‘What took you so long?’ Lewis asked. ‘I’m about to faint with hunger here.’
‘Sorry, I got lost.’
‘You’d get lost in a one bedroom flat. Anyway, how’d it go?’
Sam wrinkled his nose. ‘Mr Tilbert made a bit of a song and dance about it. The year’s already started, he said, and the college is fully subscribed―’
‘Blah-blah-blah. He likes the sound of his own voice.’ Lewis mimed a yawn. ‘But he let you in, right?’
‘Yeah,’ Sam said and grinned. ‘After the plane crash I think he was more worried about what people would think if he didn’t.’
Lewis fist pumped the air. ‘Get in! I’ve got a free period this afternoon, what do you want to do to celebrate?’
‘I can’t,’ Sam said, shaking his head. ‘I’ve got to meet someone in an hour.’
Lewis was slightly taken aback. ‘Really? Who?’
‘Just a friend from America.’
‘A friend? I didn’t think you were there long enough.’
‘Wow, thanks a bunch. I am capable of making new friends, you know.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop by your house tomorrow then. Come on, let’s eat.’
The cafeteria was filled with noise as people shouted to be heard over one another. Lewis and Sam took a tray each from a stack at the end of the counter and pushed them along a rail as they waited to be served. Lewis chose the fish fingers and chips, Sam the chicken curry.
‘What’s the food like in this place?’ Sam asked as they took a table in the far corner.
‘Better than our last school,’ Lewis said, ‘but not much.’
Sam took a bite of his chicken curry, grimaced and immediately spat it into a paper tissue. ‘That’s repulsive,’ he said, pushing his plate away.
‘Hey, what would I know? I’ll eat anything.’
‘True.’
Lewis took a bite of fish finger and chewed with his mouth open. ‘So, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about what happened at your dad’s funeral, you know, when you thought you saw that bombing that didn’t happen and—’ Sam kicked him on the shin under the table. ‘Ouch! What was that for?’
‘You haven’t told anyone about that, have you?’ Sam asked, rubbing the scar behind his ear, which was becoming harder to see as his hair grew back.
Lewis hesitated. ‘No, I haven’t. At least, I don’t think so.’
‘Which is it, Lewis? You haven’t or you don’t think so?’
‘No, I haven’t. What’s the big deal anyway?’
‘Nothing. You just can’t tell anyone, that’s all.’
‘Whatever.’ Lewis was trying his best to be patient, but his friend seemed so different since the crash.
‘Please,’ Sam said, ‘it’s important. I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone.’
Lewis put his fork down. ‘Fine, if it’s so Earth-shatteringly important, I promise. Happy now?’
‘Yes,’ Sam said, but the veins around his temples were standing out again.
10
It was ten minutes after the time Sam had arranged to meet Eva and he was beginning to suspect she might not show up. He’d been feeling uneasy ever since Lewis had so casually mentioned the bombing over lunch. Only days before, under McHayden’s watchful gaze, Sam had sworn himself to secrecy on all matters time travel related, but now he realised this promise had been broken before it was even made, because Lewis already knew what had happened on the day of the funeral.
The weather had worsened and another watery snowfall wetted the slabs of the pavement. To keep warm, Sam jiggled up and down while staring through the window of a pharmacy and pretending to be interested in a display that showed Rudolf the Reindeer using a branded nasal spray to cure his red nose. He checked his phone after another minute or two had passed. There were no messages or missed calls, but that was hardly surprising, since he’d already checked before arriving. Just in case he did a quick circuit to the other exit of the tube station, but Eva wasn’t waiting there either.
Sam tried to picture what she looked like, but the image in his head didn’t seem quite right. He knew certain facts, like the colour of her eyes and the shape of her smile, but couldn’t fit these together properly, as though he was missing certain pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. What if she’d had already come and gone and he hadn’t recognised her? What if she was still angry about the Night of the Broken Coffee Table and had changed her mind? What if Doug had pressured her into meeting him out of misguided guilt or, worse still, pity?
