The greatest problem was inefficiency. While a time machine’s running, radiation causes damage to the fuel’s structure, which means only a fraction of the fuel’s potential energy can be used. Bee speculated that if the solid fuel waste were dissolved then some of the untapped energy could be harvested, because liquids are less susceptible than solids to radiation damage.
Bee intended to try this out for herself with the Candybox. When Ruby dispatched the engagement ring into the future, the Candybox had extracted all the energy it could from Bee’s stolen fuel. Bee had estimated the ring would return after forty-eight days. If dissolving the briquette, and accessing its remaining energy, allowed the machine to run for longer, then the ring might travel even further into the future. Bee removed the spent briquette from the Candybox. She used her miniature lab kiln to melt the briquette in salt, at a temperature of around six hundred degrees Celsius. The kiln was connected to the Candybox via a ceramic attachment, so that the liquid fuel titrated directly into the machine. To Bee’s delight, the Candybox quaked into life. She whooped in triumph – and Breno, who she’d left sleeping in the bedroom, barked in return. A few seconds later she heard his scratch at the kitchen door.
‘Hold your water,’ she called to him. It wasn’t safe for Breno to be in there with all the equipment strewn about. She packed the pieces away, singing as she did so. Her experiment had a real, meaningful result. At the very least it showed that she still had a scientist’s mind and was capable of innovations on the Conclave’s behalf. By proposing this recycling method to the pioneers, she might open up a tiny crack of possibility, a slim chance of working alongside her old friends that she’d feared she’d never have again. And if she could work with them, she’d have access to proper time machines. Bee was a step closer to her real goal: experiencing the thrill of time travelling once more.
Who should she contact first? she wondered. Grace was the only one of the pioneers who’d been in touch. That made her the best starting point. Bee opened the kitchen door and picked Breno up on her way to the phone. She punched the Conclave’s number from memory.
‘All Grace Taylors are off site today,’ the secretary told her, once Bee had been put through to the correct department.
‘Is she in this period?’ Bee asked.
‘Yes, two of them are, but only until tomorrow morning.’
How inconvenient. Bee chewed her lip.
‘Can I make an appointment to see Grace when she’s back?’ Bee asked.
‘There’s no availability in her diary for three months.’
Damn. Bee wanted to move faster than that. She had no time to waste; life was fleeting. That was the message Bee took from Grace’s origami rabbit. She told the secretary she’d telephone back when she’d checked her own schedule. It was pointless asking to be put through to Margaret or Lucille – they’d refuse her call, if the past was any indication. What Bee needed was to see them face-to-face. It would be hard for the pioneers to turn her away if she was there in the flesh.
‘Right,’ she said to Breno. ‘We’ll have to put the back-up plan into action.’
21
SEPTEMBER 2018
Odette
Odette told her parents of her Conclave application, but not that she intended to spy on the other time travellers. As far as they were concerned, she had finally selected a graduate career. So, on the morning of the Conclave’s recruitment tests, Maman was voluble, firing questions even as Odette put her jacket on to leave.
‘How many other applicants will there be?’ Maman fretted.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Odette said.
‘I bet they’ve been preparing for months. Why didn’t you apply earlier? You’ve had no time to revise.’
‘It’s not that kind of test, Maman. They want to know how I think. I don’t have to remember any facts.’
‘But if you’d only planned ahead instead of taking that silly job waiting tables—’
‘We need to set off,’ Papi interrupted. He was giving Odette a lift.
Odette kissed Maman on the cheek. ‘Do I look smart?’
‘Yes,’ Maman said cautiously. ‘But a tweed suit, Odette? Pinstripe would be more usual, no? Tweed is for academics… or… or… foxhunters.’
‘She thinks she’s Miss Marple,’ Papi said flatly. ‘We’re going to be late.’
His tone troubled Odette. All week he had seemed distracted, and she wasn’t sure why. They walked to the car and got in. Claire stood on the step to wave. She was still waving when they turned out of view.
‘She really wants me to get this job,’ Odette said.
‘Your mother wants you to have a successful career,’ Papi corrected. ‘It doesn’t have to be with the Conclave.’
The traffic halted at a red light. Rain speckled the windscreen and Papi turned on the wipers. They swept the glass three times.
‘Why shouldn’t I work for the Conclave?’ Odette asked at last.
‘I looked up their recruitment criteria. You don’t meet it.’
‘I’m not good enough?’ Odette asked, dismayed.
‘How could I think that? You’re every bit good enough. But you need to have a clean bill of health to time travel.’
‘I am healthy.’
‘They include mental health. Only a few weeks ago you were in shock from finding that body.’
‘Months, not weeks. I’m better now.’
A car behind beeped; the lights had changed. Robert swore and the line moved on again.
‘I’m worried about you, Odette. Any episode of mental ill health is enough to rule you out,’ Papi said. ‘Surely the Conclave asked for your medical notes?’
‘Yes. But my sessions with Dr Rebello aren’t in my notes. She doesn’t work for the NHS.’ Odette looked out of the window to avoid eye contact with Robert. A pedestrian was struggling with an upturned umbrella.
‘So you lied on your application,’ Robert said.
‘I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t volunteer extra information.’
‘That’s still a lie.’ He shook his head. ‘Rules exist for a reason.’
‘Yes, to stigmatise people.’
‘No. To stop them getting sick. What you’re doing isn’t safe. If you have an avoidable relapse, I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘So you’re going to tell the Conclave I was traumatised?’
‘I don’t know, yet. But you can apply for other jobs, Midge.’
‘Papi, I want to work at the Conclave. If you get in the way how will I ever trust you again?’
‘Don’t be melodramatic. It’s my responsibility to protect you. Even if you disagree.’
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.’