They had taken a boat out on the river. It was spring and new life shone all around them, in the trees, the flowers, the children tumbling in the grass. A pair of swans with their young came in a line from the shadow of the bank, their reflections shimmering on the water. Lacey counted the cygnets, six, seven…‘That’s how many children we’ll have,’ she said. They both knew that was silly. ‘There’ll be two,’ he said, ‘a boy and a girl. Picture perfect.’ Of course, there was no time to make a family before Michael left her. But on that glorious afternoon, Lacey thought they had forever. She remembers
trailing her hand in the water, trying to touch a fluffy chick, but the parent birds steered their young away. Lacey said that swans mated for life; that when one died, the other would follow through loneliness. ‘Or a broken heart,’ Michael said. He told her that if he died before her he would come back to her as an animal, then she could keep him as a pet. She said he could come to her in the shape of a swan and they would mate, like Zeus and Leda, and she would have two children to remind her of him. He said he’d rather be an elephant, then at least he’d remember who she was. Lacey laughed and doused him with a handful of water. The day faded, and in a few months she had nothing to remember him by, only things—objects that could have been anyone’s.
She is startled back to the present by the sudden slamming of the back door. Cassandra is still looking at her, smiling, only there is now a sadness in her eyes. Moments later, Gideon and Drew emerge from the kitchen flapping towels.
‘We’ve been to check on Audrey and Tom,’ says Drew, rubbing his dripping hair. ‘Audrey’s going over to her sister’s place. The brother-in-law should be here any minute to pick her up. No answer from Tom and his bike’s not there, so he must be off out somewhere. I put a note through his door, in case he comes back.’
‘Gideon—’ Cassandra stands and turns to him, ‘—I think we should go over to the schoolhouse. There are things we need to discuss. Urgently.’
The room is dimly lit, as if twilight has come too early.
‘This rain, it’s another effect of the fault in the aether. It’s not going to stop, is it?’ Gideon can hear the ticking of the clock and the incessant humming inside his head. It is growing louder as if vibrating through the walls. ‘Can you hear that?’
Cassandra nods and looks around the room, avoiding his eyes. They are sitting either side of the table, their arms spread across it, fingers almost touching.
‘So, what happens now?’ he asks. ‘What do we have to do?’
‘Be ready, that’s all…It will be the same as last night when I brought Matthew through. Your task will be to stabilize the aether. You know how to tune into the energy field and hold the structure within it. You’ve done it a hundred times before when I tried to wrestle it from you. Visualize it as paper folded into the lotus and hold onto the shape. It’s that simple—’
‘But we were struggling over a scrap of paper—’
‘No. That is how you saw it. What I permitted you to see.’
‘I can’t hold the universe together.’
‘There’s no question of that. One tiny fault in an infinite cosmos. One thin line that is worn and frayed, that’s all it is. Help us to hold it together, that’s what you have to do. Just as we have practised, you must feel for the lines of stress, the folds, and hold the shape no matter what happens. You will not be alone. The others will be there, even though you cannot see them. And I will be with you until…until it is done.’
Gideon drums his hand on the table. He tries to believe in the simplicity of her words and to ignore the enormity of their implication.
‘Has this happened before? Are there are other crossing places in this world that have been damaged and repaired?’
‘Yes, this is not the first. And those attempts were successful.’
‘And then what? Does the problem just stop? You say that history—time itself—has already been changed. Surely there would have been massive repercussions from such an extreme intervention?’
‘Yes.’ Cassandra hesitates, bites her lip. For the first time, she looks up at him. ‘The repair, even if it is successful, will cause time to change on both sides. It is hard to predict exactly what those changes will be. Our lives may be different. We may be different.’
‘Of course we wouldn’t know, would we?’ He tries to focus on the logical implications, despite his growing fear. ‘If this has happened before, and if history was changed as a consequence, then we would have no memory of the event or what led up to it.’
‘It doesn’t always work like that. Not all memories are lost, Gideon.
