Rubric's Cube

Chapter 4 Family helps, but you're really on your own.

I phoned Mark from the sliproad leading south to the M5.

"Hello, Goat Farm, can I help you?"

My mouth nearly formed the 'Smee,' Ellie and I used when I phoned in like circumstances on a return journey to home. She would answer 'Hello smee,' with love, humour, and sometimes relief.

Another intimate memory between the two of us, which would ambush me - God's sake for how long?

"Who is this?"

I swallowed, "Sorry Mark, Jason."

"Where are you?" he asked.

"M5 just south or west of the M4 crossover. I can never remember which way the motorways say they're going."

"Hey that's at least three hours away. What have you been doing?"

"The Escort lost it's gearbox oil so I had to get it to a garage and hire another car."

"How? Well don't bother about that now. Just be careful, you'll be driving at night and I know it's September, but there'll still be caravans on the A30. Have you had something to eat?"

"Yes, Madge made me some sandwiches."

"Madge? Oh, yes, lady next door. Well take care. We'll expect you around ten - if you're lucky. But we'll stay up for you."

"Thanks bro'".

The Sierra was a competent car, but it wasn't one for diving around caravans in the dark on roads I wasn't that familiar with. So as I met them I had to hang back and the journey to Mark's farm was tedious.

I arrived at the five barred gate at around eleven. The expected cacophony of goose calls did not arise in the peace of the Cornish countryside. I walked towards the gate, and breathed in the clean air that came from the Atlantic and washed across this thin peninsula uncontaminated by the rest of the mainland's industrial activity.

The stars shined so brightly, and this reality seemed somehow to comfort me in my grief and fear of my predicament.

I rang Mark on the mobile.

"God, where are you now?"

"Outside your gate fighting mythical geese."

"Oh, sorry we shut them in the coop after dark."

I opened the gate and drove through, stopping and shutting it after.

I reached the house and Mark was there, silhouetted, tall, strong and welcoming, in the light from the open door.

We reached each other and hugged. The close familial hug. The both of us of conceived of the same sources of sperm and ovum and thrust into this world through the same birth canal, with cries of pain uttered by the same woman. It wasn't a hug from my love Ellie, but the comfort at that moment reduced me to tears.

"It's shit I know Jay, come in, come in."

We entered the farmhouse kitchen, warm in the heat from a wood-burning range set into the brick built inglenook. Olivia, Mark's wife was standing and gave me a hug and a kiss, and said ,"Sorry Jason, she was a lovely woman."

"Come sit down. Are you hungry, can I get you a drink?" She had an unusual voice. Drawn deep from the chest and with overtones like a boy whose voice was about to break.

I ducked the food, but took a whisky, and presented Mark with a bottle of Jura malt, from my bag.

"Thanks Jay. God , you look awful," he said.

His wind-browned face and hands contrasted with my pallor, so I probably looked worse in his eyes than I was, but I said, "I'm just tired, the police woke me at fourish this morning, and then there's the journey and the breakdown - and - and the rest of it."