TIME QUAKE (10 page)

Kate was not enjoying this practical lesson in relativity. Sighing heavily, she turned her attention to her feet. Why hadn’t she made more of an effort to retrieve her trainers from the Tar Man’s pockets? But objects were difficult to handle when she was moving so quickly. Everything seemed to resist her touch. Even sounds were now increasingly transformed into a low-pitched, ambient noise which her brain swiftly blanked out. It was on account of this that she was beginning to suspect that with each succeeding episode of fast-forwarding she was moving through the world at greater and greater speeds.

She had not been conscious of treading on anything sharp but when she examined the sole of her left foot she saw that it was split near the heel and dirt was becoming engrained in the wound. Kate decided to ignore it. The cut was not going to kill her and there was no point trying to wash it as water behaved entirely differently when she was moving at this speed. She jumped down off the wagon, a little tired and disheartened, and stuck her face right in front of the dreary couple.

‘I’m looking for my friends – you wouldn’t happen to know where Newgate Lane is, would you? No? I had a feeling you might not be able to help me.’ Kate tugged at the woman’s bonnet and managed to adjust it to a more flattering angle. Then she brushed some dust off the man’s jacket. ‘New in town, are you? I’m sure you’ll both have a lovely time at Bartholomew’s Fair – but if I were you I should avoid the fortune-teller’s tent . . .’

I bet I’m walking in the wrong direction, Kate said to herself as she turned into the yawning darkness of yet another nameless street. Unlike the forest of giant shop signs all over London, she now realised that road signs were very few and far between. She could understand why Hannah always gave directions in terms of the shops that she knew. So instead of telling her, for instance, that she would find a good chop house on the corner of Shoe Lane and Fleet Street, she would say ‘look for it between the Cheshire Cheese and the sign of the Leg of Mutton opposite the apothecary’. But Hannah was not here to help her and as she made her way through the dark, winding streets, Kate realised that she was fast losing her bearings. She was on the point of retracing her steps when she spotted, at some little distance, an athletic figure hurtling towards her. Her heart leaped. Frozen in time and yet evoking the very essence of speed, Gideon was running at full tilt. His hair had come loose from his ponytail and was flying behind him in blond ripples. He was looking over his shoulder at Peter who stood, some twenty paces behind, doubled up in pain, panting like a dog with sweat pouring off him. Her friend clearly could not keep up with Gideon.

‘Gideon!’ Kate exclaimed joyfully. ‘Peter!’

She started to run towards them and, when she reached Gideon, she smiled up at him and gently touched his arm. As she suspected, nothing happened, so she continued running towards Peter. As she drew nearer, she saw that Peter’s face was scrunched up in pain and that his fingers were clasped to his side. She could not help laughing. ‘So much for
me
not being fit enough to keep up with Gideon!’

Kate looked around her at the eerie scene and slowly moved her hand towards Peter. She braced herself for that moment of violent rupture when the living universe broke back into her vacuum-like world.

‘Do you know that you’re my guardian angel?’ she said to him. ‘I don’t understand why – but you’re the only one who can bring me back.’

When the tips of her fingers were but a hair’s breadth from Peter’s arm, something made her draw her hand back. A thought burst inside her head like a bubble. I should have tied him up before I left! Kate pictured the Tar Man standing inside the fortune-teller’s tent looking in amazement at the empty chair where, an instant before, she had been sitting. In another instant he would be out of the tent and would disappear into the heaving mass of people at the fair. What an idiot I am! He’ll get away before Gideon can reach him! But then, without warning, another image crowded into her mind with such force that the rest of the world seemed to vanish.

