Affairs of the Head

CHAPTER 1

North Hertfordshire, early 1990s.

End of June, chilly, unseasonal. Remnants of a recent shower drip from trees above a narrow and neglected lay-by. An elderly bus approaches, draws on to the pitted surface to allow its sole passenger to dismount, then grumbles away up the hill towards Luton. The girl, or young woman, watches it splash through puddles, then pulls her raincoat in close and moves without hurry towards a gap in the untidy beech hedge beside the road. She hesitates at a cattle grid then spots with relief a rusty gate, joined to an iron fence emerging from the hedge on either side. The whole entrance seems uncared for, but the gate opens readily enough. She passes through and begins her way along the curving, tree-lined drive.

How old might she be? Thin and tall, she walks strongly. Her plain face looks late teens but her straight blonde hair seems younger, essaying a length precisely between fashionably long and appealingly short. Yet she walked past a notice at the gate Interviews this way, so perhaps is just above school leaving age, seeking her first employment.

The drive is muddy and potholed, but she is constrained to it by banks of stinging nettles spilling from the feet of the trees on to the verge. Ahead of her, glimpsed between the trunks, scowls a Victorian mansion of the hideous variety sometimes described as a pile.

The grid behind the young woman clatters and she steps gingerly on to the grass to allow a vehicle to pass; from her expression, tights are no protection against nettles. The car's passenger, clearly a rival for the job, has contrived an aura of sophistication by sitting in the rear seat, as though chauffeur-driven. The car itself, a recent model, joins half a dozen more on the gravelled area in front of the house, crushing a few stray dandelions in its efforts to park neatly.

The nettle victim hunts for a dock leaf but soon gives up; perhaps in these circumstances pain is better than a yellow-green stain on her tights. She walks on, discomfort added to simple nervousness, to reach the front of the house.

Here is a flight of stone steps, clearly conceived for a much bigger residence. Some hastily scribbled instructions dangle from a pillar, with an arrow to a waiting room via an excessively ornate porch and entrance lobby. Established inside already are four young women and two men. Avoiding their curious glances, the new candidate sits down quietly in the darkest corner and scratches her itching calves. The door opens again and with a dramatic swing of her short cloak, the occupant of the car just parked presents herself.

Samantha! she proclaims loudly.

Good Lord! Annabelle! Did you get that First? from one of the candidates already seated.

No, only a Two-one. I ploughed my Opto-electronics. How about you?

Two-two, I'm afraid... The rest of us might as well go home now.Samantha laughs edgily.

The others shift in their seats. An owlish young man raises an ironic eyebrow at a good-looking character who has been quietly chatting up two of the young women. Annabelle continues the conversation as she sits down:

I can't say the salary looks much, even living in the wilds of Hertfordshire.

She turns to the owlish candidate.

And what qualifications are you bringing to this top-class job in such a magnificent building?

Oh, just an HND. My practical work'll be useful, I expect.

And you? Annabelle swings round unexpectedly to the young woman hiding in the corner, still rubbing her shins.

Er - I haven't any qualifications. Conversation stops abruptly. Well - I - it said they weren't necessary, so -; Annabelle's laugh peals through further explanation.

You don't believe that, do you? They just want as many as possible applying, to make the job look important!

The target of this onslaught blushes and drops her eyes; she no longer rubs her legs. The others look uncomfortable, apart from Samantha who is nervously giggling into her sleeve. Silence follows for several minutes. Occasionally one of the candidates takes a furtive glance into the dark corner. Abruptly its occupant puts her handbag on her shoulder, picks up her coat and stands up as though determined to leave. But a door opens and a tall, untidy-looking man in his early forties peeps out. Miss Muffatt? he inquires of the young woman already moving forward; he opens the door wider to invite her through.

In total confusion, she drops her handbag while retaining her coat. She hesitates, returns her coat to her chair and picks up her handbag. Then looks around at the assembled company and whisks away her coat along with her handbag, as though from thieves.

Miss Muffett, is it? calls a voice from behind. I hope he hasn't got any spiders! Miss Muffatt blushes again and hurries through the door.

* * * * * *

Her whole future depended on this meeting. Fully conscious of its importance, she stopped and stood, just inside the door.

Come in, please, Miss Muffatt. It’s Jayne, isn’t it? I'm Dr Andrews. Bill Andrews. The speaker waved towards a chair and seated himself heavily behind a well-used but still impressive leather-topped desk. Jayne Muffatt sat down quietly and observed him. He had a long face, elegant even, with a professorial receding hairline. He had clearly made some effort to clear his desk for the interviews: a small yet chaotic heap of papers was just in view on the floor near his chair.

