by Jodi Taylor
I stood up.
He looked up. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Oh,’ I said vaguely, rather caught on the hop because you’re not supposed to lie to children. I don’t know why not – it’s not as if they don’t lie their socks off to us. And I wasn’t just lying. I was also providing a first-class example of deceit, duplicity, trickery, and how, in general, good people shouldn’t behave. ‘I thought I’d just …’ I gestured, vaguely.
He got up.
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘You stay here. They’ll be bringing in the Yule log soon and Uncle Markham will be looking for you.’
I patted him on the shoulder and strode off in the direction of Wardrobe. I’d get my costume sorted first.
I looked down to find Matthew trotting along beside me.
‘No,’ I said, slowing to a halt. ‘You have to stay here.’
He said nothing – just glared at me with the eyes that were so like my own. Well, two could play at that game. I glared back with eyes that were so like his own. We glared at each other.
‘You won’t know the way,’ he said quietly.
Bugger. Busted. By my own kid. How did that happen?
‘What?’ I said, pretending ignorance.
‘You won’t know the way to Grit Lane. There’s a lot of alleys. Some wrong people live there. I should come.’
I paused. I still wasn’t sure he quite grasped … things. Whether he knew he’d been living in another time, or whether he thought he’d just moved a few miles up the road from Grit Lane to St Mary’s, where people lived nicer lives. And then sometimes he would say something that made me wonder if he didn’t know more than the rest of us put together.
‘Wouldn’t you be afraid to go back?’
‘No. Yes. A little bit.’
At that moment, he sounded so like me that I nearly laughed. With Leon’s dark hair and stocky build and his love of putting things together – or more often of taking them apart – I sometimes wondered if there was anything of me in Matthew at all, but this disregard for the rules and complete inability both to tell the truth and to lie – that was all me.
I stared at him while I took a moment to think. Taking him back might do him good. He could see his friends again. Say a proper goodbye. Leon had yanked him out of that life and brought him back to St Mary’s, confused, sullen and half wild. It would also enable him to see how far he had come since those days. He might even learn to value his new life.
But …
I pulled him against the wall where we could talk quietly. Not that anyone could hear us above the racket in the Hall, but I always say better safe than sorry. And that’s about as close to Health and Safety as I get.
‘You must understand – this trip is for you only. You can go and see your friends, but when we leave they must stay behind. Do you understand why?’
He shook his head.
‘That is their life. That is the time in which they were born and that is where they must remain.’
‘I came here. Why can’t they?’
‘You were born here. In this time,’ I said, crossing my fingers behind my back because that wasn’t strictly true. ‘This is where you belong. You were stolen from us and Daddy came to rescue you. Remember?’
He nodded.
‘It’s good that you’re concerned about your friends. And we will take them some presents for Christmas – to make their lives a little easier. But at the end of the visit you must understand – they can’t come back with us. If you can’t understand that then you can’t come. I know that these are difficult things for you and perhaps it would be easier – less upsetting – for you to stay behind and I’ll take the presents to your friends and give them your love.’
‘No. I want to come.’
‘If you come – if you come – you must do exactly as I say, exactly when I say it. Do you understand?’
He nodded too easily.
‘No, I mean it. If I say run, then you run. So I’ll ask again. Do you understand?’
He nodded again.
I was still suspicious. We’d done this before when he defied me. When he would just refuse to budge, fold his arms, stare at me and look just like his father.
‘No, Matthew. This is not one of those times when I let you get away with it.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I will take you if you want to come, but only if I can trust you to do as you’re told. When I go out with Uncle Markham or Auntie Sykes they know this. You must too.’
He thought for a moment and then nodded.
‘OK then. Let’s go and talk to Mrs Enderby.’
We were in luck. Mrs Enderby, Mrs Midgely and Mrs Mack were sitting in the relative peace of Wardrobe, stitching together big red bows. That’s the problem with putting up decorations in something the size of our Great Hall. You can’t just shove a bit of tinsel on the mantelpiece and call it a day. You need to think big. These bows were for tying back the long curtains.
