He was borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.
Lost in darkness and distance. I liked the sound of that. It was how I felt. The more I thought about it, the more I realised it was how I had always felt. I turned the page to the appendix and some more notes and adverts for other books. Finally, I got to the last page.
Any Questions?
It was spidery writing with a circle over the i. I don’t know how, but I knew it was aimed at me. Any questions? I had more questions than I knew what to do with. I picked up a pen and wrote:
What is going on?
I closed the book and looked around. Everyone was listening to Cornish reading Frankenstein. I opened my copy again and saw that another sentence was written below mine.
You’ll need to be more specific.
My astonishment that this sentence had miraculously appeared on the page was tempered by my annoyance at the reply. I stared at it. I felt like throwing the book across the room. I wrote:
What question should I ask?
This time when I shut the book I caught Angus’s eye. I waited until he looked away before opening the book again.
What is the truth about Melody Dane’s death?
I picked up the pen to write again but this time Cornish spotted me. ‘Eddie Dane,’ he yelled. ‘Are you writing in that book?’
‘No, sir,’ I said, quickly closing it.
‘I’m glad to hear it. I’ve managed to beg, borrow and, steal enough copies for you all to have one but I will want the books back, so please treat them with respect. Now, let’s see how Mary Shelley begins this masterpiece, shall we?’
Which You Are You?
Cornish was back on script. ‘I’m going straight off tonight, Eddie, if you want a lift home.’
‘Thanks.’
‘How about you, Angus?’
‘Er … ’ Angus looked at me, unsure what the right response was.
‘His mum is picking him up,’ I said.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Honestly. I’d forget my own … you know, if it wasn’t something or other.’
Cornish grinned. ‘Just you and me then, Eddie. I’ll see you by the car once I’m done here.’
I followed Angus out into the corridor with the rest of the class.
‘How come you forgot about your mum coming to pick you up?’ I asked.
‘Slipped my mind,’ he said.
‘You don’t usually forget.’
‘Maybe I was distracted by whatever you were writing in the book.’
We stopped and looked at each other, each suspicious of the other, neither of us knowing what to say next.
‘Did anyone write back?’ asked Angus.
The last of my classmates had gone now, meaning it was just the two of us in the corridor.
‘You know?’ I said.
‘Eddie?’ he replied. ‘I mean, Eddie?’
‘Yes?’
Angus lowered his voice. ‘Are you Eddie from now or from, you know, my now?’
‘When’s your now?’
‘I’m not supposed to say. What about you? When’s your now?’
‘Kind of now, but not here now.’
‘Hold on, if you don’t know what now I’m from, then you’re not from my now and we shouldn’t be talking.’
We stepped out into the car park and I wondered if it was possible to feel any more confused. Cornish had travelled back in time to kill Maguire. Scarlett had travelled back to stop him and then a second time arrest Maguire. What had Angus come back for and how could I possibly trust him?
‘Why are you here?’
‘If you have to ask, I definitely can’t tell you,’ he said.
‘You’re as bad as she is.’
‘Who?’
‘I’m not supposed to say,’ I told him.
‘Last call for anywhere but here,’ cried Bill.
Angus and I stared at each other, neither knowing what to say next.
‘We shouldn’t talk,’ said Angus.
‘Why? Are you worried that we might say something that actually makes sense?’
Angus laughed. The car flashed its lights outside the school gate.
‘I guess that’s me,’ said Angus. ‘I’ll see you, Eddie.’
He ran to the car.
I blew into my cupped hands and stamped my feet to keep warm, thinking about the future Cornish and how all that passion I had admired would one day make him a murderer.
‘Hi, Eddie. Get in, then,’ said Cornish.
I sat in the passenger seat. ‘Can I ask something, sir? Does my mother ever come to pick me up?’
Cornish nodded as though to say that he understood what I was really asking. ‘Mrs Lewis said she spoke to you. I hope you don’t mind that I’d told her about our chat. She only wants to help. We all do.’
‘Yes, but does Melody ever come and pick me up?’
‘Listen, Eddie, I know you’re angry at your mother for being so busy all the time and it’s fine to express that anger.’
‘You’re not answering my question,’ I protested.
‘Often you’ll find the answers we seek don’t always match the questions we ask, but if you really want me to answer, then no, your mother doesn’t have a car. You told me she had a scare once and went off the road with you in the backseat. She hasn’t driven since. Has this got something to do with what happened in assembly this morning?’
‘No, sir.’
Cornish turned on the radio but found only static and switched it off again.
‘You know, lots of adults think the young don’t have anything to worry about because they don’t have jobs or mortgages or money worries. But the worries you have at your age are worse than ours because you feel powerless to do anything about them. Do you know what I mean by that?’
‘I think so,’ I replied. Powerless was exactly how I felt.
‘I’m a teacher because I want to make a difference to the world. Education is where change starts. My experience of school was that it was all about doing the right thing, following instructions, revising and getting through exams.’
‘Doesn’t sound all that different,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘You’re right, but while I’m in a lesson like that one today and the ideas are flowing, the minds are thinking and we’re all embracing the chaos, I’m able to show how limitless imagination is. That’s how you bring about real change in the world. You imagine it.’
