Restoring Time

by Jenn Lees

  Siobhan grimaced. “It’s just that in the future—” Siobhan stopped speaking as Micah cantered his horse toward them.

  “What do you know about my dad?” Micah asked Rory as he pulled his horse beside him.

  “I know I don’t like him,” Rory said. Micah turned his horse around to walk beside him. “I’m not very fond of people who think they can own other people.” Rory pressed his mouth tight.

  Micah lifted his gaze from Rory’s mouth. “He’s a self-educated, self-made man, you ken? He grew up on the streets of Glasgow—a druggie’s kid. He was an entrepreneur who recognised an opportunity when the stock market began its fall. Most of the looted goods from Fife’s shops and warehouses, and Edinburgh’s and its surrounds, ended up in his store houses. He started with one in Fife, near Kirkcaldy, and now he’s got ’em all over the place.”

  “You must be proud.” Rory let the sarcasm drip.

  “What I’m sayin’ is, he’s influential. He’s got stores and stores o’ stuff. And his farmlands are productive and fertile. Be on his good side, Rory. You’ve got an in with me. You never ken when you’re gonna need him, aye?” Micah’s eager face was almost in Rory’s. He was trying to make a bad situation good. An optimist. The world always needed those. Or maybe he was really keen for Cèilidh.

  Rory glanced at Siobhan who remained silent.

  He turned back to Micah. “I get where you’re coming from. It is an in,” he whispered. “But I want to be able to leave here.”

  Micah nudged his horse to the entrance of the old holiday park. Rory turned to Siobhan. Her gaze remained on Micah trotting his horse ahead, her eyes narrowing a fraction.

  “This is our first opportunity to put a good word in for the Government with a local leader.” Rory smiled at Siobhan, attempting to ease her discomfort.

  Siobhan’s expression remained tight.

  “What?” he asked.

  She shook her head, mouth tense. They walked the horses beside the holiday huts occupied by scantily dressed young women and men.

  Someone cat-called. “He’s back,” a woman said.

  Rory avoided their stares.

  “What was that?” Siobhan sat stiffly beside him.

  “Nothing, Siobhan,” he said. She blinked and a line appeared between her brows. “Do ye trust me?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  They rode to the office where he and Xian had previously met Lloyd.

  They dismounted, and Micah led them into the prefabricated building, along the corridor and into the main room with its walls covered in posters. Lloyd sat in the high-backed chesterfield chair with an open book in his lap.

  “You’re just in time for tea.” He held out his wrinkled hand and pointed to the chairs nearest him. “Please, sit.”

  Chapter 18

  Derrick Lloyd’s Office

  Rory sat with the others in the tapestry-covered chairs arranged in a semi-circle in front of Lloyd. Rory viewed the room and their grey-haired host, who had positioned Rory so he couldn’t easily monitor the one and only exit directly behind him. Lloyd’s guards had allowed them to keep their weapons. They had Micah to thank for that. Guards, with holstered handguns, stood on either side of the row of chairs. Rory looked aside at Siobhan who sat stiffly in the chair beside him, her vision darting around the room. Xian sat on the chair at the end.

  “Thank you for bringing my guests here, son.” Lloyd’s mop of thick snowy-grey hair bobbed as he spoke to Micah.

  Micah’s smile stretched his suntanned cheeks and as he looked at his father, his eyes glowed with fondness.

  A door to the side of them opened and a woman carrying a large tray set it on the coffee table in front of Lloyd. A matching china tea set, cups on saucers, a dish of jam and another of whipped cream, and a pile of scones on a gold-rimmed plate, were the contents of the tray.

  “High Tea,” Lloyd announced.

  The side door opened again, and Rory’s gaze slid up from the tray of food as Maxwell stepped into the room. Lloyd’s older son searched the guests, his eyes narrowing when they landed on Micah sitting next to Rory. Micah stiffened then twisted to look at the posters on the wall.

  “Introduce us, Micah.” Lloyd leaned forward in his chair; his rheumy eyes fixed on Siobhan and a half-smile emerging.

  Dinnae you ogle my wife, mister.

  “I have met Mr Campbell and Mr Law,” Lloyd said.