Now, you're wondering why I called you for interview, especially with all these unemployed graduates about. Yes?

Jayne nodded and coughed before speaking: It said in the paper that qualifications weren't necessary. But the others out there have all got degrees and suchlike. I'm surprised you wanted to see me at all.

Dr Andrews rocked his chair back to an unnerving angle and rested his elbows on its arms. He then carefully placed the backs of his fingers together, tips pointing downwards under his chin, and looked closely at Jayne. He had no notes in front of him, not even her application form.

You attended St Theresa's School, Isle of Ulva, until this time last year, then Arlestead till now? Jayne nodded.

Bit of a culture shock - secluded girls' private school to our local state academy. Accident or design?

My parents always wanted me to go to a private school, but couldn't afford it. Then I had an aunt who inherited some money. And she paid for me. She insisted on St Theresa's.

What was so special?

They taught all arts after the first year and only a tiny bit of maths. My aunt thought science caused all the world's problems.

Dr Andrews raised an eyebrow. How did they get away with that? They'd have had inspectors, wouldn't they?

I don't know. One of the girls started publishing novels when she was only 14 and another's making a name for herself as an artist. So the school's got a good reputation. The head's very forceful and some of the parents have a lot of influence. It's only a small school and very remote. I think the inspectors have too many other jobs to bother. She paused.

So you then spent your last year with Tom, Dick and Harry at Arlestead.

Yes. My aunt died and all her money went to her second husband. Mother couldn't afford for me to stay there even for just one more year. So I came back. To the local school here...

There was another pause; for Jayne these were painful memories. Dr Andrews said nothing until she forced a wan smile. Then he asked quietly:

And you've passed no GCSEs at all?

No, I was totally unprepared. At St Theresa's, they thought girls didn't need exam results. If they were good enough, they'd succeed anyway.

Like the novelist and the artist.

I suppose so. The teachers taught us just what they felt like teaching that day.

And was it enjoyable?

Sometimes, if you had one of the good teachers.

"A bit like The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie?"

Jayne shrugged.

I suppose so. I haven't read it. But none of them knew anything about science. I don't think they’d have been there if they had.

Jayne spoke calmly, as if on autopilot, her mind fixed on a distant horizon, afraid to look down and see the turmoil of emotions inside. If Dr Andrews realized this he gave no sign, but continued, though even more quietly:

So how did you get on at our local place?

I couldn't do anything. They gave me books to read to fill in all the gaps in my knowledge, but I didn't know how to organize my learning or write exam answers. And they didn’t have time to help me individually. I took English and Latin last Autumn but even failed in those. Basically, I don't know anything in any organized way. I missed the Summer exams because I was ill, but I don't think I would have passed anyway.

Dr Andrews frowned and shook his head at the clinical way this had come out. But Jayne was used to this reaction. She knew that some saw her lack of achievement as failure, but to her it was simply how things had turned out. Her interviewer pulled some papers forward and glanced at them.

So in effect you've repeated your 5th year. Ah, that explains why you're 17, not 16 like most school leavers.

He looked up brightly.

And what can you do?

Discuss. And think, I suppose. And sometimes I get answers right by guesswork. I don’t know why. There was a sudden lift to her voice; here at last was something she could be proud of. But she did not expect the next question:

How heavy is the earth's atmosphere?

What? I mean, I beg your pardon?

How much air is there in the world? How many kilograms?

I don't know. The release of tension came out almost like rudeness, but Dr Andrews said simply:

Of course you don't. Guess. Tell me what you're thinking.

Silence for nearly a minute. Jayne struggled, then realized she must relax and let her mind free-wheel.

Isn't air pressure 15 pounds per square inch? I think I remember seeing it in an old book.

Yes, that's about 7 kilograms weight.

I don't know how big a square inch is, though. Dr Andrews rocked his chair forward, sketched one on a scrap of paper and Jayne peered at it.

So if you knew how many of those squares would cover the earth, each one has - what did you say? - 7 kilograms of air above it. So would that work? I'm not sure I could do the sums though.

Dr Andrews studied the young woman intently.

If I asked any of that rabble out there - he waved in the direction of his waiting room - they would go into all sorts of extravagant tales about adiabatic lapse rates and integrating from sea level to the ionosphere and probably still get it wrong, if they got an answer at all. Would you like this job?

Jayne gasped. Er - yes, please.

Right, said Dr Andrews, standing up so precipitately his chair fell back with a crash. He marched to the door and peered through.

