‘You know what’s weird?’ he says eventually.
I glance at him. I let my eyes travel, deliberately, over his beloved collection of magic memorabilia, old and new, and over Felipe, Elsie’s skeleton, that my best friend gifted to my boyfriend with great fanfare. Felipe reclines against Joshua’s lowest bookshelf, and is currently wearing his velour cape and tweed cap. The skeleton holds a gleaming fencing foil, a prop from Joshua’s new obsession – the fencing club at his university. My eyes skim over the spilled innards of the carriage clock on his desk, and the poster of Mandrake the Magician that has pride of place near his bed. I look back at him with a raised eyebrow.
He laughs and leans over to drop a kiss on my cheek. ‘Okay, weird being relative. But, you know, you never call me Josh? Only ever Joshua.’
I prop myself on one elbow. ‘Huh. I guess I don’t. I don’t know why. Josh. Joshhh,’ I say experimentally. The word sits strangely on my tongue. I shake my head. ‘No. It’s not right.’ ‘Oh?’
‘Well, it’s just that, it’s so small. Four letters. One syllable. It just doesn’t seem enough for you. Does that bother you, Joshua?’
He smiles, flopping onto his back again. ‘Nah. I like it. When you say my name it always sounds …’ He looks up at his blue ceiling. ‘Momentous,’ he says with a grin.
I roll my eyes. I think he will always be far more effusive than me. But then he kisses me with his eyes wide open, and I can’t bring myself to mind.
I’m not sure where any of this is leading, what the future holds for either of us. I still want my neat ending, my elegant proof. I think I will always be searching for irrefutable answers. Maybe it’s a good thing I have maths for that.
I never did hear from Perelman. I can only speculate on what my beardy friend is doing these days, what led to his vanishing act. There are way too many unknowns to calculate. Maybe he is in the midst of some great new discovery, sequestered away while he figures out the answers. Maybe it was just too much for him, the burden of so much expectation. Or maybe he had achieved everything he needed to achieve, and is happily spending his days with crosswords and Netflix. Maybe he fell in love? Who knows. I hope he’s okay, whatever he is doing. More than anything, I hope that the maths still brings him joy.
Joshua holds my hand, clasped lightly between us. Our knees are pressed together, our shoulders a little apart, and we’re looking at each other but not saying a thing. His eyes are all soft and warm, those strange moo-eyes that, inconceivably, only ever seem to be aimed at me. It’s kind of extraordinary, our moments like this, just quiet and still. Well, one of us is still. Joshua’s other hand flicks distractedly through a crisp new deck of playing cards, as always, forever moving.
He’s told me before that the fundamental key to all magic is simple – supposedly, it’s all about timing. I don’t know about that. I think I can safely say that by and large, my timing sucks balls.
But here’s the thing.
I don’t think I’m running out of it just yet. My time may not be infinite; I doubt I will ever find my TARDIS, a way to cheat time and space with a wormhole inside a letterbox. But perhaps I have enough of it to figure out a few mysteries of my own.
In any case, I think that I will give myself the time to try.