09 Antimatter (1)

Antimatter

Five hours before she decided to die, as she began walking home, her phone vibrated in her hand.

Maybe it was Izzy. Maybe Ravi had told her brother to get in touch.

No.

‘Oh hi, Doreen.’

An agitated voice. ‘Where were you?’

She’d totally forgotten. What time is it?

‘I’ve had a really crap day. I’m so sorry.’

‘We waited outside your flat for an hour.’

‘I can still do Leo’s lesson when I get back. I’ll be five minutes.’

‘Too late. He’s with his dad now for three days.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

She was a waterfall of apologies. She was drowning in herself.

‘To be honest, Nora, he’s been thinking about giving up altogether.’

‘But he’s so good.’

‘He’s really enjoyed it. But he’s too busy. Exams, mates, football. Something has to give . . .’

‘He has a real talent. I’ve got him into bloody Chopin. Please—’

A deep, deep sigh. ‘Bye, Nora.’

Nora imagined the ground opening up, sending her down through the lithosphere, and the mantle, not stopping until she reached the inner core, compressed into a hard unfeeling metal.

*

Four hours before she decided to die, Nora passed her elderly neighbour, Mr Banerjee.

Mr Banerjee was eighty-four years old. He was frail but was slightly more mobile since his hip surgery.

‘It’s terrible out, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ mumbled Nora.

He glanced at his flowerbed. ‘The irises are out, though.’

She looked at the clusters of purple flowers, forcing a smile as she wondered what possible consolation they could offer.

His eyes were tired, behind their spectacles. He was at his door, fumbling for keys. A bottle of milk in a carrier bag that seemed too heavy for him. It was rare to see him out of the house. A house she had visited during her first month here, to help him set up an online grocery shop.

‘Oh,’ he said now. ‘I have some good news. I don’t need you to collect my pills any more. The boy from the chemist has moved nearby and he says he will drop them off.’

Nora tried to reply but couldn’t get the words out. She nodded instead.

He managed to open the door, then closed it, retreating into his shrine to his dear dead wife.

That was it. No one needed her. She was superfluous to the universe.

Once inside her flat the silence was louder than noise. The smell of cat food. A bowl still out for Voltaire, half eaten.

She got herself some water and swallowed two anti-depressants and stared at the rest of the pills, wondering.