Crystal Clear - A Science Fiction Short Story

Bubbly

"These'll have to do." Paul handed a tumbler glass filled with liquid gold to the seated man who eyed it with suspicion. Curiosity got the better of him and he raised it to his nose.

"That's champagne!"

"You'll wake her up!" Paul smiled, and moved a finger to his lips before taking the other empty chair.

"No expense spared I see."

Paul took a small sip, leaned over the arm chair and set his glass down on the carpet floor.

"Sometimes it's nice to appreciate the finer things in life. Don't you think?"

"Too true my friend. Enjoy it as long as it lasts I say."

Paul smiled and looked away, gaze settling on the window. A cream blind had been pulled down, the glass prism framing a shadow behind it.

"I might not be as cultured as yourself Stephen, but when you get given a break, you take it."

"Absolutely," he said. "You deserve it. You both do."

The man was tall and thin, in his fifties with small round glasses; creased wrinkles around his eyes suggested a lifetime of reading. He leaned across and offered his glass. Paul bent over and picked his up again.

"A toast." Paul said. "To health, friendships and good company."

"That's three toasts."

"So it is," he said and laughed. "In that case let's toast to friendships. Park health and good company for the second and third glasses."

***

Paul waited for the dull pop of the cork. A minute later, his friend re-joined him with the bottle.

"Another Louis Roederer."

"Yeah, I know. I was the one that bought it," Paul said and laughed. He raised his glass for a top up.

When it was filled, Stephen fell into his own seat. "I'll have to make this the last. She'll kill me if I have a late one."

"Get a taxi. S'quicker."

"It'll cost me a fortune. Best give her a call. Said I'd only be out for a couple of hours. Suppose it's only..." He turned a large watch face around on his wrist, narrowing his glasses for range. "Can't be right. It's-"

"12.15," they both said at the same time. Stephen groaned, and tried to get back up.

"Don't be silly," Paul said and reached out an arm. "Call and say you missed the bus. I'll pay for the taxi. From my door to yours in thirty."

"I can't let-"

"It's done, OK?" he said and patted the forearm of the other man.

Stephen shook his head in resignation and smiled. "Thanks mate," he said, a hiccup breaking it in two.

"Your turn." Paul pointed to him with his glass and the other man seemed to deliberate carefully over the next words.

"To Miss Nugent. God rest her." They clinked glasses, Stephen taking a long swallow while Paul barely touched the glass to his lips.

His friend fumbled in his pocket and removed a mobile phone. Paul watched him dial the numbers carefully and wait for it to be connected. He angled the phone away from his mouth and gave a little triumphant shake of the fist.

"Voicemail."

Paul nodded, looking away to give the other man privacy to leave a message. His gaze settled on the blind, suddenly lost in contemplation. The sweet champagne coating on his tongue suddenly began to taste like bile. Rubbing it against the roof of his mouth only exacerbated the flavour, souring his expression. There was a tug on his elbow.

"Your address?" Stephen asked and received a confused look. "For the taxi."

"1508 Costigan House, Roebuck Street."

The address was repeated into the receiver before the dialler ended the call.

"Done. Tweny minutes," Stephen said and stood up to pocket the phone. "You've been staring at that thing all night. What is it?" he said, walking over to the window.

"Just a paperweight. It's my ma's," Paul replied and leaned forward.

"Interesting." He picked it off the ledge, tossing it lightly in the air. "Heavy old thing."

"Jesus, don't!" Paul said and jumped from his seat.

"What?"

"Just put it back. Please."

"OK," he said, raising a hand. "I'll be careful."

With a sudden interest, Stephen held the block in his hands with more poise, tracing the smooth edges with his fingers until they reached a sharp point. As he held it up in the air, the light from the overhead bulb streaked along the flat clear surface. Turning the object around, he slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose for focus.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to find an insignia. An emblem."

"I've looked," Paul said. "There's no marks on it."

"How do you know it's a paperweight?"

"Well, what else could it be?"

"Could be anything, which is my point. There is a certain beauty about the craftsmanship, not to mention the depth of the crystal - which it appears to be - and, my, see how it catches the light."

"You think it's valuable then?" Paul said and held out an open palm. Stephen finished his inspection, passed it over and it was placed back on the windowsill.

"In monetary terms, I can't tell. Certainly, not in my state," he said and burped into a balled-up fist. "But there is something striking about it. How did your mother come across it?"

"Found it in a second-hand store. Come on, the bubbles are getting flat."

The other man laughed, sat back down and picked his glass up off the floor. He took a small sip and for a few seconds was quiet, staring off into space. Paul, noticing the change, tried to pick up the thread of conversation again.

"I tell you, it's good to have some company. Ma can drive you up the wall sometimes. Her and the game shows. How's herself?"

"Yeah. Good. Busy." A pause. "When you called me last week, you wanted to talk about something."

"Well," Paul said and shifted in his seat. "It was for more of a catch up."

"Is everything OK?"

"Of course."

"I might be a bit drunk but I can tell somethings up. Paul?"

They stared at one another without saying a word. It was Paul who broke cover first and smiled.

"C'mon," he said, rising from his seat and placing the glass on the kitchen counter. "I want you to meet someone."