‘Has she recovered?’
‘Yes. Yes, unquestionably. But the website seemed so clear – any history of trauma might be a risk. If she doesn’t get the job, will she know someone provided this information?’
Siobhan considered. ‘No. I can assure you of that.’
‘Thank God.’ The relief in his voice was tangible. ‘She would guess it was me. She doesn’t understand the situation she’s put me in. She thinks that I’m trying to stand in her way. I just want her to be safe.’
‘Rest assured,’ Siobhan said. ‘You’ve come through to exactly the right person.’
‘Thank you.’ The man sighed before hanging up.
Siobhan replaced the receiver and looked at her laptop again. Bangkok was cheap at the moment. Maybe she’d go when the rainy season was over.
37
AUGUST 2017
Ginger
Ginger Hayes was in Euston Station, buying coffee on the concourse. Her commuter train to Tring was due shortly, and her thoughts were half mired in the problems of her outpatients. Gurpreet, who no longer perceived words at their normal volume, and begged strangers in the street to ‘please, please stop shouting’. Sally, who had been deaf since birth but forgot how to sign when her brain was injured. Chloe, who confidently used neologisms in the expectation they would be understood. ‘Mulmul’ for garden, ‘shwister’ for tea, ‘copterbop’ for pencil.
The working day had finished late, because a team meeting overran. Ginger had argued at length with the neuropsychiatrist’s assessment of a client. While the barista frothed milk Ginger was still arguing in her head, subvocalising the new points that occurred to her. Mixed in amongst this was the list of household obligations to be completed that evening. She’d forgotten to defrost the chicken before work, so she’d need to go to the supermarket, and then to the pharmacy, to pick up a prescription for her daughter Fay’s eczema, and by then it would be time to collect Fay herself from Brownies…
Ginger took her coffee, and had just lifted the lid when she saw Ruby weaving through the crowds. At Ruby’s side was a woman dressed like Megan Draper. They were laughing. In fact Ruby looked entirely different from her usual frowning, over-serious self; as though she’d received the best kind of news.
Did Ruby laugh like that with Ginger?
No. Ginger and Ruby were always brought together through a mutual sense of fatigue. Sex with Ruby was an escape, and yet it was the same kind of escape as drinking a bottle of wine alone in a darkened room. They didn’t bring each other joy – or share anything of themselves. And Ginger had thought this was how she wanted their relationship to be. An impersonal release, easily segmented from her real life. Only now did she realise that she would be jealous of someone making Ruby laugh.
Ginger didn’t lack self-awareness. She realised it was gross hypocrisy to want Ruby to herself. And yet when the service to Tring was announced, Ginger sleepwalked in the opposite direction, after the laughing women. They took the escalators down into the Underground station. Ginger kept her eye all the time on Ruby’s shining hair, anxious that she would lose them among the tourists and the tired office workers. She followed them through the barriers and down again; they were taking the Northern line. Southbound.
When the next train arrived Ginger entered the same carriage as them, a couple of doors down. Between passengers’ shoulders and upraised arms, Ginger could still see Ruby at the centre of the carriage. She was standing next to that other woman. Their heads were close to each other.
How else could they stand? Ginger scolded herself. It’s a busy train. Friends would stand as close. My head is as close to a stranger’s.
But Ginger knew sometimes we want proximity and a crowd gives us the excuse.
At every station she was poised to disembark, because she didn’t know her marks’ destination. The train passed through Angel, and Bank, and Borough. Ruby and her companion got out at Eligius. Ginger pushed her way to the open door, with more recklessness than before. Ruby would have questions if she realised Ginger was following her, but Ginger feared that she’d escaped detection not because she was a good spy, but because Ruby’s attention was fixed so completely on Ginger’s rival.
People funnelled from the platform. Ginger lost Ruby at the lifts. She rose to street level and ran through the parting doors, trying to catch another sight of Ruby’s red flannel dress, but she was nowhere to be seen by the barrier, nor at the exit. Ginger rushed outside and looked up and down the street with rising panic. There, there she was! Turning a corner up ahead.
