Many Worlds of Albie Bright Page 9

  “Thanks.”

  Alba turns back to smile at me as she reaches the top of the stairs.

  “What for?”

  Lifting the guard rail, Alba wheels her chair off the stairlift.

  “That was the first time I’ve danced since the accident,” she replies. “Since Mum died. I’d forgotten how much fun it could be.”

  Alba nudges my – I mean her – bedroom door open, wheeling herself forward as I follow close behind. Grandad Joe was snoring in his armchair when we got back home, the first Back to the Future film on the TV as we sneaked past the living-room door. Now it was time for me to find out what Alba really meant when she said she knew what I had to do to find Mum again.

  “Do you still miss her?” I ask.

  “Every day,” she replies. Alba glances up at the square of stars shining through the skylight window. “Sometimes I sit here in the dark, looking through my telescope at the stars and I remember all the things she told me. It makes me feel like she’s still here with me now.”

  I think about how close I am to finding Mum again and a tingle of excitement runs down my spine. Then Alba clicks the light switch on and we both see that something is very wrong.

  The telescope is still there pointing out of the attic window, but the piles of books and comics have all been tidied away and in the middle of the room there’s no sign at all of my cardboard box.

  “What’s happened?” I ask, instantly starting to panic. “Where’s the box?”

  Alba is holding her head in her hands.

  “Grandad Joe must have tidied my room.”

  Inside the shed the cardboard box is lying on its side, half crushed beneath a pile of recycling. Next to it is a green caddy filled with food waste, a browning banana sticking out of the top. And at the back of the shed I can see Mum’s quantum computer shoved out of the way on the workbench with the Geiger counter lying on top. It looks like it’s ready to be dismantled as it sits there surrounded by the rest of Dad’s abandoned projects and DIY jobs.

  I walk over to the laptop and press the power button, but the screen stays blank. The battery must have run flat – just like any hope I had that I’d see Mum again.

  “I’m sorry,” Alba says, wheeling her chair to the workbench. “I didn’t realise that Grandad Joe would start tidying my room without me. When he saw the cardboard box he just thought it was some of Dad’s old stuff – ready for recycling.”

  I don’t say anything back. The Quantum Banana Theory was the one chance I had of finding a parallel universe where Mum was still alive. With the experiment ruined, I’m stranded here. No chance of finding Mum. No way back home.

  Alba looks up at me. In the dim light of the shed I see my own eyes staring back, a glint of determination in her gaze.

  “We can fix this,” she says. “And while we do, I’ll tell you how quantum physics can help you to find Mum.”

  With the laptop plugged into the charger and the banana rescued from the recycling, Alba starts to explain what she means.

  “Atoms and particles can behave in really strange ways—”

  “I know all this,” I snap, struggling to straighten out the caved-in sides of my cardboard box. One corner of the box feels a bit damp and smells funny, like a cat’s done a wee in it. “Sometimes the same particle can be in two different places at once – that’s how scientists knew that parallel universes could exist.”

  Frowning, Alba gives me the same look that Dad does whenever a TV interviewer interrupts him to ask a really stupid question.

  “That’s not what I was going to tell you,” she scowls in reply.

  As Alba is currently sitting next to some heavy-duty tools including a claw hammer and a particularly lethal-looking pair of pliers, I quickly shut my mouth and let her get on with the explanation.

  “The weirdest thing about quantum physics,” she says, “isn’t that the same particle can be in two different places at the same time, but that two different particles can act like they’re the same particle.”

  “What’s so special about that?”

  “Scientists call it quantum entanglement,” Alba explains. “It’s when two particles are joined together in a strange and peculiar way. Anything that you discover about one of the particles instantly becomes true for the other particle too, no matter where it is. You can take these two particles to opposite ends of the universe, but they stay connected. If you find out that one of the particles is spinning, then this means that the other particle will be spinning in exactly the same way – even though it’s on the other side of the universe. It’s like there’s some sort of telepathic link between the entangled particles that lets them communicate faster than the speed of light.”

  I can’t stop myself from interrupting Alba again.

  “That’s impossible,” I tell her, remembering a fact I learnt from one of my dad’s TV programmes. “Albert Einstein said that nothing can travel faster than the speed of light – not even weird mind-reading particles that put each other in a spin. It’s against the laws of science.”

  “Not according to quantum physics,” Alba replies. “The particles share the same quantum state – even though they’re billions of light years apart. Albert Einstein called it ‘spooky action at a distance’ because he thought it was so impossibly weird, but scientists have carried out experiments that prove that quantum entanglement really exists.”

  By the time Alba has got to the end of her explanation, I’m more confused than when she started. My brain hurts. Quantum physics is giving me a headache. It’s time to cut to the chase.

  “How’s this going to help me find Mum?”

  “Don’t you see?” Alba says, sounding more like Dad by the minute. “If entangled particles can stay connected at opposite ends of the universe, then why not across parallel universes too?”

  She picks up the pliers from the workbench and for a second I’m worried that she’s going to do some DIY on me for interrupting her again, but instead she waves them in the air.

