and those tears on their cheeks don’t mean anything. I knew she was trying – she did get some extra shifts and took on another class, but I began to find it easier when I was on my own.
“I don’t have a solution to all this, Robert,” she said once, “but I know there is one. You’ll find a job.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“You will. Just trust that it’ll work out.”
I took her hand and tried to smile. I didn’t know you could feel lonely in your own home.
The lecturer post had been filled and nothing came up with Zimmer’s plan for Cavendish, not that I expected it to. Zimmer cancelled our presentation at the conference, and I was copied into the reply.
From: [email protected]
Sent: 21st February 11:27
To: [email protected]
cc: [email protected]
Re: Presention at Annual Conference on Astroparticle and Underground Physics
Priority: High
Dear Professor Zimmer,
Thank you for your correspondence updating me on the situation with SightLabs. I understand your reluctance to proceed with your presentation at the upcoming conference, given that your results are preliminary and the ability to validate them has been taken from you. I am deeply dismayed at the decision to close SightLabs and I suggest we raise it at the AGM. I am certain that you will find a body of physicists to back your appeal. You certainly have my support.
Sincerely,
Prof Simon Pickard
At least Zimmer was showing some spine in tackling this. I went to the conference with him and sat in on the AGM. The Chief Executive of the Institute of Physics was chairing and drafted a document to the Minister of Science, outlining the objections to the closure of SightLabs and the cack-handed way it was handled. Everyone at the meeting signed their support and it made me feel better for a bit.
But I still didn’t have a job. I advertised to do web design and got some interest – from a furniture removal business called Packit Up and a health food shop in Surrey. It wasn’t much, but it brought in some cash.
I didn’t realise how much time Cora spent meditating. The flat was beginning to feel like a prison, and I’d go out to the library with my laptop to work when the smell of incense got to me. I was becoming more and more irritable, easily affected by small things, like finding a flier on the hall table for a music festival; the book on transcendental meditation that she was half way through reading, lying open on the couch; the calendar on the kitchen table, the one I couldn’t help reading, that gave a new quote every day, with some namby-pamby non-advice like, ‘Whatever has happened is the perfect reason to keep going. Keep going and create the life you have chosen to live.’ You know what? I didn’t choose any of this. And I don’t need some airhead to tell me I need to be happy about it.
But what was worse than the anger was the indifference. That feeling of nothingness. Like I’d been cored out and I was existing in a pointless shell, going through the motions for the sake of it. Cora’s attempts to help just frustrated me, and I’d snap at her whenever she asked questions, like if I’d had any word from Cavendish or if I’d thought of going out for a beer with Chris. “I’m only trying to help,” she’d say. “I know how difficult this is for you.”
No you don’t . You’ve no idea how this feels. And your treating me like a victim is just making things worse. But I didn’t say any of it. I’d make an excuse to go back to my laptop.
A couple of weeks later when I came back from the library she looked different. Not what she was wearing, but her expression, her demeanour had changed. She was sitting at the kitchen table writing something in a notebook.
“Hi.” She smiled fully, for the first time in ages.
“Hi.” I put my laptop down on the chair.
“How did it go?”
“Same as usual.”
She got up. “You want a coffee?”
“Yeah, okay. How are things with
“I don’t have a solution to all this, Robert,” she said once, “but I know there is one. You’ll find a job.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“You will. Just trust that it’ll work out.”
I took her hand and tried to smile. I didn’t know you could feel lonely in your own home.
The lecturer post had been filled and nothing came up with Zimmer’s plan for Cavendish, not that I expected it to. Zimmer cancelled our presentation at the conference, and I was copied into the reply.
From: [email protected]
Sent: 21st February 11:27
To: [email protected]
cc: [email protected]
Re: Presention at Annual Conference on Astroparticle and Underground Physics
Priority: High
Dear Professor Zimmer,
Thank you for your correspondence updating me on the situation with SightLabs. I understand your reluctance to proceed with your presentation at the upcoming conference, given that your results are preliminary and the ability to validate them has been taken from you. I am deeply dismayed at the decision to close SightLabs and I suggest we raise it at the AGM. I am certain that you will find a body of physicists to back your appeal. You certainly have my support.
Sincerely,
Prof Simon Pickard
At least Zimmer was showing some spine in tackling this. I went to the conference with him and sat in on the AGM. The Chief Executive of the Institute of Physics was chairing and drafted a document to the Minister of Science, outlining the objections to the closure of SightLabs and the cack-handed way it was handled. Everyone at the meeting signed their support and it made me feel better for a bit.
But I still didn’t have a job. I advertised to do web design and got some interest – from a furniture removal business called Packit Up and a health food shop in Surrey. It wasn’t much, but it brought in some cash.
I didn’t realise how much time Cora spent meditating. The flat was beginning to feel like a prison, and I’d go out to the library with my laptop to work when the smell of incense got to me. I was becoming more and more irritable, easily affected by small things, like finding a flier on the hall table for a music festival; the book on transcendental meditation that she was half way through reading, lying open on the couch; the calendar on the kitchen table, the one I couldn’t help reading, that gave a new quote every day, with some namby-pamby non-advice like, ‘Whatever has happened is the perfect reason to keep going. Keep going and create the life you have chosen to live.’ You know what? I didn’t choose any of this. And I don’t need some airhead to tell me I need to be happy about it.
But what was worse than the anger was the indifference. That feeling of nothingness. Like I’d been cored out and I was existing in a pointless shell, going through the motions for the sake of it. Cora’s attempts to help just frustrated me, and I’d snap at her whenever she asked questions, like if I’d had any word from Cavendish or if I’d thought of going out for a beer with Chris. “I’m only trying to help,” she’d say. “I know how difficult this is for you.”
No you don’t . You’ve no idea how this feels. And your treating me like a victim is just making things worse. But I didn’t say any of it. I’d make an excuse to go back to my laptop.
A couple of weeks later when I came back from the library she looked different. Not what she was wearing, but her expression, her demeanour had changed. She was sitting at the kitchen table writing something in a notebook.
“Hi.” She smiled fully, for the first time in ages.
“Hi.” I put my laptop down on the chair.
“How did it go?”
“Same as usual.”
She got up. “You want a coffee?”
“Yeah, okay. How are things with
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