‘Wow, you’re green. You’ll feel differently when you’ve travelled more distantly. It feels like another life. Wait till you’ve checked out your husband’s gravestone.’ Teddy turned his attention to the rows of loaves. ‘Your marriage is doomed anyway. It never works out between time travellers and emus. It’s the power imbalance, you see. You’re always going to know more than him about the future. And your values will change too. They always do.’
Fay said nothing. Teddy was venting from sour grapes. There wasn’t any truth in what he was saying; no truth at all. He tossed her a floury roll, and she caught it automatically.
‘I don’t want this,’ she said. ‘I’m not a looter.’
‘They probably bake it fresh every day. I bet anything unsold gets thrown out. Waste not, want not.’
Her stomach growling gave her away. She took a bite.
‘You did well today,’ Teddy said. ‘You’re definitely one of us now.’
‘Won’t Barbara Hereford suspect foul play? For all she knows we could be husband killers as well as street harassers.’
‘The police wouldn’t be interested if Barbara Hereford went to them. The Conclave has jurisdiction over crimes enabled by time travel.’ Teddy yawned. ‘But if you were worried, you shouldn’t have told her your name.’
‘I wasn’t worried.’ In fact, Fay almost wanted to be caught. Giving her name was self-sabotage. If she was going to do something unpleasant, she should be punished for it. Poor Dinah. Fay knew what it was like to lose a father.
She looked at the remaining bread in her hand, and imagined crumbling it in the snow, between here and the station. Like a trail to be followed: leading the police, or Barbara, or Dinah, straight to the guilty party.
23
AUGUST 2017
Barbara
At eleven Barbara met Dinah for brunch. They ate at a crowded restaurant in King’s Cross. Nerves kept Bee from mentioning her plan. She gathered her courage as they finished their eggs Benedict. The waitress stacked their plates.
‘I wish I’d had the waffles,’ Dinah said.
Barbara, preoccupied, ignored the statement. She took Dinah’s hand across the table.
‘There’s something I have to do,’ she said.
‘That sounds ominous.’
Barbara pressed on. ‘I’ve been conducting… science experiments. The first I’ve done in years. And I’ve hit on a way of recycling time machine fuel.’
Dinah’s smile faded. ‘I knew you were up to something. It was obvious when Ruby came round for dinner. What possible use could you have for time machine fuel?’
‘None – except the Conclave could use my results. I could work for them again.’
‘Oh, Mother, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Ridiculous?’
‘They won’t let you back in. You know what they’re like. How cruel they are. Remember what they did to you – to us. Why kid yourself this will be any different?’
‘You’re right, of course. They’ll turn me away. At first. Which is why I have a back-up plan. But you might not like it, and I won’t go ahead without your permission.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘I still get calls from journalists, Dinah. Even now. People still want to read about me. I always turn them away – because I thought digging up the bodies would distress you. But if Margaret thinks I might start giving interviews she’ll be much more likely to listen. It would look bad to her funders, if her refusal to give me an audience was wasting money.’
‘That’s your back-up plan? Threaten to sell your story?’
‘Yes.’
The waitress topped up their water glasses.
‘Margaret Norton really hates bad press, doesn’t she?’ Dinah reflected.
‘Yes. She does.’
‘Then make your threats, Mum,’ Dinah said. ‘It’s time you cut her down to size. Make that bitch squirm as much as possible.’
Barbara squeezed her daughter’s hand before releasing it. ‘I don’t know where you got your vindictive streak! Not me, or your father.’
‘It must be latent in you somewhere. Time you discovered it.’ To the waitress, Dinah said, ‘We’d like some waffles. With cream, I think.’
24
SEPTEMBER 2018
Odette
On arriving at the Conclave, Odette was taken upstairs to a waiting room. It was a plain room with a window overlooking the great reception hall. Three other hopefuls were waiting too: a man with an eyebrow ring, another man with a square jaw, and a woman in a tartan dress. They were comparing achievements in loud voices. Staking out their dominance early, Odette thought. For now she kept her own counsel. She was still subdued by her father’s threat to call the Conclave and she needed to conserve her energy for the challenges ahead.
Through the glass, she watched the Conclave employees pass back and forth through the chilly granite foyer. Time travellers, Odette assumed. Not many of them were men. A young black woman, who was standing by the drinking fountain, caught Odette’s eye, and they nodded at each other.
She heard the swish of the waiting room door slide open. A small, whiskered man with a kipper tie entered and greeted them.
‘My name is Jim Plantagenet. I’ll be talking you through the process for using the time machines this morning.’
The candidates exchanged glances. So they were to time travel as part of the assessment.
‘First off we’ll be giving you a quick medical. Nothing at all to worry about; weighing, checking your heart rate, taking blood and urine samples. All quite routine for a first time travel trip. We need to know you’re in tip-top condition, otherwise it might not be safe to use the machines!’
‘Can we refuse?’ asked the man with the eyebrow ring.
‘No,’ said Jim. ‘But you are free to withdraw your application without ill feeling on our part. The next requirement is also non-negotiable. We have strict hygiene protocols on exiting the machine. Do any of you know why?’
The candidates looked at each other blankly.
‘Germs in the time machines,’ Jim said. ‘Or alkalibacterium macromonas, if we want to be precise. Macromonas can cause particularly nasty infections if it comes into contact with abraded or broken skin.’
‘Why are there germs in the time machines?’ asked the man with the square jaw.
‘As I expect you’re aware, time machines run on nuclear fuel. Macromonas is fairly unusual among bacteria because it thrives in a radioactive environment. I take a particular interest in it.’ Jim went rosy with enthusiasm.
‘Are we placing our health at risk?’ the girl in tartan asked.
‘Generally, macromonas is confined to the fuel core. However, we still exercise extreme caution. Conclave employees are encouraged to limit the spread of bacteria by following rigorous hygiene protocols whenever they’ve used the machines.’
‘They’re just limiting their liability,’ said the man with the eyebrow ring, sounding a little bored.
‘So no one’s ever been hospitalised with a macromonas infection?’ the tartan woman pressed. ‘Or died from it?’
‘Hospitalised, certainly. But I’m proud to say there have been no fatalities. The bottom line is, when the time machine stops, it will enter a special decontamination mode. Any macromonas within its four walls will be neutralised. Don’t exit the time machine until that process is complete.’
The candidates digested this advice. Odette had remained silent throughout. She wasn’t going to challenge any precaution the Conclave took on health grounds. If she did, they might scrutinise her medical history more closely.
‘Now if you’re ready, and have no further questions,’ Jim said, ‘I will lead you to your medicals. Our clinic is in the basement.’
Odette fell in line with the others. Papi might yet reveal her history of trauma, and stymie her attempts to solve the mystery, but for now she allowed herself a tingle of excitement. For this morning, at least, she would be a time traveller. How many people could say that?
25
DECEMBER 1982
Fay
It was late when Fay and Teddy finally arrived back at the Conclave. Though they were cold and tired, their journey wasn’t over yet; they had several decades to travel across before they would reach their home.
‘But what’s the rush?’ Teddy said. ‘I’ve got something to show you, down in the basement.’
‘Now?’ Fay wanted to go to bed. Her own bed, in her own time, with her own husband.