Kate saw Peter at the top of a tall building, a tower perhaps, or a church, she could not tell. He was silhouetted against storm clouds and buffeted by a powerful wind. Below him modern London – although not a London she totally recognised – stretched out towards a misty horizon. Something was badly wrong. Peter was crying out in anguish and hitting his fists against a stone balustrade. Stop it! Kate shouted at him. You’ll break your knuckles! But he could not hear her. The image faded slowly yet lurid echoes of the vision kept coming back at her. What had she seen? What could have made Peter so upset? She was left shaken and afraid. She stood for a while, not quite knowing what to do next. It was a waking dream, she told herself. It was nothing. But she instinctively knew that it wasn’t a dream. If memories conjure up the past, these half-formed, will-o’-the-wisp apparitions brought the future momentarily to life. The night they arrived in the Marquis de Montfaron’s chateau she had foreseen Peter being reunited with his mother at the farmhouse. That had come to pass. Would this,
too? And was this a possible future, she wondered, or a definite one? Was the future as immoveable as the past, or were both now up for grabs?

Her hand still hovered above Peter’s arm and she longed to grasp it and to return to the comfort of being with her friends. She stared at her friend’s face and forced herself to think of the consequences of giving in to the impulse. If she did not stop the Tar Man from getting away they might not get another chance to catch him. It was up to her. No one would blame her if she bottled out – except herself. Kate lowered her arm and turned resignedly back towards Bartholomew’s Fair.

As she walked along she found that her thoughts kept turning to what the Tar Man had said about Tom. She recalled his small, heart-shaped face and his troubled eyes as he stared down at her from the boughs of the great oak tree the day that the Carrick Gang had attacked them. Poor Tom. To have escaped the clutches of Joe Carrick only to be dragged off to a future century where his master had let him die – no doubt alone and with nobody to lay flowers on his grave. She wondered about the reckless girl of whom the Tar Man had spoken. Kate hoped that at least she had been a friend to Tom . . .

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

Anjali Does the Right Thing

In which Anjali has cause to be grateful
and a small domestic pet does its duty

The staff nurse walked through the ground-floor annexe wearing a waterproof apron over her dark blue uniform. A towel was draped over one plump and freckled arm and she carried a stainless steel kidney dish containing a hypodermic syringe. Her plastic apron squeaked with every step. The nurse stopped to dim the lights and then closed the glass door firmly behind her. Then she walked briskly up the corridor, all shiny linoleum and harsh fluorescent lighting, and disappeared around the corner. She waited for a moment, her cheek resting on the wall, out of sight, listening hard. Presently she heard the click of the door opening and shutting again. The nurse hurried to her office where she threw down what she was carrying and tore off her apron.

Now she retraced her steps, cautiously opened the door and crept noiselessly into the ward. She stood in the shadows, observing the slight figure leaning over the freshly made bed. The girl’s short black hair had a blue sheen to it. She had a small rucksack strapped to her back that was decorated with badges and metallic
beads. The fingers that held the boy’s cool, unresponsive hands in hers were covered in silver rings. The nurse drew closer and reached out as if to tap the girl’s shoulder. She changed her mind and her hand dropped back to her side.

‘Is he a friend of yours?’

Anjali nearly jumped out of her skin and was already halfway to the door before the nurse called out: ‘Don’t go! This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you . . .’

Anjali stopped in her tracks and turned around to face the nurse.

‘I’ll take a bet that your name is Anjali.’

Anjali’s large, dark eyes took on the look of a cat who has seen a sudden movement in the long grass. She stared at the nurse, all attention. With her cropped, salt and pepper hair and her knowing face, the woman reminded her of the patient schoolteacher who’d eventually taught her to read. Anjali stayed hovering by the door but decided not to run – yet.

‘Believe me, I’m happy you’ve come! It’s been breaking my heart to think there’s not a soul in the world who cares whether he lives or dies.’

‘The law have been here—’

‘The police haven’t been round for a couple of days now. The boy’s injuries are consistent with a fall. Only the boy knows if he was pushed or if he fell – and he’s keeping that to himself at the moment . . . Of course they’ve asked us to keep them informed about his progress. That and if any visitors turn up . . .’

Anjali looked alarmed.

‘But it’s the boy I’m concerned about.’