  “The particles in these pliers must be entangled with the particles in the same pair of pliers in another parallel universe. If you want to find the other pair, you just need to take a quantum look at these and they’ll tell you what you need to know. To find Mum, we need something that belonged just to her – something precious, like a ring or a necklace maybe. We’ll be able to use this to find the parallel universe where she still has it. The world where she’s still alive.”

  Inside my heart a tiny spark of hope flickers into life. Something precious that belonged just to Mum…

  Digging deep inside my pocket I pull out the ammonite that Mum and me found on the moors. Its golden spiral shape glints in the half-light as Alba gasps in recognition.

  “Dad was going to make this into a necklace for Mum,” I tell her, “but he never got round to it.”

  “He did in this universe,” she says, reaching out to touch the fossil as if she can’t quite believe that it’s real. “Mum used to wear the necklace every day. But after she died, Dad lost his temper and threw the necklace against the wall. He said it was too painful to see it lying around without Mum there to wear it. The ammonite smashed into a thousand pieces.” Alba’s fingers reach up to her neck, pulling out a golden chain from beneath her T-shirt. “This is all that I’ve got left.”

  I stare at the necklace, a loop of wire dangling emptily from the golden chain. Then I look down at the 100-million-year-old fossil in the palm of my hand. Somehow it feels even more precious to me now.

  “So what do we do?”

  “First we use the ammonite from your universe to fix Mum’s necklace,” Alba says, holding out her hand for this.

  Almost reluctantly, I hand this over. Taking the chain from round her neck, Alba places this next to the fossil on the workbench. Then, picking up the pliers, she carefully twists the loop of wire round and round the ammonite, creating a nest to hold it in place. Such a simple thing to do, but somehow my dad never found the time.

&nbs
p; Alba turns back towards me, the spiral fossil shimmering as it dangles from the necklace chain.

  “It looks just like it used to,” she murmurs. “The same necklace that Mum wore every day.”

  It’s stupid, but I can’t help feeling a little bit jealous of Alba. In this parallel world, Dad found the time to make Mum the necklace – and cared enough about Mum to smash it into pieces when she was gone. What else have I missed out on? Maybe I was born in the wrong universe?

  I take the necklace out of Alba’s hand, staring at the ammonite as it spirals round. It’s time to find the right one.

  “So what do we do with it?”

  Alba reaches up to the workbench to grab what looks like a thermos flask covered with wires, cables and duct tape.

  “We put it inside this.”

  “What’s that?” I ask. To be honest, I’m not sure how putting a fossil inside a high-tech flask of tea will help me find my mum.

  “It’s a quantum entangler,” Alba replies. “I built it myself. It can calculate the quantum state of any particles that are put inside.” She lifts up the dangling USB cable sticking out of the bottom of the flask. “If we hook this up to Mum’s quantum computer, then it should be able to pinpoint the exact parallel universe where the other necklace is located and, fingers crossed, you’ll find Mum wearing it there.”

  I can’t stop myself from grinning. If what Alba’s saying is true, she’s invented a quantum satnav that can take me straight to Mum. It might sound big-headed for me to say this, but this female version of me is seriously amazing.

  “How did you end up such a brainbox?” I ask her.

  “You’re just as brainy as me,” Alba says with a grin, our smiles a perfect match. “We both invented the Quantum Banana Theory, after all. All we need to do now is rebuild the experiment with the quantum entangler hooked up too. That should do the trick.”

  “What are we waiting for?” I say, desperate to find out if this really will work. “Let’s get entangling!”

  As we work together to set the experiment up, I start to realise what it would be like to have a sister or brother. Because things were a bit tricky for me healthwise when I was born, Mum and Dad decided not to risk having another baby. I didn’t mind. Mum was always there for me – inventing brilliant games, answering all my questions, making me feel like I was never alone. But now I’ve got nobody – apart from Dad, that is, and he’s never around.

  As Alba unscrews the top of the flask and places the necklace inside, I think about how it would be quite fun to have a sister – someone to hang out with, to talk to, to look out for when things went wrong. Alba screws the lid back on top of the flask. Someone who would share their quantum entangler with me.

  “Let’s try it,” she says, looking up at me excitedly.

  I plug the quantum entangler’s USB cable into Mum’s laptop, using the spare port next to where the Geiger counter is hooked up. Then with my heart thudding in my chest, I press the power button on.

  The laptop screen lights up instantly and I see a stream of numbers blurring into one – an avalanche of data scrolling endlessly. I look back at Alba, her face lit up by the same glow.

  “It works,” she says, almost sounding like she can’t believe it herself.

  “But how?” I ask. “This data is coming from the Large Hadron Collider in my universe. How can the laptop still be connected to the Grid?”

  “This is a quantum computer,” Alba replies. “It works by using copies of itself in other parallel universes to crunch the data. That’s what makes it so powerful. It’s not just connected to the Grid in your universe, but every parallel universe—”

  Alba’s explanation is cut off by the sound of a voice outside.

  “Alba, are you in there?”

  It’s Grandad Joe.

  I exchange a panicked glance with Alba. It would be impossible to explain to Grandad what we’re doing inside Dad’s workshop. There’s no time to talk and only one place to hide. Lifting the laptop from the workbench, I climb inside the rebuilt cardboard box as Alba plays for time.

