unhappy. The reaction didn't seem to link to any emotion until he spoke, vehemently.
'I didn't
want
an extra full-time job. I didn't ask for this. What is it for, what I am supposed to do with it, and why, why me?'
The Angel looked back, big and kindly and powerless. 'I know less than you do.'
Michael apologized, his default mode. 'I'm sorry, this isn't easy for you either.'
'I don't matter. I'm not real.' The Angel managed to say that with a smile. 'Why don't you let me help?'
It took a while for the anger to be stilled. The Angel kept talking.
'I know what you know. I can do just as good a job as you can. We've got a backlog. Why don't you stay here and do the accounts or whatever? I'll go to the Fridge and do the slides.'
What a wonderful idea. Michael chuckled. 'It'll be like the Shoemaker and the Elves.'
'Let's wait until tonight,' said the Angel. 'That way no one will see you in two places at the same time. We don't want to give anyone a heart attack.'
'Can we talk afterwards?' Michael asked. He felt the same yearning he would for a lover.
'Sure, baby.'
That was what Michael always used to say to Phil. When they were young and in love.
So he filled in the form for the second stage of their research grant, and wrote the first draft of the accompanying business case. Michael's career plan was simple. He would keep using the lab for further research projects until his own reputation was established and then let out the secure facility for other projects. At 5.00 pm he was able to bustle into Ebru's office, fluttering papers.
'Well, here we go. This is the business case for the grant. First draft. Can you read it for me, make any comments. Oh. I also know nothing about the admin costs, so could you run off a 104 on the office expenses.'
Ebru was still watchful, languid. 'It's five o'clock. Do you need it this instant?'
'Not right now, of course. Close of play tomorrow for the comments. I'll need the 104 sometime tomorrow morning.'
'I can do that for you,' she said airily, gathering up her bag. No, she seemed to say, I am not working late to make up for your lost time. She smiled a hazy, hooded smile at him, and gave him a dinky little wave with the tips of her fingers. 'Good night. See you tomorrow.' Faultlessly polite. The draft was left on her desk.
He was left standing alone in the room. I have really pissed her off.
It was 5.03 and there was absolutely no one there. They had all gone home. Who would work late if the boss wasn't there?
The whole universe has burst its bonds in order to put you in this position. Impossible things are happening, and they are screwing up your life, and nothing in your intellectual or emotional history has prepared you for them.
And you have allowed yourself to become alone.
His only friend was literally himself.
Michael went into the cold room. There was his other self, big and happy, a cheerful anorak singing old Wham! songs. 'Bad boys…' The Angel was merry in his work. He turned around smiling, the smile coming from being usefully employed and suffering no doubts. When Michael smiled his eyes went tiny and narrow, almost closed, and that in turn made him look a bit like a Chinese Santa Claus.
'Just started,' said the Angel, cheerfully. His breath came out as vapour; frost settled on his eyebrows. 'Things really aren't that bad. Emilio's been good, he's using a temporary naming convention, which we might as well accept. And everything's been labelled, in boxes. It just needs to be put away properly.'
The Angel pulled open a drawer. There were the first of his slides, label side up and out, in neat rows. 'There's only about an hour's work.'
Things really weren't that bad. Relief was like a pillow. Michael settled into it. The work would be done, he would apologize to Emilio, and amends would be made. It would be all right.
'I'll be back then.' Michael kept the need out of his voice.
Back in his office, there were 37 e-mails needing answers. They were mostly from
'I didn't
want
an extra full-time job. I didn't ask for this. What is it for, what I am supposed to do with it, and why, why me?'
The Angel looked back, big and kindly and powerless. 'I know less than you do.'
Michael apologized, his default mode. 'I'm sorry, this isn't easy for you either.'
'I don't matter. I'm not real.' The Angel managed to say that with a smile. 'Why don't you let me help?'
It took a while for the anger to be stilled. The Angel kept talking.
'I know what you know. I can do just as good a job as you can. We've got a backlog. Why don't you stay here and do the accounts or whatever? I'll go to the Fridge and do the slides.'
What a wonderful idea. Michael chuckled. 'It'll be like the Shoemaker and the Elves.'
'Let's wait until tonight,' said the Angel. 'That way no one will see you in two places at the same time. We don't want to give anyone a heart attack.'
'Can we talk afterwards?' Michael asked. He felt the same yearning he would for a lover.
'Sure, baby.'
That was what Michael always used to say to Phil. When they were young and in love.
So he filled in the form for the second stage of their research grant, and wrote the first draft of the accompanying business case. Michael's career plan was simple. He would keep using the lab for further research projects until his own reputation was established and then let out the secure facility for other projects. At 5.00 pm he was able to bustle into Ebru's office, fluttering papers.
'Well, here we go. This is the business case for the grant. First draft. Can you read it for me, make any comments. Oh. I also know nothing about the admin costs, so could you run off a 104 on the office expenses.'
Ebru was still watchful, languid. 'It's five o'clock. Do you need it this instant?'
'Not right now, of course. Close of play tomorrow for the comments. I'll need the 104 sometime tomorrow morning.'
'I can do that for you,' she said airily, gathering up her bag. No, she seemed to say, I am not working late to make up for your lost time. She smiled a hazy, hooded smile at him, and gave him a dinky little wave with the tips of her fingers. 'Good night. See you tomorrow.' Faultlessly polite. The draft was left on her desk.
He was left standing alone in the room. I have really pissed her off.
It was 5.03 and there was absolutely no one there. They had all gone home. Who would work late if the boss wasn't there?
The whole universe has burst its bonds in order to put you in this position. Impossible things are happening, and they are screwing up your life, and nothing in your intellectual or emotional history has prepared you for them.
And you have allowed yourself to become alone.
His only friend was literally himself.
Michael went into the cold room. There was his other self, big and happy, a cheerful anorak singing old Wham! songs. 'Bad boys…' The Angel was merry in his work. He turned around smiling, the smile coming from being usefully employed and suffering no doubts. When Michael smiled his eyes went tiny and narrow, almost closed, and that in turn made him look a bit like a Chinese Santa Claus.
'Just started,' said the Angel, cheerfully. His breath came out as vapour; frost settled on his eyebrows. 'Things really aren't that bad. Emilio's been good, he's using a temporary naming convention, which we might as well accept. And everything's been labelled, in boxes. It just needs to be put away properly.'
The Angel pulled open a drawer. There were the first of his slides, label side up and out, in neat rows. 'There's only about an hour's work.'
Things really weren't that bad. Relief was like a pillow. Michael settled into it. The work would be done, he would apologize to Emilio, and amends would be made. It would be all right.
'I'll be back then.' Michael kept the need out of his voice.
Back in his office, there were 37 e-mails needing answers. They were mostly from
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