‘My God,’ Ruby said. ‘They’re twins.’
‘No,’ Grace corrected. ‘Both of them are Angharad.’
The women wore one pointe shoe each, and were dressed in identical unitards of sunset orange. They pirouetted from opposite sides of the room, twisting their way to the centre – so nearly touching – before jerking back like one south magnet from another. Grace and Ruby watched the dancers close their fists and splay their fingers, twitch their torsos to the left, extend their arms jitteringly into the air until Ruby lost her breath in sympathy. The performers leant into an embrace. One turned and dipped into a low arabesque, with her hip supported by her twin’s hand. Ruby looked at Grace, whose shoulder was a hair’s breadth from her own. The small gold figures flickered across Grace’s irises. She turned to face Ruby fully and touched Ruby’s waist. For a second Ruby thought they, too, were going to dance. But instead Grace kissed her. Her mouth was warm and alcoholic. Her skin smelt of jasmine. Ruby never asked what scent she wore, but for the next month she would spend her lunch hours at perfume counters inhaling swatches of paper, before she finally stood transfixed by a spray of Givenchy. It evoked Grace in an instant. Ruby could have drunk the bottle.
39
SEPTEMBER 2018
Odette
The sun was setting, and the streets were thick with people finishing their working day. Odette kept pace with Fay, but without the certainty of knowing their destination. Fay talked continuously.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said.
A worrying question, for someone working under false pretences.
‘I want to be a detective,’ Odette began cautiously.
‘Let me stop you there,’ Fay mimed zipping her mouth. ‘Tell me about you. Your actual life. Where are you from?’
Always that question.
‘Seychelles,’ Odette said hesitantly. ‘We moved here when I was still a child.’
‘I grew up in Tring.’ Fay stopped at the kerb as a passing lorry filled the air with dust and exhaust fumes. ‘In fact I’m growing up there at the moment. I was born in 2011.’
‘Do you visit often?’ Odette asked.
‘Yes. Not so much in this particular year. My sister was born in 2018 and my parents are flipping knackered. Do you have brothers or sisters?’
‘I have a sister,’ said Odette. ‘But she’s a lot older. My parents gave me almost as much attention as an only child.’
‘Did that get on your nerves?’
‘Not exactly. I felt special, I suppose.’ Still, it had come with pressures. Nothing distracted Odette’s parents from her academic performance. Maman had been able to keep an even closer eye on her because she was a teacher at Odette’s school.
‘And are you single?’ Fay asked.
‘Relationships aren’t a priority right now.’ Odette had had the same boyfriend through most of school. They’d broken up on A-level results day because she couldn’t abide his sulking when she got a better grade than him in Chemistry. His mother still tried to convince her to give him another chance whenever they crossed paths. She’d acquired her next boyfriend in Freshers’ Week. They’d gone out for two years. Sometimes she’d had the uneasy sense she was a novelty for him, and she wasn’t terribly surprised when he left her for a horsey girl called Timandra. After that Odette focused on revision. Revision, and the corpse.
‘I’ve been married for ever,’ Fay said.
‘To someone at the Conclave?’
‘No. We worked in the same chambers, before I started time travelling. I suppose I was lucky to meet him then rather than later. The Conclave has a big impact on people’s love lives.’
‘Work stress?’
Odette had to wait for an answer; a queue of French students divided her from Fay, before they fell back into step.
‘The job is stressful of course,’ Fay said. ‘But it’s more that time travellers’ relationships feel prearranged. Most time travellers check in advance who their partners will be. They know the outcome before they necessarily know the person.’
‘They still choose who to be with, don’t they?’
‘Sure. It just doesn’t feel that way. Like, you meet someone, and you think, I end up attracted to this person? What was my silver-me thinking?’
Odette wasn’t sure whether Fay was making general observations, or drawing on personal experience of relationships outside her marriage. Nor was Odette familiar with the phrase silver-me, though she could guess its meaning from the context.
