With Simon up in Town, Stella slept in my bed. She was just a teeny bit tipsy, and if Tom hadn’t helped, she’d still be trying to get the corkscrew into the bottle. We all seemed to sleep in on the Saturday except Spike, who had munched her way through several nuts by the time I came down at ten.

Stella, who had a hangover–some people never learn, just had fluids for breakfast, whilst I was okay, only having had two glasses of wine. Tom who never seems to show ill affects from booze, sat and ate breakfast with me.

“Thanks for telling me about your Catherine. I’m sorry you lost her, it must be the worst thing that can happen to a parent.”

“It is, Cathy, I don’t think we ever get over it, just learn to cope with the void. However, thanks to you, the void is smaller and I’m grateful for your presence in this world, or should I say in my world. No, that sounds awfully arrogant, what I mean is, thanks for allowing me some participation in your world.”

“Duh! Can you run that past me again?” I said, winking.

“As I wasn’t listening to myself, I don’t think I could.” He sniggered then laughed out loud, I laughed too, snorting milk and corn flakes all over the table.

“Ugh, you mucky pup!” he gently chided me.

“The coincidence of me turning up after your daughter, is phenomenal, isn’t it? I mean, transsexuals aren’t very numerous at the best of times, so two in one household — twenty years apart–it blows me away, it really does.”

“I don’t see either of you as transsexual, just girls with a gynae problem which is treatable. You both achieved womanhood by a slightly more circuitous route than most women, so what? It’s just as valid. As for two in one household–there is a saying which says, ’We meet those we need to on our respective paths. Sometimes the reason for it seems obscure.’ As a scientist, it has no merit whatsoever, as a human, it may explain some of the things which happen.”

“Isn’t this the Blind Watchmaker argument, which Dawkins and others have rubbished so successfully? The Intelligent Design stuff, just poor science.”

“Probably, however, have you never looked up at a starlit night and been filled with awe? Or seen the structure of something under a microscope and been astonished? I know we say it’s all evolution, I’ve been preaching it for longer than you’ve been alive–but just now and again, my resolve cracks and I do wonder like Hamlet, about more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

“Yeah, but Hamlet was psychotic, talking to ghosts and killing people, including himself.”

“I accept he was disturbed. But haven’t you told me that you spoke to your mother, since she died?”

I blushed, hoist on my own petard, “They could have been dreams.”

“Including the one with the special cavity under the bedroom floor?”

“Yeah, why not? I might have seen her using it when I was a child?”

“You told me it was relatively new.”

“I could be mistaken.”

“Cathy, scientists need an open mind in order to be able to explore the universe.”

“Open yes, not swinging in the breeze.”

“Are you implying that describes me?”

I blushed beetroot red, “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that a certain amount of discretion is necessary in one’s cogitations.”

“So is this discretion, in your case, the better part of valour?” He fixed me with a stare and I felt myself looking away after a few moments.

“Coincidence, that’s all it is, that’s all it can be,” I muttered to myself.

“In your philosophy, because if it isn’t, your map of the universe is suddenly inadequate.”

“Oh shoot! Don’t do this to me, Tom.”

“I’m your professor, it’s my job to expand your cognitive skills.”

“I think they’ve just gone into over stimulation and burned themselves out.”

“They can’t, that’s an emotional response, not a cognitive one.”

“Isn’t the God thing, more of the same?”

“Maybe? I’m an agnostic, I need evidence then proof, but just in case I’m getting it without recognising the fact, I keep my options open.”

Was this just an old man trying to reconcile that he will one day die, possibly not too far away compared with ten years ago? I wasn’t convinced, yet in the back of mind was the meeting with Marguerite, the parish priest and scientist. Was it pure coincidence? I had to believe it was or as Tom suggested, my map was needing some major revisions, and that was frightening. The same fear fundamentalists feel when they are challenged, because they haven’t thought it through, they regurgitate chapter and verse and are likely to be out argued by a quick mind looking for the flaws in their arguments, which are many. Was I becoming a fundi? An atheist? Because that’s what Tom was implying, wasn’t it? How important was it to me? I didn’t know, which is even more frightening. I had much to think about.

“More coffee?” I asked getting up to make some fresh tea.

“Yes please, with two lumps of rationale.”

“Ha ha,” I answered back. Not the wittiest of retorts, but it was brief and Shakespeare considered brevity the soul of wit. So maybe he’d have laughed at it. Tom chuckled, he had me on the run and I was digging big holes for myself. Quit whilst you’re ahead, was the advice of generations past. I admitted defeat. “Okay, I surrender. Destiny drove us together, so how come you don’t ride a bike?”

“You just answered your own argument.”

“What?”

“Destiny drove us together, I therefore have no need to cycle.” He smiled and I felt like showing him the sound of one handclap, around his earhole!

I gave him his coffee and sat down, “Smart arse,” I muttered.

“I think that constitutes admission of being a sore loser.”

“If you say so. My head is spinning.”

“So is mine,” said a voice announcing the return of Lady Cameron, “I think I need to get some retail therapy to clear it.”

Tom laughed heartily at this, and I had to clear up the snorted tea from the table.

“Are you going by yourself?” asked Tom.

“No I’m waiting for my sister to smarten herself up so we can go and do what women do–shop till we drop.”

“That’s awfully stereotyped,” I complained.

“Yeah, so, truth sometimes is, now get yer togs on and let’s get going before the sun sets over the shopping mall, this is post modernist feminism.“

“It’s what?”

“You ask far too many questions, carry on like that and people will think you’re a scientist instead of a bimbo. Now go and get dressed, there’s a good girl, before all the bargains are gone.”

“I thought there was a depression on?”

“You may be depressed little sister, I feel fine, now get yer arse in gear. Time and summer sales wait for no man.”

“Alright, alright I’m going.” I said while waving a piece of kitchen roll as a substitute white flag.