As if sensing a potential trap, Mr Rebello paused to watch the kite twist and jerk in the air. Eventually, he said: ‘A job requiring bravery – and intimidating skill. Possibly a job yet to be invented.’
‘Invent one for me now.’
‘I’m in need of a kite-tamer. This beast is quite determined to escape me, or lift me off my feet.’
‘What would be the payment?’
‘A cinema ticket – as my guest – this Saturday night—’ The kite jerked again.
‘If we go to Redruth we can see Stolen Kisses.’
‘Ah, now we’re negotiating.’ He laughed.
With a jolt, the wind snatched the spool from his grip. Barbara leapt into the air to catch the escaping kite.
‘See,’ Mr Rebello said. ‘I knew you’d be perfect.’
‘What’s your name? Your first name, I mean?’ Barbara asked.
‘Antonio,’ he said.
‘Antonio,’ she repeated, and the kite string pulled on her fist, as if she were growing lighter every minute. The lightest she could remember in a long time.
11
JULY 2017
Ruby
The day after Ginger’s visit, one of Ruby’s clients’ cancelled at short notice, giving Ruby the chance to catch up on email correspondence. She did so in the white-walled therapy room, enjoying the tranquillity of her surroundings. Granny Bee had sent an email. She always wrote her messages with the same care and attention she would give to a letter.
Dear Ruby,
The weather in St Ives has taken a turn for the worse. Mrs Cusack next door lost some slates from her roof. One of them landed in my fish pond. I’m only thankful it didn’t hit Breno.
Since you left I have not been sitting on my hands. I moved my old lab equipment down from the loft and the pieces are in good working order. And I’ve been conducting a literature review, to get myself back up to speed. All the Conclave’s scientists have access to future results, so they spend most of their time trying to understand how you reach a given conclusion, rather than making novel discoveries. But there are some curious gaps in their research topics. I think I’ve spotted a way to reuse spent fuel, which could make immense financial savings for the Conclave. It’s strange to me that they’re not using it already.
The Conclave are canny about money ordinarily. You do know they used my doctoral research for commercial ventures? My word, they have their fingers in a lot of pies. They made a pretty penny from my early experiments, which I could take some pride in if I wasn’t so indignant. I’ll put some websites at the bottom of this page so you can see the merchandise for yourself.
Look after yourself. I spoke to your mother and she said she’s forgotten what you look like. For God’s sake pay her a visit.
Love
Granny Bee
Ruby read through the links Bee had supplied. The Conclave certainly seemed keen to exploit any possible revenue stream. The links all related to products manufactured and sold with Conclave branding. One in particular caught Ruby’s attention. The Conclave’s most popular product – launched in 1992 – was the Conjuror’s Candybox.
*
Ruby was exactly the right age to remember Candyboxes from her own childhood.
She’d first seen one during the eighth birthday party of her classmate, Danielle Reeves. For the party Danielle wore a Laura Ashley dress in aqua taffeta: her ringlets just skimmed the tops of her puffed sleeves, and her net skirts flared whenever she spun on the spot – as she did repeatedly. She looked beautiful. Ruby was in love, to the full extent of her seven-year-old heart. The whole class sat in a circle on Danielle’s living room floor as she opened her presents. The Conjuror’s Candybox wasn’t the biggest gift – the four-foot teddy bear was that – but it caused the most excitement. When Danielle removed the packaging everyone craned forward to get their first glimpse. They saw a box made from plastic, in primary colours, with a hole in the top. It was about the size of a Rubik’s cube.
‘Who wants to put their sweet in first?’ asked Danielle.
They clamoured. I do, I do. Everyone had their party bags, which contained sherbet chews wrapped in wax paper. Danielle surveyed the party guests. Her eyes rested on Ruby.
‘Give me yours,’ Danielle said. The others groaned in disappointment. Ruby could have burst with pride. Danielle took the chew, which had softened in the heat of Ruby’s hand.
Everybody watched as Danielle dropped the sweet into the Candybox. It immediately dematerialised on entry. The children fiddled with their shoe straps, plucked at the deep pile carpet, and kept checking that the hole was empty. Then the box beeped and – miraculously, to the onlookers – the sweet reassembled.
