‘Is there any chance that Westland and his son are innocent?’
‘Of course. Westland claims his son only broke the Temporal Laws in order to save the life of a girl who had helped the mission and been unjustly eliminated by the mission cleaner.’
‘What sort of sentence is Orion facing if he’s found guilty?’
‘That will come down to the judge. Sentencing guidelines are very broad – he could be punished with as little as a six-month curfew program, or he could be looking at some serious time on the far side of the moon.’
I touched a button to turn off the TV show and accidentally brought up a search engine. There was still almost an hour until Pegasus was due, so I decided to look up Miranda. I’d avoided it – pushing all thoughts of her into the deep, dark corners of my mind – because our separation was still so fresh. Less than a week had passed since I left my own time. But from where I was now, she had lived her life and died.
I had no idea if Facebook still existed, but Ryan had said we all leave a digital footprint – it was how he’d found out what happened to me – so I decided to give it a go. I wasted almost twenty minutes looking for somewhere to type her name. Just before I was about to give up, I stumbled across the voice commands.
‘Search for Miranda Honeychurch,’ I said, then squeezed my eyes closed and made a silent wish that she’d had a good life. I didn’t think I could bear to discover that my sudden departure had ruined things.
There were thousands of results. But the result second from the top of the fourth screen was her. Her photograph was just as I remembered her from 2012, with an icon that said Complete Profile. I touched the icon.
A three-dimensional hologram of Miranda leapt out of the com-screen. It was life-sized. She was dressed in a red dress I recognised. She had bought it just a few months before I left the twenty-first century. Tears sprang to my eyes as I looked at her smiling face.
There were four folders on the screen: biography, photographs, blog and messages. I touched biography.
The hologram shrank back into the screen and a fresh page opened on-screen. It was brief.
Miranda Williams (née Honeychurch) was born in 1980, the younger of two daughters, to Ben Honeychurch, a teacher and Mary Honeychurch, a shop assistant. A bright child, she excelled in school and went on to study Law at Exeter University. Her legal career was brought to an abrupt halt, however, when her elder sister Beatrice died tragically in an automobile accident orphaning Miranda’s niece, Eden. Miranda raised Eden for ten years. Tragedy struck again when, at sixteen, Eden disappeared without a trace. Miranda completed her legal studies as a mature student and went on to become a partner at Williams and Penhallow, where she married Thomas Williams, a senior partner. They were married in 2016 and had two children, Travis (b. 2017) and Eden (b. 2019). Miranda died from pneumonia following a hip operation in 2075, aged ninety-five.
Author: Eden Williams 2075
I made a quick calculation. Eden Williams had been fifty-six when her mother died at the ripe old age of ninety-five. She might even be alive herself. I made another calculation. She would be a hundred and four. Not likely then. But the knowledge that Miranda had had a career and a husband and two children made my heart sing.
I scrolled through the photographs, poring over pictures of her as an old lady, family photos with Thomas and her children. In later shots she was surrounded by little children again, grandchildren presumably. I must have relatives somewhere. I wondered if any of them had worked out that I was related to them. After the trial, I would look them up. Settle into the twenty-second century, as Westland had suggested.
I skipped over the blog and touched the folder that said messages. The page opened to a list of subfolders, each with a name: Eden, Travis, and other names I didn’t recognise. I was about to close the page when one of the folders caught my eye. Eden Anfield. My heart thumping against my ribs, I touched the screen. A window popped open.
Password required. Clue: the name of our feline visitor.
‘Katkin,’ I said to the screen.
The folder opened, revealing a short message.
Dear Eden,
Many years have passed since the day I came home and found you gone. Not a day goes by without me thinking of you. But I believe I know what happened to you and I hope that I’m right. They told me you had drowned in the sea off Perran Towans. I never believed it. In my heart I knew you were still alive somewhere. For many years this was nothing more than a belief. But when Nathaniel Westland invented a way to travel through time, I worked it out. Westland was the name of the boy you were with. He was from the future. You followed him home. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
I’ve had a rich and full life. Although I lost you and Travis, my life has been blessed with a loving husband, two delightful children and five grandchildren.
Ever since Nathaniel Westland invented time travel, I’ve hoped and prayed I will see you again. Now I am sick and I know I don’t have very long left. It is my greatest hope that one day you will find this message and visit me or my children or grandchildren.
Whatever happens, I hope it’s been worth it for you.
With love, for ever,
Miranda x
Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I wished so much that I could travel back and wrap my arms around her. I wanted to tell her everything. To say goodbye properly.
The screen went blank and then the face of the hotel receptionist blinked on my screen. Incoming call. I wiped my face on the back of my sleeve and pressed accept call.
‘You have a visitor, Miss Anfield,’ said the receptionist. ‘Mr Pegasus Ryder.’
‘Let him up please.’
I had become so immersed in reading that I had completely lost track of the time. I grabbed a blue dress out of the wardrobe and quickly shimmied into it. There was just time to apply a flick of eyeliner before he knocked.
‘Nice dress,’ he said, as I opened the door.
‘You too,’ I said, pointing at his sarong. ‘Is that what guys wear in the twenty-second century?’
‘It’s not a dress,’ he said, smiling uncertainly. ‘It’s pretty standard for a night out drinking.’
‘Did Ryan dress like that?’
Peg nodded. ‘Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?’
‘No. It’s just not what I’m used to.’
He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you OK? You look kind of . . . upset?’
I wiped away a tear. I would not allow myself to cry in front of Peg.
‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ he asked.
I scanned on the com-screen and pulled up Miranda’s profile. He skimmed through her entries.
‘Who is she?’
‘My aunt. The woman who brought me up after my parents died.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘She had a good life. She figured out where you went. That reads like a pretty good ending to me.’
‘It’s a long time ago from where you’re standing. But it’s just days for me.’
Peg nodded silently. ‘I can’t really imagine what it’s like to go through what you’re going through.’
‘I’m just so lonely,’ I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Everyone I know is dead. Or locked up.’
‘I know it’s not much, but you know me. I’m not dead. Or locked up. Not yet, anyway.’
I looked at him and tried to smile.