The Wraiths of War (21 page)

‘Too much adrenaline,’ I said. ‘My head’s buzzing – and not because of this.’

With my foot I nudged the half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort perched by the leg of my chair like a faithful pet. After the girls had gone to bed, Adam and I had shared a nightcap and chatted a while. Then Adam had gone to bed too, leaving me by the kitchen fire with the bottle.

How long ago had that been? An hour? Two?

‘What time is it?’ I asked.

Clover squinted at the digital display on the cooker across the room. ‘If that clock’s right, three eleven. You’re going to be knackered in the morning.’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.’ Then it came over me once more – that warm rush of euphoria; happiness in its purest, most complete form. ‘We’ve done it, Clover,’ I said, grinning. ‘We’ve got Kate back.’

She matched her grin to mine. ‘I know.’ She tiptoed across the stone floor on bare feet, wincing at the cold even though the fire was breathing out heat, and squeezed my forearm. Then she dragged a chair out from under the dining table in the corner and set it down opposite mine. She perched on it, bringing up her legs until her heels were resting on the edge of the seat, feet curled together like puppies seeking warmth from one another’s bodies, bony knees sticking up in the air. She reached out, stretching her hands into star shapes, holding them up to the fire. Orange warmth lapped at her long shin bones and her face perched above her knees; fire flickered in her wide-set eyes.

‘Join you?’ she said, abruptly uncurling herself so she could bend down and grab the bottle of Southern Comfort.

‘Be my guest.’

She unscrewed the cap, held out the bottle and jiggled it. ‘Top up?’

I looked down at the glass I’d all but forgotten I was holding. There was no more than a sip of liquor left in the bottom. I tilted it to my mouth, savouring the sweetness of it on my tongue, then held out my glass so that Clover could pour me another. The liquid looked beautiful in the firelight; it was the deep, smooth brown of freshly shelled chestnuts, shot through with flashes of red and gold. I was struck by the beauty of it. But then this was a night for beauty. For perfection even. I couldn’t remember ever being more content than I was at that moment. I wanted it to stretch on for ever and ever. I wanted it never to end.

As Clover tilted the bottle to her lips and took a slug that made her eyes water, I laughed. ‘Peasant.’

She exhaled a sharp breath from the O of her mouth as if trying to create a smoke ring out of alcohol fumes. ‘Well, I don’t have a glass, and the floor’s too cold to go get one.’

‘Allow me.’ Smiling, I rose from my chair and went into the kitchen area and opened cupboards until I found one that was full of glasses. Selecting a whisky tumbler I returned to my seat by the fire. ‘Here you go.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ she said in a sparky American accent. She poured herself a generous measure, then put the bottle down on the hearth with a soft clunk. She held up her glass; firelight trapped in amber. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

‘To happy families.’

‘Happy families.’

We chinked glasses and drank.

For perhaps thirty seconds we sat in companionable silence, sipping our drinks and gazing at the sinuous, ever-changing patterns in the fire. Clover stretched out her legs and wriggled her toes, warming them. Eventually, as though she’d been building up to it, she said, ‘So… where do we go from here?’

I glanced at her, not sure how to interpret the question. She wasn’t coming on to me, was she? Not after all this time?

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

She looked at me – then arched an eyebrow and laughed. ‘Not what you think I mean. Let’s not even
begin
to go there. Let’s keep that can of worms firmly closed.’

Ordinarily, no matter whether I felt the same way as the woman or not, my male ego might have been a little bruised at such a firm rebuff. With Clover, though, it was different. She was a mate. And mates don’t… well, they just don’t, do they?

‘Fine by me,’ I said – then immediately felt the need to qualify my statement. ‘Not that you aren’t… I mean…’

She held up her glass and mimed screwing a lid on it. ‘This is the can of worms. Well… jar, cause you don’t screw a lid on to a can. But the point is, it’s firmly closed. See? Can’t open it.’

‘Good.’ I took a sip of my drink. ‘So… what did you mean?’

‘I meant – where do we go from here? Literally. Now that you’ve got Kate back…’ She spread both hands, slopping Southern Comfort up the inside of her glass ‘…what’s the next move?’

I expelled a long breath. ‘To be honest, it’s something I haven’t wanted to think about. Something I’ve been deliberately
avoiding
thinking about. Because…’

I paused, wondering how to say it and how it would sound. But Clover got there ahead of me.