I didn’t respond.
‘The world is yours to change, Eddie, but if you want it to be a better place, if you want to stop the rich and powerful from exploiting everyone and everything this planet has to offer, you can’t sit around waiting for others to do something. You need to take matters into your own hands.’
I thought back to Maguire’s lab, when Cornish had pointed the gun at my chest. When he stopped the car outside my house, I felt the seatbelt tighten as I rocked forward, reminding me of the pain of the bullet.
The Trial
Liphook had been retired from police work for several years when the two men from the hospital turned up on her doorstop. After all this time, she should have been surprised to see them again, but deep down inside she had always expected them to return one day. She was alone when they arrived. She was often alone these days. She invited them in and they sat down in her living room and explained that she had been summoned to a trial.
‘A trial about what?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid we aren’t at liberty to say,’ said the taller man.
‘Back then you said you were from the ETA,’ she said. ‘It’s something to do with echo technology, isn’t it? You were from the future.’
‘We’re not at liberty to say,’ said the shorter man.
‘No one knew anything about you,’ said Liphook, ‘but I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. Is that what the trial’s about? Is it about that night Maguire was murdered?’
‘We can only tell you that you are being summoned as a witness.’ The tal
l man pulled out a small black device, about the size of a mobile phone.
‘Where do I have to go?’
‘It’s more of a matter of when,’ said the shorter of the two.
‘When then?’
‘We’re not at liberty to say,’ replied the taller. ‘Now, please look into this lens.’ He held up the device. Hoping it might provide answers to some of the questions that had plagued her over the years, Liphook looked into the lens. There was a flash of light and she found herself in a large, brightly lit room crammed full of onlookers, officials and journalists.
Patrick Cornish was standing in the dock. From the lines on his face, Liphook guessed it was around thirty years after that night at Maguire’s farmhouse. Cornish looked like a man who had been given a long time to consider what he had done.
Lauren Bliss was there too. ‘Hello, Patrick,’ she said. ‘Do you understand why you are here today?’
‘No, I don’t. I’ve already stood trial for my crime. I’ve paid my debt.’
‘Agent Bliss, can we clarify the witness’s meaning?’ asked the judge, a keen-eyed man presiding over the trial.
‘I have already been convicted for the murder of David Maguire,’ said Cornish.
Liphook looked over at David Maguire, who was also sitting in the room, very much alive. The whole thing was so bizarre. ‘You killed Professor Maguire in the hope of preventing the discovery of echo technology,’ said Agent Bliss. ‘Is that correct?’
‘That is correct. The Anti-Echo League believed that it was possible to travel back, terminate those responsible for its discovery and stop it ever being invented.’
‘Do you still think this was a feasible plan?’
‘No. I understand now that this was not possible, but the failure of our methods does not negate the worth of our intention.’
‘What did you object to about echo technology?’
‘You’re using the wrong tense. I do object to echo technology.’
Agent Bliss smiled. ‘Once an English teacher, always an English teacher.’
‘I’ll tell you what I object to. Not the dangers of a split timeline, not the fragmentation of time. Mine is a moral objection. The Echo Corporation offers the world’s richest people the opportunity to dip back into their pasts and relive their lives over and over, exploiting the world again and again. They don’t have to worry about the world’s future, hidden away in their own sordid pasts. Each time they travel back, they use their knowledge of the future for their own gain, exploiting the same people again and again. When it boils down to it, this technology is just another tool of repression.’
‘But the law now states that all jump cords must be broken, preventing echo jumps from being anything more than a brief, harmless diversion,’ said Agent Bliss.
‘The rich will always find a way round laws that don’t suit them. You don’t even know how many versions there are out there created by using this technology.’
‘That is precisely the question this trial is dealing with,’ said the judge.
‘I don’t believe this problem will go away while this technology is only affordable to the rich.’
‘Or to those activist groups who break into echo chambers and perform illegal echo jumps,’ said Agent Bliss.
‘The end justifies the means.’
‘I have a question,’ said the judge. ‘What if these rich that you so wholeheartedly disapprove of are going back to create better worlds? Do you still consider that abhorrent?’
Cornish smiled. ‘I know the rich too well.’ He glanced at a woman sitting in a prominent position in the courtroom next to a smartly dressed man who may as well have had the word lawyer printed on his head. This man stood up and said, ‘The Echo Corporation believes it is in everyone’s best interests to move on from this witness.’
‘I agree,’ said the judge. ‘He has already been convicted for his part. I fail to see his relevance here.’
‘His relevance here,’ said Agent Bliss, ‘is to help us ascertain precisely which versions are echoes. His testimony confirms for this court that the version in which Professor Maguire was murdered by Patrick Cornish is an altered version and therefore subject to cleansing.’
‘Very good,’ said the judge. ‘Let’s move on to our next witness. The court will now hear the testimony of Melody Dane.’
A Life with Melody
When I was little I would get so angry about my parents’ deaths that I would stop breathing altogether. It was a long time ago but I could still remember how all those awful feelings would drift away as I passed out. It was the only way I knew how to control it.
