The Unclematter Engine
While trawling the internet a few weeks ago I came across the beginning ofa story I wrote in January of 2003 for a writing website called “ThoughtCafe”. I thought it might be interesting to re-publish it, and give it a second life of sorts.
It hadn't always been so cold you know. Just these last weeks the climate in London had grown altogether more bracing. Atley reminded himself as much while tucking the rough woollen scarf Emily had given him for his last birthday into the collar of his overcoat. November in London always looked so pretty in paintingsand yet the reality of it was that little bit less bright, less colourful, less lively.
Only the paintings were wrong! It had been raining throughout much of the afternoon on the north side off the Thames, causing rivers of water to flow through the streets. Reflections bounced from the cobbles; a thousand tiny lights marking the way home.Atley pulled his bicycle from the wall and brushed a forearm along the saddle to dry it. Before starting out from the shelter of the stone arch, he squinted out into the evening mist and took in the fresh, clean smell of the falling sky. It seemed sometimes that rain washed away the troubles of the city. Finally he steeled himself for the damp journey home and skipped the bicycle across the flagstones and into the road, cocking his leg over as he gathered speed, and hunching his head low in the coat.The splash and clatter in the side alley told Emily that a certain Mr Charles Atley was home from work. Soon enough, there was a rattle on the door and she drew back the bolt. In a rush of wind and cold spray Charles dashed in, hands already outstretched towards the warm glow of the fireplace. Emily took in her husband as she re-bolted the door. Fifteen years. Had it really been fifteen years? And he hadn't changed in the slightest. Look at himcrouched in front of the fire like a child, staring into the flames.
Charles knew Emily was watching him of course. He pretended not to notice more often than not, but this was one of those times when something special was going on. A silent conversation if you will. Without turning his head he looked across to her. Caught in her little game, she was suddenly a girl, pretending she had not really been watching himshe had been closing the door, but just taking an inordinate amount of time to do so. It's true I tell you!It had always been so between Charles and Emilyright from the moment they first met at that ball on the embankment. Emily had seemed untouchable in Charles' eyes. In truth she had intimidated him. She was so beautifulso far out of reach for somebody as ordinary as himself. His fears had of course blinded him to the notion that the reason he couldn't help watching her through the crowds was because she was returning his gaze whenever he wasn't looking. Fifteen years later they still couldn't help secretly watching each other.“Charles Atley! You're soaked! Let me take your coat”“I'm fine dear, a little rain never hurt anybody”“Hmm, maybe but if you don't get out of these wet clothes you'll catch your death.“With that and a tender peck on the cheek, Charles headed for the bedroom; unbuttoning his waistcoat and wrestling with that infernal collar. He unsteadily made his way up the stairsit always puzzled him how wrestling with clothes imparted such a negative impact upon the body's balance. Why could you stand on one leg as long as it pleased you, yet not pull a sock on for more than a second or two?Presently he arrived back at the foot of the stairs in dry clothesthe shirt and trousers he normally kept for Sunday mornings. Emily grinned as she looked him up and down”Is that really the same gentleman who passed through here not two minutes ago?““I shouldn't like to say? Do you often have gentleman friends with whom you might mix me up?”“Oh, too many darling. Too many. They come to me in the night you know”“Do they indeed?”“Yes, one of them fell hopelessly in love with me of course, and I with he. Now what was his name? Askey? Antey?“Charles strolled over, matching Emily's grin and their arms embraced each other's waists.“I see I'm going to have to keep an eye on you Mrs Atley”.
With that they held each other close, sharing their special moment of the day together. When they held each other like this it was almost like the cogs of time ground to a halt for a few moments just for them. Old father time took his watchful gaze away from them in modesty.“Oh! Darlingyou had some mail this afternoon!“Emily gathered up several envelopes and passed them over. Charles wandered over to a chair at the kitchen table and sat down to inspect them. One was from CambridgeAtley recognised the writing immediately as John Drake, the professor of Mathematics. It was an invitation for himself and Emily to attend the end of term ball.“Do you think we should go?”“Well, John did come to your presentation at the Royal Astronomical Society”Atley had been inducted as a fellow off the Royal Astronomical Society the previous February. His experimental work with the new field of magnetics had been of interest to a great many of the learned men who listened to his lectures in London. It always caused Atley to smile when he thought of the Universities in the home countieshere he was working on engineering problems for the London transport system, and scholars in Cambridge take an interest in his work because of it's importance to the study of the universe. Just where did they unearth these people from?“I suppose we could go. It might be rather funremember the condition John got himself into last time!“Emily was still giggling as he ripped open the second letter. Strange, he thoughtit had an Oxford postmark? Who did he know from Oxford?Andrew Falcon.
Oh god.
Now there was a name he hadn't seen for many, many years. Never really expected to either. Was he still alive? He must beAndrew Falcon had been Charles' engineering professor at university. It was by more luck than judgement that they had ever crossed paths. The tutor that should have taken the class for 1895 through the elementary theory, a Mr Goring, had befallen an unfortunate accident the previous term. While working on a half size model of Stephenson's new “locomotive” there had been an explosionGoring would never teach again.
But Andrew Falcon! Professor Andrew FalconAtley started reading the letter aloud to Emily,“Dear Charles,It is with some excitement and trepidation that I find myself writing to you. Excitement at the news I extend to you, and trepidation in the manner with which you may receive this letter.
It's been rather a long time, hasn't it. I keep a watching brief on many of my more promising students, and have taken great pleasure in sharing the results of your work in magnetics these last years.
I digress. If it is at your convenience I would very much like for you to visit my rooms at Oxford to discuss your work, and the results of some research I have been conducting that may be of great interest to you.
Time is of the essence Mr Atley.
Andrew Falcon”