  Micah stood and, with a gesture, indicated Siobhan. “This is Siobhan Campbell, Rory’s wife. He’s just brought her from the Government Bunker in Edinburgh.”

  Lloyd’s right eyebrow curled. “The Bunker?” He stood and stepped around the laden coffee table to hold out a hand to Siobhan. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Campbell.”

  Siobhan stood and, towering over him, shook his hand. Her facial expression remained fixed and she didn’t reply.

  “Siobhan is an important person in the Government, Father,” Micah continued.

  “Hmm. Is that so? Why are they letting you wander around Scotland, then?” Lloyd directed his question up to Siobhan.

  Still she didn’t answer. Alarm bells rang in Rory’s head. This was not like her.

  “My wife is a qualified scientist.” He wouldn’t mention anything nuclear. “At present, with myself, Siobhan is on a diplomatic mission.”

  Siobhan flinched beside him. “Yes, Mr Lloyd. We are, in actuality, on a fact-finding mission, hoping to initiate talks with all parties interested in the restoration of a democratic government in a united Scotland.” Siobhan spoke stiffly at first, but then her speech resumed its usual authoritative tone. The tension eased in Rory’s shoulders.

  “Diplomatic mission. Holding talks. I like the sound of this.” Lloyd pushed up his sleeves, revealing his faded tattoos. “Is there a possibility of the noted leaders outside of the Government Bunker holding talks with the Government...inside the Government Bunker?”

  “That is possible. But most likely at a later stage, once we have provided the PM with the contact information of all concerned sectors of the population.” Siobhan had loosened up a wee bit, but her back was still stiff.

  “I’d love to see the set-up down there. I imagine, it being a bunker, that the storage facilities are massive.” Lloyd had returned to the coffee table and poured tea while he spoke.

  Siobhan remained silent. Lloyd’s eyes flashed up to hers.

  “I hear there is still a substantial defence force.” He handed a cup of tea to Siobhan. “Sugar and milk if you wish it.” He stood straighter.

  Siobhan took the cup and saucer from Lloyd, which tinkled with a slight rattle, then sat down and sipped.

  “You understand for security reasons I’m not permitted to say anything—about either of those subjects.” Siobhan sipped once more.

  “Scone?” Lloyd asked. “Oh, how rude of me. Micah, pour our other guests some tea.”

  Micah served tea to Rory then Xian and Maxwell, asking if they wanted milk and sugar as he did so. Micah offered the scones, jam, and cream, his dreadlock bun bobbing with his enthusiasm. Rory suppressed a smile. He accepted a scone, cut it in two, spread jam and dolloped a spoonful of the fluffy cream on both halves. Rory bit into the sweetened whipped cream, its sugariness strong and unfamiliar to him.

  “You must have been a child, Mrs Campbell, when the Crash occurred.” Lloyd spooned two sugars into his teacup and, with eyes intent on Siobhan, sat back down on his chesterfield, his silver spoon clinking against the china teacup as he stirred.

  Siobhan nodded, her mouth around a scone piled high with cream.

  “I heard the Government called experts in their fields, and their families, underground when it was obvious the stock market wasn’t recovering and things were...chaotic, shall we say.” Lloyd declined a scone from Micah then paused, cup between saucer and his mouth, and waited for an answer from Siobhan.

  “That is correct,” Siobhan said. “It was the Scottish Government’s plan to return to norma
l as soon as possible and have the personnel and resources on-hand to do so.”

  “And your parents?” Lloyd raised his brows in encouragement.

  Siobhan took another bite of the cream-drowned scone and chewed slowly.

  “No, only my father, who has since passed away.” Siobhan licked the cream off her top lip.

  “My condolences, Mrs Campbell. He was an intelligent and well-educated man?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am a well-educated, self-taught man. I have always read widely.” He placed his cup back on its saucer. “One of my priorities, once heedless destruction had diminished resources, was to rescue the written word, especially once power sources were questionable and technology-based data retrieval became obsolete. I don’t believe in knowledge just for its own sake.” Lloyd’s eyes locked on Siobhan. When she didn’t reply he continued. “Knowledge without putting the pieces in place and deriving some wisdom from it, is useless. One needs to develop a philosophy by which to operate.” Lloyd sat further back in his chair. “As a businessman I deal with peoples’ wants and needs. I supply the goods, in whatever form, and receive payment for them.” He crossed his legs at the knee. “Now, paper money isn’t much use to anyone—at present. One day, currency will return. In the interim, I trade goods in a barter system.”

