The receptionist ran towards her.
‘I wasn’t sure if you’d gone,’ he panted. ‘Did you say you’re Barbara Hereford?’
‘That’s right,’ Barbara said, peeling back the tub lid.
‘There’s a call for you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I believe she said her name was Ruby.’
They headed back to the information desk, and the receptionist passed Barbara the receiver of a very peculiar phone. It had four different rotary dials, nested within each other. When Barbara pressed the receiver to her ear, the line wasn’t crystal clear – there was a whining hum of radio static, and she thought she could hear crying.
‘Ruby? Ruby, my love?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘How did you know where I was? Is something wrong?’
‘No, Granny. I’m just so happy to speak to you. I have the most amazing news.’
33
SEPTEMBER 2018
Odette
After the exam, Odette reported to her interview with Elspeth Niven. Elspeth’s office was at the north end of the building. The walls were ox-blood and the floors were polished concrete. A burnished copper desk and chairs were nailed to the floor. Everything was dark and shining. The cold edge of Odette’s seat cut into her thighs.
Elspeth had Odette’s exam paper in front of her.
‘I liked your response,’ Elspeth said. ‘But how did the experiment make you feel?’
The question surprised Odette. ‘I suppose a little anxious – as with any assessment. My teammates were sure we’d failed, and I wanted to pass very badly.’
‘I should be more specific. How did you feel when you realised you wouldn’t prevent the crime?’
‘Oh.’ Odette reflected. She supposed she should have been depressed on learning that she wouldn’t swerve the course of events. Yet she hadn’t been. She had switched her focus to evidence collection – and the possible motives of Dr Taylor. That process had been satisfying, in its way, rather than depressing. ‘I think I liked feeling part of something bigger than me. My actions fitted in to a bigger pattern that I wasn’t driving. I just wanted to see how everything fitted together.’
‘Hm.’ Elspeth’s tone was impossible to interpret. She looked down again at the paper. ‘The stakes were low, compared to our usual cases. You may feel more… despondent… if you couldn’t prevent a murder, for example.’
Odette said nothing. The comment touched on her experience at the toy museum too closely. Her skin prickled. Had Papi already alerted Elspeth? Was she talking about Odette’s trauma, and waiting for a confession?
Elspeth sat back again in her chair. ‘Why do you want to work for us, Odette? Why not the police?’
Because a woman died, and the Conclave has something to do with it, and I want to know what.
‘I’ve always wanted to be a detective.’ This should have the ring of authenticity, at least, though it didn’t answer Elspeth’s question. Why wouldn’t she join the police? Because they were racist. Maybe the Conclave was too, but they’d had Lucille Waters at the top from the start, giving an impression of greater opportunity. ‘I think the Conclave is a better cultural fit for me than the police force.’
‘Oh. Culture. The Conclave has its own culture, indeed. And it makes you fit by hook or by crook.’
‘Is the training intensive?’
‘We have a formal induction period. The Conclave has its own laws, and you have to be fully versed in them before you work as a detective, obviously. For the first few weeks you’d be carrying out administrative duties, but it’s not quite as dire as it sounds. You’d get to shadow a detective before taking on your own caseload.’
‘Could I shadow you?’ No harm in creating a connection.
Elspeth laughed. ‘Maybe. That would throw you in at the deep end.’
‘Good. I like that. And can I request particular cases?’ There was every chance the museum case was already under investigation. Odette wanted to be in the midst of it if it was.
‘That would be unusual. Allocating caseloads takes a degree of managerial oversight.’ Elspeth checked the clock. ‘I think we have all the information we need. Is there anything else you’d like to know?’
‘How many positions are you filling in this round?’
‘One. And we don’t have to fill it this round if there isn’t a suitable candidate. Our timescales are flexible, obviously. Tell me, do you think you were the best applicant?’
This was not a fair question; Odette had to tread carefully. The Conclave might value team playing. ‘I believe two have been excluded already. The third was clearly serious in his intent to work here. But we differed in our approaches to the experiment.’
‘Grace’s black eye?’
‘Yes.’
‘You wouldn’t ever use violence in apprehending a criminal?’
‘That would depend on the danger presented. Grace Taylor wasn’t posing any physical threat.’
‘Useful to know.’ Elspeth’s expression gave nothing away. ‘We’ll have an answer for you by the end of the day. Please wait in the reception area till then.’
‘Thank you; I’ll do that.’
They shook hands, bringing Odette’s Conclave application to a close.
34
JUNE 1999
Siobhan
Siobhan Joyce was from the twenty-second century, where the field of psychology was a relic. It had largely been replaced by theological determinism: a belief that all human action was dictated by a higher power. New religions even used the experience of time travellers to bolster their worldview: if there was no divine plan, the theologians argued, it would surely be possible to use time travel to change the course of events. But it was not. Psychology was concerned with internal states and environmental influences, neither of which was deemed meaningful any more. Instead, theologians aggregated maps of people’s life events, and searched for patterns computationally. They reasoned that any patterns in the data would be a source of divine insight.
