Odette needed to buy time. If he would just let her get the job, and spend a few weeks in the post, she could learn what happened to the woman in the museum – and how the Conclave were involved. Then she could leave. Surely she could persuade her father to keep a secret for that long.
‘We live in the same house,’ Odette said. ‘Watch me like a hawk. The second I show signs of a relapse, you tell the Conclave whatever you need to. But until then keep quiet. I mean it, Papi. If you don’t give me this chance I’ll have nothing to do with you.’
Papi grasped her hand and squeezed it. Despite this contact, Odette knew that in the task ahead, she was completely on her own.
22
DECEMBER 1982
Barbara and Fay
By lunchtime, the snowflakes were falling densely enough for the schools to announce an early finish. Barbara had a part-time secretarial job at Dinah’s school and she went to Dinah’s classroom to collect her.
‘With any luck,’ Barbara said, ‘Daddy will have lit the fire already.’
Tony had stayed home that day, having woken with a stomach complaint.
‘I’m not staying inside,’ Dinah crowed. ‘We’re going to build an igloo in the garden.’
‘Are we indeed?’ asked Barbara.
The way home was quiet. They cut first through the high street – the shoppers had taken flight once the roads were threatened – and then through the side streets, until they reached the seafront. Barbara had no wish to dawdle, as she was keen to get them out of the cold. Dinah wore a tartan school coat and scarf. The tips of her ears were pink, under the inadequate protection of a felt bowler that kept slipping back on her head. Although a piece of elastic ran under Dinah’s chin to keep the hat in place, these days it hung slack. Dinah and her friend Caroline played at being Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and Dinah would use her hat as a bustle. She’d step right into the elastic loop and pull it up to her waist so the hat was in position under her skirt. This improper usage had stretched the elastic beyond its expected limits.
Barbara pulled Dinah’s hat back into position and quickened their pace. The sky was dark for the middle of the day, but there were only two more turnings before home. They took the first, which led onto a narrow, one-way lane, and Barbara stopped short. A man and a woman were standing right in the middle of the road. The man was in his twenties and had neon blue hair. He was smirking at Dinah. A punk, Barbara supposed, except she’d never seen a punk in a suit. The woman wore a beige coat and a cream sweater. Her hair was neat and fair; her expression impassive.
‘Hello, Barbara.’ The woman’s words turned to mist on the air. ‘My name’s Fay.’
‘Hello.’ Barbara frowned. Was this woman, this Fay, a parent from the school? Or an acquaintance of Tony’s? If they’d met before, Barbara didn’t recognise her.
Barbara noticed then that the snow around Fay’s boots was untouched. She must have been standing in the same spot for so long her footsteps were no longer visible.
Dinah was blowing on her fingers. The punk continued to leer at them.
‘Bye then,’ said Barbara, taking a step forward to resume her journey home.
Fay raised an arm to block Barbara’s way, and revealed, in the process, a wide steel band encircling her wrist. She looked down at Dinah.
‘Your daddy’s about to die,’ Fay whispered.
Dinah stumbled backwards, almost losing her footing.
The punk laughed. ‘He’s having a heart attack. Any minute now. Tick tock!’
‘There’s no need for that!’ Fay said. She looked at the punk with disapproval – almost with accusation.
This couple were crazy, the sort of loonies who accosted you in the street with threats that made no sense. Who knew what else they might do? Barbara thought she should call for help – but her throat had gone dry.
The punk was watching Dinah intently – for a reaction, Barbara guessed; to see Dinah’s fear. Dinah was ten and past the age of being carried but Barbara instinctively lifted her up, to transport her away, and pushed past the couple.
‘Don’t you have any questions for me?’ Fay asked.
‘Aren’t you curious what we are?’ the punk said.
Barbara half expected the woman to say she was the Angel of Death. Was that how she saw herself? A woman who announced tragedies? Who took pleasure in doing so?
‘We’re from the future,’ Fay called to Barbara. ‘That’s how we know Tony’s dying. I’m a time traveller. Just like you used to be.’