‘Are you excited about seeing your future?’ Fay asked.
‘I don’t know. I really haven’t thought about it.’ She’d been so focused on investigating the death in the museum, she’d barely considered that she’d see how her life unfolded.
‘Probably best to have few expectations. That way there won’t be many big shocks.’ Fay stopped outside a café, with tables and folding chairs on the pavement. ‘This is the place.’
They sat down, and Fay asked the waitress for two coffees. Odette was still perplexed at why they’d come. Surely they might have drunk coffee in the Conclave.
For the duration of their walk, Fay had been carrying the large brown envelope that contained Odette’s contract. She opened the envelope again. This time, she took out a piece of paper with a photo attached, though Odette only glimpsed the image. Her stomach twisted as she recalled the threatening post the Conclave sent to Zach.
‘What’s that picture of?’ she asked.
‘You’ll need it for the ritual.’
‘What ritual?’
Fay passed her the paper and photo in lieu of explanation. Odette almost smiled with relief. The photo wasn’t a mortuary photo; it wasn’t anyone in her family. It showed a girl, alive and laughing, aged seven or eight with a tow-coloured ponytail. Her name was written along the bottom: Olivia Montgomery. Odette read the typed page of information. Mother killed in a road traffic collision outside Café Roberta. There was a time and today’s date, as well as a small map plotting the exact spot of the woman’s death. Odette looked at the laminated drinks menu, at the side of the table. Café Roberta was emblazoned across the top.
‘Explain to me what this means,’ Odette said.
Fay leant forward, her voice too low for anyone to overhear. ‘You’re going to tell Olivia her mother’s about to die. It’s the Angel of Death ritual. Do it, and you’ll be one of us.’
‘Angel of Death?’
‘Speak quietly, for heaven’s sake. It’s an initiation rite.’
‘But you said this was training.’ Odette couldn’t believe Fay had wasted her time on false pretences.
‘Officially this isn’t part of your training. But unofficially – it absolutely is.’
Odette wanted to pause, and think. This little girl was about to experience a terrible loss. What impact would hearing about it, a few minutes in advance, have upon her? To Olivia Montgomery, Odette was a stranger. An unknown woman bringing news of death would frighten a child. And in the years to come perhaps Olivia would feel she should have prevented her mother’s death, in those brief moments after Odette’s announcement. No matter how kindly Odette tried to break the news, the ritual could heighten this girl’s trauma.
‘What happens if I won’t do it?’ Odette asked.
‘You will do it.’
‘What happens if I won’t?’
‘You’ll not be one of us,’ Fay said. ‘You need to fit in, Odette. How will you fulfil your duties if the others don’t trust you’re one of them? The pranks will get more extreme. Eventually you’ll give in and either complete the ritual, or leave.’
I can pretend, Odette thought. Not do the ritual, but say I have.
‘I’ll be watching you,’ Fay said, anticipating Odette’s strategy.
Odette was revolted. She’d have to go along with the ritual if she was to make allies – even fake allies – in the Conclave. On the corner of the street, she could see the little girl approaching, hand in hand with a man Odette assumed was her
father. They took a seat at one of the tables.
‘Shall we order for Mummy too?’ the man was saying.
‘No,’ Odette said, her resolve hardening. ‘I won’t do it.’
‘You’re a fool,’ Fay said. ‘You have to accept this job will make new demands of you. You can’t play by the rules you’ve known till now.’
Odette stood up, took a handful of change from her handbag, and dropped it on the table.
‘Where are you going?’ Fay asked.
‘Home.’
‘Are you going to take the job?’
‘I don’t know any more.’
‘You’ve signed the contract. Do you want me to destroy it?’
‘Yes.’ Odette shook her head. She couldn’t do that, not when the chance of getting inside was so close. ‘No. I don’t know.’
Horns sounded in the street. A tyre screeched, and cries went up; a woman was propelled through the air and landed on the bonnet of another car, her neck twisted into a right angle. All the other café patrons stood to look – including Olivia, and her father. He lifted her in his arms and crushed her head to his shoulder. He swayed, like a toppled ninepin.
