‘Officially this isn’t part of your training. But unofficially – it absolutely is.’
Odette wanted to pause, and think. This little girl was about to experience a terrible loss. What impact would hearing about it, a few minutes in advance, have upon her? To Olivia Montgomery, Odette was a stranger. An unknown woman bringing news of death would frighten a child. And in the years to come perhaps Olivia would feel she should have prevented her mother’s death, in those brief moments after Odette’s announcement. No matter how kindly Odette tried to break the news, the ritual could heighten this girl’s trauma.
‘What happens if I won’t do it?’ Odette asked.
‘You will do it.’
‘What happens if I won’t?’
‘You’ll not be one of us,’ Fay said. ‘You need to fit in, Odette. How will you fulfil your duties if the others don’t trust you’re one of them? The pranks will get more extreme. Eventually you’ll give in and either complete the ritual, or leave.’
I can pretend, Odette thought. Not do the ritual, but say I have.
‘I’ll be watching you,’ Fay said, anticipating Odette’s strategy.
Odette was revolted. She’d have to go along with the ritual if she was to make allies – even fake allies – in the Conclave. On the corner of the street, she could see the little girl approaching, hand in hand with a man Odette assumed was her father. They took a seat at one of the tables.
‘Shall we order for Mummy too?’ the man was saying.
‘No,’ Odette said, her resolve hardening. ‘I won’t do it.’
‘You’re a fool,’ Fay said. ‘You have to accept this job will make new demands of you. You can’t play by the rules you’ve known till now.’
Odette stood up, took a handful of change from her handbag, and dropped it on the table.
‘Where are you going?’ Fay asked.
‘Home.’
‘Are you going to take the job?’
‘I don’t know any more.’
‘You’ve signed the contract. Do you want me to destroy it?’
‘Yes.’ Odette shook her head. She couldn’t do that, not when the chance of getting inside was so close. ‘No. I don’t know.’
Horns sounded in the street. A tyre screeched, and cries went up; a woman was propelled through the air and landed on the bonnet of another car, her neck twisted into a right angle. All the other café patrons stood to look – including Olivia, and her father. He lifted her in his arms and crushed her head to his shoulder. He swayed, like a toppled ninepin.
‘Rituals,’ Odette said in disbelief. ‘What are they for?’
‘It’s for your benefit,’ Fay said. ‘It accustoms you more quickly to being one of us. You’re not like them now. It’s better if you accept that as soon as possible.’
‘But what’s in this ritual for you, personally?’
Fay looked at Mr Montgomery, sobbing into his daughter’s tow hair.
‘Sometimes,’ Fay mused, ‘I like watching people have emotions I don’t feel any more.’
40
AUGUST 2017
Ginger
Ginger still read to Fay at bedtime. They were three chapters into Charlotte Sometimes. The copy was Ginger’s own, from childhood, and she had wondered if Fay might find the prose old-fashioned. But Fay seemed relaxed with its staidness. When her eyes began to droop Ginger replaced the bookmark, kissed Fay on the forehead, and turned out the lamp.
She rejoined Seamus in the living room. His dark hair was a little wild and his skin was tanned from working in the garden. He was sitting in the easy chair, whittling a toy – a fox, from the look of it. A sitcom played on the television and Ginger turned the volume down.
‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ she said. ‘I wanted to wait till Fay was in bed.’
His eyes were still steadfastly trained on the fox. After a moment’s reflection, he said, ‘That sounds worrying.’
‘It isn’t, exactly, but… it’s a rather unusual situation.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Today, I was walking past the Time Travel Conclave, and a young woman stopped me. She said she worked there, and that she was from the future. She told me she was twenty-four years old. And she introduced herself as Fay. Our Fay.’
Seamus paused in his whittling. He took a long look at Ginger, as if determining if she was serious. ‘Any chance it could be a hoax?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘You’re sure it was her?’
‘Yes. I’m not really in any doubt about that.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you bring her back?’
‘She had other commitments,’ Ginger said vaguely, and it struck her that she had very little sense of what time travellers actually did for a living. ‘But she is going to come to dinner. Tomorrow, possibly.’
‘Why wait till then?’ he asked. ‘Let’s ring her.’
‘We don’t have her number,’ she replied, but he had already picked up his smartphone.
‘I’ll just look up the Conclave.’ He flashed a grin, and she saw he was excited. ‘I expect they’ll put us through.’
He was filtering the search results, and then dialling, with gleeful haste. Ginger realised that there could be something rather thrilling in the prospect of meeting an adult Fay – to know she had grown up safely, and appeared to be thriving. But the circumstances in which Ginger had encountered her were so fraught there had been no opportunity to feel that buzz. Besides, it was always Seamus who was the more playful parent. Ginger was the worrier.
‘Hello?’ Seamus was saying on the phone. ‘My name’s Seamus Hayes. I’m trying to contact my daughter, Fay. She works for you.’
Fay could hear someone replying but the response was tinny and indistinct, then the line fell silent.
‘The receptionist’s checking for us,’ Seamus said to Ginger.
Another tinny voice echoed through the receiver.
‘Fay?’ Seamus asked, elated. ‘Fay, is that you?’
And then his expression rapidly changed from pleasure to confusion.
‘She’s just started crying,’ he whispered to Ginger. To his daughter, he said, ‘What’s wrong? Darling? Do you need us to come and get you?’
Ginger wrested the phone from him. ‘Has something happened, Fay?’
‘No,’ her daughter replied. ‘Nothing’s happened. It was just… hearing Dad’s voice. It’s been so long.’
‘What do you mean, so long?’ Ginger said, trying to keep her tone light. She could feel dread in the pit of her stomach as she wondered whether Fay had been completely honest earlier. Perhaps she and Seamus were not going to stay together as Fay had insisted.
‘Since he died,’ Fay gasped. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you. I won’t tell him.’
Ginger’s limbs felt weak. ‘I see. Do you want to talk to him another time?’
‘No. Put him back.’
Wordlessly, Ginger returned the phone to her husband, and stepped into the back garden until she could regain control of the shake in her hands.
A short time after – Ginger had no watch, and her own phone was indoors – Seamus joined her on the patio.
‘She wouldn’t tell me why she was crying,’ he said.
‘Nor me,’ Ginger lied.
‘Did she react that way when she spoke to you earlier?’
Ginger evaded the question. ‘Maybe she’s crying because of… the stress of time travelling. People say it’s stressful.’
A neighbour’s cat, brown with a scar over its eye, paused in stalking their lawn.
‘Do you think it happens soon?’ Seamus asked, his expression flat.
‘“It”?’ Ginger queried.
‘Come on, there’s a limited range of things that could make her cry when she hears my voice. It must have occurred to you. Sometime between now, and whenever the hell she’s from, I die.’
‘Well it can’t be soon. Fay told me her childhood was happy. She wouldn’t say that, if you were just about to…’