Sam took his phone out again and was about to call Doug’s landline when, all of a sudden, he got the unsettling feeling that he was being watched. He glanced up to see an old man on the opposite side of the road who was staring at him with wild, hazel eyes. The man looked like he had been sleeping rough for a very long time. He wore a mismatching collection of filthy clothes and had long white hair that had fused together with his beard to form a single mega-dreadlock. There was something vaguely familiar about him, although Sam couldn’t place what it was.
At that moment someone else, a man with hair shaved even shorter than Sam’s, raced up the stairs from the tube station and nearly knocked him over. Without apologising, he darted off, and when Sam looked up again the tramp on the other side of the road had vanished.
There was a tap on Sam’s shoulder.
‘Hey,’ Eva said.
‘Hey to you too.’
She looked even more gorgeous than he remembered, the puzzle pieces fitting together with devastating effect. Eva could have kept him waiting all day and Sam wouldn’t have cared now that she had arrived. He wondered whether or not a hug was appropriate, but she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
‘You’ve had a haircut,’ she said and released him. ‘I like it.’
‘Thanks.’ He rubbed his head, his fingers resting on the scar for a second.
‘It’s good to see you. I couldn’t believe it when I heard about your dad. Doug said you had some kind of fit at the funeral?’
‘Oh that,’ Sam said, knowing he had no choice but to give the revised version of events. ‘They think I might have developed epilepsy after the surgery.’
Eva gasped and put a hand over her mouth.
‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ he added quickly. ‘And I’m on this new medicine which has totally stopped the fits. All things considered, I’m doing well. So, what brings you to London?’
She stopped smiling and sighed. ‘I’m staying with Doug for a few weeks. Things back home are a mess of epic proportions and I needed to take a break before I went crazy. Let’s get out of the cold and I’ll explain all. Where are you taking me?’
‘Um, I’m not really sure,’ Sam said, realising he’d been so worried about whether or not Eva would show up that he hadn’t given any thought as to where they’d go if she actually did. ‘There’s a little coffee house around the corner. They sell homemade cakes that are pretty good and―’
‘How about there?’ Eva said, pointing to a pub across the road. ‘I feel like something a bit stronger than coffee.’
Sam was about to protest, but Eva slid her gloved hand into his and stepped onto the crossing, dragging him after.
The pub was called The Prince Regent, and it was shabby but not in a chic sort of way. The exterior was all flaking paint and grubby brickwork. There was a sign above the door with a painting of the Prince Regent himself: a young man in a red military coat wearing an impressive collection of medals on his chest. Although the sign was at least fifteen feet above the pavement, someone had managed to deface it with a wad of chewing gum over each eye and a piece that stretched across the mouth.
Eva shoved the door open, slamming it noisily against the wall. The interior was almost as run-down as the outside, with seat covers faded to a greyish brown, their original colour unrecognisable, and tables cratered by an assortment of ancient cigarette burns. The only other customers were two red-faced old men, who looked like they’d bee
n drinking for several hours already and turned to stare at Eva and Sam as if they’d just walked in dressed as a pantomime horse.
Sam quickly decided this was the kind of place only visited by ‘locals’ and that they had no business here. ‘Maybe we should try somewhere else,’ he said, hanging back by the door.
Eva didn’t reply and strode purposefully to the bar, leaving Sam with no choice but to follow. A plump, pig-faced woman with eyebrows plucked to the point of invisibility and then pencilled back in was standing behind it, watching them with an expression that was far from welcoming.
Eva unzipped her coat, loosened her scarf and smiled sweetly. ‘Two shots of tequila, thank you.’
The barmaid looked slowly from Eva, to Sam and then to Eva again. ‘Can’t serve you,’ she said.
Sam turned to leave but Eva tugged at his sleeve, pulling him back. ‘Why ever not?’ she said. ‘We’re both old enough.’
The barmaid snorted. ‘Yeah, right. So you can prove it, can you?’
