For Harry, with love
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Also By Helen Douglas
Prologue
Then
She ran, her long red hair billowing behind her. The harbour wall was high and narrow, its surface slick from the recent rain. Yet still she ran. As she neared the end of the wall, she risked a look behind her. He had slowed to a walk. She had nowhere to go. Below her, the swollen sea churned.
‘Wait, Eden!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
She hesitated, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, before launching herself into the air. Arms flailing frantically, she fell. The sea sucked her under.
Travis stopped and studied the surface. The sea was too rough to tell where she had landed. He kicked off his shoes and tugged off his jacket, all the while watching patiently for her to surface. The moment her head bobbed among the waves, he dived in.
It could have been worse. His forehead just scraped the jagged rocks concealed beneath the water. Blood streamed from the wound, but he was pretty sure it was just a graze. He surfaced and searched around him, the high rise and fall of the waves making it difficult to see much of anything.
As he floated to the top of a large wave, he saw her, swimming in a splashy front crawl towards the opposite headland. He dived beneath the surface, where the water was calmer and the wind less of a problem. Opening his eyes in the grey light, he began to swim in the same direction. He would catch up quickly. Her trainers and her clothes would weigh her down and she was not an accomplished swimmer. This would be easy.
He saw her feet kicking up and down in front of him, almost within reach. One strong push from him and he was able to reach out and grab her shoe. She jerked to a stop and kicked out at him, but he simply grabbed the other foot. He’d got her.
Her frenzied kicking and thrashing reminded him of a fish out of water and he smiled to himself at the strange irony of his imagination. He surfaced briefly for a lungful of air, saw the wild panic in her eyes, the realisation that she was going to die.
It didn’t usually happen this way. Travis preferred to kill people unexpectedly, so they didn’t have time to feel fear or fight back. He wasn’t a sadist. He liked to imagine that those he killed had a happy thought in their mind at the end – or failing that, nothing more disturbing than a plan to pick up toothpaste on the way home or take the dog for a walk.
It was different with Eden. She’d been clever enough to realise that he was going to kill her and she had run. Nearly got away with it too.
He reached forward and placed one hand on the top of her head, forcing her under the water. She was surprisingly strong for a young girl, though he knew that the survival instinct made people discover hidden reserves of strength. He began the methodical counting – training told him two minutes was enough in most cases – and began to formulate his story. Eden was helping him take photos of his restaurant when she fell in. He dived in to save her, but the sea was too rough. He couldn’t find her until it was too late.
Suddenly he was dragged from his reverie. Her hand grabbed at his shirt and pulled him under. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t prepared his lungs for a lengthy spell underwater. She was trying to hit his head, but the water took all the force out of her punch. He could tell she was weakening, that this had been the last desperate attempt of a drowning girl.
He admired her, actually. She had spirit. In another time she would have made a good agent.
He watched as her mouth opened and she sucked water into her lungs. Bubbles made their way towards the surface.
Grabbing her arm – if he let go of her now it could take hours to find her again in this unsettled sea – he swam towards the beach, grateful for the onshore wind.
When a big wave finally crashed him on to the sand, he felt a huge wash of relief. This had so nearly gone wrong. Had she survived, had she lived for several more decades, chances were at some point she would have inadvertently said something about the future. But now the timeline was safe once more.
He checked her pulse, made absolutely certain that she was dead, before heading into town to call the emergency services.
Now
The tunnel wobbled. Ryan focused all his concentration on keeping the ship centred. It threw a sudden curve to the left and his heart jerked. He’d only ever encountered curves like that in time-travel simulations. It usually meant the imminent collapse of a portal.
This had to work. He had to make it. Everything – nine months of anguish, of begging, borrowing and stealing – had been about this.
The tunnel was narrowing. He swore. If it collapsed, he was space dust. A quick glance at the control panel told him he needed just ten more seconds. There was a chance it would hold that long. There was nothing more he could do anyway. It was too late to alter course. He squeezed his eyes shut, afraid to face the end with his eyes wide open.
Counting backwards in his head, he wondered each moment if this second would be his last. When he reached zero, he unpeeled his eyelids and saw the green of the farmhouse garden.
He’d made it.
The question was: had he made it in time?
He released the hatch and ran down the steps to the garden. Rain fell in torrents, bouncing off the ground and forming streams on the hard surfaces. Turning to the house, he quickly observed that there were no lights on. There were no cars in the driveway. He was either too early or too late.
She had drowned in the harbour in Perran. Five miles away. It would take him the best part of an hour to run there. Too long.
He raced up the lane to the hamlet of Penpol Cove. He could see nothing but the flickering blue glow of television screens behind curtains and a row of neatly parked cars. The residents were all locked safely away in their homes, out of the storm. This was a tiny dead-end place. Someone would have left their car unlocked with the keys inside. He tried the car doors. The fifth one opened. He checked the usual places – sun visor, glove compartment, CD storage area – before realising the keys were in the ignition.
