Quantum Poppers (3 page)

The
over-enthusiastic air conditioners that blasted cold air into the room were not
helping. At first Tony hoped the biting chill would freshen him up, make him
sharper in order to recall all of last night’s urgent research. All it did
however was cause an audible distraction which repeatedly took his mind from
the matter in hand. His definition of
research
had entailed ten minutes
on the company’s website plus a further five spooling through printouts of the
expected questions he would be asked. The only thing to have become ingrained
on him as he lay in bed shortly after was the burning white outline of the
monitor as he closed his eyes. It wasn’t until the bus journey that it crossed
his mind to muse over the potential questions
he
should ask.

The room
consisted of three plastic chairs and a plastic table. All was grey, including
the suits of the two people sitting opposite. Behind them an office environment
of wandering souls played out through a glass wall, as if it were a cinema
projection of the dullest movie imaginable.

‘Thank you for
coming today Mr. Ward. Could you first tell us about yourself? Particularly
what draws you to PWR finance?’ He had pronounced it fin-ants. The man looked
down at a document on the desk and Tony could almost see himself reflected in
the bald head. He stared at it as though it were a crystal ball, all the
necessary answers held within.

‘I’ve always
been fascinated by the power of numbers and how our world functions solely on
economics; it’s the ball bearings upon which society revolves.’ He couldn’t
believe he had just compared this latest position to ball bearings; he may well
have stated how he truly felt: it’s a job, I’m supposed to have a job.

The man nodded
without raising his head. The woman replied by noting something upon a pad on
her lap. Behind them the play of office environment continued to stream on.

‘It says here
that you studied a joint sports and music degree at Hull University.’ Tony's
reflection distorted as the man made eye contact. ‘How do you feel this will
help you in the world of international fin-ants?’ The repetition of this
pronunciation conjured up various abstract images, further distractions from
Tony’s attempted recollections of last night’s research. All he could recall
was a highlighted warning of
do not say ‘erm’
.

‘Erm, I believe
the whole university experience was more a personal awakening and social
strengthening tool rather than a means to job specific qualifications. Hull is
this mass of culture, class, and influences, hundreds of miles from home, all
brought together, shaken up, leaving you alone to navigate and grow through
three years of indispensable life lessons. Admittedly I probably should have
chosen a more academic course, but that need will just make me work harder
here.’

‘You did
extremely well on the agency's aptitude test.’

‘Thank you, I’m
full of potential.’

Again the woman
responded by silently writing on her pad, the man had also dropped his gaze to
scan Tony's CV. It wasn't that in-depth, a couple of summer jobs and cash in
hand one-dayers glossed up to look more important than they were. He must have
been scanning the same section many times judging by the amount of time he
looked down upon the single page. The scene playing out in the office was
beginning to offer even more distraction than the air conditioner. Suited
individuals passed to and fro whilst militaristic lines of workers stared
vacantly at monitors. The endless to and fro-ing and lack of interest from his
interviewers was verging on hypnotic.

‘Could you please
tell us the reason for leaving your previous job?’ At last, a simple question
with a simple answer.

There was a
crash outside. The man and woman both showed signs of life as they turned to
see a fellow worker picking up a dropped in-tray. He scuttled along the floor
collecting papers and pens whilst sarcastic cheers and a lone applause rang
out. The woman then returned to her pad as the man looked back to Tony, his
eyebrow was raised in an unimpressed way. ‘Reason for leaving,’ he pushed.

‘I was working
for the local supermarket in Posslingford when home from university. I was
working my way up to junior management but felt that - coupled with graduating
university - I needed larger, more ambitious responsibilities in my life. I
believe this could be the first step towards those.’

And again it
happened. He looked over the shining head of the interviewer, eyebrow beginning
to rise, to see the same individual drop the in-tray and scuttle about
collecting its contents. This time however there was no reaction. No applause
from those nearby and no turn of heads by those in the booth with him.

‘…animal. Mr.
Ward?’

Tony snapped
out of his gaze to return to the man. ‘I’m sorry, something caught my eye.’ The
in-tray carrier stood and walked out of view.

‘I was saying,
if you could describe yourself as an animal, which one would it be? Which best
defines your character. Which animal.’

Focusing his
attention on the man behind the desk Tony said the first animal that came into
his head. ‘Crocodile.’ The raised eyebrow returned, as did the scribbles on
paper to his left.

‘In what way?’

‘I may not
always appear alert and ready for action, but I’ll lay low, my ear to the
ground, striking effectively. I get the job done.’

Out in the
office the guy who dropped the tray passed once more. Which one was this? The
first or the second? No one had acknowledged this appearance, but that didn’t
necessarily mean anything. What he referred to as The Repeat Other would no
doubt pass by again shortly if it hadn’t before.

‘And finally,
could you give me an example of a situation where you have used initiative to
achieve a solution?’ The Repeat Other, identical to the tray dropper who had
just passed, crossed the window again. Tony heard the scribble of pen that
filled the long pause hanging between the three of them. He wished that
initiative would come to him now.

‘How many has
that been?’

‘Third this
month. That’s one per week for the last three weeks – I’d have worked well in
fin-ants – I call that progress.’

‘That is good,
for you. In fact, that’s very good for you.’

‘The agency
seems to be sending me out to any old thing no matter how irrelevant. I think
they must have quotas to reach.’

‘Or just trying
to get you off their books.’

‘Thank you
Emma. Love you to.’

The lounge
shimmered with the sporadic images from the TV. Tony had selected the film but
only thirty minutes in had forgotten what it actually was, let alone kept track
of plot developments. There was currently a masked figure stalking a girl as
she shrieked through a wood. This vague summary of the scene hardly narrowed
down the possibilities of whatever the hell they were watching.