‘Ruby gets to eat the chew,’ Danielle said. ‘It’s her sweet.’
Ruby put the sweet in her mouth.
‘How does it taste?’ Danielle asked.
‘Good,’ Ruby slurred. The chew stuck to her teeth. She was eating a magical, vanishing sweet and it tasted all the more delicious because Danielle had picked her to christen the new toy.
*
The Conjuror’s Candybox had been marketed as a party trick. Ruby had never wondered how it actually worked. Eyes down on the links Bee had provided, she learnt that the Candybox used time travel technology to transport sweets one minute into the future. Danielle and Ruby had been unwitting time travel experimenters.
According to Wikipedia, the Candybox was quite a money-spinner in its first year, but the Conclave ceased production in 1993 because of irresolvable design flaws. Frequently the box malfunctioned and the sweet, instead of disappearing, rebounded at high speed. Parents complained it was dangerous, and there were numerous reports of injury – usually caused by the shrapnel of a boiled sweet.
Ruby clicked on the last of Bee’s links. It led to a thriving web community of Candybox modifiers. Nostalgia, and a geeky interest in repurposing old goods, had driven recent second-hand sales. Apparently, with manipulation, the Candybox could transport objects further into the future than the intended one minute. The longest distance achieved so far was about an hour. The people adjusting the Candyboxes weren’t scientists. They were librarians and curators – the kind of women who write zines and collect retro toys. One of them had drawn a cute web comic about the life of Lucille Waters – her early years in fifties Toxteth, winning a place at university, and finally sending messages across time via radio. The artist also reconditioned Candyboxes for sale. Ruby was tempted to buy one, for the sake of nostalgia. She had just reached for her purse when the intercom rang out. Her next client had arrived; the Candybox would have to wait.
*
Heeding Bee’s mild rebuke, Ruby arranged to see her mother, Dinah, the following evening. Dinah lived in Wembley. She was golden-skinned like Ruby but they did not otherwise look alike; Dinah had a mass of chestnut hair with a strange blonde streak that repeatedly fell over her right eye. For the past ten years she had lived in a mock-Tudor semi, which was bequeathed to her by a childless paternal aunt. She indicated that Ruby should regard the house as her home, too, if she wished. Although Ruby appreciated the gesture, weeks – sometimes months – could slip by between Ruby’s visits. Their relationship was cordial, but they had never been close.
When Ruby arrived at the house, dinner preparations were already under way. Dinah subscribed to recipe boxes with pre-measured ingredients in little bags. This meant there was very little food preparation Ruby could assist with, and she sat on her hands at the dinner table until Dinah brought through two plates of sea-bass.
‘I’m glad you were able to come,’ Dinah said. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve met someone. A man. At church.’
‘Oh. That’s nice.’
‘He’s called Henry, and he’s a widower. I’ve met his daughters. Obviously I’ve told him all about you. Only…’
‘Yes?’ Ruby speared a piece of fish, and raised it to her mouth. It tasted rather g
ood.
‘He was a little shocked I’ve never been married. And, well, I didn’t want to overwhelm him further after that revelation, so I haven’t mentioned how old you are. Or rather, how young I was when I had you.’
‘I see,’ Ruby replied drily. ‘You should have just said we were sisters, Mum.’
‘That would have caused problems,’ Dinah said, impervious to Ruby’s sarcasm. ‘No, I didn’t want to lie to him – just to delay giving him the full family history till we’re better acquainted. He’s rather old-fashioned in some ways – but traditional values can be nice in a man, can’t they?’
Ruby poured her mother a glass of table water and decided to treat the question as rhetorical. She wasn’t sure she wanted to meet Henry. If he had old-fashioned views about teenage single mothers, he probably didn’t take too kindly to lesbians either. She wondered how he felt about mental health problems, too.
‘Does he know about Granny Bee?’ Ruby asked.
‘Really, Ruby, of course he knows I have a mother.’
‘I meant, does he know about her past? That she was a time traveller? And why she had to leave?’
Annoyance flashed over Dinah’s face. ‘No. Why do you have to bring that up?’
