What about us?

by Jacqui Henderson

  I turned my mind back to the cafe, carefully recalling the one conversation I’d had with myself, because it seemed to be the most appropriate starting point. I drifted through the scene as though I were an unseen, uninterested observer, rather than one of the protagonists. I’ve always found that the truth is easier to find when emotions are not involved and during that conversation I’d given vent to a lot of youthful and powerful feelings, which I didn’t want to be sidetracked by.

  There! I had it. I focused on it and ran through it one more time. The woman lying in the road was clearly of mixed race and young; maybe twenty years old at most. The waitress might have been a year or so older and the other two people in the street who had ceased to exist at the moment she’d died were considerably more so. One was male and must have been in his late forties. The other was female; older still, late seventies perhaps. Most importantly, they were all Caucasian. I felt sure that this was the anomaly, but I wondered what it was that linked them all. How had their lives become interwoven in such a way that their very existence was dependant on hers?

  In the next moment two very worrying yet completely separate incidents happened. The base shook, telling me that we had sustained a direct hit and a ghost memory was released, probably due to fear. It troubled me greatly, because with great clarity I saw a memory of his that should not be; one that could not be.

  He had knowledge of something fundamental that I had no memory of, but how could that be possible? As the base shook, so did the very foundations of my own certainties. I had only seconds to decide what to do; the opportunity to investigate further would be gone all too soon.

  In times of extreme threat all parameters are disabled, thus allowing travellers to return home. Parameters require energy and potentially having so many people returning at the same moment requires maximum power. There was no time to obtain clearance, so without hesitating I set my timepiece for London, the 10th of March in the year 2000. It was my duty to clarify matters and more importantly, it was something that I could do well. There would be no chance of meeting either of my other selves, because neither of them had been there at that time and I would be gone weeks before they were due to arrive. A month would be ample time to conduct my investigation and time being what it is, I knew I could be back before the parameters were re-established or the base was destroyed, whichever happened first.

  It had been many years since I was last in the early twenty-first century. I arrived in the hall of a small, recently built house and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My reflection looked just as he had, that time in the cafe. I shook my head. I was no longer the arrogant young man I had been then; I’d become him, at least physically.

  I left the safe house, dressed according to the day and made my way to where the accident would happen. As I walked I found I didn’t have to think around the inhibitor; his memories flowed more freely in a time when they had a right to exist. This was useful, because many of them were centred in and around the cafe from where the other me had raced out to save her.

  At first I was disappointed; service was provided by a waiter, not a waitress. There were only a handful of people in the cafe and as I watched him clear a table, I saw him scowl at the mean tip that had been left. I quickly realised that I could turn this to my advantage; gaining his confidence was going to be easy. I called him over, ordered my lunch and gave him a ten pound note, telling him to keep the change. When he brought my bacon sandwich and mug of tea out from the kitchen, it wasn’t difficult to engage him in conversation and he more than earned the second ten pounds that I left under the mug.

  A good memory is important in any investigation and although mine has always served me well, it is as old as I am. From the cafe I walked to the point in the road where I knew the accident would occur in two months time and studied it from all angles. Then I walked back; beginning to understand how my other self had been injured whilst saving the young woman.

  There was nothing in my memory or his that led me to believe that the waitress knew this person to whom her very existence was inexorably tied, other than the fact that my other self and the young woman often ate in this cafe and that she frequently served them. I would not find out much from her about this apparent link, but from the overly chatty waiter I knew that her name was Vicki Prentice and that she was studying economics and politics at university. The young woman who was soon to die had left school with no qualifications, so it seemed to me that they had little in common. He had also told me that Vicki worked mainly evening shifts and he even told me where she lived. That would help later, when I was ready to talk to her. But first, I had to determine what it was that she might be able to tell me.

  The other two people were a complete mystery to me and the waiter could not help me. Even in the memories of my other self they were no more than nameless bystanders. It was my memory that told me what had happened to them, not his. Finding out about them was going to be the most difficult part of my search for the truth. Instead of letting my mind dwell on frustrations, I turned to something easier. He had spent time with the young woman in question at her place of work, so I could discover from his memory where to find her. I easily found what I needed and almost without having to think about it, made my way to the retirement home where she worked.

  The woman who opened the door told me that dinner was in progress, even though it was only early evening. She appeared harassed, but let me in anyway.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve come at a bad time.” I said. “When is visiting time?”

  She smiled and told me that usually it was all day; any time after ten am and that lunch was at midday.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ve not been before you see and...”

  She cut me off, making an assumption. “I suppose you’re here to see Mr Anderson. He won’t have been able to tell any of his friends and family much I don’t suppose.”

  “No, indeed not.” I replied, playing along. “I’ll let you go. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “I’ll tell him you came by Mr...?”