  “Coming, Grandad,” she shouts out. “I’m just sorting out the recycling.”

  As I crouch at the bottom of the box, trying to ignore the smell of cat wee, Alba hisses at me.

  “Albie!”

  Looking up, I see her holding out the banana she’s rescued from the recycling caddy. Its yellow skin is almost completely covered with brown splotches and it wouldn’t win any fruit-bowl beauty competition, but it’s the missing piece I need for the experiment to work.

  “Thanks,” I say, reaching out to grab hold of it. I put the banana down next to the Geiger counter in the corner of the box. Then I look back up at Alba. “For everything.”

  “Good luck,” she says, biting her bottom lip to stop her eyes from leaking.

  I can feel my own eyes filling with tears. There’s only time to ask her one last question.

  “If I find Mum again, what should I do?”

  Alba wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Tell her that I love her,” she says.

  Then she closes the cardboard flaps over my head, leaving me alone in the dark.

  The laptop screen is glowing green, the flashing zeroes and ones calculating the quantum state of the ammonite necklace inside the quantum entangler. Outside the box I hear the shed door open and the sound of Grandad Joe’s voice. But before I have the chance to hear what he’s saying, the Geiger counter clicks and the universe shivers into silence.

  It’s happened again.

  Wiping a tear from my eye, I take a deep breath before I reach up to open the lid of the box. This time, will Mum be waiting for me outside?

  I lift up the lid of the box and I know straight away that something is wrong. When I climbed into the box a few seconds ago in another universe, the only light there was came from a single light bulb overhead, but now bright sunshine is flooding in through the workshop window. It seems as if I’ve travelled forward in time as well, skipping from night to day in the switch from one universe to the next.

  Feeling nervous, I climb out of the box, not sure what other differences I’m going to find in this new parallel world.

  The shed door is open and as I look around I almost fall back into the box in shock as I see my dad sitting at the workbench. He’s looking away from me, his head bent as he twists the loop of wire round the spiral ammonite, attaching this to the necklace chain. For a split second I think I’m back at home in my own universe, but then I realise that the fossil from my world is still inside the quantum entangler.

  In my universe, Dad never got round to making this necklace, but it looks like I’ve found a universe where he is, and that must mean Mum’s still alive.

  “Albie!” Dad says, dropping the pliers in surprise as he glances up to see me. “I didn’t even hear you come in.” Then he shakes his head with a look of confusion on his face. “Weren’t you supposed to get back tomorrow? I’d have picked you up from school if I’d known you were coming back early. Did you enjoy your school trip to London? How was the Natural History Museum?”

  Here’s more proof that this isn’t my universe. I’ve never even been to the Natural History Museum.

  Dad’s still staring at me as he waits for an answer, so I blurt out the first word that comes into my head.

  “Dinosaurs.”

  “Dino-what?” Dad says with a puzzled frown. “I don’t think I’ve heard that word before. Is this something new that you’re doing at school?”

  Feeling confused, I quickly change the subject.

  “What are you doing in here?” I ask him. “Aren’t you supposed to be working down the mine today?”

  Dad shakes his head.

  “You know I’m only working three days a week now – just like everyone else. There’s not enough coal left down there for us to bring out much more.” He looks down at the fossil he’s holding, its trailing chain still left unfastened. “So I thought I’d get on with an unfinishe
d project instead.”

  Now I’m seriously confused. Dad’s talking like he’s a coal miner, not a famous scientist. But the only thing that really matters to me is sitting in the palm of his hand.

  “You’re making Mum’s necklace,” I say.

  Dad traces his finger around the spiral fossil, the ammonite sparkling gold in the sunlight.

  “Yeah,” he replies, nodding his head thoughtfully. “Better late than never, I thought.”

  I can’t hide my excitement any more.

  “Can I see Mum when you give it to her?”

  I see a flash of pain in Dad’s eyes, but he quickly tries to hide this.

  “Good idea,” he says, forcing a smile on to his face. He fastens the clasp and then slips the necklace into his pocket. “It’s been a while since we last went to see her together.”

  It’s a sunny day, but I can’t get rid of the cold in my bones as I stare down at the gravestone.

  Dad hangs the necklace around the neck of the angel that’s carved at the head of the stone. Another stupid universe where Mum is dead and I don’t even know why. Cancer. Car accident. I can’t even bring myself to ask. I thought that this time it’d be different. I keep biting my lip, but I can’t stop myself from crying any more.

  “It’s OK,” Dad says, putting his arm around my shoulder. “I still miss her too. I think that’s why I wanted to finish the necklace for her – even after all these years. While I was making it, it let me forget – just for a while – that she wasn’t still here.”

  He pulls a tissue out of his pocket and pushes it into my hand.

  “It’s not fair,” I sniff, wiping my nose with a shudder.

  “I know it’s not fair,” Dad says, “but as long as we stick together like she told us to, it’ll be OK.”

  A cold wind whips in from the moor, cutting through the graveyard. I shiver as the shadow of St Thomas’ spire dips closer to the gravestone.