The Relic Keeper (30 page)

“I always keep some if these, just in case,” she said, placing the candles in a holder on the small table by the window and using one of them to light a small oil lamp that Mathew had assumed was only decorative.

The lamplight gave the room an eerie glow that flickered and threw long shadows up the wall. In the half-light her face seemed older and more lined, and Mathew could feel the chill as the heat from the artificial fire died.

“All this progress and they still can’t keep the electricity on in a storm,” she said absently. “Makes you laugh doesn’t it?” But Mathew wasn’t laughing. He’d rehearsed this scene in his mind a hundred times and never imagined it like this. The old woman opposite him sat down again and began talking. “I bought this place years ago. Mum always liked it here. She said she had happy memories of Devon. I couldn’t afford it originally, then the great economic crash happened, and if you had a little spare cash, and I did at the time, you could pick up a place like this easily. I was lucky; I managed to keep my savings through it all. I suppose it was all at someone’s expense though. It’s away from the cities and all the shootings and crap that goes on there. But the lights won’t stay on. Mind, they don’t stay on in the cities either. Now then. What was I saying?” she stopped lost in thought, gazing absently through Mathew, then suddenly continued.

“There are things you want to know, and there are things you ought to know. You can leave now, if you want, and never be any wiser, but you might prefer it that way. Do you want me to tell you about my past, and what should have been your future?”

“More than anything.”

“Then let me explain,” she said, draining her glass. She poured herself a refill and passed the decanter across. “Have another drink. You may need it.”

“Deon, about bloody time, what the hell have you been up to?” demanded Philip into the c-pac, as Deon’s image appeared on the ethervision. “You know we’ve been waiting for you to contact us, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I had some problems here, Philip.”

“What problems? This isn’t what I need to hear at the moment. Have you arranged the shipping?”

“Yeah, done. I’ve sent you the documents and where you’re to meet the boat crew. It’s all on the c-pac I leant to Mathew. Did the Roamers arrange your transport to Southampton?”

“No, we had a bit of a problem this end with them, but that’s all taken care of now, and we’re going to get ourselves to the docks, so we should be there tomorrow. What do we do when we get there? When are you getting down here?”

“Well, I don’t think that I’ll be meeting you, after all. Something a bit critical’s happened here. Umm, I’ve met some people.”

“Look Deon, I don’t know what you’re doing there, but we’ve had some messages through from you.”

“What messages?”

“You know the c-pac that you leant Mathew? Well it’s been connected to yours all the time, so every time you’ve left a note to yourself we’ve heard it here.”

“Right. So you know exactly what’s going on, yeah?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that, no. These two people you’ve met up with; would I be right in saying that they’re the Caroline Atkins and Aaron Conti who were at Fort Burlington with you?”

“You mean Unit?”

“Yeah, the commune. The place that was torched where those people died, Deon.”

“Yeah, except that Aaron was out of the place on a mission to find people in need of help, and Caroline was spared because the Lord saw that she was necessary to His plan.”

“Ok, I’m sure that’s what it is. How well do you know these people? Do they know anything about us?”

“Oh they’re fine people, really, I’m certain that you’d like them. They have nothing but good intentions, and they’ve found a position that they need me for, just like they did before.”

“So they know about us?”

“Yes, but don’t worry, there’s no problem from them.”

“Well I really hope so, pal. Did this Caroline woman say how she survived?”

“I told you, God intervened.”

“Ok, I know you told me that, but exactly
how
did God intervene.”

“She hasn’t told me. But sometimes when I look at her I can see a kind of silver glow around her head, like a halo. She’s been cast for an important role in the world, you know.”

“Ok, I’ll take your word on this. So you’re staying in London?”

“Yeah, until I’ve finished what I’m doing.”

“Which is what?”

“I don’t know yet. Before I used to trace people and their families, so I expect that I’ll be doing that again.”

“You remember when you used James’ identity; you changed all his records to fit your profile, right?”

“Yes, that’s quite easy when you know how. People do it all the time in order to buy new jobs.”

“Well, can you trace someone across that sort of identity switch?”

“Yeah, if you’re looking for it. All you do is swap a few records, and that always shows up somewhere.”

“I thought it must do. Look, I want you to do one thing for me then. This Caroline, I need to know if she’s ever had any other names, ok? Can you find that out?”

“Well course I can, but why?”

