Schrödinger's Bitch

There is no sex in this story, at all. You have been warned.

*

"Hi Francis, I'm home," my wife called, cheerily, as she came in from the office. We both work at the same university; her in the Estate Administration Team and me in the Physics Department.

"I'm in the kitchen," I replied, without enthusiasm.

"What are you doing home so...?" Her question trailed off as she saw my suitcases near the internal door to our attached garage. She looked at me in puzzlement. "What's going on?" she asked. "Are you going somewhere? That seems a lot of luggage for a last minute conference," she tried to joke.

"Oddly enough," I began to explain, "In all my time as a lecturer in quantum mechanics, I think this is the first time that I've truly brought my work home. Oh," I waved a hand expansively. "I've marked papers; held Zoom tutorials; but actual fucking quantum theory: no, this is a first"

She looked surprised at the venom and nature of my words. "I don't understand what you mean and why you are using language like that. What has quantum mechanics got to do with anything?"

I glared at her in faux horror. "What has it got to do with anything?" I echoed. "Quantum mechanics literally explains how everything works; from your mobile phone to you; just everything. Do you remember me explaining Schrödinger's Cat to you?" My abrupt change of topic caught her by surprise.

She wavered for a moment then answered. "Yes. Something about a cat in a box. Because you can't interact with the cat, you have to make assumptions about whether it's alive or dead. So in physics terms, you say it's both, to a greater or lesser extent, until you open the box and find out."

"Very good," I complimented her. "We call that strange state 'superposition'. And entanglement?"

She shook her head. "I remember you mentioned it when I asked about quantum computers but I just got lost. It made no sense to me. Why are we talking about this? What has it got to do with your luggage?"

I sat back in my chair, pointing to the one on the opposite side of the table. She sat. "In my lab," I pontificated. "We have a device that creates entangled electrons in a state of superposition. Both could be in either off two states, or even both at the same time, but, as soon as we test one to determine it's state, the other instantaneously loses its superposition. Somehow, measuring the state of A fixes the state of B." Even now that entertained me and I had to smile. "Einstein called it, 'Spooky''."

Carole, my wife, just stared at me, probably wondering why I was rambling about this stuff. "The luggage?" she reminded me.

"I'm getting there," I snapped at her. She sat back in surprise. I resumed my explanation. "When we got married, our lives became entangled. Your state of being affected mine, and vice versa; correct?"

I saw the colour start to drain from her cheeks. "Yes, but..." she stammered.

I interrupted. "Let me finish my explanation in my way, please." She sat back in her own chair, looking far from happy. I blithely continued. "So, considering my status in purely quantum mechanical terms, I am an entangled particle in a state of superposition and, to a large extent, by determining your condition mine will resolve instantly to one of two states."

She shook her head in confusion. "I don't understand. What states? What condition?"

I relented. "It's simple. If you are the faithless whore that I believe you to be," I pushed an envelope across the table. "then I am a single, soon to be divorced man. If, on the other hand, you can explain the telephone conversation that I had this lunchtime then I am a grovelling husband who will unpack his bags and take you out for dinner to apologise."

I glared across the table at her. "Tomorrow you leave for your Annual Conference. On Valentine's Day. Our first one apart in the six years we've been a couple, four years as man and wife." I saw her swallow nervously. "I rang the conference hotel to arrange for a bunch of roses to be delivered to your room; you know, a romantic gift for my loving wife." She shifted uncomfortably. "Only thing is, the woman on reception innocently assumed that I was the man you were sharing your room with, and told me that it was a lovely gesture and she would make sure they were delivered to our room as a surprise while we were both in the conference hall."

She tried to stammer out some explanation. I held up my hand. "Apparently you and Craig are in Room 238, as usual."

She sat silently, twisting the rings on her finger, unwilling to be the first to speak. "So, Craig?" I prompted her.

Her voice was flat as she answered. "We were at Uni together. We dated a few times, even slept together a couple of times, but there was no real spark between us; just adequate sex."

"How long?"

She gave a great shuddering sigh. "The conference four years ago. It was a surprise seeing him there. He had started a similar job for a housing association and our paths crossed by coincidence." She looked earnestly at me. "There was no forward planning. Believe that if nothing else."

