The next day my Father looked like he'd woken up to a giant hangover. For some reason I felt compelled to make as much noise as possible in the kitchenette. I let the dishes clatter against each other while I dried them up and put them away. He brushed past me on the way to make his coffee.
"Could you keep it down?" He grumbled gruffly. So I dropped the cutlery I was holding down into the draw to the tune of metallic crashing.
"What's going on with you and Mother?" I asked tactlessly. No use tiptoeing around it if I really wanted an answer. I was reminded of that day in the car; when I'd made a point of pestering him about his divorce. My anger hadn't resurfaced completely, don't get me wrong, but the concern was there as strong as ever.
He could really hurt her.
"I'm not forgiven, if that's what you mean." My father growled over the sound of boiling water. "Slow progress."
"Progress?" I repeated. "Are you seeing each other?"
He looked like he really had to think about that. That was a plus; it wasn't like they'd rushed headlong into trying again. On the other hand, he was obviously considering the possibility. So something was happening.
"No. Not really. Maryse is too smart for that." He sighed. "But unless you try, you never know."
That day I was destined to be reminded constantly of the conversation I'd had with my Father that morning. Every inventor Dr Zachariah and I came across or talked about lived lives all about the trial and error. They made amazing things, some that paved the way for today's technology, but they didn't make them overnight.
It was the effort that turned a useless gadget into an innovative machine. Ideas were easy to come by but they needed somebody with the drive to execute them to become solid and real.
I was reading through my transcribed notes while Dr Zachariah studied Mr Branwell's diary. We were probably spending a little longer than we should have on his stuff; he rarely made anything that really worked as intended. There were bigger names who created more useful inventions, but they weren't all quite so fascinating.
Reading this man's notes was like getting to know somebody you'd never met. Whenever he made technical progress it was easy to feel truly happy for him. And it felt like a real shame that his work never really amounted to anything big. Anything noticed.
Dr Zachariah was probably going to get more of Mr Branwell's stuff on display than we really needed amongst the exhibits of things people were expecting to find. That was what made him a good teacher. He didn't have to stick to a syllabus; he taught people new things that they couldn't always find in a textbook.
"It's a shame I don't know a lot about mechanics. I think I'm missing out here." He laughed. I could see what he meant; the technical language could get a person bogged down sometimes. Especially when it came to people who wrote in frantic shorthand like they were scared they'd forget what they were saying before they finished their sentence.
I was about to comment when the quiet of the room was broken by the buzzing of my phone. I'd forgotten to silence it; I didn't get a lot of contact in the middle of the day anyway. This person was persistent though. Dr Zachariah and I were both pretty expectant that it would stop vibrating but it just kept going.
"Sorry…" I excused, embarrassed as I took out the device and went to reject the caller. Right before I noticed the unfamiliar number on the screen and hesitated.
"Do you need to get that?" The Doctor said. For a second there I'd forgotten he was in the room. "Why don't you go to lunch?"
The phone finally stopped its buzzing. I still took Dr Zachariah up on his offer, though. If for no other reason than to tell the person not to call me while I was at work.
Imasu, one of the guys who worked reception, waved at me while I walked outside, redialling. As I was hit with outside air, I was also hit with Camille's voice.
"Mon petit!" She exclaimed. 'Hello' would also have been a perfectly acceptable response, too.
"Not a good time." I told her, seems we skipped the introduction part. My foot tapped against the concrete. Even hearing her voice this close to where I worked set me on edge.
"When is?" She dismissed. "Have you given any thought to our little situation with Magnus?"
Was I ever not giving thought to the Magnus situation anymore? No matter how hard I tired I somehow ended up sucked in to all of this.
Unless you try-
I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. No.
"It's more than a 'little situation'." I said.
I heard her let out a faintly irritated noise. What did she want me to do? Apologise for the fact my turmoil didn't fit into her busy schedule? Working my life around her wasn't exactly easy for me either.
"Oh I know. It's drastic." Camille said with a hint of sarcasm. "He wears clothes to bed now."
I flinched and decided not to point out that hearing about them in bed wasn't going to help her plans in the slightest. Sharing a bed wasn't the typical behaviour of a woman ready for divorce. My Mother, for instance, wouldn't have her husband sleeping in the same house. Even now, when they were apparently trying to smooth things over.
"If I didn't have my own distractions," Camille continued. "I would be beside myself with frustration by now. I was always under the impression Magnus would die if he went chaste for this long."
And now I felt a little ill too. Great. It was like whenever Jace decided to tell me all about what he and his girlfriends got up to. Only worse, because I didn't have feelings for Jace and Clary never sounded like she was somehow gloating about it.
"Lovely..."
"Oh, don't be like that." She was smirking. I could hear it. I think Camille was caught between wanting me on her side and wanting to make me squirm. "The point is he's faithful enough."
"Faithful?" I reiterated.
"To you." She finished as if to confirm what she was trying to say. It wasn't working.
A pretty big lorry passed the street beside me, temporarily blotting out all chance of hearing. I waited for it to drive on before I could talk again.
"I think I need to remind you that we aren't a couple." I told Camille shortly. She'd called me up for the least convincing persuasive talk ever. Like I was meant to feel sympathetic towards Magnus because he was moping. What a shame his misery was self-inflicted.
Deciding I had no interest in listening to Camille anymore – I was quite capable of mulling things over without her help – I made an excuse.
"My break is up, I have to go." I told her.
She giggled. I didn't get the joke until she spoke again. "Your breakup is up?"
"Goodbye Camille." I groaned before stabbing the end-call button and heading back inside.
Still, later I ended up sitting down to notes and inventions. Incomplete works of men who gave up and wonderful things of those who persisted.
Unless you try, you never know.
Thanks for reading everybody! Not much to say. The next chapter is titled 'Crisis', I'm revising over it at the moment because the first draft was an absolute mess.