  Siobhan remained straight backed beside Rory. He let out a silent sigh as Lloyd continued the lesson in economics and trade.

  “By bartering I obtain more of the goods people demand and require. Or I gain a labour force for my sowings and harvesting; building larger barns, etc.” Lloyd uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair. “I have influence. The Scottish Government would do well to remember that.”

  “I would like to see your facilities, Mr Lloyd.” Siobhan broke the intensity of Lloyd’s stare. “They seem rather extensive. May we have a tour?”

  Lloyd straightened his shoulders and replaced his cup and saucer on the tray.

  “I’d be delighted, Mrs Campbell. Your husband has viewed some of this compound, but I’d be pleased to show you more.” The small man’s red-rimmed eyes were alight.

  Rory blinked. Surely Lloyd wouldn’t be a stupid Hezekiah? That ancient king of Israel who showed his enemies all his treasure and then wondered why they invaded his country? Or was it a case of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? Either way, the longer they stayed in this man’s company, the harder it would be to get out of it.

  Lloyd clasped his hands together. “I have other storehouses in Fife if you—”

  “Sorry, Mr Lloyd,” Rory interrupted. “We’ll only be able to have a brief tour of this one. We must be on our way up north. It’s a long way, you ken?”

  Lloyd stared at his teacup on the low table before him, his breath whistling out through his teeth. The man tapped his foot rapidly while his clasped hands sunk into his lap. Rory slid his gaze around the room once more. The guards seemed alert but unperturbed.

  “My father and I,” Maxwell spoke at last, “would be honoured to hold discussions with the Scottish Government anytime they invite us, Mrs Campbell.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Siobhan’s exuberance was a little unsettling. “And I do apologise, our tour will have to be at another time, for Rory is right, and we must go.”

  Lloyd’s gaze remained set on his teacup.

  “Father,” Micah stood, tension edging his tone. “I’ll see my friends out and give them a mini-tour.”

  Lloyd fixed on the coffee table’s contents for a second longer, then he rose from his chesterfield, his features locked in an amicable expression. “Goodbye, Mrs Campbell. It’s been most enlightening.” He shook Siobhan’s hand.

  Rory reached out and took Lloyd’s hand in a shake; Xian did the same. Micah stepped forward and embraced Lloyd in a hug, which his father returned. Behind Rory, Maxwell took in a sharp breath.

  “Father?” Micah dipped his head toward Lloyd’s men who’d remained during the High Tea.

  Lloyd gave a nod to the men and they stood back. Micah led Rory and the others out to their horses via the cabins where they stored their goods. Here rows and rows of cabins sat side by side. The steps creaked as they walked into one of the weather-beaten structures made of a thin metal and a plastic that had disintegrated in places around the windows and doors. Inside of this one, stacked tubs and boxes filled the empty shell and a musty aroma pervaded the air. The contents varied from dehydrated foods, such as noodles, to wind-up torches and duct-tape.

  “My dad’s farming lands are productive. He has barns where he stores his grains. Makes a mean whisky too, aye?” Micah leaned on a faded box full of tinned baked beans.

  “Tinned goods last well past their expiry dates, as long as they’re not blown.” Siobhan pointed to a stack of boxes containing tomato soup. “Or so they say.”

  “Why are you showin’ us all of this, Micah?” Rory crossed his arms.

  Micah blinked. “I’m hurt, Rory. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are.”

  “Well, you helped me out. I’ll help you.”

  Rory stepped in close, so close he could smell Micah’s cream-and-tea-laden breath. “Don’t be mistaken. I’m no’ returnin’ the favour. You have nae reported back to your dad about our stores, have ye? Man, am I glad I never let you out o’ my sight at Invercharing.”

