Idiopathy

known, just
known
that something awful had happened, because (deep breath; Pinter pause) …
his watch had stopped
. People would admire her. They’d think she was one of those resilient types. She’d be
So Brave
,
So Strong
.

    S omething had to be done. She needed, she knew, to take control. Things were getting the better of her. She did not want to be the sort of person of whom things got the better. She decided to begin with the question of income.
    ‘I’ve switched to soup,’ said her manager, wresting the lid off a thermos. ‘I just couldn’t take that soggy bread any more.’
    ‘I un-quit,’ said Katherine.
    ‘When did you quit?’ said her manager.
    ‘The other day. But now I don’t want to. I want to rescind my resignation.’
    ‘Oh,’ said her manager, looking up from his soup.
    ‘What do you mean, “Oh”?’
    ‘Well, I was just … I mean, as I said before, you know, much as we’d be sorry to see you go, I was sort of looking forward to not being your boss any more so we could …’
    ‘Can I not quit, please?’
    ‘Obviously. Not a problem. Can I ask what’s changed?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You’re not going to immediately take maternity leave, are you? Because I’ve had like three people …’
    ‘I could take you to court for that question,’ she said.
    ‘Right,’ said her boss. ‘Point taken.’

    T he television, for so long a friend that had seen her through the gloomiest of times, now held little comfort. Katherine found herself at a loss to find much that might be categorised as entertainment. The news seemed to be infecting everything. Inspired by the economic downturn, the fashion channels were excited about thrift. Tapping into mounting concern about an epidemic, the history channels had shifted focus from Hitler to the Plague. Excited at a rare opportunity to be cutting edge, the nature channels were broadcasting wall-to-wall documentaries about diseases in animals, and the food channels, picking up on the largest swing towards vegetarianism the country had ever seen, strong-armed the zeitgeist with a series of tips towards a meat-free life. She stuck to the news itself, which ran a rolling double narrative of recession and pandemic. The burning of cattle carcasses, initially an experimental measure, now seemed the norm. Talk was shifting to a cull. Men in boiler suits made important pronouncements.
    ‘We’ve seen Herd Disenfranchisement Syndrome before,’ said one, ‘and we’ve seen Herd Disengagement. This is worse. Bovine Idiopathic Entrancement needs to be taken very seriously indeed.
Any
indication that a cow might be staring excessively, ceasing to move, desisting from common bovine behaviours such as cud-chewing and tail-flicking, or indeed simply standing alone for any period of time needs to be reported immediately.’
    She began to enjoy the repetition, the sense of predictability that rolling news engendered. The word ‘news’ was, she thought, slightly disingenuous, given that the stations were basically falling over each other to deliver more of the same: heaps of cattle carcasses, splayed legs silhouetted against the winter sky; hooves and heads in smoke and flame.

    W henever the landline rang she would think it was Daniel, who would, she was quite certain, call very soon. She also, however, worried it would be Keith, and so let everything go to voicemail. True to form, her expectant prodding of the playback button did, once, summon up Keith’s voice.
    ‘Katie-babes. Long time no see. What’s the dilly-deal?’
    She hit the delete button, then checked her voicemail again to be sure the message had vanished. She was beginning to realise how few phone calls she actually received.
    She thought about Daniel, wondered what he was doing, what he was thinking. She liked to imagine the extent of his pain. She pictured him beset by insomnia; pacing the kitchen in his atrociously baggy boxers; running a hand through his hair and squinting. He’d want to be drawn out of his shell. He’d become sullen and withdrawn around his partner – what was her name? – waiting for her to ask what was wrong. If she didn’t ask he’d become angry. If she asked, he’d say Nothing. Katherine liked the idea of being someone’s secret, and of being Daniel’s secret in particular. Not because she wanted him back, but simply because the worst thing anyone could do to you was forget you.
    Erasable though Keith might have been from her answerphone, he proved quite the