Will you follow her all night? that scolding voice asked. What will you do when she comes to a stop?
I’ll tell her I want her, Ginger said back. All of her, not just snatched sex in the blue hour before I climb back to bed with Seamus. I’ll tell him about her. Then I can know her.
Her conviction grew while she tracked the pair down roads of white stone buildings. She could catch up with them. She started to run, and was gaining. They were at the gates of the Time Travel Conclave. Ruby’s companion was speaking into an intercom. If they went inside, Ginger’s opportunity would be gone, for she couldn’t follow them in.
‘Ruby!’ she shouted. ‘Ruby!’
The traffic drowned out her calls. She watched Ruby disappear into the Conclave, and the gate swung shut.
Ginger slowed her pace, now her quarry had gone. She walked to the gate and peered through the bars, to see if Ruby was still in view, but saw only a young woman in shades, coming down the path.
‘Excuse me,’ Ginger called. ‘Is any part of the Conclave open to the public?’
The woman stopped in her tracks and cocked her head.
‘It’s me,’ the woman said, and came closer. She took off her glasses. Her eyes, incongruously, reminded Ginger of Seamus. Guilt was making her imagine things. She pushed the thought away. The woman smiled at Ginger, and this too was familiar.
‘It’s me,’ she said again. ‘Mum? It’s Fay.’
Ginger moaned. The woman’s face was right, but it was upsetting to see one’s daughter the wrong age.
‘How can you be Fay?’ Ginger whispered.
The woman laughed. ‘I became a time traveller.’
Ginger looked for differences from the Fay she knew. This woman’s hair was strawberry-blonde, and cut into a pageboy.
‘Your hair’s the wrong colour. My daughter’s hair is red. Like mine.’
‘We do still have dye in the future.’
‘I have to go.’
The woman named Fay reached through the bars. ‘Please wait. This is new to me too. I’ve just started.’
‘How old… how old are you?’
‘Twenty-four.’ Fay beamed, proud.
‘You’re at Brownies,’ Ginger said faintly. ‘You’re doing your Gardening badge.’
‘I was going to come and visit you. Can I?’
‘What? Yes.’ This was Fay, then. And Fay could always come home. ‘Do you mean now?’
‘Well, actually I was on my way to a meeting—’
‘That’s fine. That might be better.’
‘I’m sorry. I shocked you.’
‘Don’t be sorry. It’s a surprise, a surprise rather than a shock. I can tell your father, and he’ll be ready for when you come.’
Fay’s eyes were shining. ‘I can’t wait to talk to him.’
‘But if you’re not coming to ours tonight, where will you get dinner?’
‘Mum, I get all my meals here.’
‘Oh, I see. And are you… are you happy?’
‘Very!’
‘Good.’
‘So you had no idea I was here?’ Fay asked.
‘No. How would I?’
Fay frowned. ‘What are you doing here then?’
Shit, thought Ginger. She was still flushed with the jealousy that fuelled her sprint to here from Euston. But she had meant to voice that jealousy to Ruby, not Fay. Ginger’s cheeks flamed, and she knew she must answer Fay’s question before the silence
seemed too long.
‘I was passing – and I thought I saw a colleague, here, by the intercom. It doesn’t matter.’ She brought her hands to her mouth. How dreadful if she’d stopped Ruby and told her she’d break their secrecy, only for Fay to arrive seconds later. What a way to hear her parents’ marriage was over.
Except – it dawned upon Ginger – Fay would know already.
‘Mum, you’re shaking. Do you want some water? I’ll let you in.’
‘No!’ Ginger’s voice rose. She didn’t want to bump into Ruby with Fay at her side. ‘I should let you get to your meeting. Before I go…’
‘What?’
‘What do you remember of your childhood? Was it a happy one?’
‘The happiest!’
‘Even this year?’
Fay’s expression was blank, then her eyes widened.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re talking about Paige.’
‘Who?’
‘My sister. What are you, four months gone? No wonder you’re faint.’
A baby. Had she been so in denial? She’d not missed a period, but then she’d kept bleeding on and off till twenty weeks with Fay. Four months gone. Too late to reverse.
