Margaret’s blouse was sodden. Oozy. She hated being a mess. More bullets tore her hand. Her nerves screamed. Imagine it! This was Margaret’s dirty secret – the secret kept by the coroner, when he omitted her cause of death – she could be rent apart like any human. But she hadn’t fallen yet. She hadn’t—
The Candybox spat out its final missile, which broke the box’s rim. Every hairline crack raced through the Candybox until it shattered. Pale stars and pyramids of plastic were propelled through the air. Some landed beneath Margaret’s lock, and would grit Odette’s path the next day. Others swam in Margaret’s blood. The Candybox was destroyed when she was. That, at least, would have satisfied her. She wanted to believe she was the ruler of the Candybox, and not that it was the ruler of her.
61
MARCH 2019
Ruby
Two women, who’d already witnessed each other’s deaths, married on the first day of spring. Ruby and Grace. Grace and Ruby. The ceremony was officiated by the Conclave chaplain. Several silver Graces attended. They were all cheerful and full of good wishes, which the other guests agreed was a good omen. Lucille acted as best woman. Angharad and Julie were there, as were many, many more time travellers from past and future.
After the ceremony, they ate in the ballroom where Grace and Ruby had first kissed. The wedding feast was salmon. Each bride had her own rich wedding cake, topped with a figure of her true love. The crumbs were scattered over their heads for good luck. Entertainments followed: fifty-five Angharads danced a ballet. She took principal roles and performed in the corps. Orange blossom fell from the ceiling during the climax. The rest of the guests took to the dance floor in Angharads’ wake.
The day was almost, yet not quite, perfect. Dinah had refused to attend any wedding held at the Conclave, much less Ruby’s to a time traveller; and Ruby’s guest list was missing another person who she thought should be there. With the plates cleared, and the speeches delivered, and the guests entertaining themselves, Ruby had an opportunity to reflect. She may have looked wistful.
‘Come on.’ Grace interrupted her reverie. ‘I have a wedding gift for you.’
‘What is it?’
‘Wait and see! You always say you want to be surprised.’
Grace led Ruby into the corridor – past Fay, who was crying on a lover’s shoulder; past Lucille, who was smoking with Elspeth; past Judge Insch, who had caught Ruby’s bouquet and was now contemplating it with some puzzlement.
Ruby and Grace reached the lobby. Here the sound of the music had dwindled to the bassline. No one was at the front desk. Grace turned her attention to Beeline. She picked up the receiver and obtained a connection to August 2017.
‘Is that the receptionist?’ Grace asked. ‘This is a call from Ruby Rebello, for Barbara Hereford.’
Ruby shook her head, incredulous. ‘How…?’
‘Hush!’ Grace said. To the receptionist, she added: ‘I believe Barbara just attended a meeting with Margaret and she should still be on the premises. I’ll hold.’
Ruby began to cry.
‘You silly,’ Grace whispered to her. ‘Take the receiver. And make the most of this.’
So Ruby pressed the Beeline receiver to her ear.
‘Ruby? Ruby, my love?’ Granny Bee asked.
‘Yes,’ Ruby said.
‘How did you know where I was? Is something wrong?’
‘No, Granny. I’m just so happy to speak to you.’ Ruby held Grace’s hand. ‘I have the most amazing news.’
62
APRIL 2019
Odette
‘Odette! Odette!’ Maman was calling. ‘There’s a letter for you.’
Odette lay on the decking of her parents’ garden. The cherry blossom was falling. She heard Maman’s footfall draw near.
‘Oli lét?’ Odette asked, opening one eye. She had been trying, with variable success, to remember her Kreol words, although Maman always answered in English.
‘Here.’ Maman passed Odette a typed envelope.
Odette turned it over. There was no return address.
‘What’s the letter about, Midge?’ Maman asked. ‘Is it a job offer?’
‘I don’t know yet. Wait till I open it.’ Odette sat up, and the decking creaked. She slid her little finger under the seal and tore it open. Inside was a leaflet for Grace Taylor’s work at Tate Modern. The leaflet said the collection had recently expanded, with the addition of several older installations from storage, and one exhibit that had never been displayed before. The reverse was blank except for a handwritten message – a date, time, and the instruction: Meet me. E.
‘Well, is it a job?’ Maman asked.
Odette laughed at her mother’s nosiness. ‘It’s a mysterious invitation. From my old boss, I think.’
‘Mysteries!’ Maman. ‘That’s all you need.’
*
But Odette couldn’t resist a mystery. It was a weakness she shared with Elspeth; and with Zach, come to that. She went to Tate Modern at the appointed time. There was plenty to interest her; she enjoyed looking at the sampler, and the oil portrait, and the broken pencil. The gallery assistant told her the most recent additions were in the neighbouring exhibition hall, so Odette moved along to the next room.
The wall was papered with newspaper clippings. Dozens of them, yellow with age and trembling as people walked back and forth. Amongst the fading print a name stood out to Odette – Zach’s name; his piece on Margaret’s disappearance. The date was July 2019. Last time he’d called Odette, he said he was struggling to find an editor who’d run the piece. But clearly persistence would soon pay off. She allowed herself to feel thrilled, for her own involvement in its publication.
Her pride was brief. She turned her attention to the other articles. They were all about Margaret, and her disappearance. But none of them told the same story twice. A political assassination here. A suicide gone wrong there. One journalist said that Margaret had absconded into the twenty-fifth century after faking her own death. Odette’s dismay grew. Most of the journalists cited insider Conclave sources. There was nothing to mark out the truthfulness of Zach’s report. It was just one account, among many others.
‘Those stories are Angharad’s doing.’ A silver Elspeth had approached without Odette seeing.
‘Angharad made up all these stories?’
‘Not personally, no. She delegated that aspect. They were fabricated, and leaked, at her instruction.’
‘But why?’
‘Because she failed to keep Mr Callaghan’s exposé from the public. Oh, she made a decent stab at it, a lot of moguls fell into line and refused to print the story, but she’s never been quite as well connected as Margaret, you know. Or as frightening. The next best thing was to muddy the waters. Flood the media with so many ludicrous alternatives that any speculation about Margaret Norton’s whereabouts had the whiff of the tin hat brigade.’
That wasn’t a technique Margaret would have used, either. Margaret would have died before propagating a glut of salacious rumours about the Conclave. Angharad’s motives had never been quite clear to Odette, though she suspected she may, again, have been trying to deflect attention from Julie.
Odette sat down on the nearest bench. The thought of her hard work – of Zach’s hard work – being undermined this way made her heart heavy. Angharad had achieved the opposite of solving a mystery: she had obfuscated, and deceived, until the truth was no longer discernible.
‘Does Angharad want me tried? For the embargo breach?’ Odette asked.
‘Careful!’ Elspeth said. ‘She doesn’t know who breached the embargo. It could be Ruby, or Grace, or even Judge Insch for all she can tell. No need to let on.’
‘How can you carry on working for her?’ Odette cried. Even if Angharad weren’t as brutal as Margaret, she was poisonous in her own way.
‘I can’t. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ Elspeth took the next seat. ‘A number of us at the Conclave have discussed how we might improve the Conclave’s culture. The chief barrier is the impossibility of leaving the past behind. All our years intermingle and that makes change impossible.’
‘So leave.’
Elspeth raised a hand. ‘I have another proposal. We can establish replication sites – other time travel centres in cities across the world, where we can start afresh. With staff of integrity.’