‘Naturally,’ Eva said. She took her purse out and, cool as you like, presented a UK driver’s licence. The barmaid snatched it from her and held it up to the light, squinting and glancing back and forth between the card and Eva’s face. The two old drunks watched on with varying degrees of amusement and hostility. Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot and muffled a fake cough.
Eventually the barmaid lowered the ID and slid it back across the top of the bar. ‘Eva Bernstein?’
‘That’s right,’ Eva said, returning the licence to her purse.
‘What can I get you?’
‘As I said, two shots of tequila and…what do you want, Sam?’
Of the five taps set in the top of the bar, three had upturned glasses over the handles, limiting the choice.
‘A cider, I think,’ he said.
Eva nodded. ‘Okay. Two shots of tequila and two ciders, please.’
The barmaid grunted in acknowledgement, then poured two pints of flat, yellow liquid and a pair of ominous-looking brown shots, which she placed on a tray with a salt shaker and a couple of shrivelled slices of lemon.
‘Here,’ Sam said and reached for his wallet, but Eva had already pressed a twenty pound note into the barmaid’s hand.
‘Doug gave me cash and I don’t have anything else to spend it on,’ she said. ‘You can buy the next round of drinks, if you like.’
Sam carried the tray over to the table that looked least likely to collapse. Eva collected her change and joined him. ‘Okay, shots first,’ she said and handed him a narrow glass. ‘Do you like tequila?’
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘drink it all the time.’
‘Good, it’s my favourite.’ Eva poured a small mound of salt onto the back of her hand and passed the shaker to Sam. ‘What shall we drink to?’ she asked, raising her glass. ‘Your dad?’
‘No, let’s drink to the future.’
‘To the future then…and new beginnings, fresh starts and clean slates.’
‘The last clean slate I had didn’t work out so well,’ he said.
She licked the salt off her hand, knocked back the tequila in a single gulp and banged her empty glass on the table. ‘Now your turn.’
Sam sniffed his glass. He’d only ever tried tequila once before – when Chrissie had left half a bottle on the kitchen counter and Lewis had dared him to drink some – but this smelled much stronger. It was enough to make his eyes water and Sam wished he hadn’t just boasted about how often he drank it. Copying Eva, he poured salt on the back of his hand, licked it and, before he could retch, swallowed down the shot. His throat instantly caught fire, an intense burning that spread down to his stomach and rose into his nasal cavity. He coughed and spluttered, tears flooding his eyes, and banged his glass on the table.
Eva laughed. ‘I thought you drank tequila all the time?’
‘Well, maybe not all time.’
‘Here, bite on this,’ she said and passed him a slice of lemon. ‘It helps.’
Sam bit down and grimaced as sour juice filled his mouth. At least it took the taste of tequila away and, after a few seconds, he discovered the burning sensation actually felt quite good. He sipped his cider, which was almost pleasurable by comparison. ‘So, where did you get the fake driver’s licence?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got to admit, it looks pretty convincing.’
‘That’s because it’s not a fake,’ Eva said, as if that were explanation enough.
‘But…how?’
‘There are ways if you know how. I’m good with computers, remember?’
Sam decided against pushing it any further. ‘You said things in Montclair were a bit of a mess. How so?’
‘Where to begin? Doug and Colette are getting a divorce.’
It was strange for Sam to think that people’s lives had moved on in the time he’d spent in a coma and the weeks since waking up. ‘Are you okay with that?’ he asked.
Eva shrugged and took a sip of cider. ‘There’s only so long two people can live separate lives while still pretending to be a couple, I guess. It’s Nicole I’m really worried about. She may try to pretend like she’s super mature and everything, but it’s hit her pretty bad. Still, it’s not like anyone died or anything…oh, Sam, I’m so sorry!’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. He knew that at some stage he would have to get used to people talking about death, and the last thing he wanted was Eva walking on eggshells around him.
‘No, it is most definitely not okay,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. Since I broke up with Trent I’ve gotten more and more used to saying what I think, but whatever, it’s not okay.’