Ruby toyed with her saffron mash, her appetite waning while she considered the information Bee had recently given her: that Dinah had instigated their years of silence about Bee’s former life, because of her own fear.
‘While I was in Cornwall, I had a good chat with Granny Bee,’ Ruby said.
‘You two are always as thick as thieves.’ Dinah laughed shortly. ‘I might almost feel left out.’
‘She reminisced about the lab. I can’t believe you never let her talk about the pioneers. You pretended it would upset her! Remembering made her happy.’
Dinah threw her fork onto the plate with a clatter.
‘Ruby,’ she said, her voice quiet with frustration, ‘when I was a child, conversations about the pioneers always made my mother happy – to begin with. But soon she’d start ruminating on how they cut her off. She’d endlessly question how she could win back their favour. She should have been angry with them, and instead she wanted to be friends with those bastards. Then after the rumination came the depression. Just as you’d think she was over the worst of that, she’d attempt suicide. That’s why I don’t like to bring up the pioneers. That’s why I told you not to discuss them with her. Because yes, eventually, she will be upset.’
This perspective shook Ruby. She had spent some of her childhood in Bee’s care, while Dinah finished her studies, and from what Ruby could recall, Granny Bee’s mental health had always been stable. But maybe that was because Dinah wouldn’t let her dwell on the past.
An uncomfortable silence followed while the food cooled between them.
‘I think I should go,’ Ruby said. She needed to think, on her own, what to do next.
‘Stay,’ Dinah said. ‘There’s mousse in the fridge.’
‘I’ve ruined dinner. Look, I’ll call you in the week, OK?’
Dinah gave a small nod. Ruby placed her napkin beside her plate and left her mother sitting at the dinner table. Once she was outside she arranged an Uber, and began mentally rehearsing a phone call to her grandmother. She needed to say Bee should slow down: that her plan to time travel again might be unwise. Just as the car pulled up, Ruby dialled her grandmother’s number.
‘Granny Bee?’ she said, as she got into the back seat.
‘Is that you, Ruby, my love?’
‘I’ve been thinking, about your plan to rejoin the pioneers…’
‘Yes?’
‘You could so easily reopen old wounds.’ Ruby’s voice was as high as a child’s. ‘If you keep on this path I’m worried you’ll get ill and hurt yourself.’
‘Dear heart.’ Bee’s voice was kind. ‘You must stop worrying about me. I’ve had this illness since before you were born or thought of. You can’t use it as an excuse to wrap me in cotton wool. Besides… I’ve already started limbering up. I’ve done some experiments and I’ll be back working alongside the pioneers in no time.’
‘You’ve done what?’ Ruby asked in consternation.
‘I bought a second-hand Candybox! Did you read about those collectors who adapt them? They try to extend their reach into the future. Oh, the science is pretty basic, but I want to give it a go. To break my duck, so to speak.’
‘You’re impossible,’ Ruby groaned.
‘Good grief. I’ll be fine. A schoolgirl could adjust one of those boxes. If a schoolgirl’s physics experiment is too much for me, you might as well bump me off now.’
‘OK, OK,’ Ruby relented. ‘Experiment if you must. On one condition. You come and stay with me in London. I want to be able to keep a close eye on you.’
Ruby said goodbye. She still had nearly an hour’s journey. Her head fell back against the seat and she closed her eyes, desperate to shut out her anxieties about Granny Bee.
12
JULY 2018
Odette
Under Dr Rebello’s guidance, Odette’s symptoms improved. The flashbacks and nightmares dwindled, then finally stopped. She could now remember the day she found the corpse without feeling she was slipping back, bodily, to the basement.
‘But the questions still bother me,’ Odette told Dr Rebello.
‘Questions?’
‘Who was the dead woman? Who killed her? Why?’
‘How would knowing the answers change your life?’
‘The world would make sense again.’
‘Are you sure? Whys tend to lead to more whys.’
This, Odette had to admit, was true to her experience.
‘Maybe,’ Dr Rebello said, ‘we’re better off accepting the past is what it is. If it can’t be changed, does the why matter?’
