‘Are we indeed?’ asked Barbara.
The way home was quiet. They cut first through the high street – the shoppers had taken flight once the roads were threatened – and then through the side streets, until they reached the seafront. Barbara had no wish to dawdle, as she was keen to get them out of the cold. Dinah wore a tartan school coat and scarf. The tips of her ears were pink, under the inadequate protection of a felt bowler that kept slipping back on her head. Although a piece of elastic ran under Dinah’s chin to keep the hat in place, these days it hung slack. Dinah and her friend Caroline played at being Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and Dinah would use her hat as a bustle. She’d step right into the elastic loop and pull it up to her waist so the hat was in position under her skirt. This improper usage had stretched the elastic beyond its expected limits.
Barbara pulled Dinah’s hat back into position and quickened their pace. The sky was dark for the middle of the day, but there were only two more turnings before home. They took the first, which led onto a narrow, one-way lane, and Barbara stopped short. A man and a woman were standing right in the middle of the road. The man was in his twenties and had neon blue hair. He was smirking at Dinah. A punk, Barbara supposed, except she’d never seen a punk in a suit. The woman wore a beige coat and a cream sweater. Her hair was neat and fair; her expression impassive.
‘Hello, Barbara.’ The woman’s words turned to mist on the air. ‘My name’s Fay.’
‘Hello.’ Barbara frowned. Was this woman, this Fay, a parent from the school? Or an acquaintance of Tony’s? If they’d met before, Barbara didn’t recognise her.
Barbara noticed then that the snow around Fay’s boots was untouched. She must have been standing in the same spot for so long her footsteps were no longer visible.
Dinah was blowing on her fingers. The punk continued to leer at them.
‘Bye then,’ said Barbara, taking a step forward to resume her journey home.
Fay raised an arm to block Barbara’s way, and revealed, in the process, a wide steel band encircling her wrist. She looked down at Dinah.
‘Your daddy’s about to die,’ Fay whispered.
Dinah stumbled backwards, almost losing her footing.
The punk laughed. ‘He’s having a heart attack. Any minute now. Tick tock!’
‘There’s no need for that!’ Fay said. She looked at the punk with disapproval – almost with accusation.
This couple were crazy, the sort of loonies who accosted you in the street with threats that made no sense. Who knew what else they might do? Barbara thought she should call for help – but her throat had gone dry.
The punk was watching Dinah intently – for a reaction, Barbara guessed; to see Dinah’s fear. Dinah was ten and past the age of being carried but Barbara instinctively lifted her up, to transport her away, and pushed past the couple.
‘Don’t you have any questions for me?’ Fay asked.
‘Aren’t you curious what we are?’ the punk said.
Barbara half expected the woman to say she was the Angel of Death. Was that how she saw herself? A woman who announced tragedies? Who took pleasure in doing so?
‘We’re from the future,’ Fay called to Barbara. ‘That’s how we know Tony’s dying. I’m a time traveller. Just like you used to be.’
Barbara bolted up the lane, clutching Dinah tightly to her, not daring to check over her shoulder to see if the couple were following. All she could hear was her own heart and Dinah’s breath and her feet crunching in the snow. She took the last turning before home. The car was in the drive but there were no lights at the windows, despite the dimness of the afternoon sky. Tony must have gone to bed. Barbara fished her keys from her pocket – every action seemed to take an age – and let herself in. Praia, the dog, padded out from the darkness.
She put Dinah down.
‘Were they really time travellers?’ Dinah asked. ‘Why were they being horrible to us?’
‘I don’t know.’ Barbara looked through the little pane of glass in their front door, to see if Fay was outside. The road was entirely empty.
‘Did you do that when you were a time traveller?’
‘No. Run into the kitchen and put the kettle on, sweetheart.’
Dinah left while Barbara took off her boots.
‘Mum!’ Dinah wailed when she reached the kitchen.
Barbara joined her. A saucepan lay on the flagstones at the foot of the cooker, leaking soup. Praia lapped at the puddle. Barbara shivered. This scene of abandonment, and Fay’s threat in the road, filled her with foreboding.
‘Stay here,’ Barbara said to Dinah. ‘Don’t move until I say so.’
She crossed the kitchen, into the darkness of the conservatory. Tony lay on the rug by the table. His skin was waxen. Barbara touched his face. He was quite cold.
She swallowed a sob. Dinah would be terrified if she heard her crying. There were spare blankets on the wicker sofa. Barbara grabbed the top one to cover Tony. It was a memory patchwork. Each hexagon had been hand-sewn by Barbara, and each had a story attached. The broderie anglaise was from Dinah’s communion dress. The blue silk was from the tie Tony had worn when he first travelled to London from Goa. The soft William Morris print was bought with Barbara’s first wages. Bee recited these stories to herself silently, as she stroked the blanket covering her husband. She stayed in the dark conservatory until she knew she had to return to Dinah and explain her father was gone.
They never mentioned the couple in the lane again. Barbara suspected that day was too painful for Dinah to speak of. Time travellers would forever be tied with the death of her father. Because she loved her daughter, Barbara resolved not to mention time travel in her hearing, even if it would always be on Barbara’s mind.
*
After telling Barbara that her husband was dead, Fay and Teddy fled from the lane, down to the store fronts by the sea. The snow flurries quickened until Fay could barely see a yard ahead of them.
‘There’s no point going to the station,’ Teddy said. ‘The trains won’t get through this. Let’s find somewhere warm to shelter.’
‘Everywhere’s closed.’ Typical of small towns. London didn’t shut up shop because of a snowstorm.
‘Good. No inquisitive locals.’ Teddy was looking in every doorway they passed. He stopped to examine an iron shoe scraper on one step. ‘We can use that.’
He lifted it and swung it through the door pane. Fay jumped at the shattering of the glass. Bread-scented air engulfed her. They had vandalised a bakery. This is madness, Fay thought. I’m a barrister, not a thug. Teddy reached through the shards to open the door.
Fay followed him inside. No sooner had the door swung shut than he pushed her against the wall, flattening her with his weight, breathing hotly on her face. His tongue swiped the corner of her mouth as she turned her head from him.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Please, get off.’
He backed away, his hands in the air. Madness, she thought again. He’s a mad man. She looked longingly into the street, newly worried about being alone with Teddy. She barely knew him. It was tempting to dive back into the snow – except he would only follow her, and there was nowhere for her to go.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry. It’s the adrenalin – forgive me.’
‘I’m married.’ This was true, but she mainly said it to soften the rejection, because she didn’t want to anger him.
He laughed. ‘You’re not married in 1982. You’re not even born.’
‘That doesn’t matter. I’m married in my personal chronology.’