Reading psychological texts had become at best a niche historical interest. The world had moved on. Job opportunities for psychological autodidacts, like Siobhan, were thus hard to find in her home timeline. As an independent scholar she had pored diligently over psychometric scales, finding a beauty in their enumeration of emotion. Fortunately for Siobhan, Margaret Norton was a woman of the twentieth century, not the twenty-second; and she saw a role for psychology in the Conclave. All vacant positions were advertised in all years the Conclave was active, giving Siobhan the opportunity she craved.
Her favourite psychometrics were the questionnaires for people with sleep disorders, and her knowledge had earned her the Conclave post. The Conclave took an interest in time travellers’ dreams for practical reasons. Disordered sleep and unpleasant dreams can be part of a wider pattern of poor psychological health. As a basic safety precaution, time travellers were schooled in paying attention to their dreams, and reporting any issues to Dr Joyce. Siobhan drew on a variety of methods to record dreams, such as inviting the time traveller to tell their dreams as a story, ticking items on a prepared list of symbols, and drawing their dreams.
The job was one she felt immense gratitude for. She had faith in her tools, and was glad that the Conclave treated them with proper reverence. But a conflict arose for her. Siobhan had hoped to help people with her questionnaires and tests. The Conclave, however, had a different agenda. They used her expertise to marginalise vulnerable time travellers, rather than help them. Margaret’s aggression towards Julie had troubled Siobhan deeply. At least, in Veronica’s case, one might believe Margaret had spoken reasonably and for the general good – although Siobhan had no idea what bargain had been struck to keep Veronica in her job and she doubted it was to Veronica’s benefit. Yet Siobhan did not publicise her objections: her own job security rested on an apparent willingness to follow Margaret’s rules and there was no other venue available where Siobhan could work as a psychologist.
She was sure there must be a compromise available – a way of retaining her position without being complicit in further mistreatment of sick staff.
On a commonplace day in 1992, Jim Plantagenet, from the biomedical department, saw Siobhan for a routine psychological check. This check included the monitoring of his recent dreams. Siobhan explained she would read from a list of symbols, and Jim should stop her if any of them were familiar. He agreed; she began to read.
‘A future city burning with all of its inhabitants,’ Siobhan said. ‘Boiling oceans on a future coast. The earth cracking open from one future border to another. A future sky glowing in neon greens and yellow and pink.’
And Jim began to cry.
He was, at this time, only a recent recruit. Siobhan checked his notes and saw he had taken just three trips in the time machine so far. She wondered if he was having difficulty adjusting.
‘Would you like to tell me what you’re feeling?’ she asked.
‘My sleep’s disturbed,’ he said. ‘I wake up screaming.’
‘You’re having nightmares?’
He nodded.
‘With the symbols I described?’
He shuddered. ‘I see my family dying from radiation sickness. Their skin is… ulcerated. Necrotic.’
‘Is this an imagined scenario? Or something you’ve seen in the future?’
‘A combination. There are moments where reality slips through.’
Siobhan leafed through the other psychometric tests. She checked Jim for depression, and found him sub-threshold, but his anxiety levels were very high indeed. Really she should report his situation directly to Margaret. Distress at death was something that Margaret took particular interest in – for the purposes of elimination.
Siobhan closed the psychometric file.
‘What’s your home timeline?’ she asked Jim.
‘Twenty twenty-seven.’
‘Good. There’s a great deal of private counselling available then. Take some leave, go home, and pay for anxiety treatment.’
‘But that’s forbidden.’ Jim blanched. ‘Am I going to be fired?’
‘No. Not unless you’ve discussed your problems with anyone else at the Conclave?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘Good. Keep it that way. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation didn’t happen.’
‘Very well.’ He stood, and loosened his wristwatch absent-mindedly. ‘Thank you, Dr Joyce. I’m glad it was you I spoke to.’
Siobhan nodded, and hoped – for his sake – he would maintain his discretion.
35
AUGUST 2017
Ruby
Grace accompanied Ruby through New Street Station. They stared at the departures board.
‘That’s my train,’ Ruby said. ‘Platform two. What are you doing now?’
Grace bounced on the toes of her pilgrim shoes.
‘I’m fancy-free. No ties, nowhere to be.’
‘Do you have any family? In this year, I mean.’
‘I probably have some cousins who are still alive. Who knows what age they’d be.’
‘How old are you now?’
‘Haven’t a clue.’ Grace tapped her tracker watch. ‘This little chap counts my heartbeats. I’m up to… one point one billion. The Conclave uses that information to calculate what year I’d be in if I’d lived my life in the same chronology as everyone else. When I die, the number of my heartbeats will indicate I should be in 2027. That’s why the Conclave will send my body there. Say, do you want to go there with me?’
‘To 2027?’ Ruby found the prospect horrifying.
‘No. To the Conclave. I’d give you a special guided tour.’
‘Oh.’ Ruby smiled with relief. ‘How could I resist?’
‘That’s settled then. I’ll catch the train to London with you now.’
She bought a ticket and they boarded the waiting train. It was packed with commuters, but Ruby and Grace managed to find two seats next to each other.