A large bottle of sherry nearby was evidence that they were already thinking big. That and their flushed faces, but on the other hand it was very hot in here.
Mrs Enderby shot us her usual sweet smile. Mrs Midgely shot us her usual hostile glance. Mrs Mack remained on neutral ground and topped up her glass.
I made sure the door was closed and pulled out a chair.
‘At this time of year, we remember absent friends –’ I had a sudden flashback to Helen crumpling to the floor with that small neat hole over her eyebrow, ‘– and Matthew has concerns about the ones he left behind. We all saw the state of him when he arrived here and there are two more like that where he came from.’
I saw Mrs Mack stir with alarm.
‘No, relax, I’m not proposing a rescue mission. We got ourselves into enough trouble last time.’
Some years ago, we’d lifted a contemporary from the war zone that was Troy. We’d saved his life but very nearly at the expense of our own.
‘I’m simply proposing we take them a little something to make their lives less … unpleasant. Mrs Mack, I was wondering if you could make me up a care package. Something that two …’ I glanced at Matthew ‘… three little boys would enjoy. They’ll be very cold and very hungry.’
She nodded, put aside her giant red bow and stood up. ‘Come and see me in half an hour.’ She disappeared out of the door.
Mrs Enderby tucked her needle into her cardigan and said, ‘Come with me young man.’
They disappeared.
I looked at Mrs Midgely. Our housekeeper is always a bit of an unknown quantity. She looked back. I smiled at her because that usually works. People will do a lot to stop me smiling at them.
She sighed loudly and stood up. ‘Two blankets, yes?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but not good ones because their last one was sold for gin.’
‘I understand,’ she said and then she too disappeared.
I followed after Matthew and Mrs Enderby.
She’d provided him with a shapeless brown hat, a thick brown flecked tweed jacket that belted around the waist, matching knee breeches, thick knitted stockings and a stout pair of shoes. Everything was slightly too big for him but we had no choice. We don’t cater for children.
‘An additional pair of socks should help with the shoes, I think,’ she said. ‘And turn back the cuffs on the jacket. Yes, that’s much better.’ She topped everything off with a thick muffler and some knitted gloves.
‘And you Max, what sort of impression do you wish to make?’
I thought. ‘Well off, but not rich. Nothing that I’m going to get killed for. Warm, but able to move fast should I have to. Think middle class, affluent, assured. I’m going to need some authority if we find ourselves in trouble.’ And once again I had a huge stab of guilt. Not over what I was doing – but the fact that Matthew was doing it with me.
I was handed a dark blue dress and matching pelisse trimmed with fake fur, a close fitting but plain bonnet, leather gloves, and a dark fur muff. I would wear my own boots. Just in case things
turned nasty.
We couldn’t wear our costumes around St Mary’s, so we stuffed it all into a sports bag and set off for Mrs Mack, who was waiting for us. She’d packed two large cardboard boxes. ‘And when they’ve eaten everything in sight,’ she said, ‘they can flatten the boxes and sleep on them. Keep them off the floor. They’re biodegradable, so they shouldn’t do any harm. As far as I know, no one in the 19th century dies of cardboard box-related contamination.’
I peeped inside the boxes. There were four pies. ‘Two chicken and ham and two steak and kidney,’ she said. ‘Two giant slabs of Christmas cake. Bread rolls. Cheese. Apples. Chocolate. Tangerines. Mince pies. A bag of roast chicken drumsticks. Ditto of grilled sausages. And a flask of hot soup. Bring the flask back or don’t bother coming back at all.’
I nodded. ‘Thank you. This is marvellous.’
Matthew pulled my sleeve and gestured behind me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was Dr Bairstow – he knows everything that goes on in his unit before it even happens – you should hear Markham on the subject – but it was Mrs Midgley, with three old stained blankets. Refugees from one of the pods, I guessed.