Fay held Ginger’s hands through the bars.
‘Don’t look so worried. Wasn’t she planned?’
Fay’s enjoying the novelty, Ginger thought. Grown-up talk, with a mother barely older than herself. What was the grown-up reply?
‘Well-laid plans can go awry too,’ Ginger said. ‘I’m just anxious.’
‘You mustn’t worry. Everything works out wonderfully.’
‘All right. That’s all I wanted to know.’ She pulled Fay closer to the gate and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I love you. Go to your meeting, and come see us tomorrow.’
‘I’m so glad I saw you.’ Fay hesitated. ‘I’d forgotten you were this young.’
Ginger retraced her steps and caught the train home. There was no time for the supermarket or the pharmacy now. Even cutting those errands out of her journey, she was fifteen minutes late to the community hall. Fay was there with Brown Owl, who waved unconcernedly at Ginger’s apologies.
‘Fay has a brand new badge to show you,’ Brown Owl said.
‘Look!’ Fay proffered a square of yellow fabric, illustrated with a watering can.
‘Well done, sweetheart,’ Ginger said. ‘I’ll sew it on for you when we get home. Let’s get a takeaway to celebrate.’
‘Fish and chips?’
‘If that’s what you want.’
What you want, what you want. The words repeated in Ginger’s head. They left, and Ginger thought about the older daughter that she’d met that evening, who would now be sharing food with the other time travellers. She thought about Ruby, sleeping with a woman who could make her laugh. Lastly she thought of Seamus, and all the news she had to tell him. All the news, none of which was: listen, I’m sorry, I like women not men, I’m in love with someone else. For that headlong journey, from Euston to King William Street, she had acknowledged she wanted Ruby. A greater happiness seemed in reach. But now she knew the future. If Fay thought her parents stayed married, that’s what would happen. The other, imagined life was gone.
38
AUGUST 2017
Ruby
Ruby didn’t have Bee’s problems accessing the Conclave, thanks to Grace’s invitation.
‘Where to first?’ Grace asked. ‘The bar? Or the botanical garden?’
‘Do you have plants from the future?’
‘Some. But the main goal is preservation of existing varieties, so you’d recognise most of what we grow. You can see tropical flowers in the greenhouse that you’re probably less familiar with. There are a few tortoises in there too.’
‘I think that seals it. Greenhouse it is.’
Grace led the way. She opened a door disguised as a wall panel, and Ruby followed her into a semi-lit corridor. The walls were painted with art nouveau mermaids. Ruby could hear the distant splash of water.
‘That’s the greenhouse fountain,’ Grace said.
‘I expected the Conclave to be busier,’ Ruby said. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Drinking! Evenings are frantic in the bar but we might meet a stray horticulturist or two.’
They arrived at the greenhouse. Heat enveloped them. The sun was low on the horizon, turning Grace’s cream skin gold.
‘Look at all the orchids,’ she said. ‘Aren’t they divine?’
‘Very,’ said Ruby.
Grace picked one, and tucked it into Ruby’s hair. They walked to the fountain, as it was cooler by the water, and sat at the edge. Bright fish nosed the surface. Ruby admired the surrounding spice trees and inhaled the smell of vanilla. She saw they weren’t alone; a woman in green overalls stood under a coco de mer palm, taking notes on a clipboard.
‘Is the palm new?’ Grace called.
‘Newish,’ said the horticulturist. ‘Gift from Mahé.’
‘We have replication sites,’ Grace explained to Ruby. ‘We also have Mahé to thank for the tortoises.’
‘Where are they?’
‘There’s one peeking from the foliage behind you.’
Ruby turned to see a tiny, wrinkled face amongst the greenery. He was chewing on a leaf with gusto.
‘He’s not the only one hiding,’ Grace whispered. ‘Be subtle, but look over my shoulder.’
With affected casualness, Ruby scanned the expanse of plants behind Grace.
‘I can’t see anything,’ Ruby whispered.
‘Keep looking.’
Then Ruby’s eyes rested on a couple, half submerged by trailing vines, locked in a kiss.