‘Rituals,’ Odette said in disbelief. ‘What are they for?’
‘It’s for your benefit,’ Fay said. ‘It accustoms you more quickly to being one of us. You’re not like them now. It’s better if you accept that as soon as possible.’
‘But what’s in this ritual for you, personally?’
Fay looked at Mr Montgomery, sobbing into his daughter’s tow hair.
‘Sometimes,’ Fay mused, ‘I like watching people have emotions I don’t feel any more.’
40
AUGUST 2017
Ginger
Ginger still read to Fay at bedtime. They were three chapters into Charlotte Sometimes. The copy was Ginger’s own, from childhood, and she had wondered if Fay might find the prose old-fashioned. But Fay seemed relaxed with its staidness. When her eyes began to droop Ginger replaced the bookmark, kissed Fay on the forehead, and turned out the lamp.
She rejoined Seamus in the living room. His dark hair was a little wild and his skin was tanned from working in the garden. He was sitting in the easy chair, whittling a toy – a fox, from the look of it. A sitcom played on the television and Ginger turned the volume down.
‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ she said. ‘I wanted to wait till Fay was in bed.’
His eyes were still steadfastly trained on the fox. After a moment’s reflection, he said, ‘That sounds worrying.’
‘It isn’t, exactly, but… it’s a rather unusual situation.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Today, I was walking past the Time Travel Conclave, and a young woman stopped me. She said she worked there, and that she was from the future. She told me she was twenty-four years old. And she introduced herself as Fay. Our Fay.’
Seamus paused in his whittling. He took a long look at Ginger, as if determining if she was serious. ‘Any chance it could be a hoax?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘You’re sure it was her?’
‘Yes. I’m not really in any doubt about that.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you bring her back?’
‘She had other commitments,’ Ginger said vaguely, and it struck her that she had very little sense of what time travellers actually did for a living. ‘But she is going to come to dinner. Tomorrow, possibly.’
‘Why wait till then?’ he asked. ‘Let’s ring her.’
‘We don’t have her number,’ she replied, but he had already picked up his smartphone.
‘I’ll just look up the Conclave.’ He flashed a grin, and she saw he was excited. ‘I expect they’ll put us through.’
He was filtering the search results, and then dialling, with gleeful haste. Ginger realised that there could be something rather thrilling in the prospect of meeting an adult Fay – to know she had grown up safely, and appeared to be thriving. But the circumstances in which Ginger had encountered her were so fraught there had been no opportunity to feel that buzz. Besides, it was always Seamus who was the more playful parent. Ginger was the worrier.
‘Hello?’ Seamus was saying on the phone. ‘My name’s Seamus Hayes. I’m trying to contact my daughter, Fay. She works for you.’
Fay could hear someone replying but the response was tinny and indistinct, then the line fell silent.
‘The receptionist’s checking for us,’ Seamus said to Ginger.
Another tinny voice echoed through the receiver.
‘Fay?’ Seamus asked, elated. ‘Fay, is that you?’
And then his expression rapidly changed from pleasure to confusion.
‘She’s just started crying,’ he whispered to Ginger. To his daughter, he said, ‘What’s wrong? Darling? Do you need us to come and get you?’
Ginger wrested the phone from him. ‘Has something happened, Fay?’
‘No,’ her daughter replied. ‘Nothing’s happened. It was just… hearing Dad’s voice. It’s been so long.’
‘What do you mean, so long?’ Ginger said, trying to keep her tone light. She could feel dread in the pit of her stomach as she wondered whether Fay had been completely honest earlier. Perhaps she and Seamus were not going to stay together as Fay had insisted.
‘Since he died,’ Fay gasped. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you. I won’t tell him.’
Ginger’s limbs felt weak. ‘I see. Do you want to talk to him another time?’
‘No. Put him back.’
