‘Well done,’ Emily says.
‘Good lads, the Marines,’ Harry says. ‘Worked with them in Italy in . . .’
‘Beer, Harry,’ Ben says, passing the bottle over.
‘Can you join then? Being a negro . . .’
‘Oh my god, Harry!’ Ria blurts.
‘Harry!’ Emily says, moving in swiftly from behind Derek. ‘We’re from a different place,’ she says to the lad. ‘Different terms for things. Oh, did you drop this?’ She holds a folded brown leather wallet. ‘It was on the floor.’
‘He’s not racist,’ Ben says, as Derek takes the wallet, glancing from Harry to Emily to Ben.
‘Fought with some in Africa,’ Harry tells Derek, pulling his attention back. ‘Good lads too.’
Derek nods and swallows. He was brought up well. To be polite and respectful, but to challenge when things are wrong. ‘Sir, that word isn’t used now,’ he says to Harry.
‘What?’ Harry asks.
‘Negros, sir.’
‘Oh,’ Harry says. ‘What is it then?’
‘I’m black,’ Derek says. ‘Or African American.’
‘Seriously, what are you doing here?’ Ria asks.
‘Came for a beer,’ Emily says.
‘You so did not come for a beer.’
‘I gave a time, Miss Cavendish.’
‘I know, but I’m staying out.’
‘We had to come find you, Miss Cavendish.’
‘Ria! My name is Ria. I am twenty-two years old, Miri.’
‘You could have told me you wanted more time.’
‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’
‘I have security concerns, Miss Ca—’
‘Ria! My name is Ria.’
‘Take it easy,’ Ben says.
‘If you want more time, you ask for more time,’ Miri says.
‘What? Am I a fucking prisoner then?’
‘You are not a prisoner, but I . . .’
‘You are not my mother. She’s dead. I’m an adult, and I’m going to get drunk and have sex with this boy.’
‘What?’ Derek asks.
‘I’m not leaving. I’m not running away. I just want to get fucking drunk and have sex!’
‘What?’ Derek says.
‘I’m coming back. I just . . . I just . . . He’s cute and he’s got nice arms, and he said I look nice and he likes curves . . .’
‘What?’ Derek asks.
‘Problem?’ Harry asks, looking round at the suddenly quiet bar. ‘Be on about your business now.’
‘The shabby-chic chest is lovely,’ Emily says, breaking the heavy, charged silence. ‘And you look really nice, Ria.’
‘Sorry,’ Ben says, resting a hand on Ria’s shoulder as she fights back the tears.
‘It’s fine,’ Ria says, holding a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. What you’re doing is important . . . I’ll come back now and . . .’
‘No, no, no,’ Emily says. ‘Stay, it’s cool.’
‘No, I should . . .’
‘Stay,’ Ben says. ‘Have some drinks.’
‘You’re an adult,’ Emily says. ‘We were just worried . . . No phones, remember?’
‘I know,’ Ria whispers, looking round at them with tears in her eyes. ‘Bertie’s working on it.’
‘It’s fine,’ Emily says. ‘You look lovely, so lovely, and I love your curves. I wish I had curves.’
‘You’ve got a six-pack,’ Ria snorts, half-smiling, half trying not to cry. ‘I bet men love it.’
‘Men?’ Emily asks, smiling at her. ‘You don’t know?’
‘Know what?’
‘I’m gay.’
‘What?’
‘I’m gay,’ Emily says. ‘So trust me when I say you look gorgeous and your curves are lovely. Stay. Have fun.’ She leans in to kiss Emily’s cheek. ‘He does have nice arms,’ she whispers. ‘And a lovely smile.’
‘He does,’ Ria says, smiling as Emily pulls back.
‘You okay?’ Ben asks from behind her, his hand still on her shoulder. ‘Need anything? Money? Gun? M4 assault rifle? Bazooka?’
Ria laughs, wanting to cry again but with different emotions coursing through her. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘Okay,’ Ben says, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. ‘You know where we are if you need us.’
‘I’ll be fine . . .’
‘Miss,’ Harry says, leaning over to kiss her forehead, the bristles of his beard tickling her skin. He smells of woodbines and popcorn. ‘Nice to meet you,’ Harry says again, holding his hand to Derek. ‘Sorry I called you a negro.’
‘Sir,’ Derek says, shaking his hand again.
‘Nice arms,’ Safa tells Derek. ‘Do more cardio – you’ll define better. And wear a condom, or I’ll snap it off and shove it up your arse.’
‘Whoa, time to go,’ Ben says, guiding Safa away. ‘Nice to meet you, Derek.’
‘Sir,’ Derek says, staring in alarm at Safa.
‘I’m watching you,’ Safa calls out as she walks across the bar.
‘Ma’am,’ Derek says. He watches as they file out through the door and the bar slowly comes back to normality. The door opens. Safa leans in, pointing two fingers at her own eyes then at Derek before Ben pulls her out.
‘Families, eh?’ Ria says, smiling tentatively at Derek.
He looks back at her, then over to the door again. ‘Sure, families. Hooyah . . .’
Thirty-Two
‘Are you gay?’ Ben asks, his hand still clamped on Safa’s wrist as they walk across the car park.
‘No,’ Emily says. ‘I just said it to make her feel better.’
‘Really?’
‘Maybe?’ Emily says with a smile.
‘Name?’ Miri asks, pulling a small tablet from her pocket.
‘Derek Collins, middle initial T. Date of birth, 20 June 1988,’ Emily says from the glimpse of his driving licence she gained while Harry created a distraction.
‘Did you know Emily is gay?’ Ben asks Safa.
‘Yep,’ Safa says. ‘We should go back and get her. I don’t like him.’
‘Did you know?’ Ben asks Miri.
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Ben tells Emily.
‘Should you then?’ Emily asks.
‘Eh? No! I mean . . . No, I never, you know . . . I didn’t . . .’
‘It’s fine, I’m playing. Yes, I am gay, but I also like men.’
‘Bi-sexual?’
‘Ah,’ Emily says, ‘they labelled it all back then, didn’t they?’
‘Er, so they don’t in your time?’
‘We should go back. He had beady eyes. I don’t like beady eyes.’
‘He was fine, Safa,’ Ben says.
‘No, they don’t,’ Emily says to Ben. ‘Not like they did in your time.’
‘And he looked shifty,’ Safa says.
‘He did not,’ Emily says. ‘Good-looking boy. And he was polite.’
‘Yeah, until he wants something, then he won’t be polite,’ Safa says.
‘Not all men are like that,’ Emily says.
‘Fucking are.’
‘Is Ben?’ Emily asks.
‘. . . all men other than Ben are fuckers.’
‘Ahem.’
‘And Harry.’
‘Got him,’ Miri says. ‘DMV has Mr Collins registered at one zero four nine Tenth Avenue, Milwaukee.’
‘I still don’t think we should be doing this,’ Ben says.
‘World ends, Mr Ryder. We’ll do what it takes.’
‘How does the world ending have anything to do with Ria?’
‘How do we know it doesn’t?’ Miri counters.
‘How can you justify placing her under observation on the basis of an incident that takes place a hundred years in the future from this time?’
‘How can you justify not taking all necessary steps to ensure the safety of our team?’
Ben narrows his eyes. ‘Low blow.’
‘Effective response.’
‘Cheap shot.’
‘Cheap shots are still shots, Mr Ryder.’
Safa, Emily and Harry look at Ben.