Page 78 of Mirrors of the Past

‘They’re not real,’ he heard her whisper. ‘This Christmas fair. It’s not — real. Is it?’

Ryan shook his head slowly. ‘No. I think it was real. For them. But it’s not real for us.’

‘Is it . . . Laurie and Viola?’

‘I think so. And Marigold.’

‘Then where the hell are we?’ Tegan sounded scared.

Ryan swallowed back some panic. ‘1911,’ he replied. ‘Or thereabouts.’

‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers.’ Tegan began to pull him back the way they’d come. ‘Not surprised the snow’s so bloody real!’

Ryan wasn’t going to disagree with any of those sentiments. With some difficulty, he tore his gaze away from the group of people whose lives they had somehow gate-crashed and hurried out of the gate they’d come in. All thoughts of his shortlisting and upcoming interview fled from his mind — all he was concerned about was getting out of Russell Square, circa 1911.

Once they were outside and walking really, really quickly away from the place, towards a warm coffee shop and the twenty-first century, he took the chance of looking behind him.

Russell Square was looking just like itself. Slightly grey and soggy, damp benches scattered around it, people walking dogs there, people carrying shopping bags through it . . . just the way it should look today in modern-day Bloomsbury.

Not a scrap of snow anywhere, just a huge Christmas tree in the middle of it, right next to the fountain, decorated with modern fairy lights.

‘In here.’ Tegan pulled him into a coffee shop — one of the popular chains which was, quite possibly, the best grounding experience he could have hoped for at that particular point in time.

‘Good call.’

‘I’ll get them,’ said Tegan. ‘I want to do something — normal!’

Ryan didn’t argue. He was still half in that life he’d just witnessed and didn’t think he’d be able to formulate a sensible request to the smiling barista.

Within a few minutes, Tegan was back with two large coffees — some sort of festive spice version, piled high with whipped cream and marshmallows.

‘Don’t judge me,’ she muttered. ‘If I hadn’t have given up smoking a few years back, I’d be bloody lighting up right now. This is my vice. Whipped cream and Christmas coffees.’

‘Worse ones to have,’ he replied. ‘Do you want another marshmallow?’

Tegan nodded and he spooned the confection off his drink and plopped it on hers.

‘The more sugar the better,’ she said. ‘I’m not wrong, am I? That really happened there.’ She pointed her spoon in the general direction of Russell Square. ‘We were at some Christmas fair in the past?’

‘It’s just weird we both saw it. Having said that, I’m kind of glad you were there. I’m not sure anyone else would believe me.’

Tegan shook her head. ‘I can kind of understand it happening at Pencradoc. I mean, I’ve sort of accepted it now. Viola and Laurie were obviously an item and want us to know about it.’

‘We know they were an item — they got married for God’s sake!’

‘Yes. But . . .’ Tegan blushed. ‘What if it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Right from the beginning, I mean. Didn’t it say somewhere that Elsie wanted them to call a truce before her wedding?’

Ryan nodded slowly. ‘Yes. In the letter she sent to Laurie about going to see the dress.’

‘And that story you found — didn’t he try to rewrite the story of the ball? So they actually enjoyed themselves? Like he’d regretted whatever had happened that night?’

‘I guess he did. Tegan, you’re quite good at this.’

‘Shut up.’ He knew she didn’t mean it in a bad way, but the comments had relaxed them a bit. ‘But if it was them we saw just now—’

‘It definitely was,’ he said drily. ‘Looked a bit like us in a period drama, but whatever.’ Because, dear God, it had looked like them. He felt a bit sick again and it wasn’t the mountain of cream causing it.

‘Okay. Whatever.’ She waved her spoon around and showered the table with globs of melting whipped cream. ‘If it was them, it looked to me as if they’d called that truce when they visited Russell Square. For whatever reason they were there.’ Her cheeks were pink and she was tumbling over her words. ‘I mean, just consider for a moment,’ she said, ‘that they were trying to tell us something. They chose to tell us when we were together, at the same time they were together. Kind of.’