‘The why always matters.’ Odette started to laugh.
Dr Rebello smiled. ‘What’s funny?’
‘I was just thinking. When I was a little girl, my nickname was Midge. Because I was always buzzing about, asking questions, and my mother had to swat them aside like flies. One question after another.’
‘Tell me more about that.’
‘In Seychelles everybody knows your auntie and her dog. You have no private business. And the tourists who swan in and out aren’t immune, either. My aunt had a guest house so we knew the secrets of the holidaymakers too. When I asked questions my parents thought I was gossiping.’
‘Were you?’
‘No. Gossip’s about getting a thrill, isn’t it? A vicarious thrill. I wanted to understand people. To solve their mysteries.’
‘Give me an example.’
‘OK… I remember something from when I was six years old. One morning seven women from Scotland came to the hotel. They looked related. All of them had green eyes, and their noses looked the same to me; sharp and pointy. They were fair, very fair. The Kreol phrase for them was bla rose – that means people with white-pink skin. My Kreol’s rusty but I remember that.
‘I wasn’t sure how old they were. The youngest-looking one was probably twenty-something – about the same age as my sister. And I thought the eldest was a great-grandmother at the very least. They were all named Dr Niven, except the oldest lady, who was a professor.
‘All week I watched them. These women barely spoke to each other, but they were inseparable. At mealtimes I remember laughing because they raised their spoons to their mouths in synchrony. After a few days, I was very used to them coming and going as a single block. So I was really amazed when Professor Niven came into the lobby alone. She must have crept away without the others’ knowledge. She must have had a secret. I was pretending to be a detective, you know.
‘I followed Professor Niven outside. She took the path from the hotel, as far as a place called Trois Frères. I lost her for a bit, so I looked for millipedes – they’re very fat in Seychelles, you should see them. The next time I saw the old woman she was under a cinnamon tree, with one shoe off. She was rubbing her heel
. It was too late for me to hide so I ran towards her.
‘I asked her, in English: “Why did you go out for a walk all alone?”
‘And she told me: “The others are preparing for my wedding. It’s today, at noon.”
‘This seemed hilarious because she was much too old to be getting married. I asked her why she wasn’t there too, and she said, “I’m not going. I’ve been seven times already. Do you know about time travel?”’
Dr Rebello dropped her pen. Odette waited for her to pick it up.
‘Are you all right? Am I… not making sense?’ Odette asked, because Dr Rebello was frowning.
‘You’re making perfect sense.’ This time Dr Rebello’s smile looked strained.
‘OK. Professor Niven explained that the other guests weren’t her relatives. They were all her – the same person, at different times, having travelled to the same point to meet. I asked her whether all time travellers go back to their wedding day.
‘She said: “A few. When they’re trying to understand something.”
‘And I didn’t say anything but I thought, this woman is like me. She wants to understand why things happen too.’
‘Did the conversation end there?’ Dr Rebello asked.
‘She asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up. I told her: solve mysteries.’
The psychologist was looking into the middle distance.
‘Dr Rebello?’ Odette asked. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘I was reflecting on my advice to accept what can’t be changed.’ Dr Rebello closed her notebook. She stood up. ‘It’s in your nature to ask questions, Odette. Perhaps we can’t change that either. The session’s over for today.’
13
JULY 1969
Angharad
As soon as Angharad completed her probationary period, she travelled from 1969 to 1973, where a health crisis was under way at the Conclave. The time machines were nuclear powered, and this meant radiation-resistant bacteria thrived and proliferated in the fuel core whenever the machines were used. One strain of bacteria, named macromonas, was pathogenic. Ordinarily it posed very little threat to the time travellers, because the fuel core was sealed. But in 1973 a time machine combusted. The seal was damaged, and the machine’s components flew through the air, causing injury to a large number of staff. Many of the resulting wounds were infected with macromonas. Angharad arrived the following day to help with the aftermath. They needed all the medical expertise they could get. Over the next week she devised a treatment programme of antibiotics and, for the minority with radiation syndrome, the drug TP508. She also strengthened hygiene protocols to limit the spread of germs.
The Psychology of Time Travel Page 7