  “Jack. Tell him Jack stopped by and that I hope he’s settling in just fine.”

  She smiled and agreed to give him the message. “He’s a little confused, but then it’s all so new for him. I’ll tell him after dinner.”

  I returned to the safe house. There was no need to hide; should anyone from my own time come looking for me I would be able to explain everything. However, I doubted that they would; they had far more serious things to concentrate on. Feeling satisfied with the knowledge that my first day had given me, I decided to celebrate with a three course meal in a restaurant. After all, my last one had been a long time ago and I’d always enjoyed that part of travelling, unlike many of my colleagues.

  The following morning, when I returned to the home I discovered for myself that John Anderson couldn’t tell anyone very much, although he seemed happy enough for me to sit and chat with him. It was the least I could do to repay him for giving me such a good opportunity to observe the young woman who was my real reason for being there.

  I went to visit John, as I came to know him, every day for a week and had the perfect opportunity to observe undetected. The young woman worked shifts, so she wasn’t always there, but even in her absence I learnt things about her. She was nineteen, this was her first job and she treated everyone equally. It didn’t seem to matter to her that some of the people there didn’t understand a thing anymore and couldn’t remember much of who they had once been. She didn’t rush anyone and she didn’t react in any way to some of the harsh comments about her colour, that shamefully some of them made.

  She wasn’t stupid and she didn’t spend time chatting unnecessarily with the other staff, but neither was she overly serious. She didn’t smile all the time of course, but when she did, whoever was looking at her had to smile back, including myself. She remembered the important little details of those in her care and she gently reminded them of those same facts, sometimes over and over again without e
ver becoming impatient. She didn’t tut or fuss as some of them did when a mess of one sort or another was made, she just cleared it up without letting anyone feel guilty, so that any incidents, and there were many, passed without note. In some ways she gave them their dignity back and even though many of them hadn’t realised they’d lost it as far as I could determine, they were still grateful to receive it.

  At first I found it amusing that her name was clearly inapt. She was a little clumsy and ungainly, but nevertheless, during the time I was there I came to realise that it did suit her. She was a very self contained young woman and she moved lightly through life. Many of the residents were clearly happy when she was around them and missed her when she was not, but this was not reason enough for her to live. Over countless eons, untold millions of good people have died, seemingly before their time. Our job was not to judge; only to witness the facts and study the consequences and it was the consequences of her death that I needed to understand.

  Whenever she was nearby I discovered that it was difficult to subdue the memories I’d inherited all those years ago. I knew so much about her; even intimate details that I had no right to know. I remembered her softness and her passion and it seemed quite indecent, for me, a complete stranger, to know so much about her. There were many images that he had clearly treasured and savoured over the years that they were apart and they came rushing into my mind; the way she smiled just for him, her laughter, her kiss and her touch. It was almost unbearable.

  Not only were there images in my head; what was worse was the barrage of sensations that accompanied them and coursed through every nerve in my body. On more than one occasion I had to leave the room. The longing for her company, her touch and her love became quite unendurable and it left me feeling sad in a way that I’d never before experienced. Trying to understand this on an intellectual level did nothing to prevent the emotional responses I found myself having, or even more troubling; desiring.

  After a week of being there every day I realised I could learn no more without engaging her in conversation, but at work she had no time for the guests, apart from polite greetings or suggestions, such as how to make their elderly relative more comfortable. The safe house had been consumed by fire a few days earlier and I had moved into a simple hotel. Coincidently, it was not far from the estate where she lived, so one afternoon I decided to leave at the same time as her shift ended and walk with her for a while.

  People usually need little encouragement to talk about themselves, so I was not prepared for her deftness at deflecting the conversation away from herself, even though my other self had plenty of frustrated memories on that account. I had assumed that my experience and frankly better techniques, would break down the barriers. I was wrong, although she did ask me an interesting question as we walked.

  “Have we met before Mr...?”

  “Just Jack, everyone calls me Jack. No I don’t think so, I’m sure I would have remembered you, my dear.” I told her. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said slowly, not knowing the effect her words had on me. “You seem very familiar and yet I can’t quite place you. Perhaps you knew my Nan, Dottie Gibson. She lived in the flats over at Harbour Street.”

  As we talked she watched me intently, waiting for my reaction. I realised that my other self had been right; this young lady would always spot a lie. As it was, I had no need to be anything other than honest.

  “No.” I assured her, “I haven’t been here since I was twenty-three.”

  “Oh.” she said, frowning slightly and clearly still puzzled.

  We parted at a street corner, neither of us satisfied with the outcome of the conversation.

