The Terminus (25 page)

“Flog the girl
then flog her brother!” he commanded.

“WAIT!”

It was Arthry.
Until then he’d been a mere onlooker, taking no active part other than catching
the falling Cathy.

“
You
?
Are you gonna let me down as well? After all my promises?”

“No, Chairman.
Better if you give the job to me. The flogging of Belinda, at least. No telling
what damage Blinker’s brute would do with the whip. She’s
your
girl
after all, and no one in their right mind can believe what God says, anyway. He
was unable to give the old Belinda a child! How come he’s now so successful
with her daughter? He’s lying, Chairman. It’s a ploy. I’ll deal with her
myself. Rest assured I’ll not mark her where it shows. You’ll get your girl
back and then you can comfort her with your poetry. Afterwards it’ll be like
this little episode never happened.”

Teeth stared
at Beetie, contemptuous of her tears.

“Make sure
she’s sorry for the trouble she’s caused!”

He turned to
God.

“If you happen
to be right, my friend, her
next
punishment will be to kill your child
with her own bare hands. Afterwards, I might consider sparing her from
something worse than you can possibly imagine. Take her away, Arthry! Bring her
to me when you’re sure she’s truly repentant! As for Blinker… we’ll let the
other fellow get to work on him!”

“No!
Please
,
Chairman. You hate bad news. I only wanted you to hear good stuff. I…”

“SHUT UP!”

Blinker was
dragged off, protesting undying allegiance to The Agenda, as Teeth spun round
and headed for a small door in the far wall...
too
small for anyone
other than an Atlantean to pass through without crouching.

“AND
IF YOU’RE NOT BACK IN AN HOUR’S TIME WITH A LIFE-FORCE
SUBSTITUTE SHE DIES!” he shouted to God. “THAT GIVES YOU TWO HUNDRED YEARS AND
AN HOUR TO COME UP WITH A SOLUTION.”

Meanwhile,
Beetie submissively followed Arthry up the steps and through the open door of
the vast craft. She didn’t look back once... didn’t see God disappear as he
slipped on the specs without another word.

***

“Seamus,
they’ve taken her. Beetie! The one you call the Holy Virgin. A bastard called
God…”

“Hold on
dere!” objected the Irishman. “I may be lapsed, but I’m still a good Cat’holic!
We can’t hear you blaspheming de Holy Father like dat, now.”

“I’m a good
Catholic too, Seamus… well,
was
the day before yesterday. I’m a wee bit
behind with my confessions since then. Some pretty big ones are due. No,
Seamus, I mean God the Man. In a future London, God’s just a Man. And the Holy
Virgin’s just a girl. An ordinary girl, with…”

Gary went
quiet as his mind slipped back to the bliss of the previous night when Beetie’s
breasts snuggled soft against his bare chest.

“Seamus, I’m
sorry I got you involved. Seeing you like this, I don’t think I’ll
ever
forgive
myself.”

“Sorry to
hell!” chuckled Seamus O’Malley. “I’ve seen de Holy Virgin once in my life,
whether she’s a real girl or whether she’s not, so I’ve somet’hing to be
t’hankful for! To you, Gary boy!”

“I meant what
I said about taking you back to Ireland… to your wife and your life.”

“Ah now, my
wife and my life!” Seamus stared up at the ceiling. “Yes, my wife and my life,”
he repeated. “Oh, Gary boy, I’d give up anyt’hing to see my wife and my
daughter again. Anyt’hing! Even dat vision of de Holy Virgin!”

“I’m so sorry,
Seamus. Yesterday it all seemed easy. Now she’s gone, she’s taken the
time-specs… and we’re both stuck here. For good.”

A smile lit up
the Irishman’s face.

“You
have
helped
me, Gary boy. De demon drink, I’ll not touch a drop from now on. Not one drop.
Buy m’self a new suit instead. One of dose light and flashy ones. Maybe she’ll
take me back den. Or if she’s a new fella, maybe she’ll let me see my daughter
again. She’ll be all of seventeen now, Gary. To be sure, she will. All of
seventeen!”

“The green
tracksuit, Seamus… the one I swapped for this (Gary lifted the bag containing
the man’s filthy clothes)… do you know where they put the thing? It’s my only
link with the future… and with Beetie!”

“What you see
of Seamus O’Malley is all you get now. Funny t’hing is, I heard dem talking
when I pretended I was still unconscious. About de police… a robbery or
somet’hing. You wouldn’t be knowing anyt’hing about dat yourself, now, would
you, Gary?”

“Oh shit!”

“You’d not go
talking like dat to de Holy Virgin, I hope?”

“I’ll give
myself up, Seamus. For your sake. Sort stuff out back home first and pray Mike
does return. Safe and well. That’s why she went back to that bastard Teeth. For
Mike’s sake! I think God put her up to it and I’ll never forgive the bugger…”

“Shhhh!”