‘Come on,’ Grace said. ‘Let’s leave them to it. Next stop is the hall of time machines.’
She took Ruby’s hand when they left the garden, and didn’t let go as they walked back down the corridor.
*
The hall resembled an aircraft hangar and contained row upon row of great grey cubes, any one of which could comfortably contain fifty people. All sides of the cubes were smooth, with a single entrance at the front.
‘They’re made from steel,’ Grace commented.
‘What are they like inside?’
‘Pitch black. And when they’re switched on, they smell good.’
‘Good how?’
‘Very clean. Like the air after a storm. It’s because the fuel creates ozone. You’d get the same scent during radiotherapy – or if you dropped a nuclear bomb.’
Like the Candybox.
‘Are the time machines open?’ Ruby asked. ‘Could I walk in and have a look?’
‘Shhhh!’ Grace made a show of looking left and right. ‘Visitors aren’t allowed, but maybe if we’re very quick. Follow me!’
The machine door slid open at their approach. It didn’t close again behind them. They stood in the arrow of light, and peered into the emptiness. Ruby might have been in any dark warehouse, except she knew this was the path to every memory she possessed, and that made her heart race. At her side, she felt Grace shiver. The machines weren’t yet mundane to Grace either.
‘Are these machines ever dangerous?’ Ruby asked.
‘Not when properly used.’
‘Have they ever been wrongly used?’
Grace popped open her top button, so Ruby could see her décolletage. A scar marked her flesh, like a tyre track in snow. Ruby winced.
‘That’s thanks to a huge accident,’ Grace said. ‘All the time travellers who were caught in it have similar scars.’
‘What caused the accident?’ Ruby asked.
‘Cost cutting. The Conclave hadn’t been running very long… The year was…’ She paused, to count on her fingers. ‘Nineteen seventy-three. It was seventy-three. That’s when Margaret said we could make recruitment more efficient.’
Grace explained that instead of using tests and interviews and qualifications, Margaret proposed a shortcut: skipping straight to hiring people that were named on future payrolls. The Conclave i
ssued a contract to the one woman whose name was listed for that year. And after a few weeks, she botched the controls of the time machines. All four hundred and fifty-seven machines simultaneously malfunctioned. The same part came loose in all of them – a great hunk of steel, shaped like a smile with jagged edges. It flew through the air and scooped a ridge from Grace’s chest like she was made of ice cream. Then she stepped outside. The other women were staggering from their machines, and they each had injuries just like hers.
‘But you guys know the future,’ Ruby said. ‘Why didn’t you predict the accident?’
‘We did. That morning, we’d been laughing and joking about it. We were quite hysterical, in fact. Most of us still joke about it now. Although actually getting carved frightened Angharad more than she thought it would – she threated to leave straight after.’
‘But none of you resisted going in beforehand?’
‘Have you never done something that you knew would go wrong from the start?’ Grace asked.
‘Yes,’ Ruby said, thinking of Ginger.
‘There you are then.’
‘It’s not the same. Normally there’s some upside to ignoring the warning signs.’
‘There was an upside,’ Grace insisted. ‘You can’t know, because you don’t time travel. But if you’ve heard about an incident for years, actually experiencing it feels like a release. We call it—’
‘Completing,’ Ruby said, remembering Sushila Pardesi’s phrasebook.
Grace nodded, surprised.
Ruby looked again at the faint tip of the scar, curving out from Grace’s dress, and touched it.
‘Does it hurt?’ she whispered.
Grace shook her head. Her blue eyes had deepened to indigo in the semi-dark. Ruby could hear faint piano-playing.
‘Shostakovich,’ Grace said.
‘I thought I might be imagining it.’
‘No. He’s one of Angharad’s favourites. She must be in the ballroom.’
‘There’s a ballroom?’
They left the time machine, and the hall, to find the source of the music. It grew louder as they turned down corridors, this way and that, until they entered a gallery overlooking a gilded chamber. There were only two dancers below: ballerinas, with hands linked.
The Psychology of Time Travel Page 16