‘Three blankets?’
‘Well … yes,’ she said in surprise. ‘One to be discovered and sold for gin, and the other two to be concealed and used for the benefit of two cold little boys. Don’t you think?’
I stared at her. ‘Brilliant.’ Which it was. I should have thought of that.
Actually, no. Not brilliant. We had two sports bags full of clothes, hats and gloves. We had two cardboard boxes stuffed full of good things to eat. And we had three good-sized albeit slightly smelly blankets. There was no way we were going to get this lot through St Mary’s unnoticed.
That’s when things started to get away from me a little because while I was formulating and discarding various methods of getting all this lot plus one small boy to the paint store – and believe me, each idea was more bizarre than the last – Peterson and Markham turned up.
Markham greeted me with his usual sunny smile and went to help himself to a sausage. Mrs Mack cleared her throat and he suddenly decided his hand would be safer in his pocket.
Peterson – oh, how I worried about Tim Peterson – enquired casually if I was going somewhere.
I rearranged my features to an expression of complete innocence. ‘No. What makes you say that?’
‘Well, it’s Christmas Eve.’
‘Yes? And?’
‘Well, it’s traditional, isn’t it? Every Christmas Eve we seize on the very flimsiest of excuses and whirl ourselves off down the timeline. You get us into trouble. I save the day with the elegant competence for which I am famed, and Markham becomes home to yet another set of indigenous wildlife. Tradition.’
I shook my head. ‘No, I’m sorry, guys, not this time. This is a family affair.’
Markham blinked indignantly. ‘We’re family.’
‘No, we’re not,’ said Peterson firmly. ‘There are no circumstances in the world in which I’m ever going to admit to being related to you. No one would. Even Hunter won’t admit it and she’s married to you.’
He paused hopefully.
And paused. And paused.
Markham regarded him guilelessly. And silently.
Eventually Peterson gave in and turned his full attention to weaker prey. ‘So, Max, what’s going on?’
‘Who’s asking?’
He looked surprised. ‘I am. Didn’t you hear my question?’
‘No, I mean, in which capacity are you asking?’
‘In my capacity as the person who wants to know what’s going on. Who else?’
‘No, I mean, at this precise moment, are you My Friend Tim? Or Dr Peterson, that well-known maverick time traveller and disaster magnet? Or are you DD? And no, that’s not his bra size,’ I said before Markham could get a word in because that’s his favourite joke.
Markham said, ‘Aaaaw,’ and his hand began to stray towards a consolatory sausage. I don’t think he realised he was doing it. Hunter always says his outlying regions have a life of their own and then blushes violently as all of St Mary’s takes a collective breath to enquire which outlying regions are the worst behaved.
Mrs Mack gently moved them to half an inch beyond even his monkey-like reach.
Matthew, impatient at all this time-wasting talk, pulled at my sleeve.
‘Sorry,’ I said to them, ‘but we have to go.’
‘We?’ said Peterson sharply. ‘You’re not taking young Matthew here, are you?’
Silently, synchronizedly – is that even a word? – Matthew and I both folded our arms and glared at him.
‘Dear God,’ said Markham. ‘There’s two of them.’
Behind me, I could hear Mrs Mack and Mrs Midgley folding their arms as well. The air crackled with female defiance.
Peterson took my arm and led me to one side. ‘Max, I’m not sure about this’.
‘We’re only delivering a care package,’ I said. ‘We’ll be fine.’
‘I can’t believe you’re taking Matthew along.’
‘It’s for his benefit. He’s unhappy and guilty about having so much. Let’s face it, Tim, at Christmas we do tend to do conspicuous consumption. I think it’s to his credit that he’s thinking about his friends and wants to do something to help them. You must see that.’
‘I do see that, but not that he should be the one to do it. You and I could easily nip back and get this sorted out. Twenty minutes – job done. There’s no need for him to go at all.’
