AMA SENDS HER LOVE
SEASON AND EWE SAY HELLO
CAN WE VISIT?
HAVE CHRONOPHONE FOR YOU!
More knocking. I don’t think Big Ben heard it, he’s so busy slurping his soup, devouring the huge chunks of white fish. I go downstairs to answer it. MC2 and GMT! It feels odd seeing them here, outside my flat, in 2020. Wrong. Like an Anachronism. I stare at them, not sure what to do. They belong in 2048.
‘Party time!’ says GMT. She’s wearing a full-length turquoise velvet dress with mermaids embroidered on the sleeves. MC2 has a bag slung over his shoulder that looks exactly like Big Ben’s but much newer.
‘Don’t worry, sis,’ he says. ‘Special delivery for specialist Leaps. Chronophones. So you stay connected.’ He lowers his voice. ‘Elle, we need to come inside. Keep stuff private.’
I understand. Chronophones haven’t been invented yet so we don’t want people to see them. Especially outside my flat. The thieves would come and steal them and commit even more crimes than Le Temps. I let them in.
I’ve never seen Grandma look so happy, like she knew they’d come, sitting them down at the table, making me introduce everybody, make them tea and eat pepper soup whether they like it or not. Even GMT sips the soup. No one can refuse Grandma. She moves across the room without limping and I wonder if her leg doesn’t pain so much when she’s happy. Or maybe she doesn’t notice the pain with lots of people to talk to.
She tells me to talk to my friends while she continues to prepare the food. I like that she calls them my friends. I haven’t had friends in 2020 before and never had them in the flat. Only Big Ben. I don’t even worry I didn’t have time to scrub the mushrooms off the walls. No one’s noticed the mushrooms. I don’t know what to say to them, though, so I say:
‘Where are the Chronophones?’
MC2 puts two silver Chronophones on the table. They’re identical, except one has a B and the other an L inscribed underneath. Big Ben picks his up and starts clicking. 30 seconds later he’s whooping and punching the air. I check his phone. A video of Fiona soaring over the countryside, Season at the wheel, playing on a loop. It’ll take him an hour to calm down. Then I’ll remind him to text his mum so she knows he’s safe. At least she’s not expecting him home till after 3 p.m. I pick up my Chronophone.
‘Customised, too,’ says MC2. ‘Check out the vid. Ama’s maestro leap.’
I click on the video icon and the words ‘AMA’S LEAP OF THE CENTURY’ come onto the screen in white letters, like she’s famous. Then the camera shows Ama at the end of the run-up of the long jump. She’s talking to herself like athletes do so the words become a reality. Then she stretches back, pauses, and begins to accelerate down the runway. I’ve never seen Ama run like this before. She’s quite fast. Then she hits the board and hurls herself into the air. Then everything goes slow motion until she lands, twisting her body to the side so she doesn’t fall back. It must be at least 6 metres! The words ‘6 metres 2 centimetres’ come onto the screen then fizzle out to Ama’s talking head. She says:
‘Elle, wish I could leap like you, but I do my best. Stay in touch, sis!!’
I look back up at MC2. I don’t know whether to be happy because Ama has made me a brilliant video or sad because she can’t come to my birthday. And I thought she didn’t like athletics. MC2 smiles.
‘Almost as good as your man, Bob Beamon.’
I smile back as the Bob Beamon video replays in my head. The run-up, the jump, the commentary. I’ve barely thought about Bob Beamon for two days. The last two days of Leap 2048 were so full of Oopses. But I almost never thought of Bob Beamon. Maybe I’ve changed.
Grandma turns from the sideboard, where she’s just added the last flour to the cake mixture. I can see it’s a real effort for her to mix but I don’t offer to help. She wants to make the cake on her own.
‘Elle, did I not teach you manners in this England?’
She’s reminding me to say thank you for the present. In Nigeria, some people don’t say please or thank you at all. They think it’s very English to do that. But some Nigerians say please and thank you all the time. That’s how they learnt English. Grandma’s like that.