‘Because now that you’ve got Kate, now that your quest, as it were, is at an end, you’re wondering why you
need
to carry on, why you shouldn’t just let everything else slide.’

I shrugged. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘And are you
really
thinking that? Seriously, I mean?’

‘I’m seriously wondering what would happen if I did nothing. If I took Kate home and… just started living my life again.’

‘Do you want me to play Devil’s Advocate?’ Clover said softly.

‘Not really. But I’ve a feeling you’re going to.’

She held up her glass and peered into it as if staring into a crystal ball. ‘Remember the visions you had a while ago? Remember how awful they were?’

I nodded, grimacing.

‘Wasn’t that the heart’s way of showing you how, if you don’t play your part in the past, it’ll impact on the present?’

I sighed. ‘But this
is
the present.’ Though even as I said the words I knew I was being obstinate.

‘Is it?’ She took another sip and gazed into the fire. Her tone was lazy, casual, as if we were discussing something insignificant, something which had minimal impact on our lives – the performance of a favourite football team, or the latest season of a TV show.

‘Maybe this is only the present because of what you’ve still got to do to make it so,’ she said. ‘Maybe if you ignore what you’ve got to do…’ She left the comment hanging.

I frowned. She was only verbalising what had been lurking in the back of my mind, but I still felt cross with her for puncturing my balloon. Knowing it would be unfair of me to blame her for that, though, I stayed silent for a few seconds, gathering my thoughts.

At last I said, ‘It’s all changed, hasn’t it?’

‘What has?’

‘My… quest. My purpose. From today it’s no longer a search for Kate. Now it’s a mission to manipulate the past and the future, to shore it up, keep it from falling down around our ears.’ An image came to my mind of a vast edifice, a huge tumbledown mansion with cracked walls, encased in an exoskeleton of scaffolding and surrounded by signs warning of falling masonry. I gave a small, bitter laugh. ‘It’s a restoration project, that’s what it is. The past and the future are in danger of collapsing, and I’m the one who has to stop it. I’m a fucking… temporal builder.’

‘Or an architect,’ she said.

‘Or maybe just some bloke trying to do a jigsaw puzzle. A massive jigsaw puzzle through time, of a picture that keeps changing, along with the pieces.’ I scowled at my own analogy. ‘Trouble is, how will I know when it’s finished?’

‘Maybe it never will be,’ said Clover.

‘Oh, thanks for that. That’s
very
reassuring.’

She gave a sheepish, clench-teethed grin. ‘Sorry.’

Churning with frustration at the hand I’d been dealt, I turned my attention once more to the flames. For a few seconds the scowl stayed on my face, and then I thought again of the moment I’d seen Kate – the
real
Kate – for the first time in what for me had been over two years, and how it had felt when she’d gleefully shouted my name, and run across the room to greet me, and I’d wrapped my arms around her.

As long as she’s safe
, I thought,
as long as she’s safe and well and happy
,
nothing else matters.

When I looked up, Clover was staring at me as if she’d been scrutinising every little change of mood on my face. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.

‘What for?’

‘For opening my big mouth. For not giving you more time to enjoy the moment.’

I waved away her apology. ‘It’s okay. It’s not your fault. And it’s not as if I wasn’t aware I’d have to go back to the trenches and finish the job at some point. Not to mention… well, all the rest of it.’

‘You do have a lot to do, don’t you?’ Clover said sympathetically. ‘I hope you’ve been taking notes.’

I patted my pocket. ‘I have. I’ve jotted it all down in my little black book. I just wish…’

‘What?’

‘Well, that I could do everything right now, get it all out of the way. Or better still, just press a button and make everything right.’

‘If only life were that simple.’

‘If only.’ I took another sip of my drink, then sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. ‘I can’t tell you how torn I feel about this whole situation. I mean, on the one hand I’m so happy to have Kate back, and it’s lovely to know she’s up there right now, cosy and safe and fast asleep in bed. But on the other hand it’s agonising to think that no sooner have I got her back than I’m going to have to bugger off and leave her again.’

‘We’ll look after her while you’re away,’ Clover assured me. ‘I’m a brilliant babysitter. She’ll be in the safest of hands.’

