Hugo walked faster, almost jogging. He hated this whole charade, and missed Neve and the children more than he could say. Neve sent numerous pictures of the children, but seeing them enjoying themselves and learning about this new world without him only made him feel more isolated. I’m doing this for them, he thought over and over again, but somehow the thought felt hollow. Perhaps it was time for a reunion. Simon said that Hugo needed to wait a few weeks before being seen in London, but no one would think anything of him visiting his brother’s flat. He needed to see Neve and the kids. The need was like a physical pain that only got worse with every passing day.
Hugo abruptly turned around and began walking back toward the village, Tilly at his heels. Whatever DI Knowles was planning to do would just have to be dealt with. It was time for real life to begin.
Chapter 36
I checked on the children to make sure they were all right before returning to Simon’s office. We’d been in modern-day London for two weeks now, and I couldn’t believe how quickly the children had adjusted to their new life. They were sitting on the sofa, watching Boohbah with intense concentration. Television was like a drug, or a free childminder. I tried to spend as much time with the kids as I could, taking them on daily outings and walks to the park, but I had much to do now that I was back.
The first order of business had been to visit my bank. I’d left a safety deposit box with my passport, birth certificate, driving license, credit and bank cards, and some cash. Recovering those documents was the first step in reclaiming my identity. My bank and credit cards had expired, but it was easy enough to get new ones issued and sent to Simon’s address. I was happy to discover that I had a tidy sum waiting for me at the bank. I had sublet my apartment in Notting Hill when I made the decision to leave, arranging for my tenants to pay via PayPal on a monthly basis. Had I never returned, they would eventually figure out that no one was claiming their money and stop paying, but I hoped that hadn’t happened yet. I told them that I would be leaving the country for several years, but would return eventually.
The lease agreement was in my deposit box, left there for the sole purpose of collecting outstanding rent should the need arise. I hadn’t planned to return when I went to the seventeenth century with Hugo, but if I had learned anything from my time there before, it was that anything could happen, and one should always be prepared for any eventuality. Burning bridges was never a good idea, and I was glad I had the foresight to prepare for my return.
I was happy to see that my tenants had been paying faithfully each month, unwittingly making sure that I wasn’t in dire financial straits when I returned. Having taken care of the more pressing issues such as banking, credit cards, and a new mobile phone, I had to move on to the more difficult areas, such as establishing an identity for the children. They needed birth certificates in order to get registered with NHS, and, of course, I had none. Even if I spun some story about the documents perishing in a fire or being lost, the children would already be in the database, accessible by name and National Insurance Number. I would also have to provide the name of the father, and listing Maximilian Everly as the father of my children would create a media storm if the information were leaked to the press, considering that he’d just returned from his self-enforced exile and claimed to have been on his own all this time. Questions would be raised, and our lives would be probed, scrutinized, and splashed across the tabloids.
There was one person from my past who might be able to help me, but I was reluctant to ask for such a big favor. What choice did I have though? My children hadn’t been immunized, and were susceptible to the more advanced viruses and strains of the twenty-first century. They would also need to go to school in the not-so-distant future, and I needed to be prepared.
Reluctantly, I flipped through my list of contacts, so thoughtfully downloaded onto my new phone from their records by my mobile phone provider. I stared at the name for a few minutes before pushing the call button, hoping that the number was still operational. A lot could have happened in three years. Glen Coolidge was a friend from my old job at Legendary Productions. He was the head of the Special Effects Department and an absolute computer whiz. He was also an American expat who had been embroiled in a bitter custody battle with his ex-wife, and living with a sexually fluid couple as part of a triad, which didn’t help his chances in court. Glen was the most uninhibited, morally-elastic, out-of-date flower child I’d ever met. But he was also loyal, sensitive to the feelings of others, except his ex-wife’s, of course, and eager to help when he could.
Glen came on the line after about five rings, his voice sounding uncharacteristically annoyed at seeing an unfamiliar number.
“This better not be a sales call,” he growled. “I’m sick and tired of people trying to sell me solar panels and holiday cruises, especially during business hours.”
“Glen, it’s Neve. Neve Ashley.”
Glen’s demeanor underwent an amazing transformation, his voice now crackling with amusement. “Well, well, Neve Ashley of all people. Fancy getting a call from you after a deafening silence of several years. What can I do for you, my lovely?” he asked, flirtatious as ever. I could almost imagine him sitting in his office, leaning back in his chair until it nearly flipped over, his feet dangerously close to his state-of-the-art equipment, a cup of strong black coffee in his hand.
“Glen, I know it’s been a long time, and I’m sorry to bother you,” I began.
“Hey, it’s no bother. Always good to hear from an old friend, even if the friend in question blew you off without so much as a “See ya, Glen,” but hey, I’m not one for holding grudges.”
“Well, I’m happy to see you are not harboring any negative emotions,” I said, smiling to myself, “or this would be really awkward.”
“Neh, I’m just busting your chops, kid. How’ve you been?”
