‘In a moment. Can you think of anyone with a motive to harm Margaret?’
‘Deliberately, you mean? Of the colleagues I remember… no one would have been open about hating her that much. We presented a unified front. She was one of us. And to set out purposely to kill her… well… what would be the point? The satisfaction would be so fleeting. After all, you’d need to take a trip into the past at some point, and there she’d be, issuing her edicts.’ Veronica picked up the fallen vial of millet. ‘I suppose you’d take solace in knowing what was coming for her. I suppose that could buoy you through the difficult days.’
‘Thank you, Veronica,’ Odette said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I’ll see you out.’
*
Julie Parris arrived a couple of hours later. They went to the Conclave canteen. Odette was immediately aware of Julie’s thinness. The loose silk blouse concealed Julie’s size, but her wrists and neck were fragile, and her skin looked tissue-thin – as though she were made from origami. Her hair was folded into a pleat and her nails were beautifully manicured. She wore a delicate gold crucifix at her neck.
Odette began by asking why Julie resigned.
‘I’d wanted to leave for years. I’ve had mental health problems for a long time, and you know what the Conclave’s like about that.’
Odette nodded.
‘The first thing I did when I left was check into a clinic for eating disorders.’ Julie sipped from a glass of water. ‘Do you know what I learnt? I found this very interesting. Lots of the girls there were self-harmers as well as anorexics – scratching themselves, razoring their arms, you know the kind of thing – and the psychiatrists told us that one of the reasons why people cut for stress relief is that blood-letting lowers your blood pressure. It’s a simple physiological response. You quickly feel a sense of tranquillity. It made me think of the Conclave, on the day the time machines malfunctioned – we queued up to hurt ourselves and came out dripping with blood but I felt so calm the second my skin broke.’
‘Was Margaret aware of your mental health problems?’ Odette asked.
‘Oh yes. And she was vicious the day she found out.’ Julie tapped the side of her glass. ‘As if I’d personally affronted her.’
‘Why would she take your illness personally?’
‘I’ve thought about it a lot. And I’ve wondered if she saw something of herself in me. Because she had problems, too, you know. Don’t you think it’s weird how she quit using time machines? I think it’s because she’s a control freak, and time travelling makes you realise how little control you have. Nothing ever changes the past, or the future. I bet she was going crazy inside, just like I was.’
‘When did you last see her?’
Julie shifted in her chair.
‘When I resigned, last year.’
‘She didn’t contact you afterwards?’
‘No.’ Her fingers interlocked round the water glass, whitening her knuckles. ‘What does this have to do with hygiene?’
‘There was a breach on November the nineteenth, 2017, and we need to know your whereabouts for that date.’
‘I was in hospital,’ Julie said rapidly. ‘The Royal Oldham. I’d hurt myself again. That’s all you’re going to get.’
‘At no point did you leave the hospital? No stepping outside for a breath of fresh air, perhaps?’
‘No.’
‘Very well. I’ll verify with the Royal Oldham that you remained onsite for the full day.’
Julie stood up and slipped her jacket back on. Her elbows were set square sharp as she fastened the buttons.
‘Do you miss it?’ Odette asked. ‘Time travelling?’
‘The Conclave made me ill.’ Julie looked into the middle distance, letting her arms fall to the sides. ‘To miss it I’d have to really hate myself.’
When she’d gone Odette contacted the hospital again, to verify Julie’s whereabouts. She also asked why Julie had been hospitalised. The reason supplied was a gunshot wound.
54
NOVEMBER 2017
Angharad
Angharad sat next to Julie’s bed, swilling coffee from the vending machine. A television in the corner showed rolling news. The sound was high enough to be distracting but too low to make out the words. Julie was yet to come round. She’d had surgery to repair a gunshot wound in her shoulder. The doctor said Julie had been shot during a mugging. Around the fifth time that Angharad had watched refugees climbing under a razor wire fence, Julie stirred.
‘Mum?’ she said.
‘I’m here.’
‘Here?’
‘The hospital. You’ve been all patched up.’
‘Oh… oh. I remember. The gun.’
‘You don’t need to think about that now, sweetheart.’
‘Where’s Margaret?’
‘You’re not at work, sweetie. This is the hospital.’
‘You don’t understand. Margaret brought me here. She saw me get hurt.’
Angharad stroked her daughter’s head. ‘Don’t try to talk. You need rest.’
‘We were playing a game.’ Julie closed her eyes. ‘A secret game.’
Why would they be doing such a thing? Playing shooting games with Margaret had to be an anaesthesia dream, didn’t it? Angharad watched Julie sleep for a while. She gave up on the cold coffee dregs and went in search of the nurse who’d checked Julie’s vital signs. She was in the corridor, a sombre woman with a Spanish accent.
‘She’s disorientated,’ Angharad said.
‘That’s to be expected,’ said the nurse. ‘We’ve treated her for infection but she still has a fever. Give her some time to come round properly.’
‘Were you on duty when she was admitted?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I just wondered if she was alone when she was arrived.’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’ The nurse opened the door to another patient’s room, and Angharad returned to Julie’s side.
*
By the next morning, Julie was lucid.
‘How did you get to the hospital?’ Angharad asked. ‘Whoever helped you, I’d love to thank them.’
‘I don’t know.’ Julie smoothed the creases out of her bedsheet.
‘Yesterday you said Margaret brought you here.’
‘That’s not true,’ Julie said, quickly. ‘Why would Margaret be with me?’
‘That’s what I wondered. You said you were playing… secret… games.’
‘How silly.’ Julie laughed, then her shoulders began to shake, and Angharad realised the laughter had turned to weeping. Angharad leapt up. She put her arms around Julie and felt, with dismay, how slight her daughter was beneath the gown.
‘You can’t tell anyone this,’ Julie whispered. ‘But Margaret did bring me to the hospital. She said we were going to tell everyone I’d been attacked – by a mugger. No one could know what we were really doing.’
‘Which was?’
‘Playing Candybox roulette. Do you know what that is?’
Angharad did. She’d taken it for an urban myth; an artefact of Conclave gossip, rather than a real game. ‘Why would Margaret play that with you?’
Julie gave a juddering sigh. ‘This was the first time we’d played roulette, but there have been other games. So many – for years. It was because I told her I couldn’t cope with time travelling. With seeing what comes after me. I told her… that time travelling made me feel like a ghost. And she said the games would blunt my feelings about death. But this time, the game went too far.’
Angharad’s stomach lurched. A memory returned to her, from decades before: not brutalising, but hazing. Margaret hadn’t stopped at the initiation rites to toughen wenches – rites that Angharad had encouraged. But Angharad never anticipated her daughter would be among the worst affected. ‘Why would you keep this secret?’
‘Margaret said that was the only way to stay at the Conclave. I can’t leave.’
‘You can leave, Julie. You must.’
The crying intensified. ‘I didn’t before… because…’
‘Yes?’
‘I didn’t want to disappoint you.’
‘You could never do that,’ Angharad whispered. She kept her guilt to herself – that it was her fault Julie had been subjected to years of damage, and lay in this bed now.