‘I think there is,’ I said slowly. ‘I think he needs this.’
‘But why?’
Good question. I struggled to put my feelings into words. ‘He needs to see his friends again. He needs to show them – and himself – that he still cares. He needs to give back something of what he now has. And I need to do it with him – not as Max, head of the History Department, but as Max his mother. It’s something we should do together.’
I stopped and looked at my feet, embarrassed.
He looked at me for a long time and then smiled and stepped back. ‘OK.’ He looked at the boxes. ‘You’ll never get all this around the building without someone noticing. We’ll give you a hand.’
Down in the paint store, we deposited the boxes outside Leon’s pod. You couldn’t see it because the camouflage circuit was activated but it was there, nevertheless.
‘Thanks Tim.’
He turned to me. ‘Listen to me. Back in one hour. Without fail. You can spend all afternoon there if you like, but back here in one hour. I’ll be waiting.’
‘We’ll be waiting,’ said Markham. ‘And don’t even think of being late.’
‘What are you two? My mother?’
‘For the purposes of making sure you do as you’re told,’ said Peterson. ‘Yes. Come here, young Matthew.’
Matthew stepped up looking apprehensive.
‘Keep an eye on your mother,’ said Peterson sternly.
He nodded.
‘And do exactly as she says. We always do and that’s why we always come home safely.’
Matthew nodded again.
‘In that case, don’t let us keep you. One hour, Max.’
‘Got it.’
He said quietly, ‘Take care. Come back safe.’
‘I will.’ I pushed Matthew towards the pod and said, ‘Door.’
As usual I’ve gone careering off into the story without explaining anything. It’s a bit late in the day, but here we go.
We work for the Institute of Historical Research at St Mary’s Priory, just outside of Rushford. We investigate major historical events in contemporary time. Yes, all right, it’s time travel. Just don’t expect me to admit it.
We have pods in which we live and work while we investigate these major historical events. They’re small, battered, apparently stone-built shacks that fit inconspicuously into almost any century. They’re also squalid and cramped, especially this one because it’s only a single-seater. The Technica
l Section is completely incapable of getting any of the toilets to work properly and all the pods smell of stale cabbage. No one knows why. They just do. You get used to it.
Once inside, I activated the screen and watched the door of the paint store close behind Markham and Peterson. I donned my mother hat and said to Matthew, ‘Can you tell me the time, please?’
He stared at the console and breathed heavily, whispering to himself, ‘Small hand on three,’ finally saying, ‘half past three.’
‘So, what time do we need to be back by?’
More whispering. ‘Half past four.’
‘Well done.’
It didn’t really matter – it’s time travel and we could spend as long as we liked there and still return at half past four, but I recognised Tim’s concern. I’d make sure we were back on time.
We took a while to change. I went to help him but he seemed familiar enough with buttons and things. I pulled his hat low on his forehead to keep his ears warm. He pulled it back up again. I climbed into my own costume with no problems. The style might be 19th century but the construction was modern. I tucked my hair under my bonnet, had my muff and gloves ready, and laid in coordinates I knew I would never forget. Grit Lane, London 1821 – where Leon had found Matthew living a terrible life. More last-minute doubt assailed me and I turned to him.
‘You’re sure about this? I can go alone if it’s easier for you. No,’ I said, as he went to speak. ‘Think carefully before answering. This won’t be easy for you.’
He did think carefully. He stared at the floor and then nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘OK then. Close your eyes.’
He screwed them tight shut.
I stood beside him and took his hand. ‘Computer – initiate jump.’
‘Jump initiated.’
And the world went white.
I gave him a minute and then said, ‘You can open your eyes if you like. We’ve arrived.’
He opened first one and then the other. ‘Are we here?’
‘We are.’ I pointed to the screen, which, if life imitated art, would show a bustling London scene with horses, carriages, elegant ladies walking arm in arm with bewhiskered gentlemen and with a helpful newspaper blowing around giving the date.