I have made my appointment, he boomed. I will not need to see anybody else. Wait there and I'll send Mr Summers along with some expense forms. Thank you for coming.

There was a united gasp, then a babble of shocked and angry noises. You can't do that! It's disgraceful! What about equal opportunities?

Annabelle's voice razored through: "What has she promised him? Don't go much on his taste."

Dr Andrews shut the door, mercifully heavy and well soundproofed. He turned back to Jayne, smiled and waited. She spoke very quietly, unsure whether she really ought to say this to a future boss.

Shouldn't you interview the others first? I mean, they're all better than me really, and know far more science.

Dr Andrews picked up his chair and sat down again.

I'd already decided to appoint you before you came. I only invited the others in case you were unsatisfactory.

That was no help at all; Jayne was still bewildered. Dr Andrews spoke gently.

Don't worry, I'll explain everything. In time. Now, how much do you know about Dice Electronics?

Nothing. Should I?

Dr Andrews laughed.

Well, that's a nice change! Most refreshing. Usually people turn up and tell me more about the place than I know myself. So I'll have to tell you instead. Don't feel guilty, by the way. Most of the stuff I've put out there is so out of date it wouldn't have helped anyway.

He launched into a rapid summary of how the firm consisted of himself and Jack Summers and how the work was getting too much for them both, so Jack was having to pack up electronic units instead of keeping the nettles down on the drive. Jayne scratched her leg in sympathy.

I'll start you off with some of the mundane jobs - stocktaking, packing up equipment and so on, then you can get involved in testing the structures we make. And perhaps even programming them...; Jayne’s rising panic was clear to her new boss.

Oh yes, I know you don't know anything. I'll teach you. Don’t worry.

But wouldn't it be easier if you employed someone who at least knew a bit? Then you wouldn't need to do so much teaching.

I agree. But in the electronics industry we've got a big problem. Now, pretend you were designing something but you were a bit behind someone else. You happen to know that an engineer in the other firm knows a lot about what they’re doing and is being paid £30,000 a year. What do you do?

Silence. Jayne suddenly realised she was expected to answer.

Oh, offer him £40,000 and pick his brains? she asked quickly.

Dr Andrews laughed.

But that's immoral, she exclaimed.

Dr Andrews laughed again, this time with an edge. Perhaps, but it happens. It's called head-hunting. So I want someone who's bright, but with very little background knowledge. Then my work is safer. That’s why you'd be ideal. See?

Jayne nodded, though unsure how far this was a compliment.

So I will teach you all you need. No further study, no reading around and so on. I don't want you to become useful to another firm. OK?

Jayne became thoughtful.

So no-one will head-hunt me?

Dr Andrews smiled and nodded. Jayne continued to think, and her thoughts emerged before she could stop them.

So you can keep my salary low because no-one's going to offer me more? Oh, I'm sorry!

Dr Andrews laughed. I think you are a very intelligent young woman. You get straight to the point. But don't worry, you won't starve! When can you start - next Monday?

Jayne nodded, happier again.

Now, you live just up the road, don't you? So you can come on the bus or even cycle in good weather, perhaps? More nods.

If the weather's bad I might be able to give you a lift in sometimes. I come through Hartlehoe Green.

Oh, said Jayne, I thought you lived here.

It seems like that sometimes, but I do have a home. I see it as often as I can, laughed Dr Andrews. I'm looking forward to Monday. I think we shall get on well.

He opened the door for his new recruit. She moved out through the overblown portico and down the drive in a state of total disbelief. She didn't even mind that she'd missed a recent bus and there wouldn't be another for two hours. She strode off towards Hartlehoe Green.

After a few minutes, a car drew up. She ignored it, until a quick glance showed its driver to be the owlish young man. She didn't mind walking, but was looking forward to telling her mother the news, so she accepted the lift. He seemed harmless enough.

Congratulations! said her companion as they moved off.

Thanks. I'm sorry you had such a wasted journey. What will you do now?

Oh, I've got another couple of interviews lined up. One I'm very confident about, so don't feel guilty.

They drove in silence along Haley Bottom. Jayne watched the fields and woods climb gently up on either side with the motion of the car. All was green after the recent glut of rain.

They reached the end of her road.You can drop me here. Thanks. Her mother would not take kindly to her arrival via a young man she’d only just met.

Best of luck, he said. I'm glad you got the job and not one of those oh-yas. He laughed and waved as he drove off towards the motorway.

CHAPTER 2

Jayne was drying the dishes, one of the few kitchen jobs permitted by her mother. Mrs Muffatt was very quiet. She had seemed pleased with Jayne's success at first, but the doubts were starting to creep out.