‘I know she will. And thank you. Though if it all works out, hopefully you won’t have to do much babysitting. Once the War’s over I’m planning to come straight back here. If I’m lucky, no one will even notice I’ve left.’ I saw her wince and held up a hand. ‘And before you say anything, I haven’t forgotten that I’ve got the Dark Man’s old, knackered, unreliable heart, and he’s got mine. Which means my first priority has to be to get my heart back.’

‘Any ideas how you’re going to do that?’ Clover asked.

‘No. But I am. I
have
to. And I will.’

‘I admire your determination.’

‘I’ll get Benny on the case,’ I said. ‘I might not be his favourite person in the world, but I don’t think he’ll turn my money down. I’ll look for the Dark Man everywhere. I’ll leave no stone unturned.’

‘And what if he’s not here? In this time, I mean?’

‘Then I’ll use the heart, and fuck the consequences. If I’m meant to find him, then somehow or other I will.’

Clover looked thoughtful – either because she was debating whether to tell me not to be an idiot, or because she had an idea brewing. Eventually she said, ‘Maybe you’re not the right person to track down the Dark Man.’

I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Maybe, to find him, you need someone with a stronger connection to him.’

‘Like who?’ I said. ‘Tallarian?’

Clover shook her head. ‘I was thinking of someone closer to home. Someone whose every waking thought for the past five years has been dominated by the Dark Man and what he did to her. Someone who finds comfort and solace in the heart, and feels an affinity with it.’

The penny dropped. ‘Lyn?’ I said, surprised.

‘Lyn,’ she confirmed. She took a slow sip of her drink, allowing the suggestion time to take root in both our minds. Finally she said, ‘I know it’s a long shot, and I know it might come to nothing, but he was in her mind, Alex –
right
inside. I mean, surely, on that basis, it’s at least worth a try?’

It was tough saying goodbye to Kate, but being an eminently adaptable five-year-old she took our latest parting far more easily than I did. She was thoroughly enjoying her ‘holiday’ with Adam and Paula – and most especially with her best friend, Hamish – and, of course, had no inkling of the two years or so of torture I’d endured searching for her. When, after an uproarious full English breakfast, I gave her a farewell hug, I found it hard to let her go. So hard, in fact, that in the end she started to wriggle like an eel.

‘Daddy, you’re squishing me.’

‘Sorry, peanut.’ When I opened my arms her cheeks were flushed and the static electricity from my jumper had made her hair stand up in wavering spikes.

‘Do you know what your problem is?’ I said solemnly.

She pushed out her bottom lip. ‘What?’

‘It’s that you’re just so incredibly huggable.’

Her frown dissolved into giggles. ‘And your problem is you’re a great big silly sausage. Will you be coming back soon?’

‘Very soon,’ I promised.

‘And when you come back, will we be going home and will I be going to school?’

I thought of the flat we’d lived in, torn apart by the Dark Man’s mob (unless, of course, I’d done it to maintain the timeline, in which case I’m sure I’d find out in due course), and of the house in Kensington I owned now.

‘Probably,’ I said, thinking it would be easier to explain all that when the time came.

‘Yay!’ cried Kate. ‘We like school, don’t we, Hamish?’

Hamish was chewing a slice of toast. He had egg yolk, ketchup and jam around his mouth. ‘I like drawing aeroplanes,’ he announced. ‘Mrs Mason said I drawed the best aeroplanes in the class.’

Kate wrinkled her nose. ‘Aeroplanes are boring. Tigers are better.’

‘Are not!’

‘Are!’

‘Are not!’

‘Talk to the hand,’ Kate said haughtily, showing him her palm, which made us all guffaw.

By 10:30 a.m. Clover and I were on the road. As we ate up the miles and put Kate and the Sherwoods further behind us, I felt hollow, shrunken, as if I’d left a major part of myself back in that little cottage, and what was left was like an unravelling ball of twine that was shrinking ever smaller.

After dozing in the chair by the fire for a while, Clover and I had finally crawled up to our separate beds at around 5 a.m., where, with rain dashing against the window like handfuls of pebbles, I’d managed to get three or four hours fitful sleep. When I’d woken up – to the glorious sound of Kate and Hamish whooping as if imitating police sirens – bright morning sunshine had turned the field outside my tiny bedroom window into a carpet of emeralds. Now, though, the clouds were closing in again, as if imitating my mood. I closed my eyes, which felt gritty and hot, and within seconds I was asleep.