Wordlessly, Ginger returned the phone to her husband, and stepped into the back garden until she could regain control of the shake in her hands.
A short time after – Ginger had no watch, and her own phone was indoors – Seamus joined her on the patio.
‘She wouldn’t tell me why she was crying,’ he said.
‘Nor me,’ Ginger lied.
‘Did she react that way when she spoke to you earlier?’
Ginger evaded the question. ‘Maybe she’s crying because of… the stress of time travelling. People say it’s stressful.’
A neighbour’s cat, brown with a scar over its eye, paused in stalking their lawn.
‘Do you think it happens soon?’ Seamus asked, his expression flat.
‘“It”?’ Ginger queried.
‘Come on, there’s a limited range of things that could make her cry when she hears my voice. It must have occurred to you. Sometime between now, and whenever the hell she’s from, I die.’
‘Well it can’t be soon. Fay told me her childhood was happy. She wouldn’t say that, if you were just about to…’
‘Wait – you said she was twenty-four, didn’t you? So I have fourteen years at the most.’
They were silent. Ginger did the arithmetic. From some perspectives fourteen years sounded a lot – far more notice than people ordinarily had – and yet it also meant they were more than halfway through their time together. Seamus wouldn’t live past forty-nine. The new baby would still be at school when he died. His death might not be imminent, but the time limit still lent Ginger’s thoughts clarity. She did love Seamus more than she could love any other man, and she felt newly certain it was the right decision to stay with him. How dreadful it would have been to reveal her affair tonight, like she’d intended. Discovering his premature death on the same day as his marriage disintegrating would have left Ginger more guilty than she could cope with. Her relief at guilt avoided was immense. She had a new motivation to be a model wife; to make these next few years, with their children, as sweet as possible while he was still there. They would earn Fay’s happy memories.
She took Seamus’s hand. She could feel the calluses on his palm, at the base of every finger.
‘Anyone can go at anytime,’ she said. ‘Let’s see this knowledge as a gift.’
‘You would say that.’ He withdrew his hand, and there was a chill in his voice.
‘What do you mean?’ Ginger asked, and she realised she didn’t really want him to
answer. His tone told her that the world had shifted. Learning of his premature death made him drop a pretence that protected them both.
‘Knowing when I’ll die is a gift for you,’ he told her. ‘It must be a relief to hear when you’ll be rid of me.’
‘That’s a wicked thing to say,’ Ginger replied, to hide her fear.
‘Do you think I don’t know why you work in London?’
This was left field. ‘I have to work where the jobs are, Seamus.’
‘Yes, people only ever get brain injuries in London.’
‘We live in a commuter town! Who doesn’t work in London?’
‘Me. Which makes it much easier for you to blame sudden absences on bad trains. And I won’t run into the men you’re fucking. The current one; does he know he’s not the first?’
So he had sensed her duplicity, and guessed at her infidelity – but he had no proof. If he did, he would have known the threat was Ruby, rather than a man. She could still persuade him he was mistaken.
‘I’m not sleeping with other men,’ Ginger hissed. ‘I never have. Please let’s go inside. We’re right below Fay’s window.’
‘You’re a coward,’ he said tiredly. ‘You want to leave and you won’t. So tell me why I shouldn’t walk out.’
Ginger turned over what answers she could give. There was the pregnancy, which she was yet to share; it had seemed unreal, and now he might believe paternity was in question. For the moment, she kept that news to herself. She needed another way to persuade him.
‘Fay will visit us tomorrow,’ Ginger said, taking Seamus’s hand again. ‘She will tell us what’s coming. And she’ll tell you, like she told me – she has a happy childhood. Doesn’t that mean we’re happy too? She wouldn’t be happy if I was cheating on you. How can that not reassure you?’
‘Maybe good lying is hereditary,’ he said, then they heard their daughter rap the glass on the window above them, her face appearing small and pale in the evening light. The conversation, for now, was over.
The Psychology of Time Travel Page 17