‘You’re in the gym?’
‘Yeah!’ She’s chirpy. Too chirpy. Who the hell is this person impersonating my sister?
‘At six thirty a.m.’
‘Jesus, Bethany. Don’t you remember me telling you about the health kick? Are you okay?’ She sounds genuinely concerned.
‘Remind me again about this health kick,’ I say and wince in preparation for the response I’m suspecting to receive.
‘You sent me the article, remember? Anyway … No alcohol, no sugar, in the gym early every morning. It’s day ten and I feel fantastic!’
‘Oh.’ It’s a wholly insufficient response and I’m acutely aware of that fact. And the fact I didn’t send that article. I debated it a few weeks ago but decided it felt a bit spammy, like it was trying to sell you something dressed up as quality journalism. ‘Err … good on you, Cessie,’ I say eventually to fill the growing void of silence.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Her tone has taken on that concerned quality you use with slightly geriatric aunts who’ve lost too many of their marbles to count how many remain. ‘We talked about this yesterday. Over smoothies at that fabby new place just down from the pub on Oldridge Road.’
‘Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.’
‘You’re working too hard, Beth. I’m worried about you.Maybe you should take a step back? See if the theorem presents itself when you aren’t looking for it.’
The theorem!
‘Yeah.’ I agree with Cesca, desperate to get off the phone.
‘Gotta get back to the treadmill. Call me later, okay? Love you millions.’
‘Love you billions,’ I reply on autopilot.
I swivel in bed to grab my notebook but it isn’t on the bedside table where it lives. Fuck’s sake! Where did I leave it? The living room? I catch sight of my feet as I swing my legs out of bed.
Bright red nail varnish on my toes.
I went for burgundy.
I know I went for burgundy.
I know I went for burgundy and then I know Cesca and I went out for drinks and greasy noodles and even more drinks. Iknowwe did.
The notebook is lying on the coffee table in the living room. Or at least it isanotebook. This one has a vintage cartoon of She-Ra on the cover and ‘for the honour of Grayskull’ printed in large block letters.Thenotebook has the same vintage cartoon image but ‘for the honour of Grayskull’ is printed in German. The German is a nod to the Bavarian guy I briefly dated last month who thought my love of She-Ra would extend to some bedroom-based cosplay … and that he would dress up as He-Man in return. The look on his pretty – but dumb as shit in a strangely alluring way – face was a picture when I explained She-Ra and He-Man were brother and sister and that was a line I was definitely not going to cross. I told Cesca the story after one too many cocktails and she ordered the notebook immediately, paying an extortionate fee to have it couriered to me next day. She almost passed out laughing when I rang to thank her, the sound of her snorting down the phone is seared into my memories.
Something coils in the pit of my stomach. A certainty that if I call Cesca and ask her she won’t remember, that she’ll simply say she saw this notebook in Paperchase and thought of how obsessed I was as a kid.
Flicking through the pages, I try to take deep and calming breaths.
The theorem is not there.
For a moment I pause, then flick through the pages again. Definitely not there.
And so I start to draw it out once more from memory. This time it’s even easier for me to remember, muscle memory combining with my perfect recall of what it looked like last time.
Have I explained yet about my research? Although ‘research’ may be too elaborate a term. It’s more of a theory – a hypothesis. An idea of something that I think might just have a tiny kernel of truth hidden deep inside. A nugget that will change the way we look at the world.
Oof, that sounds rather self-aggrandizing, doesn’t it?
Anyway, let’s start with the basics. If the universe is infinite, then there are infinite versions of ourselves. So there’s a version of you who stopped reading a page ago and started reading something else. A version of you half reading this and watchingFriendsat the same time. A version of you who isn’t home reading on a Friday night because you’re on a date with a hot guy (but don’t worry that this version of you who is reading right now is missing out; he’s a dick).
Every decision you make branches off, creates a new universe in which both occurrences happen. It’s a common theory. But … well, I have an idea of how we could – at least in theory – make contact with our other selves. I understand that the practicalities require a number of obstacles to be overcome before it’s actually something I can test. But the theorem demonstrates the capability and that is a massive breakthrough.
Theorem recreated, I start to catalogue everything in my flat, taking mental notes of every detail.
