There is no mathematical theory to decipher emotions, much to the regret of Alan Turing. In twentieth-century England, two boys dream of changing the world. However, when the unimaginable happens, that tough job is handed to Alan alone. As a code-br...
"It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit."
-Noël Coward
Alan stumbled down the stairs. He was jolted awake from his nightmare to find an empty, still-warm spot next to him. In his haste, he slid down the last step.
It had meant nothing to Arnold. He had moved on with his life, which was complicated enough as it was. He didn't need him. Or at least that's what the little voice in his head said. Alan could kick himself.
As he walked to the porch to catch a trace of the missing boy against his better judgment, he was distracted by a strange smell.
His nose led him to the kitchen, where he found Arnold. With a careless gesture, he obliged Alan to sit down. Alan pushed back a chair in surprise and was presented with a plate.
"I had to improvise a bit." Arnold slid an omelette along with apple slices and beans onto a plate in front of him. "But at least you'd have a good breakfast for once." With a wink, he placed a slice of toast on the egg.
Alan speechlessly took a bite of the egg. With a stuffed mouth, he muttered a thank you.
He closed his eyes to imprint this moment in his memory, because he knew it was not going to last forever.
When he opened his eyes again, they landed on the empty opposite side of the table. "Aren't you joining me?"
The boy turned off the stove and wiped his hands on his open-hanging shirt. "No can do, I have a job interview."
A disappointed 'oh' escaped his lips even before he could stop it.
"If I have a job, my father will have to take me back in. Though I expect he has already come around from the moment Chubz had to take a walk. Thanks for letting me stay here." He took Alan's hand and pressed a kiss on it. "Wish me luck."
Alan put down the fork and turned around in his chair, looking at the green coat that was taken off the hook in a whirlwind. He tried to banish the disappointment from his voice. "Good luck." The slamming door cut off his words.
He sighed and took another bite of the egg. The taste was less delicate than it had been a moment ago. So he reached for his wallet and took out a picture.
A smiling grey face stared at him. As sad as that photo made him feel, he could never resist smiling back.
"Is this love, Chris? Quod erat demonstrandum?" He shook his head. "If it ever becomes that, maybe one day, I'll let you know."
There was no point in dwelling on the past, but a promise he would always keep.
In one fatal second, he tried to grasp the colour of the ocean that burned in his memory. With one last glance at the picture, he turned it over in his hand.
Alan's gaze slid to the plate, his stomach turned.
As he safely stored Ms Morcom's photo in his wallet, he noticed something. At least twenty pounds had disappeared, more than his weekly wage. Arnold must have taken it.
Alan cursed so loudly that the neighbours would probably like him even less. He was furious with himself for being so naive. With boiling blood, he shoved off the plate and took out stationery.
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