‘Is he gonna be all right?’

‘Do you want me to see if there’s a doctor on duty who can talk to you?’

‘No! Can’t
you
tell me?’

The nurse hesitated. ‘Well, he’s had a blood clot removed from his brain . . .’

Anjali’s head dropped forward onto her chest. The nurse moved closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder.

‘But there were no complications and, as you can see, he’s already been transferred out of the High Dependency Unit . . .’

‘He looks so white . . .’

‘Give him time – he’s doing fine . . .’

Anjali stared at Tom’s bandaged head for a while and then asked: ‘Did anyone identify him?’

‘No.’

‘So they don’t know where he lives?’

‘No. Do you?’

‘No.’

There was a pause while the nurse and the girl weighed each other up.

‘Was it you that hurt him?’

Anjali shook her head vigorously. ‘He was trying to save me.’

‘Well I’m glad he succeeded – though it was at a price . . .’

‘Yeah.’

‘
Are
you Anjali?’

The girl nodded.

‘I heard him say your name yesterday while I was giving him a wash. Names are powerful things. You must be important to him. It’d be good to know
his
name. It’d be a start.’

‘Tom. His name’s Tom.’

The nurse broke into a huge smile, walked over to the bed and sat on the starched white sheets. She stroked the boy’s smooth cheek and patted his hand affectionately. An intravenous drip was taped to his wrist.

‘At last!’ she whispered. ‘Now we can introduce ourselves properly. I’m pleased to meet you, Tom. My name is Brenda. When you wake up you’ll find you’ve got a visitor! And a pretty one at that.’

The nurse motioned for Anjali to come over. Anjali knelt on the floor so that her face was close to Tom’s ear. ‘Can he hear?’

‘It’s difficult to say. He’s been drifting in and out for a while . . .’

‘It’s me, Tom. It’s Anjali.’

Tom’s left eyelid flickered and the nurse and Anjali exchanged hopeful glances. They waited in high anticipation for several minutes, staring at Tom’s waxen face with its dark lashes and small, pointed nose and pale lips, but he remained motionless.

‘Does he have any family?’

Anjali shook her head. ‘He’s an orphan. And the guy who was looking after him has—’ She paused to sigh deeply. ‘He’s gone away.’

‘Will he be back?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘So you’re all he’s got?’

Anjali looked pained. ‘We’re friends. That’s all.’

The nurse nodded. ‘I see.’

The following night the nurse arranged to be there when Anjali arrived. The nurse and the girl sat together on grey, hospital chairs, drinking mugs of hot chocolate that the nurse had made to help them through their evening vigil.

‘I’ve brought something for him.’

The nurse watched as Anjali picked up her rucksack and undid the buckles. Anjali carefully removed a chocolate box fastened with two green elastic bands. Several small holes had been poked into the lid and sawdust escaped from the cracks. The nurse gripped
the side of her chair as she heard a small but distinct scratching sound coming from within the box.

‘I’ve been looking after his mouse. It gives me the creeps. I don’t mind hamsters but mice
stink
.’ Anjali turned to Tom. ‘I wish you’d hurry up and get better so I don’t have to look after your stinky little friend no more.’

‘Please don’t tell me that’s his mouse!’

Anjali grinned. ‘Tom always has it with him – in his pocket, climbing all over him. I reckon he prefers his mouse to people.’

The nurse put her hand to her mouth as she watched Anjali ping off the bands and raise the lid of the box a crack and then, with a shiver of distaste, pull out a wriggling white creature by the tip of its tail.

‘Look who I’ve brought to see you,’ said Anjali.

The mouse squeaked and squirmed as it was hoisted over the seemingly great divide between the chair and the bed. ‘Put it back!’ exclaimed the nurse as Anjali dropped the tiny creature onto Tom’s chest. The startled animal landed with a barely perceptible thud and immediately started to burrow under Tom’s short-sleeved hospital gown.

‘We’ve got to get it out!’