His cat slipped through my legs and disappeared upstairs as I let myself in the front door. In the kitchen, I emptied the contents from his Waitrose bag-for-life onto the pine scrubbed table. I poured out a glass of red wine from the bottle I’d started last night and reached over the sink to press play on the CD player on the windowsill. His garden lacked inspiration. I pictured gaily painted pots, spilling over with summer blooms. I would suggest doing them on his return.
The chunks of beef browned in the heavy bottomed saucepan from John Lewis. My stomach felt like a kitten’s, swollen with squiggling worms. I topped up my glass. He’d said I could stay if I wanted, save having to come by and feed the cat. I’d not been home since. I didn’t plan on returning.
His cat startled me as he leapt onto the work surface and made a beeline for the saucepan.
“Shoo.” I flicked the tea-towel at him. He arched his back, but held his ground, his tail a black bottle brush.
“I said off!” I lunged at him like a pit-bull on a short leash. He jumped from the work surface and skittered across the floor, his tail curled around his bottom. The cat-flap flapped as he exited.
I added a good glug of red wine and used the edge of the wooden spoon to scrape the bottom of the pan like my nana showed me, before Mum and her fell out. Adding the roughly chopped vegetables, I replaced the lid and turned down the gas. The CD ended and the radio cut in.
“… Head of communications, John Haines, said: ‘It might have been struck by lightning. It’s a possibility.’ We will bring you the latest on this breaking story in our seven o’clock bulletin. In other news a man is suing McDonalds for making…”
I remembered the cat just before seven and popped a tea towel over the dumplings, perfectly round and smooth like eggs, before emptying a packet of cat food into his bowl. Dropping the empty packet in the bin, I turned back to find his face in the dish as if he’d always been there.
“How’d you do that?” He purred and smacked his lips. I reached down to ruffle his head.
Hisssss. He shifted his position to the other side of the bowl. The narrow tip of his tail flicked.
“Don’t be so precious. You’re going to have to share him from now on.”
I picked up the spoon and lifted the saucepan lid. The stew simmered patiently, unlike me. I would take a long bath and paint my nails to pass the time. A meaty aroma filled the kitchen as the seven o’clock news began.
“Fears are growing for 229 passengers on board British Air jet 658, which vanished on a routine flight from New York to Heathrow over the Atlantic around 3pm BST. The most likely explanation is a lightning strike. Head of Communications, John…”
The wooden spoon clattered to the floor. Gravy splashed onto the terracotta tiles. The cat sauntered sideways as if aiming for the cat-flap and took a surreptitious lick. He began to purr and settled over the dark stain.
I held the piece of notepaper up to the lounge window, scanning the details three times. The evening light was the colour of peaches. I crumpled to the floor. His cat appeared and head butted my shins. I pressed my hand along his spine. He arched into my touch and I whispered his name, “Schrödinger.”
His name was silly, I’d said, the first night he brought me here.
He laughed at me and said; had I never heard of Schrödinger’s cat?
And I said, yes, because I had, but that was all, and then I distracted him with my lips and hands.
At work, I’d looked it up on Wiki, but got irritated by the jargon and gave up clicking on links because each one made me angry. It wasn’t until after he told me he loved how we ‘fit’ together that I asked him to explain.
Are you going to listen to me then?
I’m a woman I can multi-task, I said, pressing butterfly kisses into his chest, before resting my ear against his heart.
You put the cat inside a box
Why would you do that?
So you can’t observe it
Why not just say, so you can’t see it?
Because seeing and observing are not the same
Your eyes see, but your brain observes
You’re splitting hairs
Funny, not. Inside this box is some mechanism that could cause a random event to occur, and this random event, if it does occur, would smash a vial of poison
What random event?
It’s not important – the important part is that the vial of poison may or may not smash and therefore the cat may or may not be alive
But don’t you see, the cat is both dead and alive at the same time
Only until you look in the box
Exactly! It is the act of observation that collapses the cat’s superposition. Reality decoheres into the observable and the not. In one reality it’s dead, in another it’s alive.
My head spun. I kissed his nose. I don’t know about split, but I imagine it would be spitting. I wouldn’t want to open that box without a full body suit and thick gloves on. Why didn’t he use a rat or mouse or something harmless like a fly?
You exasperate me. The point is this. Until you look the cat is both dead and alive at the same time. It is your observation that creates reality
So if I don’t look nothing is real?