‘No, really. It…wait, you broke up with Trent?’
Eva leaned back in her chair and gazed at him, her head tilted to one side.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said.
‘Really? Even after what happened at the party?’
‘That whole thing with the coffee table was an accident, by the way. Things got way out of hand and…and I never meant to—’
‘I know, Nicole told me what happened. I wanted to apologise, but you never showed up at school. It was only later I found out about the plane crash.’ She paused, glanced over to the bar and then looked back and smiled. ‘Anyway, enough of the doom and gloom. I’m here to drink and it’s your turn to buy. What do you say?’
There were hundreds of things Sam wanted to say to her, but the word ‘no’ was not among them.
* * * * *
The pub was beginning to get busy when, three tequilas and another pint of cider later, Sam and Eva stumbled onto the pavement. The snowy rain had eased off, giving way to a cold, clear night. It was rush hour and the streets were filled with people making their way home for the weekend. In spite of the chill, Sam’s body felt as though it radiated heat. Without giving it a thought he put his arm around Eva, and she smiled and rested her head against his shoulder as they walked.
‘What now?’ he asked as they approached the station.
‘I’d like to stay out, but Doug’s taking me for dinner. I had a nice time though.’
‘Me too. We should do it again.’
‘You mean like a date?’
Sam clenched his teeth, certain he’d taken things too far. ‘No, not if you don’t want it to be. It’d just be…friends catching up.’
‘I thought we just did that.’
‘Oh,’ he said and withdrew his arm from her shoulder.
Eva laughed, grabbed hold of his hand and pulled it back in place. ‘Relax, silly, I’m only kidding. I’m free tomorrow.’
Sam exhaled a cidery breath. ‘Maybe you could come over to mine then. My sister will be there and—’
Eva rolled her eyes towards the dark sky. ‘And here I was thinking you might want to spend time alone with me!’
‘I do,’ he said, feeling like he was trying to change direction while running on ice. ‘We can do something else instead if…wait a minute, you’re messing with me again, aren’t you?’
‘A b
it slow, but you get there in the end. What time shall I come by?’
‘How about lunchtime?’
‘Sounds good. Until tomorrow then.’
In one swift motion Eva put her hands on Sam’s waist and, before he knew what was happening, kissed him. His heart did a quick cartwheel in his chest. He leaned in and was about to pull her closer when she broke away, turned and skipped down the steps to the station. At the bottom she looked over her shoulder and waved before disappearing out of sight.
Sam felt a grin that was probably visible from space stretch across his lips. And then he realised he was late to meet Dr McHayden.
11
Sam stumbled home as fast as his drunken legs would carry him, which wasn’t very fast. His stomach sloshed with a mixture of tequila and cider that didn’t sit at all well and the world seemed to swim and dip with every footstep. At one point he had to grab hold of a lamp post to steady himself. An elderly couple walking in the opposite direction gave him dirty looks and crossed to the other side of the road.
How could he have forgotten about meeting Dr McHayden when the Tempus Project was his only chance of undoing what had happened to his parents? The answer was obvious: when Sam was with Eva, nothing seemed to matter. He got tunnel vision and all else blurred into the background.
He would have liked to rest longer, but McHayden had already told him that she didn’t take lateness lightly, so he took a deep breath, waited a couple more seconds and then staggered on again. As he reached the end of his road, a bubble of gas rose within him, exiting as a loud cider-and-tequila-flavoured burp. At that moment Sam realised he wasn’t going to make it home in time, so he ducked into the front garden of the house three doors up from his own, where he bent over double and vomited in Mrs Mason’s prized rose bushes.
He retched and retched, his stomach cramping until nothing came up but a thick, yellow liquid that stung the back of his throat. After that he stayed hunched for a while, his knees in the mud as he gasped and wiped cold sweat from his forehead. He would have done anything for a glass of water, but thankfully the world had begun to spin a little less.
The Pages of Time Page 16
