Alex Scarrow - Time Riders

‘What if he left? What if he decided to walk away right now, and never cameback?’

‘He can’t do that. It would cause problems.’

‘This seems…’ She felt her voice thicken. ‘This seems sounfair.’

He shrugged sadly. ‘Life is unfair. You make the best of what life deals you, Maddy. InLiam’s case, he’s been given a few more years of life that he wouldn’t havehad otherwise. And think of all the incredible things he’s going to see in those years.What about all the incredible things he’s seen already? He’s ayoung man who was born in 1896, and yet just now he’s enjoyed a cheeseburger, fries andan ice-cold soda whilst gazing out on twenty-first century New York. What do you think JulesVerne or H. G. Wells would have given to trade places with Liam? Just for five minutes? Justfor a glimpse of this world?’

‘But it’s not right that he isn’t allowed to know,’ she replied.

‘Perhaps the kinder thing would be to keep this truth from him as long as you possiblycan,’ said Foster. He looked at her. ‘That’ll be your call, Madelaine, whenI eventually go and leave you in charge as the team leader. It’ll be your decision how and when you break this to Liam.’

She bit her lip unhappily and looked at the others again, still giggling and goofing about atBob’s expense.

Oh, Liam… poor Liam.

‘I mean you both sound so… wrong ,’said Sal, pulling her hood up over her head. ‘Real freak show. Like characters out of anold black and white movie.’

Liam scowled. ‘What do you mean? Do I not sound enough like everyone else aroundhere?’

She shook her head and laughed. ‘No. That funny Irish way you talk — ’

‘I’m from Cork — that’s how we talk there,’ he replieddefensively. ‘Anyway your Indian accent sounds funny to me too. Sort of likeWelsh.’

She laughed. ‘Bob,’ she said, jabbing the support unit lightly in the ribs,‘do your impersonation of Liam.’

‘You wish me to replicate Liam O’Connor’s speech patterns?’

‘Go on.’

Bob’s eyelids momentarily fluttered and ticked as he retrieved data stored somewhere inhis tiny computer mind.

‘ Oi’mLiam O’Connor, so Oi am… and Oi come from Cork in Oireland,so Oi do ,’ uttered Bob with an expressionless face.

Sal giggled. ‘Perfect.’

‘Argghh! Don’t be taking the mickey like that, Sal. Hang on…’Liam’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘You’ve not been training him to do that,have you?’

She nodded, clamping her lips tightly.

‘Affirmative,’ said Bob dryly. ‘Sal Vikram assisted me in replicating yourspeech pattern, Liam O’Connor.’

Liam shook his head with a show of good-natured disgust. ‘Well, at least I don’tdress like some sort of carnival street beggar, all ripped clothes and messy orange paintsplashed over me front.’

‘Uh?’ Sal looked down at the neon logo on her hoodie. ‘Oh, that…It’s the logo for a rock band. Ess-Zed.’

‘Rock band?’

‘Bangra rock… my parents really hate it. Think it’s too western, tooAmerican.’

‘Oh,’ said Liam, nodding politely but not really understanding what she wastalking about.

‘But it’s ten times better than American stuff… much darker, with, like,hip-hop dance loops and scream-rap.’

Liam frowned. Hip-hopdance loops?

He looked at her. ‘ Dance … ahhh! So is it a kind of music we’re talking about?’

Sal looked at him, her face half smile, half bemusement.

He shrugged and grinned. ‘Hey, I like music too. I like the brass bands. Marching bandsas well. I tell you, you can skip merrily along to that, so you can. And then there’sthe folk tunes where I come from. Would you have heard of “The Galway Races”?“Molly Malone”?… “The Jolly Beggarman”?’

She stared at him in silence.

‘No? I guess not.’ Liam shrugged. ‘Ah well… thoseare ditties you can really dance a sweat to. And then there’s…’

Sal listened to him chattering on about the dance halls back in Cork, secretly delighting inthe fact that he sounded like a walking antique — an old-fashioned young gentleman fromanother century, all manners and quaint charm — and so unlike the boys from her time.She loved the curious sound of his accent, despite teasing him.

Sal smiled. What a strange little group we make.

Like some kind of odd family.

For the first time since she’d ‘died’, since she’d been plucked awayfrom the life she knew, she felt almost… almost happy . In astrange way, this felt like it could be a new home to her, a new life she could get usedto.

She looked out at the glittering lights of Manhattan, pleased that their field office washere… and now in this time, pleased that she was privileged enough to be seeing New YorkCity at its prime before the world started to change — the global crash, the depression- before it all began the long slide downhill.

The night sky above her was thick with churning clouds, bathed in amber light from the citybelow.

Red sky at night… shepherd’s delight.

It looked like it was going to rain this evening.

A gentle breeze tossed hair into her eyes and touched the bare skin of her forearms, amurmuring breeze that seemed to quietly whisper in her ear a promise of more than just alittle rain.

A storm’s coming, Sal… Can you feel it yet?

2001, New York

Tuesday 12 or 13 (I’m losing count)

It’s a Tuesday morning. The Tuesdays I think of as the ‘sad’days. The Mondays are the ‘happy’ days. I hate the Tuesdays, full of grief,those smoking Twin Towers, the crying and fear… that terrifying rumbling as they comedown, and the air full of dust and scraps of paper.

I’d prefer not to go out into them, prefer to stay in the arch. But Foster saysit’s important I’m equally familiar with both versions of New York, the‘before’ and the ‘after’.

It’s early right now, 7 a.m. I always seem to be the first to wake. The others areall fast asleep. Maddy snores in the bunk below. Liam whimpers like a puppy.

Sal looked up. All was still in the archway. Foster was asleep on an old sofabeside the kitchen alcove, stirring restlessly beneath a quilt. And Bob… Bob rested inone of the birthing tubes in the back room. She wondered what he dreamed about, ifanything.

She closed her diary, sat up and pulled on some clothes under her blanket and then climbeddown quietly. She grabbed a bin bag full of dirty clothes lying beside the bottom bunk andwalked across to the breakfast table.

One duty — collectively agreed — was that every other Tuesday would be a good day to take their meagre supply of clothes down to the laundromat in themorning to collect in the evening.

She checked their small fridge.

No milk .

She sighed. One of the others had finished the last of it without saying. She shook her headand clucked like a mother hen.

They’d starve if it wasn’t for me.

She decided to stop off at the 24/7 store on the way back to pick up some half-fat milk, somebagels and some more Rice Krispies since Liam had discovered a passion for them and seemed todevour bowl after bowl of the stuff.

She punched the red button and the shutter whirred up, quietly rattling and letting in thecool morning air of the city. She breathed in deep and looked up at the clear blue sky. It wasgoing to start out as a lovely sunny day today… as always.

Sal dropped off the laundry with the sweet old Chinese lady who worked at the laundromat. Shewas a chatty old thing whom Sal was beginning to get to know well, always talking proudly- sometimes in broken English, sometimes in Cantonese — about her nephew whom sheannounced with pleasure ‘ alway wear ’spensive smartsoo’ to go for his work ’. Of course, it was exactly the same greetingevery time she stepped into the shop, as if she was setting eyes on Sal for the very firsttime.