Omega

Owain moved off in the opposite direction, peering through the haze when he reached the north side. He had an unrestricted view out over Soho. The boy reappeared with a pair of Zeiss, the covers already off. He loitered at Owain’s side. The smoke haze meant that visibility was not as good as he would have liked. But it was clear that nothing had changed on the Soho site: it was a featureless white. The steel gates on the northern side were closed and there was no evidence of recent traffic either inside or out. He scanned the entire area. It was so flat you could have played bowls on it. Virgin territory.

“What are you looking at?” the boy asked.

The question was framed with an adolescent’s simple curiosity. Owain eyed him. A Londoner, by the sound of it, his ears pink under his gunmetal cap. His uniform was too big, the iron-blue jacket sagging at the shoulders, its cuffs turned up. He was thin, pasty-faced, probably suffered from some chronic or congenital condition that meant he would never be of use to the armed forces.

“Nothing,” Owain replied, handing the binoculars back. “Nothing at all.”

The bedroom door opened. Tanya came in, bearing a mug of tea.

“Morning,” she said. “Sleep well?”

I nodded, glad that friendly relations appeared to have been restored. I was also pleased with the brevity of my latest sojourn in Owain’s world. I had occupied his mind in a feather-light way, merely skimming the surface of his thoughts. He was in control of himself again, had put the distortions of the previous night behind him. And he did not appear to have visited me in the interim.

Tanya drew back the curtains, and sunlight flooded in. The tape deck still sat on the table by the window, while beside it was a small pile of newspapers. Until now I’d assumed that I’d been reading them, seeking to catch up with events in the world at large; but perhaps Owain was just as interested in gleaning information about my existence as I was about his. The idea was chilling, but I knew I had to confront the possibility. At the same time I’d never detected anything in his thoughts to suggest he was aware of me or my world. Which didn’t prove he wasn’t.

“I have to go out today,” Tanya told me. “There’s a quiche in the fridge if you want it for lunch and plenty of salad stuff. Or you can have any leftovers from last night.”

She’d said as much during dinner. But I wouldn’t have remembered if she hadn’t mentioned it again.

Tanya was wearing fresh makeup and a navy skirt and jacket over a petrol-blue top.

“Meeting?” I asked, wondering if she’d already told me.

“British Library first,” she replied. “I need to do a bit of burrowing in the archives. After that there’s this thing at the ICA.”

I recalled that she was writing a book about Alfred Wegener and the hostility of the scientific community towards his theory of continental drift. The “thing” at the ICA was actually a presentation she was delivering on the Two Cultures.

“Maybe I’ll come to the talk,” I said.

“The ticket’s on the mantelpiece if you want it. But don’t feel obliged. You’ve probably heard most of it before. I should be back by five. You can always ring me on the mobile if there’s a problem—but not between two and three. I’ll be spouting.”

“OK.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“No problem,” I said. “You in a rush?”

“Not hugely,” she told me. “Why?”

“I wanted to ask you abou something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Multiple worlds.”

This took her by surprise. “What?”

“It’s in one of your books.”

Tanya perched herself on the edge of the bed, looking intrigued. “Uh huh.”

“The idea that all events can have more than one outcome. That histories can branch at any given point.”

A slow nod. “That was the gist of it, yes.”

“Do you think it’s possible? In reality, I mean? That it could actually happen?”

I had her full attention now. “It’s just a theory,” she said. “One interpretation of quantum events. Tiny changes having a knock-on effect.”

“So in one of these branching worlds there could conceivably be alternative versions of you and me?”

She nodded. “Alternative versions of everything. Even universes.”

“Is it given much credence?”

“The theory? Well, as much as any other, I suppose. It’s where physics shades off into metaphysics. Why do you ask?”

“Just curiosity.” I took a sip of my tea. “Could these different worlds be connected, linked to one another?”

“Once they’ve branched? Personally, I don’t see how they could be. They’d be like spokes radiating from a hub. Or different fragments from the same explosion. Flying further and further apart as time went on.”

A little silence fell. I swallowed more tea. Tanya had sugared it liberally, even though I’d always drunk it without. I was, I realised, a little thin. Hadn’t been eating much until recently. She was trying to fatten me up.

“Do you believe that such worlds exist?” I asked. “In practice, I mean.”

She looked contemplative, though I suspected she was thinking more about me, wondering why I was suddenly so interested in the subject.