  As I made my way to the hotel, another piece of the puzzle arrived in my mind. I had told her the truth; the last time I was here was when I was twenty-three, yet my inherited memories told me he’d been twenty-seven when he raced out of the cafe to save her life. Why had he chosen a younger version of himself to break the golden rule with? And why hadn’t the twenty-seven year old me also been present at the cafe? This would have been unprecedented and would have complicated an already unusual situation tremendously. Realising that I couldn’t resolve either of the questions immediately, I sighed and put them aside.

  That evening, I accessed as many of the inherited memories as I could, thinking through all the information they could give me and comparing it with what my other self had told me about their life together. I was certain that at this point in her life she hadn’t met him yet, so why did she feel that sense of familiarity with me? Did she have ‘time confusion’, as we called the sense of déjà-vu that we sometimes experienced and if she did, how could it be explained? I left the questions unanswered, along with all the others that were forming. I would come back to all of them later, when I knew more.

  Every evening I ate in a different restaurant; I had no wish to leave any imprint of myself on anyone, except those that I had to in order to complete my investigation. After a usually enjoyable meal I walked, because I have always thought best while on the move. As I walked, I often found an impression of her and her softness lingering in my mind and felt that somehow I was better for it. It was a ridiculous notion, yet it would not budge. Having observed her and having his knowledge of her life at this point, I knew she needed his love in order to blossom and become who she could really be, but I also knew that what he received in return was far greater.

  Knowing all this was overwhelming and difficult for me to comprehend, so it was not easy to analyse the information and remain objective. I had never sought this emotional involvement and indeed I’d never wanted it. Some of my colleagues went so far as to describe my analytical skills as being clinical and me as being cold. My life had been fulfilling, yet I couldn’t shake off a deep sense of loss that was growing day by day.

  The days that it rained were wonderful for me. In my own time I enjoy the benefits of life high above the Earth, one of which is a very effective climatically controlled environment for working and living, but I have always loved feeling real rain on my face. It helped me think, as I mulled over the myriad of small details that I’d obtained and larger questions that had formed as a result, whilst checking and rechecking his memories and my own for flaws. I didn’t rush; there was no need to. There was after all, plenty of time and it was still too soon to see anything remotely like a clear picture. I couldn’t make any assumptions as to where the pieces of the puzzle might fit, but I had to know and understand each piece individually, in order to place them correctly when the time came.

  I waited a couple of days before repeating the exercise of trying to get her to confide in me. This time I had even less success, except I discovered that she had a mission of her own; to obtain information from me. She too was good at asking a simple question, then separating out the non verbal information rather than just listening to the words. She watched as much as she listened and I had to be wary. She was clearly perplexed by the strong feeling of knowing me that made no sense to her at all. It was an interesting phenomenon and I found myself wishing that I had more time to explore it.

  I was becoming acutely aware that I was being drawn in a direction that I didn’t wish to go in; one that might be dangerous. She too seemed to be looking for answers; answers that I dare not provide.

  I decided that a change of tactics was needed. I had less than three weeks to complete my work, because I didn’t want to run the risk of running into either of my former selves. Neither did I want to fix myself in this time and by so doing eliminate their arrival in it, therefore changing what must happen; that was not my purpose in coming.

  The following day, when I was sure she would be at work, I went to visit her mother. Again, I used his memory to my advantage and called her in advance, inviting her to meet me in a public house near to her home. When I met her I saw that unlike her daughter she was white, although they both had the same eyes and the haggard face in front of me showed only a faint glimmer of the smile that had b
een beguiling and confusing me.

  Like the waiter, she was easy to coerce into providing information. I told her I represented a law firm and that we were trying to determine who the decedents of a client might be, because he wished his fortune to remain in the family, even if it were only a distant relative. This foolish notion immediately grabbed her attention and with the help of several large drinks she was prepared to tell me anything I wanted to know.

  She started by giving me the name of the man she thought to be her father.

  “But he’s long dead now, just like my Mum.”

  When I told her I was sorry she shrugged, saying dismissively, “No great loss on either account.”

  I found her words unbelievably sad, although I was unsure why.

  “I’ve got five brothers, but we’re only related through my Mum, so it depends which side of the family you want to trace us through.” she said, shrewdly coming straight back to the matter that interested her.

  I thought for a moment. The unknown people who would soon cease to exist in this timeline were older than both the young woman who would soon die and her mother. Even if they were related, her existence would in no way pre-date theirs. I couldn’t see a link between them and either of the parents of this wretched creature in front of me. They were already dead, so they could tell me nothing unless I travelled further back in time. I tried a different approach, in order to extract myself from this obviously pointless meeting.

  “Your husband, what is his family name?” I asked.

  She looked at me blankly.

  “Your daughter’s father.” I prompted.

  She laughed. “Ah, that’s not so easy... I was young.”

  She shrugged girlishly, in way I think she thought was attractive, but wasn’t. “I was popular and you know, accidents happen, don’t they?”