You know, Jayne dear, I'm not very happy about you working by yourself. Just with men. You never know what might happen.

It'll be fine, Mother. Dr Andrews is really old. He must be over forty.

You could still have...problems, dear.

And Mr Summers must be near retiring. He's sixty if he's a day.

We-e-ell, even old men...

Anyway, I'm not exactly a chorus girl, am I!

The dishes were finished and they took their cups of coffee into the neatly furnished lounge. Mrs Muffatt did not contradict the last statement. Sometimes Jayne suspected her mother would have liked a pretty child, until her friends complained about unsuitable boyfriends. Then she appreciated Jayne's lack of conventional charms, her lean figure, straight lank hair and pale though expressive face, unadorned by makeup.

"Well, don't let them try anything on. You tell me if they do. There was something in The Post only yesterday about it. They said girls shouldn't get jobs where there aren't any other women. Gave some examples. Awful they were."

They sat in silence for a while, deep in thought. Jayne was still on cloud nine, her mother clearly nurturing anxieties.

I don't know why you didn't get a proper job like mine. In a shop. There were lots advertized.

And they all wanted people with experience. This was the only one that didn't.

But isn't it to do with science or something? I'm not sure that's a good idea. You know what your aunt would have said.

Well, if she hadn't died I’d still be at St Theresa's, snapped Jayne, more uncharitably than she intended. Though I don't know how that would have helped me get a job. Even in a shop.

Oh, in a high-class shop it would, dear, I'm sure.

Jayne declined to pursue the argument. Her mother had not forbidden her to go, and that was enough. They finished their coffee and Jayne picked up the paper. But her mother was not finished.

Are you seeing Jon tonight, dear?

No, Mother. She began to read something salacious about a politician and turned the page in disgust.

"You know his mother's German don't you? You know what The Post says about Europeans. And we fought against the Germans. Only fifty years ago."

Jayne folded the paper and saved it for later.

Don't be silly, Mother. Her grandfather might have been. He came over with the family before the war, didn't he?

Oh, I didn't know that. Does that mean they're Jews?

No Mother. Loads of other Germans came over too.

I thought only Communists. Are they Communists?

I don't think so. But she recalled some of Jon's more unpalatable ideas and began to wonder. Does he really believe wars always cause more problems than they solve? But what about...? Her mother broke in again.

Does she speak with a German accent?

Good heavens no. Manchester, I think.

Oh...well...I suppose that's not quite so bad. But you shouldn't spend so much time with Jon.

We're just good friends, Mother.

Hmph!...that's what they always say. You watch it. And at that job of yours.

Oh, Mother! Jayne reached for the paper again, this time in self-defence. She was not angry. It was the kind of conversation they often had. Jayne knew that Mrs Muffatt had her best interests at heart, and usually agreed with what she said. But although she hoped it would cause no real rift between them, Jayne was going to be very firm about this job.

* * * * * *

In the late-receding light of a near-midsummer evening, Jayne sat in the small bedroom chair by her window. Before her lay her curriculum vitae, just one page, written large to disguise its minimal content. Jayne shook her head slowly, elated yet puzzled by her amazing good fortune.

I do not deserve this, she thought. I'm not special. I can't be. We're very ordinary people and should be proud of it, not getting above ourselves. That's what Mother's always saying.

Her eyes drifted down to an entry near the middle of the page: 'First school: Hartlehoe JMI'.

Suddenly, with unexpected clarity, she is sitting at the back of her primary school class, aged about nine and dozing. Her teacher struggles with the new science curriculum, trying to glean from her pupils the law of the lever. They are perceptive certainly, but only in divining her own inadequacy.

Look, I've got two weights on this side, six from the pivot. Where have I got to put these three to balance? As she desperately dangles a hook with three identical blocks of coloured plastic, she catches sight of Jayne with her eyes closed and seizes opportunities both of distraction and the re-exertion of authority.

Jayne?

Four from the pivot, mumbles Jayne. She has half-opened her eyes and speaks without thinking, yet knowing the answer to be right.

Why? shouts her teacher, visibly startled to hear the correct answer, and from one she thought asleep.

It's…obvious, answers Jayne, flustered to realize she cannot explain what to her seems self-evident.

You must have a reason, snaps the teacher, to whom the lever law is far from obvious and probably had to be learned by rote.

It - er - it just balances like that, says Jayne hurriedly.

That's not an explanation. You must have guessed. You were just lucky.

And so it continued, all that year. Jayne was never invited to contribute again in science, and never volunteered a response even when her mind had jumped immediately to the answer. She was always right, but told no-one and could not have explained her intuitions, even to herself.