“…not till I’m
dead and gone myself!”

A nurse
reappeared and Seamus O’Malley’s eyelids closed. He remained as still as a
corpse.

“Doctors say it’ll
be a while before he recovers consciousness,” she told Gary. “I think you
should go now. Leave his things on the floor. I’ll get a bin bag for them.”

“Do you have
his green suit? A kind of tracksuit.”

“Police have
taken everything. Sorry. Why?”

“Oh… nothing
at all,” replied Gary.

Gary left the
Royal Free and walked back across Hampstead Heath to Whitestone Pond.
Everywhere, he saw Beetie’s face, her smile and her eyes. He gazed at London
beyond the trees and he imagined she was still there, beside him. The pain of
turning and seeing no one was harsh. He hardly knew what to do with himself. He
thought of going back to Golders Green, to the B & B and the little room
where he and Beetie had found heaven together, but this was all in the past.
Without the time-specs the past was simply that. The past! Gone forever, like
Beetie. Somehow he’d try to carry on, find his old life and salvage what he
could. If he were ever to meet God, he’d pin him up against a wall and ask
‘why?’ Why choose
him
, Gary O’Driscoll, for such a cruel game? Why put
him and Beetie together only to tear them apart? If he got no joy from God the
Man, he’d ask the other God. The one who knows everything. He’d pray.

Gary took a
number 210 bus to Golders Green then a number 82 to Swiss Cottage. All the
time, Beetie was inside him. Beetie, Mike, Seamus O’Malley... and Beetie.

“Here we are, Cathy! Where the
Terminus is gonna be in two hundred years. What d’you think of my world?”

Cathy’s fixed
smile had left her. She stared with frightened eyes at her new surroundings
like a young rabbit transferred from the safety of a warren onto a main road.

“Don’t look so
worried! You’ll be okay!” reassured the boy. “Enjoy all the space. They haven’t
started building yet! Those funny little houses over there… people live in
them. As families, like. Homes. Mums and dads and kids.
Little
kids who
run around and scream and stuff. None of those in the Hatcheries, right? Now
that
building beyond the railings…” Mike pointed to a grey building… one of
several belonging to Stanmore Scientific Laboratories. “It’s where the
Hatcheries will be one day.” Cathy gripped his arm and hid her face against his
shoulder.

“Yeah!” he
exclaimed. “The same bloody building. You recognise the place. No wonder you’re
shit scared! Nothing’s happening there yet, I promise you. Not here in the
past.”

Noticing her
moistening eyes and the fear in them, he felt ashamed to see this girl was so
much more than a dumb, pretty face and a lovely pair of legs. He held her
tenderly against his body.

“Okay! A few
things to do first before we look for Gary. Man, he’s gonna be so bloody cut up
about Beetie. Tell you one thing, Cathy. I
will
kill God if I ever set
eyes on him again. Gary’s my best mate, and people who do that kind of shit to
Mike Bellini’s mate… well, they bloody pay for it.”

“Mike?”

“Sure! Mike!
That’s me! I’m your
friend now, Cathy. And don’t you forget it! Seems
Beetie forgot about Gary when she let a geriatric bearded bastard put a bun in
her oven!”

“Home?”

“Oh, you funny
little thing! Yes, I’ve got a home, Cathy. A home and a cat. Bet you’ve never
seen a cat, eh? Now, let me see… today is still Saturday here… though should be
Sunday, I reckon. Anyway… we’ve stuff to do… business to sort out. Need your
help of course. Afterwards we move on to tomorrow where Gary will be. Not that
he isn’t around at other times, like, but no point in telling him before he
meets Beetie again! Telling him that the girl he’s gonna be so crazy about will
deceive him and get pregnant by some white-haired old codger.”

Cathy’s face
remained blank.

“
Pregnant
?
Having babies the
proper
way? How God intended? I mean
our
God,
the real one, not that fake from the future. Oh what the hell, Cathy! Regent’s
Park, first stop!”

All the time,
as they walked together to Stanmore underground station, as they sat on the
train or strolled along Baker Street and the walkways of Regent’s Park, Cathy
clung to Mike like a child to a parent. Mike chatted non-stop about anything
and everything. Interspersed with long anecdotes concerning his family, school
life and his friend Gary – the brain box scientist – he spoke of trains, cars,
soccer, cats and world affairs.

“I’m telling
you, Cathy, they should let me and Gary take over and solve the world’s problems.
Global warming and stuff. If we did, your lot in the future wouldn’t need to
put up with all the shit you get from the likes of God and Teeth. Now tell me,
what d’you think of the flowers?” he asked as they wandered through Queen
Mary’s Gardens on the way to the playing fields. Cathy’s eyes widened,
struggling to take in the beauty of the place and the diversity and exuberance
of plants and blooms.