Everyone stays for the birthday tea. Grandma puts on the special white tablecloth, the one we use for guests, extends the table and lays the food out in the middle. It’s a real feast. I tell GMT she can eat the moi-moi and rice because we never use meat stock in it. And the fried yam. Grandma’s looking at GMT with her what-big-eyes. She takes a deep breath like she’s going to run the 100 metres, though she can barely walk it. I wonder what she’s going to say.
‘This your boyfriend enjoys his food-o! A man likes his meat. But you,’ looking at GMT, ‘you are vegetarian?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ says GMT.
Grandma smiles. ‘I am very pleased with you. Some members of our church do not let meat pass their lips. They say man and beast have all one breath. Man should not have pre-eminence above a beast.’
Everyone goes quiet. I’m thinking about MAN=BEAST, Le Temps mixing Leapling DNA with sheep DNA to make sheap to kill and sell to those who can afford it. I’m glad Grandma isn’t anti-vegetarianism. Maybe she won’t mind so much that I’m a flexitarian now. I’ve decided to only eat meat on special occasions. Like this. Or if someone’s cooked it and I don’t want to be rude. Mrs C Eckler says I shouldn’t give up meat and fish completely until I’m able to eat food in colours other than white, so I get a balanced diet.
I can’t say the same for Big Ben. He eats so much of everything, I worry he’s going to be sick. But he’s never sick. And I think Grandma wants to adopt him as her honorary grandson. Then she can feed him pepper soup every morning for breakfast.
Before we eat, Grandma blesses the food and our safe passage from Leap 2048, that our enemies did quake and perish and our table be plentiful on this our special day.
Grandma must know about Le Temps and Millennia. But how? And I like she said ‘our enemies’, even though she wasn’t there. She was shopping for this party. I want to ask so many questions but I’m learning when to speak and when not to speak. I can ask her another time. Not now. Not today.
Today is a special day. Today is the 29th of February 2020. It’s my 3rd leap birthday. I’m officially allowed to leap on my own. And I’m now a Level 1 Infinite. I can help save the planet. All my friends are Leaplings except Ama, who’s an Annual. Grandma’s not a Leapling but she’s my family. The food tastes nice. Maybe one day we’ll all be Vegans. Maybe one day there’ll be no more fish in the sea. Or maybe human beings will fall in love with Planet Earth. The future needs the past to become itself.
Grandma rises from the table and I help her clear the food away. We wipe the surface with a fresh cloth. Then she puts three candles on the cake and lights them with a match. It’s a plain cake, with no filling, no icing, only one layer. But it’s still warm from the oven and the smell makes me happy. It’s the most special cake in the world. Grandma lifts the cake, opens her mouth and begins to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. Everyone joins in. When we get to the name, we don’t know what to sing. It’s not just my 3rd leap birthday today, it’s Big Ben’s too. Most people sing ‘Elle’ but I sing ‘Big Ben’. MC2 and GMT are 4-leap. That means they’re grown-ups. Today, every true Leapling is celebrating, even if they pretend they were born on the 28th of February or the 1st of March.
‘Happy birthday to you,’ we all sing.
The song’s over. Grandma places the cake in the middle of the table. I stare into the three flames, take a deep breath like I’m going to push out of the blocks for the 100 metres.
And blow them out.
Chapter 00:00
CONTINUUM
It isn’t easy being nice to Pete LMS.
We’ve been back in school a month. Big Ben doesn’t like me being nice to another boy but has promised not to hit him so hard he dives into the air like the Fosbury Flop. Every time I see Pete LMS, I remember him humiliating me in front of the whole class. B
ut he doesn’t bully me now. He WAS excluded for a week after the SOS L episode and he DID say sorry. I’ve stopped calling him Pete LMS behind his back. I have to take a deep breath after I say Pete, to stop myself saying LMS. When I’m nice to him, like picking up his pencil when it drops on the floor in double maths, he raises his eyebrows so high, his forehead wrinkles like he’s turned into Le Temps and I’m scared. But I’m a Level 1 Infinite and supposed to be brave. No one knows I’m a Level 1 Infinite except everyone at the ceremony and you. It has to be secret so we can stop eco-crimes. You mustn’t tell anyone.