Come the end of the year, among her usual mediocre exam results for English, Maths and History, she had full marks in Science. Her teacher dismissed this as a fluke, but her headmistress had seen the spark of something more and told her mother so at Parents' Evening. Mrs Muffatt, for whom all science was anathema, was far from happy at this and mentioned it to her sister-in-law. The latter saw the danger signs immediately and provided the fees to move Jayne to a school where such a shocking ability would get no further encouragement.

Yet Jayne's mind continued to work, almost independently of her consciousness and in what seemed trivial contexts. She could fill a jug with exactly the right amount of water for four very different glasses, could cut off just the right length of string for a complicated parcel, load a tray with a mixture of objects so as to distribute the weight equally front and back and between her two hands; and all this without thinking. Gradually, her mind began to instruct her consciousness and she could see abstracted patterns like shadowy guides, modelling the real objects before her and showing her where they should go or how big they should be. They disturbed her, yet in a strange way it was exciting.

Gazing at her CV, looking back over nearly half her lifetime and collecting all these disparate events together, it dawned on Jayne that she was different after all. She was like one of her classmates who possessed perfect musical pitch. With virtually no science lessons to expose it, no-one had noticed as special what Jayne experienced as natural. Perhaps traditional science teaching, with its emphasis on formal sequential progress and a degree of rote-learning, might have quenched those sharp, intuitive sparks. With little chance of a more enlightened and imaginative curriculum, no teaching was perhaps her salvation. Her mind had blossomed in secret and was now prepared for the more than mundane challenges it would meet in her new job.

Jayne sat very still as these realizations sank in. I am special. I don't know what it means, but perhaps this job is what I need to discover it. I must work at it, whatever Mother says. I don't think I'm going to be properly me until I can control these strange bits of my mind; the ones that tell me things are right without making sense. Or perhaps I need to learn how to make sense of them.

She got undressed, showered and went to bed in a trance, anticipating almost with rapture a new life, where what she had seen through a glass darkly would appear face to face. In this state, sleep was well nigh impossible. Then demons from darker recesses of her mind, molested her, suggestions that there might be trouble ahead: with her mind released like this, would she discover things about herself and her surroundings that could discompose, even unbalance her? Was she plucking fruit from some forbidden tree of knowledge? Past disappointments, pleasant anticipations turned sour, had long steeled her mind to look on all sides of any promise. But eventually even these ideas exhausted themselves and released her mind into welcome sleep.

CHAPTER 3

The Barton Hills, near Luton. Two young people sat together, gazing towards the beech hanger across the valley. It was Saturday, two days after Jayne’s interview, so she and Jon Bacon had cycled out with a picnic tea to enjoy the belated summer sunshine. Along the fence behind them, heath spotted orchids mingled their hazy pink with golden agrimony and yellow melilot, while startling blue specks of milkwort lit the grass around their feet. Willow warblers sang in the trees below, practising their scales and getting them wrong yet again.

I'm totally mystified, said Jon. All those people with degrees and you still got the job.

A short silence before Jayne replied. It was not the kind of afternoon to hurry a conversation.

I can't get over it either. In spite of what Dr Andrews said. Some of the other candidates thought he was interested in me for other reasons. But I'm not that good-looking, surely.

Jon pondered whether to reply to this, and reasoned thus: If I agree with her, it looks like an insult, even if it's true. But if I contradict her she'll tell me I'm being silly and that she hates being flattered. By the time he had reasoned thus it was far too late to say anything, which was probably the best option.

When do you start work? he continued after a while, heading off in a safer direction.

Monday. I still can't believe it.

I'll be very interested in what you're doing. Dice are the world leaders in 3-D circuits. Did you know that?

Another Summer-laden pause.

Now just remember, Jon, I don't know anything. And I'm not supposed to know anything either. Just because you're doing A-levels and know more than the rest of the sixth form put together, you mustn't help me. How did the funeral go on Thursday, by the way?

Jon now faced a change of topic as well as the lazy temperature, but he replied at last:

It was OK, I suppose. She was a cousin, possibly once removed, I can't remember. I was only going as family rep, 'cos Mum and Dad were too busy with the kids. The husband was a funny guy: long, flowing red hair and dark glasses. Didn't seem too upset either. Most odd.

They sat in silence once more as the beeches darkened slowly in the evening sun. Jayne tried to imagine herself part of a huge family, where you are not even sure of all your relationships. With only her mother and a second cousin, this was far beyond her experience.

Jon stirred.

We ought to be getting back. It's after eight o'clock and I've got some Physics to catch up from Thursday.

