He speaks here?’

She shrugged. ‘From time to time, when he’s not bothering the professors at Oxford or Cambridge or some other rot.’ She gave me a look that was a little too inquisitive. ‘Why so interested?’

I chuckled awkwardly. ‘Just curiosity. I’ve got a long, boring day ahead of me. There’s not much else to occupy my time.’

She pushed herself off the table. ‘Well, I’ll text you when I find out more about his talk, if you’re still interested by then we’ll go. I’ve got to dash. Let’s try and get together soon, all right?’

I nodded. ‘Of course! And thanks!’

Once she was gone, I found myself frozen in thought. She actually knew James Nightgood! It had to be the same one, right? How many people were named Nightgood? Couldn’t have been that many. And he was here in London, and he was good with mathematics. It was too much of a coincidence.

I took a deep breath. And then I hurried towards our impressive section on mathematics. There I simply stared. He was a genius when it came to the stuff, and I could hardly count proper change without getting confused. I had never been good with numbers. For as long as I could remember, they always got twisted in my head. I couldn’t make sense of them, no matter how logical, or simply explained. My brain couldn’t grasp it. It was as if that had somehow been omitted from my mind in the process of my development.

And so the question arose: how could I
possibly
become friends with someone who was a genius when it came to the subject? He would become bored of me immediately.

I slipped a book off of the shelf. Calculus, like Ashley had been studying. As I flipped through it, my head spun. And this was a dumbed down version. Dejectedly, I placed it back where it belonged.

What was I even thinking? I didn’t know this man. Nothing would come of it. No friendship. Nothing. We’d talked one night. So what?

I had to shake myself out of these thoughts. It wasn’t healthy. Yes, I was lonely, I’d be the first to admit that, and having any sort of contact was…nice. Fun, even, just talking to someone, even if it was about nothing. Still, I had doubts James Nightgood thought the same.

As the day ended, I reluctantly joined my co-workers. They were all chatting, not bothering much with closing duties; as far as they were concerned work was done for the day. I kept my distance. It was as I scanned books into the computer, my ears pricked up. I’d heard a word that had caught my attention: InVizion.

I wasn’t sure why I was so interested in the product, but I lifted my eyes from the screen to the group at the far end of the desk.