“Wait a
minute!”

Mike stopped
and quickly glanced in all directions. No one was looking. He reached across a
bush laden with white roses and pinched off a flower, placing this in the
girl’s hair above her left ear after removing the thorns.

“Cool!” he
exclaimed. “Wow! I think Veronica will be very understanding. Not in the same
league as you, I’m afraid. Okay… so there’s one little phrase you need to
learn.” Cathy lightly touched the flower petals with her finger tips. “I… love…
you… Mike. Can you say this?”

She blinked.
Her forehead furrowed but she said nothing.

“Sorry! Worth a
try! Maybe later! After the drug Beefor stuck into you has properly worn off.
You look wonderful, though. Poor Veronica’s no match.”

They walked on
and Mike continued his monologue, explaining the differences between soccer and
hockey in the simplest terms possible. On reaching the playing fields he saw
he’d got the timing right: Veronica’s team-mates were standing around
chattering and giggling about the boy who’d appeared from nowhere, vanished,
reappeared and opened out his heart to Veronica.

“I was correct,
Cathy. Yours
are
better. And I thought her face pretty in comparison
with Emma Pearson… but with you? No way! She’ll understand... bet your bottom
dollar she will! Looks up to me like I’m a kinda Hollywood hero!”

They’d been
spotted. Veronica stood back, uncertain, whilst two other girls ran towards
them waving hockey sticks.

“So you’re
back, lover boy? Come along. She’s still swooning. This must be your little
sister, ay?”

“Oh dear!”
muttered Mike as he walked over to Veronica with Cathy holding onto his arm.
“Veronica! Hi! Yeah! Well… um… this is Cathy! Wanted you to meet her.”

“His sister,”
one of the other girls informed a stupefied Veronica.

“Our date…
erm… the flicks… remember?”

“I love you,
Mike!” chirped Cathy. “Always will. You saved me from Blinker. He’s a monster!”

Dumbfounded,
Mike turned to take in the girl at his side; for the first time he realised
he
had fallen head-over-heels with
her
!

“Like she… er…
says, Veronica! Date’s off! No flicks. Um... say hello to Cathy! Cathy’s my
girlfriend, you see. Okay by you?”

Veronica’s
eyes spelt danger, but Mike, so teenagerly naïve, missed the warning signs: the
sharpening at the corners, the fixed stare… the mouth.
Most
of all the
mouth. He grinned when she stepped forwards, offering his cheek for a farewell
kiss, and was sent staggering sideways from the force of the slap.

“Bloody-well
serves you right, whoever you are,” shouted Veronica’s friend. “Clear off
before we beat you to a pulp, you little prick.”

Mike grabbed
Cathy’s hand and ran with her from the pitch to a frenzy of jeers. Crimson with
embarrassment, he was relieved to hear Cathy giggle.

“You just
saved my life!” he told her. “God, to think I’d even offered to take her on a
date! Nearly signed my own death warrant!”

“No! You
mustn’t die!”

Mike chuckled.

“Keep this up,
girl. You’re getting better by the minute. Good fighter… but not in the jolly
hockey sticks sense, eh? Now… how about a little trip to this afternoon?”

Mike pointed
to a football pitch about a hundred metres away. He took hold of Cathy’s hand,
adjusted the time-specs and propped them on the bridge of his nose. Cathy
gasped at the sudden change from bright to dull. The sun had vanished and the
clouds were heavy, as if they might leak rain any minute. Mike knew he was
visiting a block of time in the recent past over which he and Gary had
leap-frogged in their backwards and forwards time-travels. What had been an
empty football pitch a split second earlier was now alive with
running, shouting, yelling,
kicking teenage lads and a bobbing line of micro-skirted girlfriends screaming
with excitement, clapping, laughing and cajoling the boys.

“An old score to settle,” Mike informed Cathy. “Stay
close.”

He led her towards the pitch.

“Is
this
soccer?” she asked. “Don’t they get bored?”

Mike laughed.

“Terrific game, Cathy! We’ll get you to play some day.
Maybe when Gary’s got over the Beetie business. All right? Now... watch this!
Take a look at the guy with an ain’t-I-great smirk on his ugly face… brown hair
and sleeves half-rolled up! Danny Bryan, the number one school bully!”

“Not as ugly as Blinker,” observed Cathy.

“Correct! No one else could be that. Danny, he used to
terrorise me and Gary before I met you. Thumps the crap out of kids who upset
him in any sort of a way, and there ain’t much that doesn’t upset Danny. Now…
tell me I really
am
brave, Cathy.”

“You really
are
brave!”

“Hang on to my arm. To remind me.”