Sometimes echoes remain, an imprint in the psyche. Are there not myths and legends of great disasters? Civilizations that ceased to exist? Sometimes this was literally so, or a memory of an event that almost happened. Sometimes those stories are symbolic of an ending and a new beginning.’
‘I see.’ He is silent while his mind recalls the sagas told in ancient Greece and Rome, the stories of the Old Testament. ‘And what about us?’ He takes her hand and she does not resist. ‘You and me?’
‘Our future and our past will be changed, that cannot be avoided. We may not be the same people, because the events that formed us will not be the same.’
‘What do you mean?’ The sudden fear is like a knife wound. ‘What will happen to us?’
‘We will each be returned to our own time and place—whatever that may be.’ Her hand is warm. It moves in his, like a helpless bird. ‘You will be thrown into a new present which will have been shaped by a different past; one in which I played no part.’
‘You mean…I won’t see you again?’
It is a moment before she speaks. ‘You may not even remember me.’
He snatches her other hand, holding them both tightly, forcing the words onto her. ‘No, that’s not possible.’
‘There are worse things than forgetting.’ She looks away from him, her eyes too full of sadness. ‘You may find you are affected in other ways.’
‘Tell me. What will happen?’
‘It is impossible to predict…You may remember everything about what has happened until now, but not know the world in which you find yourself because its past is not the one you experienced.’
‘But I would remember you, wouldn’t I?’
‘That may be worse, far worse. Or it may be that, somehow, the two will be mixed together. When you mend a cloth, not all the fibres match up perfectly. The same threads are still there, but patched together they form a different pattern. Whatever happens…’ she stumbles over the words, ‘we will no longer be part of each other’s lives.’
‘But you’ve always been there. You are my life. Everything I believe in—’
‘We have no choice. It must be done.’
‘You expect me to co-operate with this, knowing I will lose you? What if I refuse?’
‘If we do not act, then there will be no future. Can’t you see that?’
‘Then stay here. Stay with me.’
‘That’s not possible.’
‘All right, then: take me with you.’
She tries to pull away from him. ‘Don’t do this, Gideon. I can’t bear it.’
‘There must be some way!’
‘If there were a way, I—Don’t you think I would do anything?’ She turns from him, hiding her face, and wrenches her hands from his. ‘Gideon, we have no choice. Please go now. I need to communicate with the others. We need to prepare.’
‘What can I do? I don’t know anything any more.’
‘Go back to your friends. Tell them to leave the area, go back to the city. They will be safer there.’
He slams the table with the flat of his hand. The sound echoes through the empty house.
‘Gideon, I’m begging you. Or it will all have been for nothing.’
D
REW IS IN THE DOORWAY
, talking to Bill, while Lacey staggers up the stairs under a weighty stack of books and papers.
Bill is still red-faced and out of breath. ‘I’ve come to get some of my things while Kenny and his family’re loading up,’ he is saying.
Drew looks over to where Bill’s car is parked outside his cottage, crammed full of bags and boxes. One of the farm dogs clambers over into the front seat and barks at Bill through the window.
‘You really think it’s that serious?’ asks Drew.
‘Come and look at this,’ says Bill. Drew grabs his jacket from a nearby hook, struggling into it as he follows Bill around the side of his home and over the grass verge to the edge of the field.
At the same time, Gideon splashes through the skim of water now stretching from one side of the road to the other. ‘What’s happening?’ he asks as he comes up behind them.
Bill points to the overflowing ditch. ‘Here, just look at that.’ The water is fast-flowing and churns mud and vegetation away from the banks.
‘You’re right, it does looks pretty serious,’ says Drew. ‘We took a look out the upstairs window a few minutes ago. There’s water lying all over the fields.’
‘All of the ditches are backing up. I just don’t understand: where’s it coming from?’
‘It’s raining, Bill. Haven’t you noticed?’ Drew manages a wry laugh.