Gunning the engine, he raced along the bypass into Perran. Squinting through the rain and into the darkness, he searched for any sign of her, but there was none. He jumped out of the car when he reached Perran and ran towards the harbour.
There she was. He could see her standing at the end of the harbour wall. She threw a look over her shoulder at Travis, who was walking – with the confidence of someone who knows he doesn’t need to hurry – towards her. He would reach her in twenty seconds, at a guess. Ryan would need a minute.
How had it come to this? How had nine months of planning and plotting brought him to a place where he was perhaps forty seconds too late? He sprinted harder, trusting his feet to find the right place on the narrow wall, hoping that he’d find traction on the wet surface.
She jumped.
‘Eden!’ he yelled, unable to prevent himself.
Travis turned.
‘No!’ yelled Ryan, pounding the distance between them.
Staring at the water, Travis removed his jacket and sh
oes, then dived in.
Was he too late? How long did it take to drown? He was nearly there. Pulling off his jacket as he ran, he tried to remember what Eden had told him about the rocks near the wall. Which side were they? He knew he needed to throw himself far out if he was to avoid them. Pausing just for a moment, he used the toe of one foot to hold down the heel of the other, as he kicked off his shoes.
He could see them, struggling together about ten metres from the wall. He launched himself into a dive, aiming as close to them as he could.
Visibility was low. Opening his eyes, all Ryan could see was churned up sand and seaweed. He pushed to the surface and got his bearings. Travis had one hand on Eden’s head. He was pushing her under. Blood poured from a cut in his forehead. Even so, Travis was strong.
Ryan threw himself into a powerful front crawl, while the high waves tossed him up and down. Travis and Eden disappeared and reappeared from view as the sea rose and fell beneath him. Once he was within striking distance, Ryan swung his fist and made contact with the bloody cut on Travis’s forehead. Travis’s head snapped back and then recovered. Ryan swung again. This time with power. Travis fell beneath the waves.
Ryan wasted no time.
He held his breath and kicked down below the surface. Eden was slowly floating downwards, one hand clutching Travis’s shirt. A ribbon of pink rose from Travis’s head.
She was sinking fast. He kicked harder and reached for her, grabbing her waist and pulling her hand free from Travis. He had her now. Clutching her to him, he kicked hard for the surface, his lungs burning.
He had to get her to shore as fast as possible. On his back, he floated her next to him and held her under her armpits. The onshore wind helped. He reached the sand and pulled her up the beach.
Water trickled from the side of her mouth, but she was breathing. He’d saved her.
Chapter 1
Cornwall – June 2012, three days later
It was no ordinary cemetery. There were no white granite headstones sparkling in the diffused light, no ancient cracked tombs, no parish church. Just a deep, green woodland tumbling down the steep side of a hill to a stream.
‘First she had you cremated and then she buried your ashes next to a tree down by the stream.’ He looked at me. ‘An apple tree.’
‘My favourite. Blossom in the spring, apples in the autumn.’ I couldn’t keep the shakiness from my voice.
Three days ago I had been dead. Three days ago I had drowned in the swollen waves of the harbour during a storm. Three days ago, Travis, my aunt’s boyfriend, had pushed my head under the water and held me down until my lungs burned and I opened my mouth to let the water in. But now I was alive.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Ryan asked.
I nodded.
We made our way down the hillside, stepping over gnarled and twisted roots, past hawthorn and beech trees, plums and cherries, to an ancient apple tree whose knotted, weather-beaten branches reached across a small stream.
I ran my fingertips down the rough bark of its trunk. ‘So this is where I was laid to rest.’
‘Yes. She buried your ashes next to this tree. I saw it in your file.’
The nearby stream gurgled and the air was sharp with the scent of English apples. As final resting places went, this had to be one of the best. Miranda knew me well. I wouldn’t want to be buried in the ground, trapped under the weight of a granite tombstone. But my ashes nourishing the earth was a cool way to end up.
‘I should be dead,’ I said. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was living on borrowed time, that eventually Fate would catch up with me and it would all be over.
Ryan reached for my hand, twining my fingers through his. ‘No, you shouldn’t. That should never have happened. And now it didn’t.’
We left the darkness of the trees behind and followed the stream until it emerged into the sunshine. We were less than a mile from the sea; I could smell the salt on the air.
‘I just worry about the future,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You coming back and changing time works out great for me. I get a second chance. But what if you coming back to save my life sends ripples of change through time? What if we bring death and destruction to the future? What if the price of saving one life is too great?’
Ryan smiled. ‘You’re talking about the butterfly effect. When a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon, it helps to create a hurricane on the other side of the world. Small actions lead to great consequences.’