“’Cos she sounds like someone I used to know and really like, but I want to be sure before I contact her,” Philip lied. He didn’t trust Deon’s acquaintances and wanted to know anything he could about them. It would help him and his story. He added: “Keep it secret though, I’d really like to surprise her.”

Deon input the information into his c-pac. “Yeah, I’ll do that and let you know as soon as.”

“Ok. Anything else?”

“No…well, there was one thing, Philip.”

“What?”

“Well, I saw Warwick.”

‘What? Did he see you?”

“Yes, and he said he wanted to help Mathew, but I’m not sure now that he really does.”

“Deon, you didn’t tell him where we were did you?”

“Well, I think I might have done.”

“You might have, or you did?”

“Well he said Mathew was ill and he’d save him, and he seemed so convincing, because he said he’d look after...”

“Great, so he’s going to be in Southampton waiting for us. Fucking brilliant.”

“Well, he might go to Beer first.”

“Deon, we’re in Beer now. When did this happen?”

“This morning.”

“And you’re only letting us know now?”

“I was confused.”

“Deon, I’ll call you back later, but you’d better get praying that Lyal’s alright.” Philip switched off the connection and knocked loudly on the door of Rei’s room. She had said that she was going to get some food but she obviously hadn’t come back. He jotted a note on a sliver of paper and slid it under her door, then tried to contact Mathew, but his c-pac was switched off. He left a message and hurried down the rickety staircase and into the street. He looked down towards the sea. A vehicle was already parked there, and it hadn’t been there earlier. Warwick, with his cash and connections could easily have got here in the time he’d had.

“Deon, I always knew you were a fucking liability,” he said under his breath and started down the street to the seafront path, hoping he was not too late.

“Well, you died, originally I mean, on the 14
^th
June 1999,” said Jessica. “I don’t remember it, but I checked the details a little while back. I was four and a half. I remember my mother was devastated, although I don’t think I really understood at the time, not completely. Mum told me that you’d been ill, but that you were better now, although you couldn’t come home, or else you’d be ill again, and I accepted that. And as it happens that’s pretty much how it was. Anyway, I was never told about all this cryonic suspension claptrap. Not ever, mum never mentioned it.”

Mathew went to speak but Jessica held her hand up and took another sip of her drink. “Questions and comments at the end please, Mr Lyal,” she said before continuing.

“I cried, I remember that. And I had a record that I played all the time. You told me once that it was written especially for me.”

The memory of the song came back strong in his mind. “Louis Armstrong?” She nodded slowly in the dimness. Mathew remembered buying the album and how that one track had touched some emotion within him as he watched his young daughter play. “
All the time in the world
. I used to play it to you when I came home from work.”

“Yes, I remember that well. And the way you always called him Satchmo, although I was never sure why.” Mathew smiled at the memory of attempting to introduce his young daughter into the world of the jazz greats. “I suppose it’s fresher in your memory than mine,” she continued. “Well, anyhow, mum and I carried on in the house for a couple of years, but I think she found it hard making ends meet. It’s hard being a single parent you know. Eventually we ran out of chances and the house was repossessed.”

“No, that’s not right. I made provisions,” interrupted Mathew.

“No you didn’t, you just thought you had. I have checked this all. Everything came to light years after the event. I know what I’m talking about. Your little treatment to cheat death with
Live Right
, which I believe is now part of the Walden Centre Clinic, couldn’t be secured on an insurance policy, which I gather was the norm, because you were already ill, so you used your life assurance. Right?”

“Yeah, but there was sufficient cover. The policy could cover the house and the treatment and have some left over.”

“No it didn’t. It
could
have, if it had been handled right, but everything in it was tied into stocks and shares and when the stock market declined in the early part of the century it became virtually worthless. I believe a lot of people lost pensions and endowments in the same way at the time. The agreement that you had with Live Right meant that they took precedence in caring for you over us. Their costs went up and we lost everything. Mum tried to fight it but it was an executed mission. The house, and everything else, went. We stayed at my grandmothers for three years, I was about 8 or 10 by this time.”

“But Paula should have been cryonically preserved. That was the point; that’s why I took out extra assurance.”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have taken it out, or used a different company, because they took everything and gave us nothing. Do you still want me to go on?” Mathew nodded.

“Mum worked, some supermarket job, it was all she could get, and then she met someone.”

“What do you mean, she met someone?”

