‘Eden!’ someone shouted.
I turned towards the voice, wondering who on earth it could be. A light flashed in my face.
‘Miss Anfield.’
I turned towards the other voice.
‘What do you call those clothes? Are you from the wild west?’
‘Eden!’
All around me, cameras flashed and questions bombarded me. I pushed through the crowd on to the street and turned right. The crowd swarmed around me.
‘Where’s Orion?’
‘People are saying you are the twenty-second century Romeo and Juliet. Are you?’
‘How do you like the future?’
I tried to block out their questions and the running commentary they were making as they followed me. Apparently my clothes were quirky, cool, radical, rare. The personal shopper at Whites had reported that I seemed to like blue. I had eaten breakfast at the Peacock Feather on my own. I was eighteen. I was seventeen. I had copper-coloured hair.
‘Have you met the president?’
‘Will you be testifying at the trial?’
‘Is it true you’re only sixteen?’
At the end of the T-junction I stopped and looked up and down the intersecting road.
‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Are you lost?’
‘How would you like to be on the big screen?’
‘Do you miss him?’
‘Are you expecting his child?’
I said nothing, although I longed to shout at them to leave me alone. I did not want to hear my own voice broadcasting from one of those huge billboards. And then I recognised the Lakeview Hotel, up the hill, just a block away. I turned towards it, but the crowd had moved in front of me now, barring my way. I stepped to the side but I was still blocked. I turned around; the crowd had penned me in from all sides. Panic spiked. They had me trapped.
‘Come now, don’t be shy. How about a smile?’
The top of the Lakeview Hotel towered above the other buildings on the street, so close and yet so out of reach. I felt a flush of time lag weariness. I couldn’t pass out here in the middle of the road. Just as I thought I was going to have to kick and punch my way out, the crowd melted away from me towards a black limousine that had pulled up to the kerb. I was about to make a dash for it when two burly men in charcoal uniforms appeared at my side.
‘Miss Anfield,’ said the older of the two. ‘The admiral would like to escort you to your hotel.’
I clambered into the back of the limo. Admiral Westland was sitting on the back seat, his briefcase on his lap.
‘I’m on my way to the office,’ he said. ‘But I noticed you were having a bit of trouble.’
The two uniformed men climbed back in and took their seats, one in the front of the car, one in the rear.
Westland grimaced. ‘The Lakeview is usually very discreet; I don’t understand how your identity has been revealed. Once the trial is over, I’m sure they’ll leave you alone.’
The limo rolled smoothly into the stream of traffic.
‘When can I see Ryan?’
‘Most of his time is taken up with his lawyer. I’ll let you know when you can see him.’
‘How is he?’
Westland sighed heavily. ‘He’s OK. I’ve found an excellent lawyer. Very experienced. He’ll want to interview you before the trial.’
‘When will that be?’
‘These cases are turned around pretty quickly. There are very few witnesses at a time trial, for obvious reasons. I imagine the trial will be in a week or ten days at most. In the meantime, you should start thinking about what you want to do, Eden. I know you’ve been given a resettlement package, but it won’t last for ever. You’ll need to find a job and a place to live. Get on with your life.’
‘I can’t get on with my life until I know what’s happening with Ryan.’
‘Listen to me. You need to prepare yourself for the possibility that the court will find him guilty.’
‘They can’t do that!’
He shook his head with an unhappy smile. ‘Yes they can. He may have travelled through time for the right reasons, but the fact remains that his mission was not authorised. If the court finds my son guilty, he’ll be facing a prison sentence.’
The limo drew to a stop by the Lakeview and one of the uniformed men got out and held the door for me.
‘As soon as there’s any news, I’ll call you,’ said Admiral Westland. ‘In the meantime, you need to start building a life of your own.’
I couldn’t build a life of my own; in the twenty-second century, Ryan was my life. My heart felt leaden. I was out of place and out of time.
Chapter 8
For the next three days the vans, reporters and photographers camped outside the Lakeview Hotel. At first, they called my room repeatedly, but then I told reception to block all my calls unless they were from Admiral Westland or the Institute. I stayed in my room, ordered room service and waited for the phone to ring. Admiral Westland had said he would let me know as soon as there was news. Surely he knew something by now? I couldn’t stop thinking about Ryan. What did his lawyer think? What were his chances of being found innocent? Was he scared? Was he missing me? And what would happen if he was found guilty? What would become of me?
The only people I spoke to in all that time were the cleaner from housekeeping and the room service delivery person. I got a woman from housekeeping to show me how to turn on the TV – I had to scan my flexi-card in front of it to activate power and payment – and spent hours watching movies and the news. Ryan was the main story. Half the commentators, it seemed, felt Ryan would be found guilty; the other half believed he must have had a legitimate mission objective to travel back to 2012. It was clear that none of them had any real information. The only other news story? Me.
On the fourth day, the phone rang.
‘Admiral?’ I said.
The screen faded up from clear and a boy’s face projected into my room. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, with skin the colour of wheat, and dark hair that gleamed like black coffee.
‘No one’s ever called me that before.’ His eyes were brimming with amusement.
‘I think you have the wrong number.’
‘You’re Eden, aren’t you?’
‘Are you a journalist?’
‘Do I look like a journalist?’
‘I have no idea. You all look like a bunch of hippies dressed for a beach party if you ask me.’
His eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘I’m not completely sure what you’re saying, but I think you just insulted me.’
I shrugged. ‘How did you get through? I told them not to connect anyone unless they were from the Institute. What do you want?’
‘Sorry about that. I’m calling from Admiral Westland’s office. I’m a friend of Orion. I was wondering if you wanted to get the hell out of that hotel room you’ve been holed up in since you got here.’
‘What makes you think I’m holed up in my hotel room?’
‘There are about a hundred cameras and journos outside the front of the hotel, updating your status every half-hour. The doormen have confirmed that you’re inside and haven’t left the building in four days. So I’m guessing you could use a change of scenery.’
‘How do I get out of the building without being seen?’
‘Leave that to me. Can you call reception and ask them to let me up? I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘What was your name again?’
‘Peg. Pegasus Ryder.’
A quick check in the mirror confirmed that I looked like I hadn’t left my room in four days. I was unwashed, grey-skinned, still in my pyjamas. I had a quick shower, ran a comb through my tangled hair and pulled on one of my new outfits, a long green dress with a high neck and no sleeves. The material was soft and light, perfect for the warm climate.