Barbara bolted up the lane, clutching Dinah tightly to her, not daring to check over her shoulder to see if the couple were following. All she could hear was her own heart and Dinah’s breath and her feet crunching in the snow. She took the last turning before home. The car was in the drive but there were no lights at the windows, despite the dimness of the afternoon sky. Tony must have gone to bed. Barbara fished her keys from her pocket – every action seemed to take an age – and let herself in. Praia, the dog, padded out from the darkness.
She put Dinah down.
‘Were they really time travellers?’ Dinah asked. ‘Why were they being horrible to us?’
‘I don’t know.’ Barbara looked through the little pane of glass in their front door, to see if Fay was outside. The road was entirely empty.
‘Did you do that when you were a time traveller?’
‘No. Run into the kitchen and put the kettle on, sweetheart.’
Dinah left while Barbara took off her boots.
‘Mum!’ Dinah wailed when she reached the kitchen.
Barbara joined her. A saucepan lay on the flagstones at the foot of the cooker, leaking soup. Praia lapped at the puddle. Barbara shivered. This scene of abandonment, and Fay’s threat in the road, filled her with foreboding.
‘Stay here,’ Barbara said to Dinah. ‘Don’t move until I say so.’
She crossed the kitchen, into the darkness of the conservatory. Tony lay on the rug by the table. His skin was waxen. Barbara touched his face. He was quite cold.
She swallowed a sob. Dinah would be terrified if she heard her crying. There were spare blankets on the wicker sofa. Barbara grabbed the top one to cover Tony. It was a memory patchwork. Each hexagon had been hand-sewn by Barbara, and each had a story attached. The broderie anglaise was from Dinah’s communion dress. The blue silk was from the tie Tony had worn when he first travelled to London from Goa. The soft William Morris print was bought with Barbara’s first wages. Bee recited these stories to herself silently, as she stroked the blanket covering her husband. She stayed in the dark conservatory until she knew she had to return to Dinah and explain her father was gone.
They never mentioned the couple in the lane again. Barbara suspected that day was too painful for Dinah to speak of. Time travellers would forever be tied with the death of her father. Because she loved her daughter, Barbara resolved not to mention time travel in her hearing, even if it would always be on Barbara’s mind.
*
After telling Barbara that her husband was dead, Fay and Teddy fled from the lane, down to the store fronts by the sea. The snow flurries quickened until Fay could barely see a yard ahead of them.
‘There’s no point going to the station,’ Teddy said. ‘The trains won’t get through this. Let’s find somewhere warm to shelter.’
‘Everywhere’s closed.’ Typical of small towns. London didn’t shut up shop because of a snowstorm.
‘Good. No inquisitive locals.’ Teddy was looking in every doorway they passed. He stopped to examine an iron shoe scraper on one step. ‘We can use that.’
He lifted it and swung it through the door pane. Fay jumped at the shattering of the glass. Bread-scented air engulfed her. They had vandalised a bakery. This is madness, Fay thought. I’m a barrister, not a thug. Teddy reached through the shards to open the door.
Fay followed him inside. No sooner had the door swung shut than he pushed her against the wall, flattening her with his weight, breathing hotly on her face.
His tongue swiped the corner of her mouth as she turned her head from him.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Please, get off.’
He backed away, his hands in the air. Madness, she thought again. He’s a mad man. She looked longingly into the street, newly worried about being alone with Teddy. She barely knew him. It was tempting to dive back into the snow – except he would only follow her, and there was nowhere for her to go.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry. It’s the adrenalin – forgive me.’
‘I’m married.’ This was true, but she mainly said it to soften the rejection, because she didn’t want to anger him.
He laughed. ‘You’re not married in 1982. You’re not even born.’
‘That doesn’t matter. I’m married in my personal chronology.’