“She met someone! She met a man. Daniel Ashby his name was.”

“But what about me? What about Paula and me?”

“I’m sorry but you’d been dead over five years by this time. What did you expect? Did you think she’d play the grieving widow forever? How arrogant are you that you can expect this sort of devotion after you’d died, and all but bankrupted us? She met a man, Ok? He was nice, they got married. She moved on! That’s what people do, they grieve and then they move on. It doesn’t mean that they didn’t care, or that they forget. It just happens.” Jessica gulped down a mouthful of scotch and tried to compose herself again. She continued more quietly.

“It just happened. They got married and they were happy. They weren’t rich, they just lived their lives. I got a job as a photographer and worked at that for about ten years. Then mum got ill. She was 56 and she developed Alzheimer's. Do you know what that does? It destroys you, from the soul out. First she would forget where she left things, then what day it was, then names, Daniel’s, mine, it didn’t matter. She was often incontinent, she was confused, and she’d walk around asking what she should be doing. Daniel looked after her, but it tore him up seeing her fall apart like that. He was drinking to blank it out, and one day I found him dead in the living room. He’d just given up, everything in his world had fallen apart. They’d been together for years. It killed him. That was when I found out about your cryonics and the insurance balls-up. I had to give up work and looked after mum full time.”

“Could you get help? A rest home or something?”

“We had no money! I stayed with her most of the time until she died. She had a respiratory problem, which eventually killed her,” Jessica said in a matter-of-fact way.

“Then what?”

“Then I buried her. She’s not in some fridge waiting for you if that’s what you think. She’s sleeping next to the man that she spent the last part of her life with. The man who loved her so much that watching her become ill killed him. That’s what she wanted. They were together for over twenty years – about four times longer than you were with her. And what would you have done, eh? You’d have her rejuvenated by the Walden, with dementia, twenty five years older than you are – or than you appear to be anyway. Is that really what you want from this woman that you claim to love?

“She loved you once, I’m sure of it. But nothing’s permanent. You learn that with age. Everything passes, you just have to accept. I know you feel that you’re…what?…36?”

“38.”

“Right. Well you’re not. You’re one hundred and seven! You’re not the oldest person to have ever lived, but everything you knew, most of the people you loved, all of your twentieth century culture, all your ideals and standards, they’re all gone, Mathew. Nothing’s how it was. The world’s changed, like it always does. It’s like you, before all this, meeting someone from the 1930s. It’s a different world. It may not be fair, but whose life is? Mum’s wasn’t. Daniel’s wasn’t. Mine certainly hasn’t been. My father died when I was a child. I gave up a promising career to care for my mother. You should understand what that’s like – you’re mother died when you were young. As you get older you just accept that your friends and family move on or pass away. But you never grew old; you’re learning everything the hard way, in a world that I imagine you don’t really understand. Mum’s dead; she’s been dead nearly 30 years, and the woman who you knew ceased to exist years before that. She spent most of her life married to someone else. She isn’t coming back. Accept it.”

Mathew traced the rim of his glass with his finger, unable to think what to say. The two of them sat in silence for what seemed like forever.

“I have to go,” Mathew eventually said.

“Yes, I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for being the person to tell you.”

“I mean I’m sorry for missing you grow up. I missed so much of my life.”

“Accept it and let it go. What will you do?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a ride arranged from Southampton if we can get there.”

“Take this then,” said Jessica pulling a neatly wrapped package from a draw by her chair. Mathew took it and opened it to reveal an old polished pistol. “I told you I kept one in the house. I don’t need it. You may.” And she closed his fingers around it. “It’s been in the house for years.”

He looked at the Luger.

“It was your great grandfather’s. Dad had this pistol in the house. He said I’d have it one day.”

“Well then it’s yours now. Perhaps it’s been waiting for you. Maybe I was just its keeper. I never needed it. I hope that you don’t need to use it.” She bent forward and kissed his cheek, and before he knew what he was doing, Mathew was outside the cottage, closing the door behind him. The rain was still falling heavily and the lights were still out. He slipped the pistol into his pocket and walked slowly out of the garden. As he shut the gate to the cottage the wind howled around his ears and the rain stung his eyes, and for a second he thought he could hear Louis Armstrong’s gravelly voice in the wind, but perhaps he was imagining it. He stood at the gate, took two deep breaths, and then headed away from the cottage into the storm.