‘Not enough to explain this.’ Bill shakes his head. He speaks slowly, as if trying to convince himself as much as the others. ‘It’s rained more than this afore and not flooded. Waterways are geared up to handle twice this and more. No blockages that they know of, and the pumps are working OK—I already rang and checked. So why isn’t it clearing? It’s almost as if it’s coming up out of the ground.’
‘So, how bad do you think it’s likely to get, Bill?’ asks Gideon.
‘I remember how it were back in ‘forty-seven when Ely were cut off. I were just a lad, o’course, but yer don’t forget a thing like that. Seventeenth of March it were when the banks started to give way. My old dad took the dinghy from house to house, lost count of how many trips he made. People were sat on their roofs, yer see, waiting to be rescued. But it were the dead animals that got to me. Cows and the like. They kept bumping up against the boat as they floated by. Five days before they managed to stop it. Good part of East Anglia were under water by then. They’d tried sandbags, but that were no use. Got the army on to it in the end, used tanks and the like to block the breach. But it were weeks afore the all water went down.’
‘That sounds serious enough.’ Drew is looking worried. ‘But surely they’ve improved the drainage systems since then?’
‘Oh, aye, new canals’ve been cut and banks reinforced. Still, yer can’t argue with Nature, can you?’
Drew turns to Gideon. ‘We thought we’d better shift some of my stuff upstairs. Have you got anything that needs moving? What about your computer?’
‘Like I told my son,’ says Bill, ‘don’t worry about furniture and stuff. Grab what yer can and go. Ah, that looks like our Kenny now.’
The headlights of the farm’s four-wheel-drive glare through the rain. The vehicle pulls up alongside them, Kenny’s wife driving, the kids and more dogs in the back seat. Kenny winds down the window and waves Bill over with his good arm, the other still in plaster. A few words are
exchanged, and Bill comes running back to Drew and Gideon.
‘Right, they’ve had a call from Civil Defence. River’s burst its banks and Covington’s being evacuated. We all need to get out now while the main road’s still passable.’
‘Gotcha. Thanks, Bill.’ Drew is already running indoors.
Bill starts his own car and pulls away, following his son to the end of Gainsborough Street. Gideon stands in the rain and watches them go.
Cassandra told him to warn his friends. She said they’d be safer in the city.
But what about us, Cassandra? Is there nowhere we can run to? Nowhere we’ll be safe?
He looks down to where his feet are sinking into the mud. What did Bill say? Like it’s coming up out of the ground? If that is true, then there’s no escape.
We have to stay here and do what must be done. And then you’ll go back to your world and I’ll be left here in mine. You said I may not even remember you. Does it matter what happens after that?
Just then Lacey comes out of the cottage, laden with bags, and finds Gideon standing by the verge, rain lashing his face. ‘Hey, are you OK? Better get a move on.’
Drew follows, carrying more stuff, and starts cramming it into the back of his van. Gideon stands by as they load up, his eyes focused on the blurred horizon.
‘Come on!’ Drew yells over his shoulder. ‘Get a move on. And where’s Cassandra? We don’t know how much time we’ve got. We could be talking minutes here.’ He slams the back doors. ‘Gideon, for God’s sake, shift yourself.’
‘No.’ Gideon pulls himself back to here and now. ‘I have to go back to the schoolhouse. Cassandra’s still there. We’ll follow you in a few minutes.’ He watches Lacey climb into the passenger seat, but still he doesn’t move. They’re his friends and they’re running for their lives. How many other lives? How far can this thing reach?
Lacey watches him as her hands fumble for the seat belt. ‘Come on, Gideon,’ she murmurs. Then she stops and turns to Drew. ‘I won’t be a moment.’ Before he can stop her, she has the door open and is splashing through the grass.
‘You’re not coming, are you?’
‘Yes, we will. As soon as—’
‘No, you won’t. This is our last chance and you won’t leave. You and Cassandra, you’re going to try to stop this, aren’t you?’