‘Wow, you’re green. You’ll feel differently when you’ve travelled more distantly. It feels like another life. Wait till you’ve checked out your husband’s gravestone.’ Teddy turned his attention to the rows of loaves. ‘Your marriage is doomed anyway. It never works out between time travellers and emus. It’s the power imbalance, you see. You’re always going to know more than him about the future. And your values will change too. They always do.’
Fay said nothing. Teddy was venting from sour grapes. There wasn’t any truth in what he was saying; no truth at all. He tossed her a floury roll, and she caught it automatically.
‘I don’t want this,’ she said. ‘I’m not a looter.’
‘They probably bake it fresh every day. I bet anything unsold gets thrown out. Waste not, want not.’
Her stomach growling gave her away. She took a bite.
‘You did well today,’ Teddy said. ‘You’re definitely one of us now.’
‘Won’t Barbara Hereford suspect foul play? For all she knows we could be husband killers as well as street harassers.’
‘The police wouldn’t be interested if Barbara Hereford went to them. The Conclave has jurisdiction over crimes enabled by time travel.’ Teddy yawned. ‘But if you were worried, you shouldn’t have told her your name.’
‘I wasn’t worried.’ In fact, Fay almost wanted to be caught. Giving her name was self-sabotage. If she was going to do something unpleasant, she should be punished for it. Poor Dinah. Fay knew what it was like to lose a father.
She looked at the remaining bread in her hand, and imagined crumbling it in the snow, between here and the station. Like a trail to be followed: leading the police, or Barbara, or Dinah, straight to the guilty party.
23
AUGUST 2017
Barbara
At eleven Barbara met Dinah for brunch. They ate at a crowded restaurant in King’s Cross. Nerves kept Bee from mentioning her plan. She gathered her courage as they finished their eggs Benedict. The waitress stacked their plates.
‘I wish I’d had the waffles,’ Dinah said.
Barbara, preoccupied, ignored the statement. She took Dinah’s hand across the table.
‘There’s something I have to do,’ she said.
‘That sounds ominous.’
Barbara pressed on. ‘I’ve been conducting… science experiments. The first I’ve done in years. And I’ve hit on a way of recycling time machine fuel.’
Dinah’s smile faded. ‘I knew you were up to something. It was obvious when Ruby came round for dinner. What possible use could you have for time machine fuel?’
‘None – except the Conclave could use my results. I could work for them again.’
‘Oh, Mother, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Ridiculous?’
‘They won’t let you back in. You know what they’re like. How cruel they are. Remember what they did to you – to us. Why kid yourself this will be any different?’
‘You’re right, of course. They’ll turn me away. At first. Which is why I have a back-up plan. But you might not like it, and I won’t go ahead without your permission.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘I still get calls from journalists, Dinah. Even now. People still want to read about me. I always turn them away – because I thought digging up the bodies would distress you. But if Margaret thinks I might start giving interviews she’ll be much more likely to listen. It would look bad to her funders, if her refusal to give me an audience was wasting money.’
‘That’s your back-up plan? Threaten to sell your story?’
‘Yes.’
The waitress topped up their water glasses.
‘Margaret Norton really hates bad press, doesn’t she?’ Dinah reflected.
‘Yes. She does.’
‘Then make your threats, Mum,’ Dinah said. ‘It’s time you cut her down to size. Make that bitch squirm as much as possible.’
Barbara squeezed her daughter’s hand before releasing it. ‘I don’t know where you got your vindictive streak! Not me, or your father.’
‘It must be latent in you somewhere. Time you discovered it.’ To the waitress, Dinah said, ‘We’d like some waffles. With cream, I think.’
24
SEPTEMBER 2018
Odette
On arriving at the Conclave, Odette was taken upstairs to a waiting room. It was a plain room with a window overlooking the great reception hall. Three other hopefuls were waiting too: a man with an eyebrow ring, another man with a square jaw, and a woman in a tartan dress. They were comparing achievements in loud voices. Staking out their dominance early, Odette thought. For now she kept her own counsel. She was still subdued by her father’s threat to call the Conclave and she needed to conserve her energy for the challenges ahead.