  “I have nae, Rory.” Micah’s nostrils flared.

  “Rory,” Siobhan’s small hand rested on his arm. “Let Micah take us to our horses now. Please.”

  Rory made his shoulders relax and unfolded his arms. “I suppose you’re coming with us.”

  Micah’s brow flew up to his hairline. “You okay with that?”

  “We’re heading the same way, are we no’? Besides, your friends we met on the road may leave us alone if you do.”

  “They weren’t my friends.” Micah stood tall. “I’ll let my dad know what I’m doing, and I’ll be with you soon, aye?”

  Rory followed Siobhan and Xian down the creaky steps.

  “So, we’re good now?” Micah asked from behind Rory.

  Rory turned and Micah stopped short of running into him.

  “You on about my wee sister again?” Rory’s face was close to Micah’s, whose winter-sky blue eyes peered directly at him. He had the familiar scent of a man who lived his life on a horse.

  “Aye.” Micah stepped back.

  “You can travel with us so I can keep an eye on you. Put one foot wrong and you’re oot. Understood?”

  Micah raised his hands in surrender. “Man, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. She’s too good for the guys in that Community. She told me they’re all—”

  “Oh, and you’re better than them?”

  “Cèilidh thinks so!”

  “Rory.” Siobhan tugged at his arm and he turned to her. Give him a break, she mouthed.

  She’d been to the future where he was family. He turned back to Micah.

  “You’re the leader of a bandit group.” Rory put his hand up to stop Micah’s protests. “That’s how the guys who aren’t good enough for Cèilidh will see it. And the rest of our Community will see it that way too. You dinnae only have me to convince.”

  Micah started to speak but Rory interrupted what was about to come out of the young bandit leader’s mouth.

  “You have a week o’ travellin’ with me. Put your best foot forward, aye?”

  Chapter 19

  The Road Home

  Siobhan had let her body go with the horse’s gait, relaxing into it, discovering this to be more comfortable than trying to remain independent of the movement of the great beast on which she sat. Her cheek tugged, for the sedate gelding she rode would be far from a great beast in her husband’s eyes.

  It took the whole day to reach Perth. They passed gentle, green rolling hills, streaked with the grey-brown runnels carved by rainwater cascading down their sides. These alternated with fields, which ran along both sides of a bitumen road on their way through the Kingdom of Fife and along to Per
thshire. Here and there, the road became dirt and rubble. The day’s steady rain, assisted by the action of their horses’ hooves, turned the disintegrated sections into mires.

  So far, the journey was uneventful and maybe it would stay that way. The rain didn’t even bother her, it was constant but soft. Siobhan adjusted her oiled skin raincoat and recalled the journey to Loch Ewe and back. Now that trip had been scary. She stared at Rory’s back; his coat was rain-drenched and trickles of water dripped from his hat and down his back.

  These were their first nights together as man and wife, but they were no honeymoon. She gave a quiet chuckle. Nights around a campfire and sleeping under the stars were romantic, but with a group, not conducive to an audience-free love making session.

  Rory turned in the saddle, smile-lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, as if he were reading her thoughts.

  “You want the reins?” he asked.

  “Ah, maybe tomorrow?”

  Rory grinned, his dimples puckering, then he faced forward again, riding slightly in front of her with Micah the other side of him.

  “Autumn’s harvest is over,” Micah said as they passed brown fields with rows of straw tufts left from a grain crop.

  “Aye, need to get on with plantings for the winter.” Rory pointed to the cloud cover that drizzled on them. “The weather’s tellin’ me it’ll be a hard one. Not really what we need after ruined summer harvests thanks to being confined to barracks.”

  “The road is washed out up ahead,” Micah said when they neared a section that was a muddy bog.

  “We’ll divert around it.” Rory led them off the road and into nearby meadow. “Had to do the same on the way down.”

  Siobhan listened quietly to them. She’d seen it before—men trying each other out through conversation. Micah seemed okay. They would eventually be related, so Rory must have eventually judged him as genuine, and Micah must have passed all the tests Rory would throw at him.

  “Can I ask how you ken about crops and such, being a bandit and all?” Rory kept his gaze far and wide.