He concedes, bowing his head. ‘We have a job to do. If there’s any real danger—’
‘Then let me stay and help.’
‘No. There’s nothing you can do. You must leave now. I need to know you’re safe.’
‘I’m not going to see you again, am I?’
‘No. Maybe not.’
Lacey throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly and nearly slipping in the mud. ‘I’m sorry I got you into this.’
‘But you didn’t. It all started a long time ago, only there’s no time to explain it all now.’ On a sudden impulse, or perhaps guided by instinct, he holds her away from him and reaches into his pocket. His fingers close around a piece of folded paper. ‘Here, take this.’ He presses it into her hand. ‘Something you need to remember.’
‘Come on, you two!’ Drew yells from the window.
‘Go!’ Gideon pushes her towards the van. ‘Now!’
She turns, intending to run. But then she feels something touch her feet. She looks down at the waterlogged grass and screams. Water is now flowing fast from the ditch, churning dark and muddy and…and alive.
Gideon grabs her as Drew leaps from the vehicle and runs towards them.
‘What is it? Oh my God…eels!’ Drew stops, open-mouthed. ‘Would you look at that? There must be hundreds of them.’
They stand mesmerized, watching the grass writhe and heave around them. The ditch is now below water level, and the creatures are coming straight out of it and seething towards the roadway. Horrified, Lacey stares at the snake-like bodies waving in unison like slippery seaweed caught in a fast tide. She tries to scream again, but the sound is lodged in her throat. Unable to either breathe or move, she stands transfixed as they swarm around her ankles and across the tarmac, slithering and
sliding over each other in a race to the opposite side of the road.
Then, as suddenly as they came, they are gone.
‘Right, that does it.’ Drew seizes her by the arm and drags her to the van, shoving her through the passenger door. ‘We’re leaving!’ he shouts to Gideon. ‘Now!’
Gideon stands by as the engine growls into life. The van glides away from the verge, tyres leaving a miniature wake across the roadway, the tail-lights splintering the rain.
The inside of the van is steaming up already. There’s a tailback of traffic heading towards Cambridge, thankfully still moving steadily. Drew leans forward in his seat, concentrating on the road ahead. He drives slowly and carefully, negotiating around flooded stretches where possible, then changing down to first gear and high-revving through unavoidable lakes.
‘Here, give the windows a wipe.’ He thrusts a grubby rag into Lacey’s lap. She clears the passenger window and her side of the windscreen before handing it back to him.
‘Do you think they were real?’ asks Lacey.
‘What, the eels? God knows. I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t any more.’
Another long silence. They turn onto the city ring road.
‘Where are we going, then?’ asks Lacey.
‘Back to your place, I suppose, if we can get through Cambridge. Shelford’s on higher ground, we should be OK there. We’ll be able to watch the news; see how bad this is.’ He glances at her, then looks away. ‘I’m sorry if I was a bit heavy-handed back there, but I’m not having you perched on the roof all night waiting for a passing helicopter.’
She reaches out and rubs his knee. ‘I know. It was your turn to be the sensible one. But they won’t leave, you know. Gideon and Cassandra—’
‘Whatever they’re doing, it’s their choice. And nothing you can help with. I bet he told you that.’
‘Yes, he did.’ She almost whispers.
‘What else did he say?’
‘He gave me this.’
‘What is it? A letter?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ She turns the flattened scrunch of white paper in her hand. ‘It’s one of those models he fiddles with—you know, like three-dimensional doodles.’
‘Origami.’ Drew gives it a swift glance, then turns his attention back to the road. ‘What’s it supposed to be? A dog?’
‘No.’ She stands it upright on the palm of her hand. ‘It’s an elephant. He had it in his pocket. He said it was something I needed to remember.’
Lacey turns her face away from him, as if to look at the passing hedgerows. It’s so Drew can’t see the tears welling in her eyes or see her lips forming the silent words: ‘Thank you, Michael. Thank you.’