“Well,” I replied vaguely. “Glen, could I tempt you with some extra spicy curry?” I asked. When I’d worked with Glen, he used to get Indian takeaway at least once a week, stinking up the entire floor with the smell of extra spicy curry. I didn’t mind it too much, since I could always go for some myself, but many of Glen’s employees ran for the door as soon as the food was delivered. I was actually kind of glad Hugo wasn’t there. Curry was not a favorite of his.
“Sure. I’m free for lunch tomorrow. How about that place we used to go to? They changed owners twice since the last time I saw you, but the curry is still just as good.”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d come round. I have no one to mind the children.”
“Children? As in multiple children? My, you’ve been busy. Okay, give me the address.”
I gave Glen the address, smiling when he whistled into the phone. “Very swanky. Did you find yourself a sugar-daddy, or what?”
“Not exactly. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”
“Okay, see ya,” Glen said before hanging up. I was actually looking forward to my lunch date since I hadn’t had much adult interaction of the social kind. I hadn’t rung anyone from my past life yet. I wanted to, but the idea of having to explain away my lengthy absence and two children put me off. I simply wasn’t ready. Glen was the first, and I was curious to see how our reunion would go.
At some point, I would have to call Deborah. She’d been a good friend when I was in a relationship with her ex-husband, Evan, but Deborah, unlike Glen, who could take a hint, would ask a million questions, and feel the need to tell me all about Evan since she was still in touch with him because of their daughter, who was likely at university by now. I’d loved Evan once, and hoped for a life with him, but the thought of hearing about his selfishness and self-absorption left me cold. Having been married to Hugo, I now knew what real commitment was, and the memory of my misguided love for Evan made me cringe.
Having known Frances and Archie, I now also knew what real friendship was. It wasn’t just about guzzling wine and complaining about the men in one’s life;it was about knowing that the person you call
ed your friend would do anything for you should the need arise, even dig up a dead body in the dead of night and replace it for a live one, as Archie and Hugo had done when they broke me out of Newgate Prison. So, calling Deborah would have to wait— maybe a year or two.
Chapter 37
Glen showed up a half-hour late, but he did come bearing gifts. He correctly deduced that my children couldn’t be older than four, and brought several coloring books, crayons, and two adorable stuffed teddy bears that were exactly the same and wouldn’t cause a fight between the kids. Valentine and Michael were charmed, hugging the bears as they leafed through the books. They looked really sweet as they sat at the kitchen table, their heads bent over the coloring book, working on a picture together, rather than choosing to work in separate books. Valentine was berating Michael for coloring outside the lines, but I could see that she didn't really mind. She was enjoying playing the role of tutor. I left the kids to color and invited Glen into the dining room where I’d set the table for lunch. I had also prepared a bottle of good Sauvignon Blanc, remembering it as Glen’s favorite.
I studied him discreetly while he met the children and presented them with the gifts. He was the same old Glen: tall, lanky, with spiky black hair and horn-rimmed glasses. But, there was a new wariness about him which hadn’t been there before, and a few tiny wrinkles now bracketed his eyes and mouth when he smiled. He still smelled good though. Glen had been a huge fan of cologne, and always left a lingering trail of delicious scent after he passed by.
“So, where did the little rugrats come from?” Glen asked as I set the takeaway on the table and opened up the containers, releasing the smell of the food into the air. I could see Glen salivating as the pungent and spicy aroma filled the dining room.
“Want a glass of wine?” I asked as I uncorked the bottle.
“Sure.” I could feel Glen’s eyes boring into me as I poured us each a glass. “You look good, Neve, but different somehow. Are you going to tell me where you’ve been all this time, or is it a secret?”
“I’ve been undercover for MI5,” I replied with mock seriousness. “I can tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“You Brits are always so secretive,” Glen complained as he took a sip of the wine. “Americans love to talk about themselves, but you hold your cards close to your vest.”
“Tell me about you instead,” I invited, validating Glen’s observation.
“Not much to tell. I get to see my daughter twice a month on Sundays. We have lunch, go to the movies, or hang out at the playground. She calls me Glen,” he added bitterly. “My ex remarried, and now her new husband is Daddy. I suppose she’s better off; I never was cut out for marriage.”
“Do you regret it?” I asked.
“I regret the marriage, not the child. I wish I could see Poppy more often. I enjoy being with her, and I hope that once she’s a little older we can be real buddies.”
I decided not to point out that teenage girls were rarely buddies with their dad, especially a dad who is sexually confused and still plays with toys. I had been a sort of stepmom to Evan’s teenage daughter and although a good kid at heart, she was the most sullen, hormonal, irrational human being I’d ever met. Glen was in for a surprise once Poppy hit puberty.
“And your flatmates?” I asked, unsure of what to call Glen’s lovers.
“Oh, they left about two years ago. I think they’re living in Berlin now. I’ve been on my own for a long while.”
“What? No new love interest?” I asked, teasing. Glen was always in love with someone.
