‘And now, I’m just sitting here petrified because I can see why Dad believes she did it. Why Mum doesn’t want to think about whether she did it or not. And how I might have been wrong all these years.’
Logan was still holding on to my hand, and he was staring intently into my eyes as he talked. ‘Do you think she did it?’ he asked.
Against my skin, his hand was warm and so gentle, and normal. It felt normal for him to be holding my hand like this.
‘I think her legal people let her down. That what happened during the trial was a complete character assassination of her. That she wasn’t necessarily convicted on the evidence but on what people wanted to believe about her as this vixen who was now dressing up in smart clothes for court when she was always ready to jump into bed with anyone and ruin the lives of “good” men. I hope that things have got better since and if she was on trial today she’d get a much fairer hearing and better defence.’
‘Please answer my question,’ he begged quietly. Ever so slightly, ever so gently, his hand tightened around mine, as though holding me, reassuring me that I could say what needed to be said. ‘Do you think she did it?’
‘Yes, she might have,’ I said, feeling wretched. ‘And so might Mum.’
We both stared at each other, a beat of silence pulsing between us as we had to acknowledge what both of us didn’t want to: either of them might have done it; both of them might have done it.
Logan carefully let my hand go. ‘Now we’re stuck, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, and I blame you, Logan Carlisle. I absolutely blame you,’ I said trying to make light of it.
He snatched up the chance to step out of the moment immediately. ‘Don’t be blaming me, whose idea was it to get the court papers?’
‘Yours!’
When he burst out laughing, incredulous at my cheek, I laughed, too. It was so freeing suddenly. We’d been so serious, so sombre during the whole process. We’d chatted and joked and had some nice moments, but the overarching feeling had been oppressive, and laughing now seemed to clap away those feelings that had shrouded us, like you clapped and banged to clear old, scary spirits from a haunted house.
‘Watch it you, or I won’t give you this present I got you.’
‘You got me a present? Gimme, gimme, gimme.’
‘Well, present might be overstating it. Actually, it’s not really a present at all.’
‘Who are you? Take-back Boy? Either you’ve got a present or you haven’t. Which is it?’
‘One of the guys I work with—’
‘Not hearing “present” in this conversation,’ I interrupted.
‘—had these two tickets that he bought months ago. And now he can’t make the show—’
‘Here, present, present; here, boy, here, boy.’
‘—and I said I’d have them because I knew a girl who liked all that space stuff and thought she might want to go instead.’
‘Back up, what space stuff?’
‘At the Brighton Centre, that science guy is doing a show about space and quantum realms and all that jazz and I know you’re into all that stuff so I said I’d take the tickets off his hands and see if you wanted to go. It’s this weekend. He’s proper gutted he can’t make it, but I assured him if you weren’t busy, they would go to a good home.’
‘Are you saying you’ve got tickets to the Prof’s show in Brighton this weekend?’
‘Yeah.’
‘The show that sold out when I was on holiday and I haven’t been able to get tickets for since?’
‘Yep.’
‘The one I was seriously considering travelling up to Manchester to see?’
‘The very one.’
‘Oh my God, Logan!’ I threw myself across the gap and flung my arms around him, trapped him in the hugest of hugs. ‘That’s amazing! I can’t believe—’ I let him go and sat up. ‘Wait a minute, how did you know I like “all that space stuff”?’ We had never talked about it, except that time I mentioned time travel.
Logan used his finger to circle the room. ‘I have never been to a house before where the owner has a framed picture of a periodic table where most people have a nice bit of modern art or those dogs playing polka.’ He pointed to the image on the wall above the television. It was such a part of my life, my backdrop – having been the one I’d had in my bedroom growing up – that I didn’t even notice it was there. ‘I’ve never seen so many books on quantum physics in one place in my entire life, it’s like a one-for-one ratio to the novels on your shelves.’ He pointed out of the door. ‘You have an atomic clock in your kitchen as well as all the tea towels with elements and your fridge magnets spell out various formulae—’
‘All right, all right. I know when I’ve been rumbled. I love all that science stuff.’
‘Why didn’t you become a scientist?’ he asked. ‘I mean, I’ve been dying to ask. You obviously have a passion for it, and understanding of it, so why didn’t you do it?’
‘Because I wanted to be a solicitor.’
Logan waited for me to say more. When no more was forthcoming, he frowned at me. But not like he had been frowning for all the past weeks, just puzzled. ‘That’s it? You wanted to become a solicitor?’
‘Yes.’
‘And not a scientist?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I wanted to be a solicitor.’ I said it slower so maybe he’d understand.
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘Yes, it does.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘It does. In the multi-worlds theory of quantum science, there is a Verity Gillmare that is a scientist, I’m sure. But in this world, this Verity wanted to be a solicitor. So this one is training to be one.’
‘Fair enough, I suppose.’ He shrugged but still looked baffled. ‘So are you going to come with me to see this science guy?’
‘Oh, I have to go with you?’ I said, disgusted.
Logan did a double-take, shocked at my horror. His light-brown eyes searched my face, wondering why I was suddenly so averse to spending time with him. When he saw the slight twitch of my mouth, caused by the excitement of going to see the Prof talk about science, and absolutely not because I’d get to spend more time with Logan away from all this heavy stuff, he started laughing. ‘You had me going there,’ he said. ‘You really got me going.’
I laughed along with him, ignoring the swirl that was happening inside; the shift and move of my heart, the re-centring of my emotions was absolutely nothing to do with wanting nothing more than to spend more and more time with Logan Carlisle.
Now
My legs are pushed apart . . . his erection is free . . .
June, 2019
I could hear his heart beating.
In the dark, surrounded by over a thousand people, all of us listening, focusing, thinking, opening up our minds to the possibilities ‘out there’, I could hear his heart beating. It drummed out the unique pattern of a man I’d developed feelings for.
His arm was lightly touching mine on the armrest our seats shared and his warmth flowed straight into me. Where we touched lit me up – the electrons dancing where they met, causing me to want to dance, too. It’d started a while back, of course. Me noticing him, wondering about him, thinking about him. He’d become a regular fixture, a conundrum that walked into my home almost every day and didn’t really seem to want to be solved.