Now, here I was in a version of my life in which Melody had not died. But if she had never died, then this was no grand reunion. It was just an ordinary rainy Thursday afternoon. It was the strangest feeling ever.
Standing outside the door, key in hand, I heard her voice for the first time and was surprised about how real it sounded. And how angry.
‘You could have burned the whole bloody house down, you batty old woman!’
I opened the door and saw a discarded pair of shoes and coat in the hall. My mother stood in the doorway to the living room, with her back to me.
‘Don’t be melodramatic,’ said Ruby, shielding her eyes from the light.
‘You’re calling me melodramatic? That’s a joke.’ Melody spat the words at Ruby, who was lying listlessly on the sofa, half watching the quiz show.
I closed the door loudly but my mother did not turn. ‘Hello, darling,’ she said. ‘Have a guess what your grandmother did.’
Darling, I thought. My mother called me darling. It sounded weird. No one had called me darling my whole life and now here was a complete stranger saying it as though it meant nothing. ‘Go on, darling, guess,’ she said.
‘She left the hob on?’ I asked.
Finally, Melody turned. My first thought was that she looked older than her picture, which was stupid because of course she was older. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Your grandma will end up killing us all.’
‘She prefers Ruby,’ I said automatically.
‘And I prefer not having to worry about being burned to the ground.’
‘She didn’t mean to,’ I said.
‘Trust you to side with her,’ said Melody.
What did that mean? Was I expected to dispute this or was it true? It was strange trying to pick up clues about my life and about me.
‘And don’t think you’re off the hook either,’ she continued. ‘David told me how you showed up at the lab this morning. You can’t just expect him to give you a lift whenever you can’t be bothered to get up in time for the bus.’
‘That’s not what happened,’ I protested.
Melody put her hand to her temple and sighed. ‘Look, I know David and I have been working late a lot but very soon this thing is going to change everything for us.’
‘Change everything how?’ I asked.
‘For a start, we won’t have to live in this damp little hovel any more.’
‘You mean my home?’ asked Ruby.
‘Yes,’ Melody replied. ‘This might be enough for you but Eddie and I want something more, don’t we, darling?’
‘I … I don’t know.’
‘Come on now, darling.’ Melody stroked my cheek. Her hand felt cold. ‘We’ll have enough money to pay for someone to look after your grandmother.’
‘I don’t want anyone,’ Ruby protested weakly.
‘Oh, you’d rather die in a stupid accident and have me blame myself because you were too stubborn to admit you needed help.’
‘At least I’d get some peace if I was dead,’ said Ruby.
From her tone, I understood that this was a joke but Melody didn’t seem to see it like that.
‘Impossible person,’ she muttered and stormed out.
Ruby turned back to the television. A contestant had just answered a question wrong, making a klaxon sound. I went into the kitchen where Melody was stomping back and forth, tidying up.
‘That woman,’ she said. ‘I could throttle her sometimes.’
I sat down at the table, watching this stranger in my house. She reminded me of a pigeon that had once flown into the kitchen and fluttered around, trying to find a way out until I had opened the back door and released it.
‘Sorry, darling,’ she said. ‘How was your day?’
‘Oh, same old, same old,’ I replied. ‘How about you?’
‘It was fine until I got back here,’ she said. ‘David and I are so close to our goal now. I know you don’t understand the work we do but I really think we’re on the brink of something very exciting here.’
‘We’re studying Frankenstein at school,’ I said. ‘Do you know it?’
‘Yes. Mary Shelley,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a copy if you need one.’
‘It’s about a scientist who messes with things he should leave alone,’ I said.
Melody located a wine bottle, opened it, then turned to face me. ‘That’s very funny,’ she said, ‘but David and I know what we’re doing, darling. You’ll understand soon enough.’
From the way Melody plonked herself down at the kitchen table with a large glass of wine and pulled out a bundle of papers to read, I could tell it was down to me to cook. The cupboards were as badly stocked as ever but I managed to pull enough ingredients together to make pasta for tea. When it was ready, I took Ruby hers so she could eat on the sofa.
‘Thanks, lad,’ she said.
‘You know we would never leave you really,’ I said.
‘You’re a good egg,’ replied Ruby.
I went back to the kitchen and sat down to eat with Melody. She began eating without saying thank you. ‘Is she still moping?’ she asked.
‘It’s just a down day. She’ll be fine again tomorrow,’ I replied.
‘You don’t need to defend her, you know. She’s old enough to answer for her own actions, as are you. Now, are you going to tell me what you were doing at David’s this morning?’
‘It was like you said. I missed the bus.’
All my life, I had imagined what it would be like to sit down and eat dinner with my mother. Now that it was finally happening, I was sitting there telling lies. I desperately wanted to have all those conversations I had imagined having with her. I wanted to tell her how much I had missed her and ask her a million questions, but I didn’t know where to start. I watched her eating the food I had cooked and gulping mouthfuls of wine, oblivious to my feelings. I felt angry with her. How could she not know that we had been parted all this time? How could she not understand what this moment meant to me?
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