‘Are you from London?’ Ruby asked. ‘Originally.’
‘My home town’s much less glamorous. Can’t we pretend I sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus?’
‘Your accent puts you somewhere between Hampstead and Philadelphia.’
‘That’s the middle of the ocean!’
‘Yes. Maybe you’re Venus, rather than Athena.’
‘Ruby, you charmer! I’ll tell you a secret.’ Her voice dropped. ‘This isn’t the accent I grew up with.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘Every Saturday I’d study how the film stars spoke in matinees. And – oh, this is a shameful genesis – one afternoon I saw a B-movie called Hell or High Water. A beautiful actress called Bella Darvi played a physics professor and I wanted to be just like her. Now tell me,’ Grace said, ‘I’ve been dying to ask. Weren’t you the teensiest bit tempted to try on Lucille’s ring? It’s a darling little thing.’
A darling little thing hurtling through time. Ruby felt a twinge of guilt.
‘It was too small,’ she lied.
‘What a shame! I was so sure it would fit you. It was a little loose on me. I worried it would slip off my hand without me noticing.’
‘Why did you have Lucille’s ring anyway?’ Ruby asked.
‘Before she died she gave it to one of my older selves. She didn’t have any children to pass it on to.’ She sighed. ‘Maybe it’s just as well you can’t wear it. It would deter potential suitors.’
Ruby laughed.
‘But if you’d worn it tonight,’ Grace said, ‘we could have played at being an engaged couple.’
‘Have you played that game before?’
‘Before I started time travelling all engagements between women were play engagements. There are some advantages to working in other time periods.’
‘Do things keep getting better?’
‘Progress isn’t irreversible.’ She smiled overbrightly. ‘I can avoid the worst years. Right then, future wife. I’m going to have some beauty sleep. We have a long night ahead of us.’
‘What do time travellers dream of?’
‘Punch and Judy, and conspiratorial vicars, and schoolgirls with guns.’
‘Get you with your John Masefield references!’ Ruby said. ‘Bee used to read me The Box of Delights. I can remember every single line, complete with page references. Did you know it’s my favourite novel?’
‘I did. Mine’s The Chrysalids. Now hush.’ Grace closed her eyes, and let her head rest against Ruby’s shoulder.
36
SEPTEMBER 2018
Odette and Siobhan
In accordance with Elspeth’s instructions, Odette waited in reception for the results of her application. She took one of the seats and contemplated the magazines fanned across the table. There was no point even trying to read one. Until she knew whether she had the job, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate.
She closed her eyes and her head fell back as she allowed exhaustion to catch up with her. The day had been a prolonged test of endurance and her ability to dissemble. So far nobody appeared to realise her motives for working there were suspicious. Papi must have decided to hold his piece.
‘Odette,’ she heard someone say. Their voice was hushed. ‘Are you sleeping?’
‘No,’ Odette replied, blinking. There was a woman kneeling down by her chair – a little older than Odette, with short strawberry-blonde hair.
‘My name’s Fay Hayes.’ She held up a manila envelope. ‘You got the job.’
Thank God. Odette beamed. ‘Where do I sign?’
Fay removed Odette’s contract from the envelope, and offered a pen.
Odette read the terms and conditions cursorily, and signed her name where indicated. ‘Is that everything?’
‘No. Come with me,’ Fay said. ‘I’ll be overseeing your initiation.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We’re going offsite – not far; just to a café down the road.’
‘But why didn’t Elspeth mention it?’
Odette was thrown by the unexpected prolonging of her day. And initiation sounded worrying.
‘Because it’s not organised by Elspeth. You could call it… peer training.’
‘Is it mandatory?’
‘It’s part of every employee’s introduction to the Conclave.’
‘OK,’ Odette relented. ‘What do I need to do?’
‘Follow me. I’ll brief you on the way.’
*
Siobhan Joyce was looking up holiday flights in her office. The telephone rang; it was reception.
‘I’m really sorry to land this on you,’ said the receptionist. ‘We’ve had a call from a member of the public. He says he has important information about one of our job applicants.’
‘What kind of information?’
‘He says it’s highly confidential. Won’t give his name. I don’t even know who he’s talking about. But he’s insisting on talking to whoever deals with mental health. Will you talk to him? Sorry if he’s a nutter.’
‘Put him through.’ Siobhan picked a brown leaf from the pot plant on her desk and dropped it in the wastepaper basket.
‘Hello?’ a male voice asked. ‘Who am I speaking to?’
‘This is Dr Joyce,’ Siobhan said. ‘Can I help?’
‘Are you a medical doctor?’
‘A psychologist.’
‘Oh. Oh, OK. I have information about a prospective detective. Her name is Odette Sophola.’
‘I see,’ Siobhan said.
‘She won’t disclose it herself. But she has a recent history of trauma. She was witness to a very violent crime and it affected her enough to require therapy.’
‘You’re quite sure she didn’t put this on her application?’
‘Positive. She saw a private therapist so it wasn’t in her notes. I’ve worried sick over it. I just want her to be safe.’
The Psychology of Time Travel Page 15