Through the glass, she watched the Conclave employees pass back and forth through the chilly granite foyer. Time travellers, Odette assumed. Not many of them were men. A young black woman, who was standing by the drinking fountain, caught Odette’s eye, and they nodded at each other.
She heard the swish of the waiting room door slide open. A small, whiskered man with a kipper tie entered and greeted them.
‘My name is Jim Plantagenet. I’ll be talking you through the process for using the time machines this morning.’
The candidates exchanged glances. So they were to time travel as part of the assessment.
‘First off we’ll be giving you a quick medical. Nothing at all to worry about; weighing, checking your heart rate, taking blood and urine samples. All quite routine for a first time travel trip. We need to know you’re in tip-top condition, otherwise it might not be safe to use the machines!’
‘Can we refuse?’ asked the man with the eyebrow ring.
‘No,’ said Jim. ‘But you are free to withdraw your application without ill feeling on our part. The next requirement is also non-negotiable. We have strict hygiene protocols on exiting the machine. Do any of you know why?’
The candidates looked at each other blankly.
‘Germs in the time machines,’ Jim said. ‘Or alkalibacterium macromonas, if we want to be precise. Macromonas can cause particularly nasty infections if it comes into contact with abraded or broken skin.’
‘Why are there germs in the time machines?’ asked the man with the square jaw.
‘As I expect you’re aware, time machines run on nuclear fuel. Macromonas is fairly unusual among bacteria because it thrives in a radioactive environment. I take a particular interest in it.’ Jim went rosy with enthusiasm.
‘Are we placing our health at risk?’ the girl in tartan asked.
‘Generally, macromonas is confined to the fuel core. However, we still exercise extreme caution. Conclave employees are encouraged to limit the spread of bacteria by following rigorous hygiene protocols whenever they’ve used the machines.’
‘They’re just limiting their liability,’ said the man with the eyebrow ring, sounding a little bored.
‘So no one’s ever been hospitalised with a macromonas infection?’ the tartan woman pressed. ‘Or died from it?’
‘Hospitalised, certainly. But I’m proud to say there have been no fatalities. The bottom line is, when the time mach
ine stops, it will enter a special decontamination mode. Any macromonas within its four walls will be neutralised. Don’t exit the time machine until that process is complete.’
The candidates digested this advice. Odette had remained silent throughout. She wasn’t going to challenge any precaution the Conclave took on health grounds. If she did, they might scrutinise her medical history more closely.
‘Now if you’re ready, and have no further questions,’ Jim said, ‘I will lead you to your medicals. Our clinic is in the basement.’
Odette fell in line with the others. Papi might yet reveal her history of trauma, and stymie her attempts to solve the mystery, but for now she allowed herself a tingle of excitement. For this morning, at least, she would be a time traveller. How many people could say that?
25
DECEMBER 1982
Fay
It was late when Fay and Teddy finally arrived back at the Conclave. Though they were cold and tired, their journey wasn’t over yet; they had several decades to travel across before they would reach their home.
‘But what’s the rush?’ Teddy said. ‘I’ve got something to show you, down in the basement.’
‘Now?’ Fay wanted to go to bed. Her own bed, in her own time, with her own husband.
‘Come on.’ Teddy walked backwards, his arms outstretched. ‘It’s not as though you’ll be home any later.’
This was unarguable. Reluctantly, she followed him. They met no one in the corridors, nor on the stairs. The snow and the late hour must account for the quiet. She recalled Teddy’s earlier attempt to kiss her, and felt uneasy. Hopefully there would be other people wherever he was taking her. She tried to remember, from the introductory tour, which teams worked in the basement.
‘Are we going to biometrics, Teddy?’
‘No. I’ve got another little game lined up for you.’
More initiations? Her heart sank. ‘I thought we’d finished – in St Ives.’
‘Just one more game. Then we’re done.’ He led her past several empty labs and through a door at the very end of the hall.
The Psychology of Time Travel Page 11