“There was someone, but it didn’t last.”
“I’m sorry, Glen.”
I had to admit that for all his eccentricity, I really liked Glen. He was real, which was something that wasn’t easy to come by in any century. We chatted easily while we ate, eager to catch up, but eventually Glen came around to the purpose of his visit.
“So, what can I do for you, candy girl?” Glen asked, grinning at me in that knowing way. “I know how appreciative you’ve always been of my talents.”
“Glen, my children don’t have birth certificates. They were born in odd circumstances, and I have nothing legitimate to show the powers-that-be. Val and Michael need to be immunized, and will eventually need to be registered for school.”
“I see,” Glen replied. “Where were they born, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“France.”
“They don’t issue birth certificates in France?” he asked, watching me closely.
“Not in the seventeenth century, they don’t.” Glen put down his fork and gaped at me as if I’d just told him that my children were sired by Darth Vader.
“Come off it, Neve. Just because I happen to be a fan of science fiction, and have attended every Comicon in the last ten years, doesn’t mean I’m buying that one.”
“Too bad, ‘cause it’s true.” I knew that if anyone believed my story, it would be Glen. And I had to tell him the truth because that’s the only way he would feel compelled to help me.
“So, that dude who needed a passport a few years back was from the past?” Glen asked, intrigued.
“Yes. He is the father of my children, and I have lived in the seventeenth century for the past three and a half years. Can you help me, Glen?”
“Only if you tell me, in excruciating detail, how you managed to go back in time, and then come back. You know that traveling through time has always been one of my ultimate fantasies. But, I have no desire to go back. God, can you just see me in the seventeenth century?” Glen had a good laugh as he accepted another glass of wine, no doubt picturing himself dressed as Charles II. “I want to go into the future. I want to fly a spacecraft, travel to as yet undiscovered galaxies, and meet people from alien races.” Glen’s face was glowing with excitement, and I wished I had it in my power to grant him his wish, but I had no idea how to travel forward.
“All right, put your light saber away and concentrate on the problem at hand,” I quipped in an effort to redirect him. Glen leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the kitchen where an argument over what color to make a monkey just erupted.
“Well, they are cute little kiddies, I’ll give you that. It is easier to establish a false identity for children than it is for adults. Less to invent. Since your passport doesn’t show that you’ve left the UK or entered France in this century, I think it’s best if we forge a British birth certificate,” Glen suggested, his gaze thoughtful. “I suppose I can create a file for these two, but it might be best if you go with the Earth Mother routine.”
“What in the world do you mean by that?”
“I mean that any normal British woman would have taken her precious offspring to the clinic for checkups and immunizations. I can falsify a birth certificate, but not health records — too risky. So, if you explain your aversion to modern medicine by saying that you believe in the holistic approach, it might be easier to avoid suspicion.”
“So, what do you suggest?” I asked, unsure of where Glen was going with this.
“I suggest that we find a midwife, preferably someone who is far away from London and is of advancing years, and forge her name to a birth certificate. I doubt anyone would bother to check if she has any record of the births. People tend to believe what they are told, or what they see, in this case. If they see a document signed by a registered midwife, they’ll accept it.”
“So, why does she need to be of advanced years?” I asked, still confused. Glen’s mind was usually about ten steps ahead of my own.
“Because if some eager beaver does decide to do their civic duty and check with the midwife, they might be led to believe that being an older woman, she simply forgot you and your babies, or has misfiled the records. Some old people are sharp as tacks, but people tend to believe that you start going senile at forty. I’m well on my way,” he added.
“Can you put your senility on hold long enough to do this for me, Glen?”
“Sure thing. I’m a master forge
r. I’ll find the right candidate and print off a generic birth certificate, which I will fill out by hand. No worries, my pretty. Your children will be legit by the end of the week. Now, what about that husband of yours?”
“He died,” I choked out. I was willing to tell Glen about the time travel since no one would believe him anyway if he shared the story, but divulging that Hugo had taken Max Everly’s place and was now the master of the house was risky. Glen loved to gossip, and this story might be too good to keep to himself. He might not tell people that the impostor was from the past, but selling the story to some publication claiming that the man who returned is not the man who’d left could open up a nasty can of worms, and make Glen a rich man. I had it on good authority that the divorce and subsequent custody battle left him skint, so it was best not to give him anything which might be too tempting to share with the world.
“I’m sorry, Neve. Is that why you came back?”
“Yes. My husband died in the Tower of London last month.”
“What was his name?” Glen asked casually, but I could see the insatiable curiosity in his eyes.
I knew that Glen would do a search as soon as he got back to work, so it was imperative that he believe me. I was sure that he would find some mention of Lord Everly’s death in April 1689, and that would help my cause. I hated being conniving and false, but this was a unique situation, so I had to come up with unique explanations for my motives.
“Hugo Everly,” I finally replied.
“Why was he in the Tower?”
“He was accused of treason.”
Comes The Dawn (The Wonderland Series: Book 5) Page 19