She dropped her gaze to her hands on the table. "We sat together during the afternoon sessions and went for a drink that evening to catch up." Tears started to roll down her cheeks. "We got a little drunk and started flirting then I went back to his room for a coffee and... " She looked up and at least had the decency to meet my gaze. "And I stayed the night."

Carole wiped her eyes. I contributed nothing. "I was recently married," she confessed. "And he was engaged. We felt guilty, so we decided that, as long as you never found out, no-one need get hurt."

I broke in at this point. "There's a chance, if you'd confessed then, I could have forgiven. But this year? On fucking Valentine's Day?"

She bit her lip miserably and nodded. "The following year we had our own rooms but found the thrill of this secret, once a year, tryst was too much to resist and slept together again. Last year I booked a standard room - they are always doubles - and he paid the extra occupancy supplement on his own card. This year was to be the last time. Craig's wife has just told him that she's pregnant and you and I were talking about starting a family: so..." Her eyes filled up.

She looked at me, presumably hoping that something she'd said mitigated her treachery. I was about to set her straight when her phone rang. She reached into her bag and went to cancel the call until she saw who it was. Her eyes widened in surprise. "It's Craig," she sniffled. "He knows not to call me. What he and I do, did, was only ever at the conference. We never laughed about you or his wife. It was just meaningless sex. We never call each other."

"Perhaps he's trying to warn you that I know," I suggested.

"But how would he know that?" Her breath caught as the realisation hit her. "You told his wife?" she asked, horrified. She cancelled the call.

I nodded sadly. "Yes. Jenna and I had a long chat this afternoon. Apparently, starting a family was supposed to signal the end of his little adventures. This seemed to be the last straw for her. She was actually talking about a termination when we spoke. She has no intention of being a single mum."

"How did you find her?" she asked quietly.

"Simple really. I told the receptionist that I was thinking of ordering champagne for my table given that it would be Valentines Day but wasn't sure which card to charge it to. I was offered the corporate card in your name or Mr Dutton's. I told them that I'd decide later and rang off. Searching the delegate list on-line for Dutton took moments. Then checking his Facebook profile gave me Craig with Jenna as his significant other. Once I saw he was at the same Uni at the same time as you, I was certain. I messaged Jenna; she rang me back; we shared our misery."

Carole's phone rang again. She glanced at me. "Go on," I urged her. "Answer it."

She opened the call and, glancing at me, put it on speaker. "What do you want, Craig?" She asked, tonelessly. "You know we don't do this."

"This is urgent, Caz." She winced at his use of a nickname she hated. His amplified whispers echoed around our kitchen. "Jenna knows about our arrangement. She even mentioned your husband by name but I don't understand how she could know it."

Carole looked to me for guidance, but this was her shit-storm to deal with. "Probably because he was the one who told her," she sighed.

"What does he know?" he demanded. "Can we come up with an explanation they can live with?"

"Doubtful," my wife admitted. "Seeing as I just told him everything." Carole watched me compose a message on my phone. "In fact," she continued. "I'm fairly sure that he's texting Jenna now with an update."

"What!" He shrieked down the phone. "You told him?"

She shrugged even though he couldn't see her. "He found out about you and me when he tried to something nice to show his love for me on Valentines Day." She looked wistfully at me. "I know that he'll never trust me again, and I'm fairly sure we're through. So, I thought he deserved this one last gesture of respect before he leaves me. I've been tested and resolved his superposition," she explained unhelpfully to her clueless lover.

She closed the call as Craig began to bluster in confusion. She tapped the screen a few times then looked up and explained. "I've blocked him. Not that it might mean that much to you now, but I felt you ought to know. He was never your replacement; just a stupid, meaningless diversion from a boring evening alone in an hotel."

She stood, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and looked at the envelope on the table. "I'll help you to the car," she whispered, resigned to the inevitable.

As we carried my cases out to the garage, I reflected that, without my attempt to show Carole my love on Valentine's Day, their affair might have stopped and I'd have been none the wiser. It was then that I remembered another law that governed the Universe.; "No good deed ever goes unpunished."