by Debbie Moon
‘Fitch,’ she said, and tears welled behind her eyelids.
The thin mouth parted. A smile. ‘You haven’t called me that for a while.’
Nothing to be said to that, only questions. She seized his hand, swinging him away from the thinning crowd. ‘Let’s get away from here.’
And then she saw them. Just faces in the crowd, as blank and puzzled as she knew her own must be. Schrader, frowning down on a lost shoe as if some part of him knew it belonged on his foot. Little Miss. DiFlorian, even, rubbing her eyes as if to scour away the sight of a body too familiar and yet undeniably not her.
This is what she told me on the roof at the Pigsty. Trying to give her the vital clue. ‘Unless we can find a world where we weren’t born us.’
Where someone else inherited my rogue gene and learned to travel time at will, and died for it, and I…
And I am someone else entirely.
Someone who’s finally free of the temptation to remake their life continually, to keep polishing every moment until it’s artifically glittering and perfect. Someone who just lives, like everyone else, making mistakes and handling the consequences and hopefully doing a little better next time.
‘Jude…?’
Concern rumpled Fitch’s unfamiliar face; his arm closed around her shoulders, a gesture so intimate she almost shivered.
Across the crowd, Schrader met her gaze, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Then he nodded very slightly, as if thanking her for something, and turned away.
Stepping back, further into Fitch’s embrace, Jude whispered, ‘Yeah. Definitely time to go.’
He didn’t let go until they were a full three blocks away, striding through scattered bystanders towards the distant ruins of Marble Arch – mostly scaffolding, rickety metalwork and warning signs.
As she turned back to see if anyone had taken charge of the tragedy yet, not-exactly-Fitch said, ‘You’re in trouble, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she spluttered, hysteria rising at the sudden realisation that she probably was.
He just nodded. ‘What can I do?’
Jude leant into the warmth, the weight of his embrace. Good question.
‘Jude?’
‘Listen…’ What to call this stranger/lover/friend? ‘Honey. It’s like this.’
You’re surely not going to tell him the truth?
Whatever that is.
‘There’s, ah, a kind of memory loss that affects ReTracers. Wipes out chunks of recent memory. I mean, I remember who I am and everything, but I don’t know how I got here today, and the last few hours, well, days…’ She searched that immaculate face for clues. ‘Longer, maybe.’
He bit his lip. ‘You do remember taking me in for the switchback?’
Jude shook her head.
‘You did agree. I wouldn’t have done it if –’
‘I know. I mean, I know that I should have. I know I must have. Hell, you know what I mean.’
Somewhere under a strange face, a familiar Fitch smiled.
‘So. How long ago did you, erm…?’
He took her by the elbow, as if afraid she was about to stumble. ‘Jude. I think you should see a doctor. A specialist.’ Inspiration sparked in his eyes. ‘If this is something that affects ReTracers, maybe I should take you in to GenoBond?’
‘No. That would be a bad mistake. A fatal mistake. All I need to be filled in on what I’ve missed. Oh, and then we need to pack, and get the hell out of here. Ever thought about going north?’
Fitch looked vaguely alarmed. ‘Manchester?’
‘I was thinking more like Helsinki.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘That kind of trouble. Come on. We can talk about… what you don’t remember, on the way.’
Jude squinted back up the street. The last few ghouls were giving up, curiosity sated, and fading back into the crowd. People from inside the office block were taking charge of the bodies, ordering men in caretaker’s overalls to bundle them in plastic and move them inside. Somehow, their interest didn’t surprise her, but she couldn’t quite remember why.
‘Who was it that jumped?’ Fitch asked softly. ‘Someone you knew?’
Jude turned away, forcing herself to smile. ‘No. No one I really knew at all.’
ABOUT HONNO
Honno Welsh Women’s Press was set up in 1986 by a group of women who felt strongly that women in Wales needed wider opportunities to see their writing in print and to become involved in the publishing process. Our aim is to develop the writing talents of women in Wales, give them new and exciting opportunities to see their work published and often to give them their first ‘break’ as a writer.
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Published by Honno
‘Alisa Craig, Heol y Cawl, Dinas Powys
South Glamorgan, Wales, CF6 4AH
© Debbie Moon 2003
The right of Debbie Moon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
print ISBN: 9781870206617
ebook ISBN: 9781909983106
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without clearance from the publishers.
Published with the financial support of the Welsh Books Council
The author would like to thank Patricia Duncker for all her help in developing and editing the text.
Cover design: Graham Preston
Cover image: shutterstock