‘No, not that I know of.’
‘And your mother and father didn’t have unexplained collections of things?’
Josh shook his head. He didn’t want to go into the whole family history. There were too many gaps in it, ones his mother was unwilling to fill in.
‘How old are you exactly?’
‘Seventeen,’ he said in between mouthfuls.
‘I would have put you in your twenties. You’re mature for your age — had a hard life, have you?’
‘No, not really.’
‘One thing you will learn about us is that it is pointless to lie about your past. Our own timelines are complex things, but they are there to be read just like the medal — if one has the talent to do it.’
Josh was not about to discuss his life story with a complete stranger, even if the crazy old man had just taken him on a round trip to Hitler’s bunker.
‘Back then, in the Wolf’s Lair, what did you say to make Stauffenberg come out of the toilets?’
The colonel shrugged. ‘Simple. I told him he was required by the Führer. Most officers know better than to keep their C.O. waiting.’
‘So you were the one on the other side of the door? Before, when I was . . .’ Josh felt the colour rise in his cheeks.
‘Stark naked? Yes, that was me. It was a minor repair. In other versions of that scenario your appearance caused a lot more problems than a failed assassination attempt on Hitler — what we have now is one of the best statistical outcomes.’
‘A repair?’ Josh was confused.
‘A temporal adjustment to ensure that the version of events stay within a pre-determined set of positive outcomes.’
‘Determined by who?’
‘By a whole department of brilliant boffins who spend a very long time assessing the alternatives before they decide on the best course of action.’
‘I don’t get it. How can we have gone back and —’
‘Changed the past? That’s the paradox of it all: it’s already happened, and the world still seems to be turning. Now, where did I put the biscuits?’ The colonel began hunting through the kitchen cupboards.
Josh shook his head as if attempting to realign his misfiring brain cells.
‘What you need in situations like this is a custard cream, or maybe even a Garibaldi. At the very least a chocolate digestive . . . Ah, here we are.’
The biscuit tin was Victorian — the hand-painted enamelling of a family Christmas scene around the dining room table looked like something off of the Antiques Roadshow — but when the colonel opened it the smell of freshly baked biscuits was overwhelming.
‘Another perk of the job,’ the colonel said, grinning like a six-year-old. ‘Shopping is a rather more eclectic experience. By God, those Victorians really know how to bake!’ He picked out a fig roll and popped the whole thing straight into his mouth.
Josh took one of the plainer ones and bit into it. The taste was so different from the usual budget stuff he was used to; it was as though the thing was melting on his tongue, butter, cinnamon and sugar crumbled apart in his mouth. He helped himself to two more.
‘So what happened? Did Hitler survive?’ he mumbled through half a biscuit.
‘Yes. It took the Allies another year to end the war. Terrible bloody business.’
‘Why not just go back and kill Hitler before? Or his dad? Or his grandad?’
The colonel paused for a moment as if weighing up how much to tell him.
‘That’s not how it works. Some things were always meant to happen; for good or evil, you cannot change the past too dramatically without disastrous consequences. You have to be more subtle.’
‘Like telling someone they are needed urgently by their Führer?’ Josh said flippantly.
‘At the right moment, yes. One word can change the course of history. Never forget that.’ He held up his finger to emphasise the point.
‘But that wasn’t how it should have been! Who are you to decide on who lives and who dies?’ said Josh raising his voice. The image of all the names on the Churchill Park memorial ran through his mind.
The colonel’s face grew serious. ‘There are bigger things at stake here. We’re trying to stop the human race from destroying itself. Sometimes that requires sacrifice — these decisions are not taking lightly.’
‘So you’re telling me that the hundreds of thousands who died because a bomb didn’t go off were sacrificed for a good cause? You really are mental!’ Josh stood up.
‘Don’t blame yourself. Greater minds than ours have been debating this event for hundreds of years. The Copernicans predicted a seventy-four-point-four per cent chance that a united Germany would have initiated another world war within seventy years, probably during the economic decline in 12.008-15, after the UK left the European Union.’
Josh took a moment to process the dates. ‘No! I was there — it didn’t happen! Your geniuses got it wrong!’
The colonel shrugged. ‘That’s statistics for you. No one said it was an exact science,’ and began washing up the cups and plates in the sink.
‘So is that it? Am I supposed to carry on as though nothing has changed?’ Josh was shouting now. ‘This makes no frigging sense!’ and, with that, he turned and stormed out of the house.
The colonel sighed to himself. ‘I think he’ll find that everything about his life is about to change a great deal. Won’t he, puss?’
The cat ignored him, realising that the opportunity for food had ended, and wandered out through the back door.
16
About My Dad
It took three long, frustrating days to complete his community-service order. They didn’t go back to Churchill Park, which was a relief as Josh didn’t want to bump into the colonel. He needed time to think it all through.
