There were only three photographs left. One was of a blue planet that looked just like Earth but had three moons in its sky. The caption simply stated Eden from Mayflower II. The next was of a middle-aged Connor beaming at the camera, surrounded by towering pink cliffs, a green river winding into the distance. Zion Valley, Eden, 2053. And the last one was of an old man with white hair and a party hat. Connor Penrose at his eightieth birthday party, 2076.
This was insane.
I turned to the front of the book and began to read. The chapter described a boy born in the late twentieth century, the first and only child of David and Rosa Penrose. David, an accountant, died from bowel cancer when Connor was six. His mother, a teaching assistant at a local primary school, raised him alone after that in a small fisherman’s cottage near the harbour. All the facts added up. This was my Connor.
I needed the internet. The problem was Miranda had decided – on one of her overprotective whims – that the only computer with access to the internet should be in the living room.
I pushed the book under my pillow and ran down the stairs to the living room. Miranda and Travis were cuddled up on the sofa, the papers spread out between them.
‘Here. See if you can finish this,’ said Miranda, pushing the crossword across to me. ‘There are only two clues to do.’
‘What you been up to?’ asked Travis.
‘Science revision,’ I said.
‘You mustn’t study too hard,’ said Miranda. ‘You need some down time too.’
‘I’m having down time right now.’ Privately I was calculating how long I would have to sit there and socialise before I could go online.
‘Put the news on, Travis,’ said Miranda.
He clicked the remote and the BBC News 24 channel appeared on the TV screen. I plastered a mildly interested expression on my face and tuned out. I needed answers.
‘Do you mind if I use the computer?’
‘More work?’ asked Miranda.
‘I got stuck on one of the science questions.’
‘What was the question?’ she asked.
‘Is time travel possible? But I’m struggling with it. I thought I’d do some research.’
Travis shook his head. ‘That’s a complex topic for Year Eleven exams. Scientists themselves don’t agree on that subject. Whose theories are you supposed to be considering? Einstein’s?’
Einstein was supposed to be pretty smart. That seemed a good place to start.
‘Yes. Einstein.’
Travis pressed the mute button. ‘According to Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity, time travel would require faster than light travel and it would take an infinite amount of energy to accelerate an object to the speed of light.’
‘So Einstein thinks time travel is impossible,’ I said, feeling oddly disappointed.
‘Yes. And no. General Relativity is a different matter,’ said Travis. ‘And then, when you bring quantum mechanics into the discussion . . .’
‘Travis!’ said Miranda. ‘Where is all this geek-speak coming from?’
Travis grinned. ‘Would you believe me if I told you that, before I decided to train as a chef, I briefly flirted with a career as a science teacher?’
‘You’re joking?’ said Miranda, wide-eyed.
‘Forget Einstein and quantum whatever,’ I said. ‘Do you believe in time travel?’
Travis caught my eye. ‘No. Nor do most scientists. Just because something may be theoretically possible, doesn’t mean it’s likely.’ He stood up and removed a packet of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans. Miranda pulled a face. Considering how much she loathed cigarette smoking, it surprised me that she was willing to overlook it in Travis. On the other hand, guys hadn’t exactly been knocking down our door.
He pulled a cigarette out of the packet and tucked it behind his ear. ‘I need to head home now. Early start tomorrow.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Miranda.
As soon as I heard the sound of Miranda brushing her teeth, I booted up the computer.
The first thing I searched for was Connor. Connor Penrose. Not a common name, but on a planet with 7 billion people, there must be loads. Googling Connor Penrose brought up over a million results. I scanned through the first ten pages of results: Facebook profiles, boys who had won sporting tournaments or competitions, place names. But I didn’t find any reference to an astronomer who had discovered a planet called Eden. I’m not sure I really expected to. Next I tried a web search for Eden, which brought up lots of pages about the Eden Project and an episode guide for Star Trek. It was a waste of time.
On a whim I searched for Wolfeboro, Ryan’s home town. Like the previous searches, it brought up thousands of results. Wolfeboro was a small town of about six thousand people and claimed to be America’s oldest summer resort. I scanned through images of the town, which was surrounded by blue lakes and huge forests of green trees. I remembered Ryan telling me that all the trees had died due to some sort of industrial accident. I added that to the search.
Nothing.
I tried again with a different search engine. I searched the news. There was no mention of an environmental disaster in or near Wolfeboro.
By the time I clambered into bed at eleven thirty, I had devised a theory. Although it seemed impossible, the evidence was staring me in the face. The book written sixty-nine years in the future. The fact that the book was written by Connor Penrose and my best friend was Connor Penrose. Ryan showing up at school just weeks before school ended. Ryan not recognising commonplace food such as pizza and burgers. Not knowing who Hitler was, or Gandhi or Mandela. Ryan telling me that an industrial accident had wiped out all the trees in Wolfeboro when that hadn’t happened. Yet.
Only one thing could explain all these things.
Ryan Westland was from the future.
Chapter 9
The wind shrieked around the corners of the house, shook the windowpanes and howled down the chimney in my bedroom. I saw the clock strike midnight and one in the morning. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, I gave up trying to sleep. I took The Journey to Eden out from under my pillow and turned again to the photos in the middle. I half expected them to have changed.
I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from my desk and began to list what I knew.
Ryan, Cassie and their father are from the future.
They have brought with them an autobiography of my friend Connor Penrose.
Connor will one day discover a planet that he will name Eden.
My name’s Eden and I’m Connor’s best friend.
Connor will get a telescope for his birthday next week.
Connor will go on to study at Manchester University.
Connor will visit the planet Eden.
Connor will write an autobiography called The Journey to Eden.
Connor will live to be more than eighty years old.
It wasn’t a lot to go on. But one thing stood out brighter than the lightning that flashed across the night sky: the name Connor.
I might be overwhelmed, I might be confused, and I might not have all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. But it was obvious that Ryan was here because of Connor. The question was: why?