The Psychology of Time Travel

‘Mum, you’re shaking. Do you want some water? I’ll let you in.’

‘No!’ Ginger’s voice rose. She didn’t want to bump into Ruby with Fay at her side. ‘I should let you get to your meeting. Before I go…’

‘What?’

‘What do you remember of your childhood? Was it a happy one?’

‘The happiest!’

‘Even this year?’

Fay’s expression was blank, then her eyes widened.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re talking about Paige.’

‘Who?’

‘My sister. What are you, four months gone? No wonder you’re faint.’

A baby. Had she been so in denial? She’d not missed a period, but then she’d kept bleeding on and off till twenty weeks with Fay. Four months gone. Too late to reverse.

Fay held Ginger’s hands through the bars.

‘Don’t look so worried. Wasn’t she planned?’

Fay’s enjoying the novelty, Ginger thought. Grown-up talk, with a mother barely older than herself. What was the grown-up reply?

‘Well-laid plans can go awry too,’ Ginger said. ‘I’m just anxious.’

‘You mustn’t worry. Everything works out wonderfully.’

‘All right. That’s all I wanted to know.’ She pulled Fay closer to the gate and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I love you. Go to your meeting, and come see us tomorrow.’

‘I’m so glad I saw you.’ Fay hesitated. ‘I’d forgotten you were this young.’

Ginger retraced her steps and caught the train home. There was no time for the supermarket or the pharmacy now. Even cutting those errands out of her journey, she was fifteen minutes late to the community hall. Fay was there with Brown Owl, who waved unconcernedly at Ginger’s apologies.

‘Fay has a brand new badge to show you,’ Brown Owl said.

‘Look!’ Fay proffered a square of yellow fabric, illustrated with a watering can.

‘Well done, sweetheart,’ Ginger said. ‘I’ll sew it on for you when we get home. Let’s get a takeaway to celebrate.’

‘Fish and chips?’

‘If that’s what you want.’

What you want, what you want. The words repeated in Ginger’s head. They left, and Ginger thought about the older daughter that she’d met that evening, who would now be sharing food with the other time travellers. She thought about Ruby, sleeping with a woman who could make her laugh. Lastly she thought of Seamus, and all the news she had to tell him. All the news, none of which was: listen, I’m sorry, I like women not men, I’m in love with someone else. For that headlong journey, from Euston to King William Street, she had acknowledged she wanted Ruby. A greater happiness seemed in reach. But now she knew the future. If Fay thought her parents stayed married, that’s what would happen. The other, imagined life was gone.





38


AUGUST 2017



Ruby


Ruby didn’t have Bee’s problems accessing the Conclave, thanks to Grace’s invitation.

‘Where to first?’ Grace asked. ‘The bar? Or the botanical garden?’

‘Do you have plants from the future?’

‘Some. But the main goal is preservation of existing varieties, so you’d recognise most of what we grow. You can see tropical flowers in the greenhouse that you’re probably less familiar with. There are a few tortoises in there too.’

‘I think that seals it. Greenhouse it is.’

Grace led the way. She opened a door disguised as a wall panel, and Ruby followed her into a semi-lit corridor. The walls were painted with art nouveau mermaids. Ruby could hear the distant splash of water.

‘That’s the greenhouse fountain,’ Grace said.

‘I expected the Conclave to be busier,’ Ruby said. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Drinking! Evenings are frantic in the bar but we might meet a stray horticulturist or two.’

They arrived at the greenhouse. Heat enveloped them. The sun was low on the horizon, turning Grace’s cream skin gold.

‘Look at all the orchids,’ she said. ‘Aren’t they divine?’

‘Very,’ said Ruby.

Grace picked one, and tucked it into Ruby’s hair. They walked to the fountain, as it was cooler by the water, and sat at the edge. Bright fish nosed the surface. Ruby admired the surrounding spice trees and inhaled the smell of vanilla. She saw they weren’t alone; a woman in green overalls stood under a coco de mer palm, taking notes on a clipboard.

‘Is the palm new?’ Grace called.

‘Newish,’ said the horticulturist. ‘Gift from Mahé.’

‘We have replication sites,’ Grace explained to Ruby. ‘We also have Mahé to thank for the tortoises.’

‘Where are they?’

‘There’s one peeking from the foliage behind you.’

Ruby turned to see a tiny, wrinkled face amongst the greenery. He was chewing on a leaf with gusto.

‘He’s not the only one hiding,’ Grace whispered. ‘Be subtle, but look over my shoulder.’

With affected casualness, Ruby scanned the expanse of plants behind Grace.

‘I can’t see anything,’ Ruby whispered.

‘Keep looking.’

Then Ruby’s eyes rested on a couple, half submerged by trailing vines, locked in a kiss.

‘Come on,’ Grace said. ‘Let’s leave them to it. Next stop is the hall of time machines.’

She took Ruby’s hand when they left the garden, and didn’t let go as they walked back down the corridor.

*

The hall resembled an aircraft hangar and contained row upon row of great grey cubes, any one of which could comfortably contain fifty people. All sides of the cubes were smooth, with a single entrance at the front.

‘They’re made from steel,’ Grace commented.

‘What are they like inside?’

‘Pitch black. And when they’re switched on, they smell good.’

‘Good how?’

‘Very clean. Like the air after a storm. It’s because the fuel creates ozone. You’d get the same scent during radiotherapy – or if you dropped a nuclear bomb.’

Like the Candybox.

‘Are the time machines open?’ Ruby asked. ‘Could I walk in and have a look?’

‘Shhhh!’ Grace made a show of looking left and right. ‘Visitors aren’t allowed, but maybe if we’re very quick. Follow me!’

The machine door slid open at their approach. It didn’t close again behind them. They stood in the arrow of light, and peered into the emptiness. Ruby might have been in any dark warehouse, except she knew this was the path to every memory she possessed, and that made her heart race. At her side, she felt Grace shiver. The machines weren’t yet mundane to Grace either.

‘Are these machines ever dangerous?’ Ruby asked.

‘Not when properly used.’

‘Have they ever been wrongly used?’

Grace popped open her top button, so Ruby could see her décolletage. A scar marked her flesh, like a tyre track in snow. Ruby winced.

‘That’s thanks to a huge accident,’ Grace said. ‘All the time travellers who were caught in it have similar scars.’

‘What caused the accident?’ Ruby asked.

‘Cost cutting. The Conclave hadn’t been running very long… The year was…’ She paused, to count on her fingers. ‘Nineteen seventy-three. It was seventy-three. That’s when Margaret said we could make recruitment more efficient.’

Grace explained that instead of using tests and interviews and qualifications, Margaret proposed a shortcut: skipping straight to hiring people that were named on future payrolls. The Conclave issued a contract to the one woman whose name was listed for that year. And after a few weeks, she botched the controls of the time machines. All four hundred and fifty-seven machines simultaneously malfunctioned. The same part came loose in all of them – a great hunk of steel, shaped like a smile with jagged edges. It flew through the air and scooped a ridge from Grace’s chest like she was made of ice cream. Then she stepped outside. The other women were staggering from their machines, and they each had injuries just like hers.

‘But you guys know the future,’ Ruby said. ‘Why didn’t you predict the accident?’

‘We did. That morning, we’d been laughing and joking about it. We were quite hysterical, in fact. Most of us still joke about it now. Although actually getting carved frightened Angharad more than she thought it would – she threated to leave straight after.’

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