Nothing seemed to make sense any more. He tried to ignore the changes, but something had been awakened in him — adding an extra dimension to the world around him. Everything had become more real, more vivid. Every object he touched seemed to pulse with history; every smell, sound or colour registered as if for the first time. He felt like he had superpowers, which perhaps he did. Josh ached to tell someone — to show them what he could do — but he knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t want to screw this up. This was the chance he had been waiting for, to be something really special, and he kept it close, kept it secret.
They had told him his mother was likely to be in the hospital for weeks and so, with his flat being a total train wreck, he had gone to stay with Mrs B. She was taking great delight in spoiling him. It was like being a ten-year-old again: tonight was chilli and chips, with Angel Delight for dessert.
Today was his final day of community service and as he packed up the tools into the minibus, he watched the other members of the crew goofing around: they had someone’s phone and were throwing it to each other and pretending to drop it, while the kid who owned it flailed around, trying to intercept it. Everyone was laughing apart from the boy. It was juvenile and harmless. No one was going to get hurt — not yet, anyway. Josh knew that in a few years half this group would be doing time or dead. It was just a fact of life around here. Crime was a whole lot easier than working on a zero-hour contract and the pay was better, especially when drugs were involved.
Josh had never really been that into drugs — his mum took enough for both of them — but, when he did, it usually ended badly. Junkies were uncontrollable and random, ready to do just about anything for a hit; dealers on the other hand didn’t give a shit. They got rich quick and, like lottery ticket winners, usually blew it all on pimped-up cars and tasteless bling.
‘So, Mr Jones, this is it — our very last day,’ Mr Bell said as he closed the doors of the van. ‘Next time you’ll probably be going straight to jail. Do not pass go.’
‘No, sir.’ Josh smiled. ‘I’m not going down. Not like those retards.’ He nodded at the rest of the gang.
‘It’s odd. Seems like I’ve known you for years. When was it now?’
&
nbsp; ‘2013. Three years ago.’
‘Yes. The fire, wasn’t it? I seem to remember the school didn’t reopen for weeks.’
‘Wasn’t my fault, sir. Wrong place, wrong time.’
Mr Bell laughed. ‘It never is, Joshua.’ He extended his hand. ‘Your future is in your hands.’
Josh realised this was the first time Bell had ever treated him with any respect, and he could tell that the guy actually meant what he was saying. He shook his hand quickly before anyone could see and walked over to the group of boys.
‘See you later, suckers,’ he said, catching the phone as it spun past. He tossed it back to its owner nonchalantly and pulled up his hoodie.
‘Got a message for you, Crash,’ said Delland, who had a bandage over one hand. ‘Lenin wants to see you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah right,’ Josh growled as he walked off.
The hospital ward was like a waiting room for the nearly departed. Visitors sat beside their sick relatives reading old magazines, sipping tea from cardboard cups or just staring blankly into space while they tried to think of something to say that didn’t involve illness or death.
His mother was sitting up in bed with tubes running into each arm. She looked fragile and small, like a little doll. Her face had aged — as if the episode had drained her, but when she saw him the dark lines melted away under the warmth of her smile.
It was in these moments that he remembered how hard it was for her, never knowing when this disease would come back. She was damned to live a life of two halves: one spent suffering and the other waiting for it to return. There were only brief moments of happiness in between: when she would lose herself in a TV programme or score a small win on the lottery.
‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek.
‘Hello, dear,’ she whispered hoarsely.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you know. Same old rubbish. Doctor said it would be a few weeks at least.’
Joshua sat down and put the bag with her things into the bedside cabinet.
‘Yeah, I know. I’ve brought you a few bits and pieces from home.’
‘My tickets?’ Her eyes widened.
‘Yes. And some underwear and a toothbrush. The usual stuff.’
‘And?’ She was like a child at Christmas.
‘And a lucky dip for the Euromillions. It’s the largest rollover in two years apparently.’ He handed her the ticket.
She held the paper as though it were made of gold. ‘This is the one, Joshy. I can feel it in my bones. It will be . . . what’s the word? Kar- something.’
‘Karma?’
‘Yeah, like that. I always get a win when I’m ill. Check your diary thingy. You’ll see.’
She was probably right. Her numbers did always seem to come up during her relapses — it came as a small comfort during the long nights to know that at least they would be able to keep the lights on for another week.
‘Mum. About the flat . . .’ Josh faltered. There was a lump in his throat. He had rehearsed this conversation in his head all the way here on the bus.
Her face fell, the happiness vanishing as she shrank back into her pillow. ‘I don’t want to go back there,’ she said, shaking her head.
That wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
‘The council have sent us a letter.’ He produced the envelope, knowing full well that she wouldn’t want to read it. ‘They say we have to be out in a month. We’re behind on the rent.’
‘Good riddance. They can keep it.’
‘But where are we going to go, Mum? You can’t stay in here forever, and I’m sleeping on Mrs B’s sofa.’
His mother looked away sheepishly, unable to look him in the eye as she spoke. ‘I can stay with Aunty Julie for a while. Just till I get back on my feet. She came in yesterday and made me promise.’
Aunt Julie despised Josh. She had always blamed him for his mother’s illness and hadn’t ever been afraid to hide her feelings about him.