Oh! Can't we stay for a few more minutes?

No! Up you get or I'll push you down the hill.

He tried to drag her to her feet but she pulled away sharply from his touch.They giggled briefly, then ran to the end of the chalky ridge, down the steps and through the kissing gate. Picking up their bikes near the church, they pedalled home through the soft summer air.

* * * * * *

Monday morning saw a very nervous Jayne back in the waiting room at Dice Electronics. Jack Summers welcomed her cheerfully, which eased her butterflies a little.

You live in A'tloe I gether, he said, pronouncing the name with the two syllables favoured by longstanding local residents. Come on, I’ll show you round.

Jayne's new colleague (Call me Jack he had said straight away) accompanied this with a rapid running commentary; Jayne hoped she would not be tested on the details afterwards. The house was not as large as it seemed, just six main rooms on two floors. Upstairs were two store-rooms, one for raw material and one for completed units, while the ground floor was occupied by a general office, where Jayne would be based at first, a research room occupied by Dr Andrews when not in his own small office, a small kitchen, the visitors' reception room, and the extravagance of two toilet cubicles, sporting very recently applied Ladies and Gents notices. There was also a conservatory, which Jack hoped to maintain more diligently in spare moments. A spiral staircase led from one of the store-rooms to the flat part of the roof, between the ostentatious turrets. A couple of deckchairs leaned against the upper door, suggesting lunch hours on warm days.

Jack has shown you round, then? asked Dr Andrews as he breezed into the waiting room on their return.

Yes, thank you Dr Andrews, replied Jayne, wondering if he would ask to be called Bill, but he didn't.

Jayne accepted an offer of coffee and followed the tall figure into the research lab, where they sat down either side of a large bench. Dr Andrews launched into his introduction immediately:

This is where we're at, he began with enthusiasm, holding up a small plastic cube. You've got a million electronic components in there.

But I can see right through it!, exclaimed Jayne, it's empty!

Dr Andrews smiled, with more than a hint of complacency.

She examined it more closely.

I've seen the inside of a telly, but the bits and pieces there all look different, with wires between them. There was a lot of metal about as well as plastic. I thought you had to have metal to pass an electric current - I did learn something at Arlestead! Doesn't plastic insulate?

Yes, well done. But this plastic's special. I can make it conduct or insulate or even conduct one way and not the other, just by shining a powerful light on it. The colour and the direction it comes from make all the difference. I make each tiny part of it do a job and build the cube up from there. A million components in a one-centimetre cube! he finished triumphantly. Jayne half expected him to take a bow and her own voice reflected his excitement:

Like dice - so Dice Electronics! Now I see. But it looks the same all through. How can you tell which bit does what?

You remember I said you shoot coloured light into it? - Jayne nodded happily, fascination at last overcoming her nervousness - If you shone the light over the whole die, everything would be the same, of course. So we have to focus it on each tiny part in turn.

Like a burning-glass? suggested Jayne.

I thought you didn't know any science, teased Dr Andrews gently.

Jayne gave him a sharp glance, saw his grin and relaxed. But she was still puzzled.

And you have to sit there moving a spotlight to a million different places, changing the colour of the light each time?

Dr Andrews stretched up to a shelf and pulled down what looked like a motorcycle crash helmet with a ponytail. No, luckily, laughed Dr Andrews, we get this programmer to do it for us. For obvious reasons we call it a helmet. He showed the inside to Jayne. It was covered with a vast array of clear dots, like tiny glowing eyes. Jayne was reminded of a picture she saw once of the monster Argus.

You put a die in the helmet, where the middle of someone's head would be. In the ponytail there's a laser. Jayne stepped back smartly in alarm, to Dr Andrews’ amusement.

It makes powerful but very short pulses of light, which come out of these points inside the helmet. There’s a computer in the helmet to make different ones come at different times so they focus on just one point in the die. A whole die, a million components, takes about two minutes to programme.

He then asked Jayne to explain the ideas back to him, to see how much she'd learned. When she had finished, not only was it all correct but she was able to guess how you could move the focus about.

You amaze me, Jayne, said Dr Andrews. You understand science so quickly and so intuitively.

I didn't know science was to do with intuition, said Jayne, surprised – almost shocked – Isn’t it all facts and maths?

Dr Andrews laughed. No, no, that's the hard work that comes afterwards, but it's guided by your imagination. You'll find understanding science pretty easy, I think. Getting your maths and background knowledge up might be harder, though! Jayne turned down one corner of her mouth, but she was too elated to feel really glum.