Today, Big Ben’s at Anger Management in Action, where you’re allowed to shout and break real chairs under supervision. I notice Pete looking at me in double English, and when I look at him he looks away. Why’s he constantly staring at me? MC2 sends a text:
THE FUTURE JUST GOT BETTER
Does the future only get better if the present gets worse? I get a headache imagining the future happening at the same time as the present.
Now, it’s lunchtime. I’m sitting on the bench by the track eating grilled halloumi in white flatbread when Pete comes over and clears his throat.
‘How fast can you run the 100 metres?’ he says.
I do what-big-eyes. ‘13.12 seconds, which gives me an 87.64% age grade, now I’m 12.’
I turn away from him but he doesn’t go away.
‘Elle.’ He pauses a long time. ‘I know you and Big Ben . . . but, I wondered if . . .’
I turn to face him. ‘What?’
‘Would you go running with me?’
‘No. I won’t two-time Big Ben!’
His face goes bright red and his voice goes a bit squeaky. ‘Thought so. He’s A List. I’m a non-scorer.’
He means in competitions. As are the fastest, Bs slower but still score, non-scorers can take part but don’t get points for the team. It must be hard if you’re good but two people are always better than you. I feel sad when I think that.
‘I could teach you the long jump.’
Pete stares at me like I just disappeared and appeared on the spot. I’m surprised myself. It was my mouth speaking before my brain had time to stop it.
‘OK,’ he says and walks away.
The back of his ears are still red. I’m a bit worried Big Ben will be jealous but he’s not interested in long jump, only track and cross country. And he knows we have to be nice to Pete. My Chronophone buzzes in my bag. I know, without looking, it isn’t Big Ben telling me how many chairs he’s broken. It’s MC2.
The future just got even better.
I’m starting to like the future even more than the past. You can’t predict how it’s going to happen, it changes so much. You have to do good things in the present to help the future. One thing I know: I’m definitely a Level 1 Infinite, though I became one in the future. I proved myself and I passed the test. It can’t unhappen. Some things from the future ARE fixed. When I go there again, it won’t be to fight Le Temps. Le Temps doesn’t exist in the future any more, now Pete LMS is Pete.
Millennia doesn’t hate me in this changed future because she can’t employ a non-existent Le Temps to build her business for me to destroy. Millennia hates me RIGHT NOW for something that has already happened in HER past, MY future. Sometime in the future I’ll leap back to the past and thwart Millennia.
Maybe that will be my next test. If I pass, I’ll become an Intermediate. I’ve been in training to improve my leap skills. Everyone at athletics club thinks it’s to improve my accuracy on the board for the long jump but I’m doing it undercover. I’m really training so the next time I leap, I leap to a nanosecond. I haven’t even told Big Ben but I think he’ll like it.
Acknowledgements
I would not have written The Infinite without my two wonderful sons, Solomon and Valentine, encouraging me to read the books they’d fallen in love with. Boys, you took me away from gritty adult realism to alternative realities, at times equally gritty, at times fantastical. Solomon, you reminded me young readers like action, action, action; Valentine, you invented the Ferrari Forever and PPF and gave me perceptive, enthusiastic feedback for the very first draft. When you announced, several summers ago, you were both going to write novels, I thought, if you can do it, so can I.
And here it is!
There are other young people I’d like to thank who read early versions of the book: my niece, Esther, for that upbeat email where you said you’d recommend it to your classmates; Eleanor for persevering even though reading’s not your thing; Oliver for loving the book and grilling me about the publishing process whilst simultaneously stewarding Junior Parkrun; and Grace for appreciating the characters of Elle, Ama and GMT. May you continue to thrive as a reader AND a writer!
There are numerous grown-ups who went out of their way to make The Infinite possible. If I mentioned you all, this book would be twice the size. I particularly want to thank my husband, Jeremy, who encouraged me to write a novel in the first place, gave not only positive feedback and brainstorming sessions but love and support. You enabled me to immerse myself in the imaginary world for months at a time and never once complained when I forgot to cook half the dinner. My father, Clement Agbabi, for believing in me as a writer since I was a very young child, and for giving me advice about the impossible task of transposing Izon into English. Mum and dad in Wales: mum, reading to me every night is the greatest gift you gave me. My immediate and extended family, in the UK and Nigeria for your belief in my abilities, especially cousin Jumbo, keep writing those stories. Faustie-Ann, I’m still waiting for that autobiography.
