‘Good,’ Miri says, moving to the desk.
Ria walks down to her rooms to change into jeans and a top. She checks herself in the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom, seeing the curves of her own hips and ample chest. She wonders what it would be like to be as lean as Safa and Emily. In the bathroom, she applies make-up. Simple foundation, mascara and eyeliner. She brushes her long black hair, checks her teeth, sprays perfume and goes to the portal room. She changes the setting from island to Milwaukee and watches as the blue light blinks off, then back on again. She checks her small bag for the money, picks up the waiting washbag and steps through. She steps back and crosses to Miri’s office to see her holding a set of keys in her hand.
‘Thanks,’ Ria says, stretching out to take them. ‘Forgot.’
Twenty-Nine Ria was briefed, of course. She knows that in 2010, the year she is currently using, the population of Milwaukee stands at around half a million. She learnt other stuff too. She knows the city is on the shore of Lake Michigan, which once had a problem with algae. She did consider, while listening to Miri, if maybe they had brought something from the Cretaceous period into this time that caused the algae. That would be quite funny, she thought, or at least ironic, what with Miri lecturing her about changing the timeline.
Ria knows the demographics, as of 2010, are approximately forty per cent white, forty per cent black and then everyone else. Miri did tell her the breakdown for Hispanic and other cultures, but Ria was still focussed on the whole algae-in-the-lake thing. In short. Lots of people live here, but Milwaukee is known for being shit towards African Americans because Miri said there is a disproportionate gap in sentences for crimes committed by white people and black people, and also in education standards. Ria had no idea why she was being told all that until Miri explained that by understanding local social issues, she can better judge incidents and situations.
Miri also came with her the first few times.
Ria waits in the van. Miri said they have to wait and make sure no one is looking, paying attention, staring, that sort of thing. The car park is enormous. Miri called it a parking lot and said a big old van parked at the end wouldn’t cause a problem for a while. At least a few weeks, and by then they’ll switch to another city and time period. The van is legally owned. Miri paid cash for it and added an extra few notes to make sure the previous owner didn’t update the records too quickly. It’s large enough for the portal in the back too.
She goes through the heavy blackout curtains fixed to the van’s ceiling and makes sure the curtain behind is put back before going through the next set. At the front, she stares through the windscreen at modern life in the car park of an enormous American shopping centre, or mall, as Miri said. Cars everywhere. Hundreds of them. Rows and rows of cars, vans and pick-up trucks. People everywhere too. Loading vehicles. Getting out of vehicles. Parking vehicles. She waits for a bit to make sure no one is actively monitoring and unlocks the driver’s door before dropping down and inhaling the dirty air with a satisfied groan.
She walks at the pace Miri taught her. Casual, but not lazy. Busy, but not rushed. Walk like you know where you are going and look like you know what you will do when you get there.
She falls in behind a man and woman discussing whether they should eat out tonight or cook at home. The man wants to have home food and save money. The woman wants to eat out, as she is sick of cooking. Ria wonders what their lives are like. Are they happy, fulfilled, content, or just as miserable as everyone else? They have no clue that a woman from the future is walking behind them. A woman from the future who lives in the very distant past in a bunker with weird people who play outside a hologram house with pterodactyls flying about.
The couple look round as Ria chuckles. She smiles and turns away.
She wanted to fake an American accent, but Miri said no. Be natural. Be dull. Be boring. If anyone speaks to you, just be dull. They’ll soon get bored.
The washbag is heavy. She adjusts it on her shoulder and heads for the launderette. A vast room filled with washing machines and dryers. She gets change and sets about filling the washing machines with the black training clothes they all wear. The towels go in another machine. Underwear and casual clothes in yet another. She idly thinks about bacteria and things from the Cretaceous period being on the clothes and getting into the water supply, and thinks again about the algae in the lake. She puts powder in and sets the cycles to start.
If someone told her seven months ago that her dead father would come back, she wouldn’t have believed them. If someone then said he would bring back Malc and Kon from the dead and then fuck everything up by building a bunker and using a staging area in Berlin that was discovered by the British government, who killed Malc and Kon and . . . She blinks, losing the confusing train of thought. Whatever. It’s all just weird. She misses her mum so much. The pain inside is immense. Like, crushing. It’s not getting better either or going away. Just give it time, the doctor said. Time? How much time? It hurts so much. She can’t stop thinking of the look on her mum’s bleeding face as they tried to protect Bertie. The fear and confusion. The utter terror.
‘You coming back, honey?’ An American drawl, a friendly tone. Ria starts, and turns to see the withered old lady attendant staring at her.
‘Just going to the mall,’ Ria says.
‘Take your time,’ the old lady says. ‘You want them dried?’
‘I can do it.’
‘Nah,’ the old woman says, waving a wrinkly hand. ‘Be young, go do young things. Damn British, so polite. Wish my granddaughter was polite. Damn kids.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, have a nice day,’ the old woman says, back on auto-pilot.
Ria walks out and down the pavement, sidewalk, to the main entrance to the mall and joins the throng of people moving like zombies, and suddenly three hours of freedom seem too much. She doesn’t know anyone. She doesn’t belong here. She has no home.
She spots the golden arches and heads that way. The smell of grease hangs in the air. She hates eating in front of Safa and Emily. Her own perception of being judged for eating when she isn’t in perfect physical shape. Whatever. She’s hungry. She’s fat already. Fat and ugly and lonely. She spots the good-looking man behind the counter. She’s seen him before, but he’s never served her. She watches him while she queues. He’s got lovely arms.
‘Help you?’ says the man behind the counter.
She orders a large Big Mac meal and six nuggets.
‘You Australian?’
‘British.’
‘British, huh? What y’all doing here?’
‘Holiday.’
‘What?’
‘Vacation.’
‘Vacation? To Milwaukee? That’s shit.’