Anyway we're nearly through. Like I said, it takes a couple of minutes to programme a die but writing the programme into the helmet is a longer business - perhaps a week or more. But then we can turn out dice for a job very quickly. And this is just the start. We're hoping to get a laser that will make even shorter pulses soon, so we can make components even smaller. A thousand million components inside a centimetre cube is my next target, but it's up to the laser people now.

By this time Jayne was feeling punch-drunk and her eyes began to glaze.

I think that's enough science and engineering for one session, said Dr Andrews with a smile. Come and have a refill of coffee. We'll look at the accounts package and the word processor afterwards.

By the end of the afternoon, Jayne felt exhausted, exhilarated and overwhelmed. Again and again bubbled her mind: How on earth have I landed a job like this?

* * * * * *

Dr Andrews explained how dice are programmed, she told Jon in their favourite little café. They had met up after Jayne's work and Jon's school day. He says I understand science very intuitively.

And what's that supposed to mean? asked Jon, defensively and with just a hint of envy.

Jayne ignored, or perhaps missed Jon's over-reaction and told him about lasers and motorcycle helmets with ponytails.

* * * * * *

She tried the same with her mother when she got home. Mrs Muffatt listened patiently enough, but was clearly determined neither to understand anything herself nor to want Jayne to.

I'm really not happy about this, you know, dear. You shouldn't be meeting all these complicated ideas, and on your first day too. She was biting her bottom lip and continued after a few minutes: And too much thinking's bad for your religion, as you well know.

Jayne sighed. She was wondering when this would come up. They had attended a tiny independent chapel in the village ever since Jayne could remember. The congregation was small and very mixed, in both income and attitudes. What Victorians would have called Free-thinking was encouraged by their current minister, Mr Maunder, of whom Mrs Muffatt disapproved intensely, though never to his face. Impatient with her mother, Jayne decided to stir a little:

Oh, in that case I'll ask Mr Maunder about it. She adopted her innocent look and took her mother in completely.

You'll do no such thing! You know what he'll say. He tells us to think for ourselves. It's not right. Ministers should lead and tell us what to believe. I feel all lost and insecure when he's preaching. The sooner he retires properly the better. Then perhaps we'll get someone who'll put the fear of God into us and get us back to the Bible. And we'll have hymns and choruses we can really let go in and forget the world outside. You know, the ones like old pop songs Ben Stoveman gets us to sing. All this thinking, even during hymns. Doesn't do us any good at all. So you're not to tell him about your job. Why are you laughing Jayne?

Jayne's hand was over her mouth and her shoulders shook, gently but visibly.

Don't worry, Mother! I've no intention of telling him. I just wanted to see your reaction.

You're a bad girl! But her mother was smiling now and they laughed together. The atmosphere was good once more and Jayne's job was not mentioned again for a long time.

CHAPTER 4

Oh, I meant to tell you, I've got a die, said Jon. The two friends were pedalling along the side roads near Whitwell, to nowhere in particular.

We've all got to die some day, replied Jayne absentmindedly. The late summer flowers were glorious and she was entranced by the brilliance of scabious, ragwort and rosebay willow-herb.

I-have-taken-possession-of-a-die-made-by-Dice-Electronics, repeated Jon patiently, as they slowed for a junction.

Jayne returned to the mundane. Sorry, I was miles away. How on earth did you manage that?

I was getting some bits and pieces in London - you know, in the cheapo electronics shops. I saw an old circuit board with a couple of plastic cubes on it so I bought it. There weren't any instructions, but the chap in the shop thought they were from some medical equipment that had got itself damaged in a fire. Could you get any details for me?

Only if there's a number printed on it.

I think it's been rubbed or burnt off. Haven't you been looking at die testing stuff recently? Couldn't you find out using that?

I'll do my best. Dr Andrews hasn't explained much about that side of things.

Ah, of course. So you won't be head-hunted. said Jon, with more than a hint of amusement.

Now stop it! I know you don't take that seriously. It's more likely I wouldn't understand. He's only just got me reading about magnetic effects when light shines through this plastic. It's hard.

Oh yes, you said something about that last week. Do you know any more?

Jayne explained how the plastic made a tiny magnetic pulse when it was illuminated, which detectors in the helmet picked up.

That's impressive, said Jon. How does he cancel the earth's magnetic field? Are you in a screened room or something?

I don't think so. The units go to all sorts of firms and there's nothing in the instructions about screening. I'll ask Dr Andrews.

* * * * * *

Jayne remembered next day, during the coffee break.

Who wants to know? responded Dr Andrews sharply.