He pulled the mag-stunner from his pocket, concealing the object
in his hand, his finger caressing the activation button. One of the girls
spotted him.

“Hey, Emma, here’s little Mikey all dressed up like a poof.
With a girl! What a laugh!”

Emma, a dyed blonde, emitted a shrill giggle.

“Ooooh!” she mocked. “Where’s Professor Brainbox, ay? Fed
up with ’im, are ya? Trying some’at diff’rent for a change! Ha ha!” she
cackled.

“How did I
ever
persuade myself you were remotely
pretty, you bloody little tart!”

ZING!

Emma Pearson stopped cackling.

“Emma… Emma… what’s the matter? Why’ve ya gone all funny?
You okay, Emma?”

“WHAT’S UP?” Danny Bryan shouted.

He swaggered across the pitch towards them. A group of
girls encircled Emma, repeatedly prodding her.

“She’s gone funny, Danny. Won’t say a word.”

“Smitten by
me
, Danny boy?” suggested Mike, keeping
a firm hold of Cathy with his free hand. “Senses the imminent presence of a
real man rather than a souped-up turd like Danny Bryan.”

“Oh, what a brave boy you are today, Mikey? Oy! You lot!
Over ’ere! Come an’ see the colour of little Mikey’s shit! Then we can share
’is girl around. Cute little thing, she is. Where d’ya find ’er, Mikey? In a
supermarket? Whatcha pay for ’er, ay?”

Danny stepped forward.

“Give us a kiss, darling,” he said, flickering his eyelids
at Cathy. Lips pursed, he craned his neck to within inches from the girl’s
face, closing his eyes in anticipation.

ZING!

Mike stepped forwards, kissed a stationary Danny Bryan,
screwed up his face in disgust and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Yuk! Didn’t know he fancied me so much. Trouble is… I’m
not gay so you boys are welcome to him.
I
prefer girls!”

He turned and kissed Cathy full on the lips, long and
lingering. One of the girls sniggered. Others followed suit, until all except
Emma Pearson and her best friend were falling about with uncontrollable
laughter.

“Come on boys! Give Danny a big one! Make Emma jealous,”
someone screeched.

Joining in the fun, several lads went up to
Danny-the-statue and gave him smackers on the lips whilst the girls snapped
away with their camera phones.

“Hope you got good shots for Facebook, girls!” Mike said
before removing the time-specs and returning with Cathy to another time… same
football pitch, but deserted.

“Thank you!” said Cathy.

“Thank
me
? Why?”

“Thank you for not hitting. Not hurting. In the Hatcheries…
those big men are always hitting... hurting. It’s horrible. I never want to go
back.”

“Hey! No hitting! Good one! Next stop tomorrow… and Gary!
When Gary’s got over Beetie we’ll all stay here in the present. Seems like this
is what you want, certainly what I want, and Gary... well, he’ll find another
girl. One who doesn’t do the dirty on him. First thing, though, we’re gonna
have to persuade him to chuck away these frigging time-specs. Don’t you agree?
Now… Gary? Um... Swiss Cottage... tomorrow… say eleven o’clock! He’ll be back
from church… if he can still put up with the other God’s mumbo-jumbo after what
God the Man’s gone and done. Gonna be tough putting this to him, Cathy. Glad
you’ll be with me, ’cos Gary, poor bloke, he’s a bit of a firework. Blows up
big time under pressure!” Cathy gawped blankly at him. “Firework? Temper?
BOOM
?”

“Hatcheries… always fireworks and
tempers… before injections.
I
hate
the Hatcheries!”

“Don’t fret! I promise you’ll never go back!” Mike glanced
at her whilst he readjusted the specs. “Must admit I’ll miss these things… but
can’t imagine Gary ever forgetting Beetie if he can still lay his hands on ’em.
Ready?”

He slipped on the time-specs holding Cathy about the waist;
same place, but a bright day. A few younger kids were larking about on the
pitch.

“HEY!” yelled a little girl. “That man and lady came from
nowhere!”

“Quite right, little girl!” agreed Mike. “From nowhere and
now we’re off to Swiss Cottage. Cheerio!”

The girl stared open-mouthed, unable to fathom what she’d
witnessed as Mike and Cathy set off back towards Baker Street station. They
overheard the child’s excited shrill voice:

“Wow! I think they’re magic. Like Harry Potter!”

Cathy’s education of twenty-first century London continued
on the train. Mike lectured her about kids at school, how to go shopping, parks
– other parks – and famous places like the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham
Palace and Wormwood Scrubs. He frowned.

“People only get locked up in prison here in this London.
Nothing as brutal as floggings. So bloody primitive, the place you come from.”

Cathy listened carefully to every word, storing everything
in her pretty head which she rested so happily against Mike’s shoulder and the
boy glowed with pride.