‘Did I miss
anything?’ Emma’s dad poked his head around the lounge door. A screen full of
blood lit his face a dark red.

‘Nothing that
can’t be rewound. Please, Dad, stay in or stay out.’

‘Sorry sweetie,
won’t happen again.’ His bodiless face ejected back out into the hall and the
door shut.

‘What
have
we missed?’ asked Emma.

‘A forth
decapitation,’ said Trevor. Emma’s boyfriend faked a yawn and used the stretch
to put his arm around her neck like teenagers at the cinema.

‘Smooth,’ said
Emma. They sat nestled on the couch as Tony, the third wheel, reclined back in
his single seater armchair and dug into his takeout chicken chow mein.

‘How is yours?’
asked Emma.

Tony held up a
forkful of noodles. Oil drizzled down the length of one and into the plastic
tub embossed with the Lotus House’s floral logo. ‘Once it’s drained of oil,
it’s not too bad. Yours?’

‘A little too
spicy,’ said Emma.

‘There’s no such
thing as too spicy.’ Tony swallowed down the noodle which miraculously
contained an essence of actual chicken, just enough to qualify its poultry
pre-fix.

‘And yours?’
She turned to Trevor, managing in the same movement to extract herself from his
overbearing, one-armed embrace.

‘Can’t
complain, everything tastes good with you by my side.’

‘Cheesy.’

‘No, it's
lamby.’

Emma’s dad once
more entered the room to enquire on the body count. He stood centre of the
lounge, hands on hips, waiting for another steady-cam kill.

‘Dad, I can’t
see.’

‘You’re not
missing much.’ He turned to the couple on the sofa with a final glance at the
TV to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. ‘How did the football go?’ he asked
Trevor.

‘Only lost by
four today, we’re getting better. Creeping up the table by the incompetence of
other teams around us.’

‘I think it's
about time I got back on the field of action.’

‘It’s not war,’
said Emma.

‘Isn’t it
honey, isn’t it? Maybe there’s a veterans league I could join.’

‘I think
there’s a seniors division.’

‘Maybe there’s
a veteran’s league,’ he repeated, emphasising wholly on the V word.

‘Tony plays too
Dad,’ said Emma who laid down her largely untouched curry and nestled back into
Trevor’s arms.

‘Only
kick-arounds down the park,’ said Tony.

‘Maybe you and
Trevor could go for a kick-about one day.’ The two guys made silent eye contact
and gave non-committal nods. Between them, acting as moderator, Emma's dad
turned back to the TV. After realising the action was finally relenting he
backed out of the room, probably in search of his wife. His son had made
himself scarce early on.

By the time the
credits were rolling Trevor lay on the verge of sleep whilst Emma and Tony had
allowed the film to conclude with little chat. Tony gave Trevor an obligatory
handshake as he got up to leave and Emma followed him out of the room.

‘He seems
nice,’ said Tony. He opened the front door and stepped down to the porch. The
passing night traffic drew red and white lines behind him.

‘Thank you,
glad you approve. Time you found someone yourself isn't it?’

‘It's always
time to find someone myself.’ They hugged as the evening chill spilled into the
house around them. Tony didn’t notice it until they broke apart. ‘Still fancy
popping over for a cuppa tomorrow? It’s a Saturday; with the exception of
evening drinks my day is all clear.’

‘Definitely.’

‘Cool, I also…’
Tony trailed off. He’d wanted to mention the repeat images to somebody, but how
did you broach a subject like it?
Hey, I’ve started seeing doubles of
people. Obviously, I’ve gone mad. They are echoes that follow the first
incarnation, mimicking them
. Ignoring the issue seemed the most natural way
of dealing with the situation. He knew Emma’s response would be a lecture on
how that would be a typical man’s reaction to any problem.

‘Yes?’ said
Emma.

‘I’ll tell you
tomorrow.’

Tony headed
home, naturally drawn to all those that passed hoping none had a doppelganger,
removed from a reality it appeared only he could see.

That night he
lay awake as memories of those who had haunted him broke into his waking
dreams. It had all started a year ago, but the more he thought about it the
more it was possible it had been going on for longer. Maybe forever. Whatever
it was, it was now something he had grown finely attuned to. The first notable
occurrence had been the woman with the dog. He had been leaving his parent’s
house sometime in the late summer. This point had been crucial at the time as
he had tried to blame it on a trick of the light, the hot sun, and the one
glass of wine he had consumed. He had been getting into his car, parked out on
the road, when she passed and crossed to the opposite pavement. Tony had then
got in his car as the same woman approached. At first he thought nothing of it.
It was just another person, female, dressed similar, with a dog. But it was as
she crossed the street that doubts as to whether all was normal crept in. He
saw her within the rearview mirror whilst also in the reflection he could make
out the first woman disappearing into the distance before turning right at the
end of the street.
They had been too similar
, he thought as he had
watched the second woman follow the first’s path away from the car.

Over the
following weeks, further incidents had occurred which he had continued to
ignore - or at least attempt to. These always involved witnessing doubles of
people. Someone would pass, to be followed moments - usually seconds - later by
an exact replica that only he could see. No one else ever reacted to them, just
like the second guy who had dropped the in-tray at the interview that morning.

What was
keeping him awake now was the insistence that things were getting worse. These
visions were becoming more regular. The women with the dogs had been months ago
with usually a week before he witnessed another. Now things were escalating to
weekly occurrences; the most notable of which being the kid in the restaurant.
If he hadn’t been freaked out before, he certainly had been then.