Yes and no. If you don’t look everything is real, every reality is possible. That’s what Schrödinger was trying to demonstrate with his thought experiment…
Enough, enough, I get it, I lied. Now kick out the cat, close the bedroom door and observe which state I get in…
Schrödinger strutted off, his tail smooth like a snake. I pulled myself to standing using his desk for support and tugged my phone from my bra. His number rang and rang and rang… The house phone startled me. I dropped mine, the back and battery separated as it hit the floor. The dying sun crept across my bare toes. The house phone stopped.
“Darling, it’s Mum. Your dad says a flight’s gone missing over the ocean, but I don’t think it’s your flight number…”
I reached down and yanked the phone line out of the wall.
‘He’s departed, but not yet arrived,’ I spoke it softly, like a prayer.
Schrödinger cleaned his ears and cheeks and then his right back leg. Or he’s arrived and has departed.
It got dark. I found some ear plugs for his iPhone in his bedside drawer and rammed them in until my ears hurt. A waft of stew made me retch. I slipped silently down the stairs and turned off the gas, returning like a scolded cat to the safety of the landing. I dragged the feather down duvet into the en suite and climbed into the bathtub shaped like an egg.
“So what came first? Chicken or egg?”
“Neither and both,” I replied. Flicking water at his chest.
He smiled and stroked my thigh. “How long is a piece of string?”
I blew bubbles from my palm into his face. “As long as you want it to be.” And he laughed and told me that was exactly the right answer, but I didn’t know why.
“Take reality,” he said, “what is it?”
I sat up. Foam slid down my breasts as I pressed my hand flat against his. “This.”
Cocooned in the tub, wrapped in his king-size duvet faint with his scent, I slept. When I woke, my limbs were stiff as if I’d made a quantum leap into old age. Daylight showed too much of everything. I climbed out of the bath. On the top shelf of his wardrobe, I found his ski goggles. It took some time to tighten them. In the silent blackness my dream returned. He soared across the sun. The muscles of his shoulders and arms picked out in gold.
Something nudged my leg. My panicked hands groped around the sides of the goggles, until I realised it was Schrödinger. I crouched down. He was meowing. I could feel the vibrations in his chest and front legs.
I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen. The surface of the cold stew was congealing white or maybe it wasn’t. I ran my hand along the work surface until I came to the tall cupboard. Pulling a bottle from the shelf, I unscrewed the cap and sniffed and then made my slow and stumbling way back upstairs.
Eventually the Vodka bottle grew light and I didn’t know if it were day or night. I saw him constantly in the vast, blue sky, flying beyond the moon, past Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, all the way to Neptune and then on and on through the nothing of outer space and on and on and on…
He’s flying not dying.
My head split apart. Unfurling like Schrödinger after a rainy day snooze, I climbed from the bath, groping for the cool edge of the sink. I opened the cabinet above. My fingers walked around bottles and boxes. I felt Schrodinger’s presence like a draft on wet skin.
He has arrived and departed, he hissed.
‘No. He has departed and not yet arrived,’ I replied, clutching a box and spinning round to confront him.
‘I won’t. Not ever.’
I swung back to the sink, my cheeks hot, and lifted the bottom edge of the goggles to check the label on the box. The brightness of the light flooding in around the goggles frightened me, like a buried memory of something bad that had happened.
In next door’s home office, Schrödinger padded across the Karndean floor as the radio announced plane wreckage had been spotted in the ocean by a cruiser.
The tablets popped easily from the foil into my palm.
Schrödinger cleaned his tail in front of next door’s television showing pictures of an upturned section of fuselage, the words scrolling beneath; after three days at sea, a handful of survivors of Flight 658 have been spotted by a luxury cruiser.
I swallowed five tablets and climbed back into the bath and dreamt of angels and gods and planets and stars and forever. I woke briefly and took the rest, dropping the empty blister pack over the side of the bath.
A flight touched down at Heathrow. A shiny black car with tinted windows left the airport.
Schrödinger returned, though no-one saw him arrive. He sat in the doorway of the bathroom as Hannah’s head lolled to the side and bubbles of dribble escaped her pale pink lips. A car turned into the tree lined road.
From the turn in the stairs through the top-light over the front door, he observed two navy suits get out of a long, sleek black car. The hairs along his shoulders and spine lifted like an arrow and his pupils widened into oceans of dark matter. The suits took off their hats and tucked them under their arms. A crumpled shirt appeared between them as they reached the front door. Schrödinger’s tail twitched and his hair smoothed flat. He stretched – a purr rolled through his jaw. The front door swung open.
His whole world was before him. Schrödinger could not contain his smile. He has arrived. His head swiveled to the bathroom; and she has departed.
He trickled down the stairs and entered orbit.