Oh - my friend Jon. He’s doing A-level Physics and he's very interested in what I'm doing.

Oh is he? Well, don't spend too much time discussing it with him. I don't want him suggesting things that I'd then have to explain in more detail than I want - than you'd understand. But as regards the magnetism, just before we do a test we measure the ambient magnetic field and set up currents in the helmet to neutralize it.

They continued their coffee in silence.

What else is your friend studying? asked Dr Andrews a few minutes later, in a more conciliatory tone.

Chemistry and Maths. And Business Studies just for this year.

Oh - good. I'm glad to hear he's learning about industry and the real world...though I doubt if the course has much to do with what really goes on.

He didn't want to do it, in fact, but they insisted. He'd have preferred Music or English Literature.

Really? Unusual for a science student nowadays.

He's the only one interested in that sort of thing. None of the others are any good at arts, continued Jayne with some disdain. That's probably why they're doing science.

Oh I say! exclaimed Dr Andrews with a laugh. But I fear it's probably true. Yes. In my day, those who were good at everything did science and only the ones bad at Maths did arts - at least where the boys were concerned. Nowadays it seems the Renaissance types do arts and the only students doing science or engineering are the ones who can't write sentences. I'm glad to hear your friend's an exception.

* * * * * *

Jayne met her exceptional friend again next weekend. Jon heard with interest about magnetic neutralization, then suddenly switched to business.

Any chance of seeing his accounts? We've got to find some real-life firm and ask them various things.

Oh, I shouldn't think so. But if you wanted anything in particular, I could look it up and tell you. And you can explain anything I don't understand. Dr Andrews didn't say I'm not allowed to learn anything about business.

OK. Where does Dice Electronics get its money?

Jayne considered for a few moments.

Well, it's a bit odd actually. Mostly it's by selling dice, of course, though that's being franchised to someone else now and we just get royalties. Then we sell test helmets, like I told you yesterday. But we've had some quite large amounts, £100,000 or so. They're called 'investments', but there's always a helmet rented out at the same time. Just for a few days. I've asked Dr Andrews about it and he's been...well, evasive and told me not to worry. He's got receipts and it's all above board, he said.

How much does a test helmet cost?

£25,000, so why he gets four times as much for a few days' rental is beyond me.

Perhaps the firms renting them are on to a tax fiddle, suggested Jon. Might be interesting to find out who they are. Any joy over my blank die?

I didn't dare ask after what he said about you not teaching me anything. He was quite cross.

* * * * *

However, after a few more days Jayne did dare and Dr Andrews allowed her to bring in one of Jon's dice. You try first, Jayne. It'll be good practice for you.

She had several goes but with no success. Dr Andrews took a closer look at the die and his manner changed.

Where did you say Jon - that's his name isn't it? - got this?

* * * * * *

So what was it? asked Jon next time they met.

Dr Andrews left it on a random search programme but gave up after it had been going for three days. Bits of it fitted something he'd designed but the rest was either reprogrammed by a pirate firm or had been damaged. He's traced where it came from originally and he's sending me up to a medical equipment firm in the North to find out what's going on.

When are you going?

Tomorrow. I'll visit my second cousin in Leeds while I'm there, so I won't be back until Sunday evening.

So I won't see you on Saturday at all?

For a scientist you're remarkably intelligent, said Jayne with mock solemnity.

Jon ignored her remark, affected more by the sudden prospect of a lonely weekend. He had come to value Jayne's company. Although Hartlehoe Green and Ashfield were adjacent villages, the two friends had never met until Jayne transferred to Arlestead School just over a year before. She had been shy, awkward and very confused. Jon befriended her and so began a relationship that no-one could properly define.

Jon had always been a loner, an only child until he was ten, when his parents embraced Roman Catholicism and all its teachings. They continued to embrace each other with equal fervour, which activity now resulted in a string of siblings for Jon. Luckily the house was large and he could still have a room of his own, which gradually became a combined retreat, bedroom, workshop, laboratory and whatever else served his ever-changing interests. He was very fond of his family and contented with his home life, but the emotional self-sufficiency gained in ten years as a rural only child continued into his teens. He had no real friends until Jayne appeared.

She was always an only child, with only one parent after she was thirteen, when her father died in an accident. She had gained from this a resilience and toughness of which even she was unaware. Like Jon, Jayne had found it difficult to make friends. At private school, most of her acquaintances were well-heeled, confident and sophisticated, so her transfer to Arlestead was a relief in some respects. But she found the noisy street-wisdom of her new classmates terrifying and the appeal of somebody diffident, even a boy, was considerable.

To Jon, the attention of any young woman was a new and