I’m so lucky to have friends who are also superb writers and readers. I thank Steve Tasane for his unbridled enthusiasm for the concept from the very beginning, the detailed, invaluable plotting suggestions for that early draft. Rosemary Harris for helping me create child-friendly peril, especially relating to genetic modification. I cannot thank you enough. Ros Barber for the Creative Writing PhD reference and enabling the light to get in. Kate Clanchy for recommending screenwriting books for plotting. Nina Tullar for sending a brilliant screenwriting book out of the blue. I LOVED storyboarding. Leone Ross, for the way you said the word ‘novelist’ with a twinkle in your eye. I felt ten feet tall. Bernardine Evaristo for supporting me as a writer on so many levels. Without you, I would not be where I am today. Courttia Newland for that excellent Spread the Word sci-fi workshop, complete with Star Wars-inspired video link. Stephanie Scott for sharing authorial advice and delicious meals in London when I most needed them. Kim Zarins for being so positive though you’d only just met me, your words of advice around middle-grade children’s books. The Medieval and Renaissance Women’s Drinking Society, for continuing to nurture and celebrate all our achievements, past, present and future.
I’d like to thank friends who are not writers who have helped me in incalculable ways. Stephen Logan for the PhD reference, then reminding me, when I chose not to go ahead with it, that I was capable of writing a novel without the academic framework. Emma, you encouraged your children to read that early draft and read it yourself, even though you’re a very busy maths teacher! And for introducing me to both Parkruns. Rebecca, for our walks and talks. You’ve been rooting for Elle from the outset. Jo, you were so thrilled when I got the text from Canongate and I rushed out of your house to make that phone call. Stephen G, for your absolute joy when you heard I’d written a novel. Anne-Marie for recommending Black speculative fiction on the way back from the school run.
All this would be behind closed doors if I didn’t have one of the most innovative and dynamic publishers ever. Thank you to the entire team at Canongate for their excitement about this book. I especially want to thank Jamie Byng, for publishing my poetry as early as 2000 and even then, encouraging me to write a novel. It’s only taken me 20 years! Francis Bickmore, who responded to the concept in the early stages with such enthusiasm. You sent me that lovely email 45 pages in and continue to champion the book. Thank you so, so much. My editor, Jo Dingley, for alw
ays believing in Elle’s voice, for your thoroughness and dedication to the micro and the macro of world-building, I’m forever indebted. Freelance copy editor, Debs Warner, for painstakingly editing all those double quote marks and numbers and still remaining positive about the text! Anna Frame for continuing to support me and my work with verve. Vicki Rutherford, Leila Cruickshank, Holly Domney and Megan Reid for coordinating the process and efficiently answering my endless queries. Leila, I’m in awe of your superhuman proofreading skills, spotting everything from the nitty-gritty of punctuation to the mammoth of a plot hole we all missed. The entire Art Team for creating a cover that made my boys say wow.
A very special thank you to Lizzie Huxley-Jones for your meticulous sensitivity read, reminding me that empathy is more important than euphony. You know Elle and her friends better than I know myself. I hope you enjoy the final edit.
Respect to my literary agent, Simon Trewin, for believing in the manuscript, for sharing it, for those rejuvenating meetings and witty one-liner emails. Thank you for enabling me to transition to this new literary form. My performance agents, Rochelle Saunders and Melanie Abrahams at Renaissance One, for staying with me despite my regular literary hibernations when I refused all sources of income. Your hard work and dedication are eternally appreciated.
To all the poets and promoters who invited me to read in the UK and abroad, especially the USA, enabling me to save up and take time out to write the first drafts; to all those who have been so positive when I declined subsequent poetry work, I hope you appreciate the wordplay.
Finally, I’d like to thank everyone at Dartford Harriers Athletic Club for giving me an alternative reality away from the computer that feeds back into the writing, especially Terry and Marion Povey for getting me back into sprinting after a 35-year gap; the entire Vets team; and Jill, Fleur, Allison and Christine, it’s such a joy to train with you. Respect to Vets still brave enough to attempt the long jump!
The Infinite Page 18