I nodded.
‘It’s a beautiful theory. I studied it in pre-college science and philosophy class. Completely wrong, though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s just not helpful when applied to time travel.’
‘When you visited 2012 for the first time, you stopped Connor from discovering Eden and saved the future of the Earth. That was a pretty massive change.’
‘How can I explain?’ said Ryan, half to himself. He pointed at the stream trickling through the orchard. ‘OK, where do you think this stream runs to?’
I shrugged. ‘Probably to a larger stream or a river. And then eventually to the sea.’
‘Right. And there are millions of little streams just like this all running into the sea.’
‘What does that have to do with time travel?’
‘Think of the timeline as a giant ocean. It is fed by millions of tiny streams. If one of those streams runs dry, what impact do you think that will have on the size of the ocean?’
I shrugged. ‘Not much.’
‘Exactly. But if the Amazon or the Nile runs dry, it will have a significant impact on the ocean. Connor was an Amazon. His life changed the course of human history. But you’re just a little stream, Eden. No one in the future will notice whether you run dry or carry on.’
‘I guess.’
‘In any case, Travis changed the future when he killed you. If you’re concerned about the integrity of the timeline, I’m just putting the future back on course.’
We reached a wide section of the riverbank, where the ground was green and mossy. Ryan stopped suddenly.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I want to dance with you.’
I looked around. ‘Here?’
‘What’s wrong with here?’
I laughed. ‘Well, there’s no music.’
‘I don’t care about music.’ His voice was quiet.
He opened his arms and I walked into them, resting my head on his shoulder as he held me. I’d never felt so alive. I felt the thudding of his heart against my chest, the blood racing through my veins, the mad tingle of electricity in every place his skin touched mine. I’d never felt so aware. Of the stream gurgling and sloshing alongside us, the honeybees, slow and drowsy, buzzing around like sleepwalkers, the soft ground yielding beneath our feet. I’d been given a second chance at life and I was going to make it count.
‘I’ve been waiting for so long to dance with you again,’ he said.
I laughed. ‘It hasn’t been that long. You danced with me last Saturday night at the Year Eleven Ball.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s been four days for you; it’s been nine months for me.’
I knew that of course. He’d already explained to me that he had left me four days ago, after the Year Eleven Ball, and portalled back to his time. It had taken him nine months to find a time-ship and enough fuel to get back to 2012. But he had come back just one day after he had left. Nine months for him. Four days for me.
‘I want to dance with you at night, under the stars,’ he said.
‘We can do that.’
He pulled me closer to him and then we were tumbling slowly backwards on to the green moss. I fell on top of him, our legs tangled together, my head against his chest. His fingers were in my hair and the sun was warm on my skin. I breathed in his scent, the lemony soap he always used, the metallic smell of his jacket, the warm, clean smell of his skin. Things were going to be
different between us now. We hadn’t even kissed until the night he left. Because we knew he would leave and we would never see each other again. Because we knew we couldn’t be together. Because we knew how much more it would hurt if we allowed ourselves to fall in love.
But now he was here. For ever.
And he was here because of me.
He kissed me, his lips brushing mine softly, as though we had all the time in the world. This was for ever. Limitless. A slow, lazy kiss, our lips and tongues slow-dancing. He rolled on top of me and I slipped my hands under the hem of his T-shirt on to the smooth, warm skin of his back, feeling my way up to the wings of his shoulder blades. He lifted his lips from mine and kissed my chin and my jaw and then my neck. I shivered although my body was filled with warmth.
This was what it felt like to be alive.
By the time we stopped kissing, my lips felt bruised, my face rough from the faint stubble along his jaw.
Something occurred to me. ‘You turned eighteen while you were gone.’
‘Am I too old for you now?’
I pushed myself up. ‘Did you have a party?’
He sat up beside me and laced his fingers with mine. ‘I wasn’t much in the mood for celebrating. But my friends insisted. They rented a party boat and dragged me out for a night on the lake.’
‘That sounds fun.’
‘I spent the whole time wishing that you were there with me.’ He glanced at me. ‘I think you’d have liked it. I think you’d like Lakeborough.’
‘What’s it like?’
He described it in detail, from the shape of the landscape to the best place to eat. The last time he had described his home, it had been a small town bordered by miles of wasteland. Now it was a vibrant city surrounded by miles of forest-covered mountains.
‘It sounds beautiful,’ I said. ‘I wish I could see it.’
‘One day we’ll go and see what it’s like now. In my time it’s one of the wealthiest cities in the country. It’s where the Guardians of Time are based. My favourite part, though, is the waterfront. There’s a boardwalk by the lake with a statue of my great-grandfather, Nathaniel Westland, smashing a huge clock. And my favourite bar – the Watering Hole – is there. It’s too bad I can’t take you there. I think you’d like it.’
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