‘Think of it as a holiday, love.’ His mother tried to make light of it. ‘Just while the council finds us another flat.’
She had no idea that they were about to get evicted. Josh had hidden the letters and the final demands. He knew that the stress would have kicked off another episode.
‘What about our stuff? What am I supposed to do with it?’
‘Burn it for all I care. There’s nothing worth keeping.’
‘But it was our home!’ he said a little too loudly in the quiet ward. People began to stare.
She put her hand on his as if to calm him.
‘They are only things, love. Bits of rubbish that we’ve collected over the years. As long as we have each other, we don’t need anything else.’
‘But Dad’s stuff. It’s all I have of him.’
She scoffed. ‘Oh, Joshua. Your father never gave us a thing. I just made it up to keep you from asking too many questions.’
‘The photo? The one at the beach?’
‘That was taken by some stranger who was passing.’ Her eyes closed and she sighed deeply. ‘I have been thinking about it while I’ve been stuck in here — it’s time you knew the truth. There never was anybody that you could call a dad. Just one stupid night at a party. I don’t remember much about it, to be honest, but what he gave me was the best present I could ever wish for.’
She stroked his cheek, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘I’m sorry, son, but I don’t want you to waste time looking for something that never existed.’
As she spoke, the facade that he’d built of his father crumbled away. For years he had pasted layer upon layer of false memories over the gap where his dad should have been — using half-remembered stories or photographs he’d found in boxes of old polaroids. Like old wallpaper, the layers peeled off in one go to expose the isolation he’d been hiding from for so long, and he realised it didn’t matter.
He’d never had a father — no amount of wishing for one would change that. His mother was all he’d ever known and that was enough. So he didn’t have much to show for the last seventeen years. A few fading photographs and two swimming medals didn’t really sum up his life — his criminal record was far more extensive and they were about to be sealed by the courts.
This was his chance to start again.
He was a survivor. No matter what life had thrown at him so far he had adapted and overcome it. All for her, she was the only thing he cared about, the reason he took the risks. The doctors were hinting that soon she would need full-time professional care. He couldn’t bear the thought of her stuck in some residential home with a bunch of strangers, but he was running out of options.
He needed a plan. First, he had to get Lenin off his back and move his mum away from the estate — into a better neighbourhood. Perhaps he could even use her condition to get placed higher up the waiting list.
Her breathing had softened, and he knew she had fallen asleep. He’d wanted to tell her about the colonel — not the whole time-travel thing, but something to whet her appetite. He wasn’t sure how it was going to help them, but he had a feeling that it was an opportunity to get them out of their situation. He just needed to find the right angle.
17
Training
Josh went back home to pick up the last of his things: some clothes, his diary and a shoebox of old photos, which he had hidden under a floorboard in his bedroom.
He didn’t realise there was someone else in the flat until he was leaving. The electricity was off, and it was getting late — making it virtually impossible to see who was rummaging around in the front room. He put down the last of his belongings carefully and picked up the baseball bat they kept behind the door. He gripped it tightly, as if he were going in to bat for the Redsocks.
There might not be much of his home left, but it was still all he had. It was probably a squatter or a junkie looking for somewhere to bed down for the night. He didn’t care. This would be retribution for all the shit he’d been p
ut through in the last week.
Josh crept quietly towards the front room, catching the woody aroma of pipe smoke as he got closer. Squinting into the gloom, he could just make out a large figure sitting in the armchair; the unmistakeable frizzy outline of the colonel’s hair was silhouetted against the glow of the street lights that shone through the window behind him.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Joshua. I’ve been waiting for you,’ the colonel’s gruff voice announced. His face was suddenly lit up by flame as he re-ignited the pipe and puffed furiously on it. Josh couldn’t help but notice that his beard had grown back to its usual bushy size again. He looked like a dark Santa Claus.
‘They appear to have done quite a number on your home,’ the colonel observed, once his pipe was alight.
Josh looked around the room. Someone had used the walls for graffiti practice while he was out. If it had been a car, they would have set it on fire by now. He dropped the baseball bat onto the sofa and sat down.
‘Not my home, not any more,’ Josh conceded, as if finally admitting defeat.
‘Nonsense! This is merely temporary. We could go back a few days and fit better locks on that front door of yours — or even a better door if you wish?’
‘No — it’s OK. I’m done with this place,’ Josh replied. He got the impression that the colonel had been drinking.
‘Good,’ the colonel said, getting unsteadily to his feet. ‘Then I have a job you can help me with.’
‘Why?’
The colonel took out a candle and lit it, placing it on the mantelpiece where the fake fireplace used to be.
‘Because you have a talent, and it would be a great shame to waste it.’
Josh had never been told he had a talent for anything, apart from stealing cars.
‘Will I get paid?’ asked Josh.
‘What?’ barked the colonel, seeming rather taken aback by the question.
‘Well, I kind of need cash — and you said “job” so I’m thinking I should get paid?’
The Infinity Engines Books 1-3 Page 10
