Page 25 of Love and Other Paradoxes

“A chat,” he said slowly, to buy himself time to figure out how she could possibly still be here.

“Yeah.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Mind if we walk and talk? I’m on a deadline.”

He looked down at his leg. “As long as we can walk slowly.”

She led the way through the car park, watching him limp after. “So how much do you know about what’s going on here?”

He snorted. “I know your leaflet’s a load of shite.”

“Leaflet?” A wave of alarm crossed her face, followed by a wave of resignation. “You’ve seen the book.”

He had to be careful. He couldn’t risk sending her after Esi. But she was hardly the only time traveller who had broken the

rules. “One of your clients left it in my pigeonhole. Under a mug with my face on.”

Vera buried her face in her hands. “Uggh. This is really not a one-person job. I keep telling them that, but they’re all like opening wormholes is expensive, Vera , and I’m like well, maybe you shouldn’t be opening so many of them , and then they say but we need to maximise our return on investment, and you do such a great job— ” She sidestepped to avoid one of the plane trees that erupted out of Sidgwick Avenue like inconvenient giants. “I knew something wasn’t right. You were off your expected pattern, almost from the start. You weren’t in the places you should have been, and then you were in all these places you never should have gone...”

His mind boggled. “How do you know my past to that level of detail?”

“Because it’s my job. Anyway. After I saw you hanging around outside Whewell’s Court, I started to worry. Lucky I was on my

own when I saw the two of you out punting together. Imagine if I’d had a group with me. Joseph Greene and Diana Dartnell getting

cosy on a boat when they’re not even supposed to be a thing yet? Makes it hard to maintain that whole can’t change the past line.”

He latched onto one word, glinting in the midst of her tirade like a star through the darkness. “Yet?” He limped to catch

up with her. “So on the other side of the wormhole, me and Diana still get together?”

She frowned, as if she didn’t understand the question. “Of course.”

“Right. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” The implication blossomed in his mind. His future was still possible. It might not

be guaranteed anymore, but Vera’s presence meant he could still get there by another path.

“I mean, if you ask me, I always thought she was wrong for you. I’ve got to know you a bit with all this following you around,

and to be honest, she doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Really,” he said distantly.

“Not much of a fan of the poems either. No offence.”

“None taken.” He was surprised to realise he meant it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had written them.

“I used to run the Byron trip. Now there’s a poet.” Her eyes went dreamy. “You’ve seen the statue of him in the Wren Library? Doesn’t measure up when you’ve met the

real thing. The presence that man has...” She tailed off, blinking. “Sorry. What was I talking about?”

It took him a while to remember. “How you saw me and Diana getting cosy on a boat.”

“Right. Obviously, I immediately advised my bosses to shut the trip down.”

“Shut the trip down?” He thought of Esi, still hoping to climb out of the river into her new self. “You mean, close the wormhole?”

“We can’t close it. No one knows how. Yet another trade secret we’re not keen to have leak out.” She disappeared for a moment

as they split up to round another tree. “No, usually, we just seal them off to the public. Which was my recommendation in

this case. But my bosses feel we haven’t yet recouped sufficient value from this trip. The schedule says we keep it open till

the end of June. We take a break while you’re doing your exams—we’re not monsters—then we open up again and get a nice flurry

of visitors around graduation.”

That was going to be awkward if he didn’t graduate. “So keep it open,” he said, trying to ignore the lurch in his stomach.

“Why do you care what I think? It’s not like I ever agreed to this anyway.”

She laughed. “Oh, you agreed to it. Or you will, in the future.” He imagined his future self signing away the rights to his

past, and felt a wave of resentment. What a nozz. “But if we’re going to keep this trip open, we need your help.”

His leg was starting to ache. He stopped on the narrow pavement, leaning against the wall. “What kind of help?”

“I’m not asking you to stop seeing Ms. Dartnell. If that’s really what you’re into, knock yourself out. But if you could keep

it to private locations during time travel hours—that’s nine to five—then I would really appreciate it.”

She was tense awaiting his answer, as if it really mattered. “What if I say no?”

“Then the trip gets shut down, the wormhole gets sealed off, and I get fired. Because fixing this fuckup is now apparently

a condition of my continuing employment. And I really, really need to keep this job, for reasons I don’t care to explain to

you right now.” She took a breath. “So? What do you say?”

She didn’t know that her concern was completely unnecessary: he wasn’t with Diana anymore. But either way, it didn’t matter.

Esi needed the wormhole kept open, so he would promise whatever he had to. “Fine.”

“Thank you. Wow.” She looked almost as surprised as she was relieved. “You know what, I didn’t expect you to actually help

me out. In the future, you’re kind of—”

“A nozz,” he said tiredly. “I know.”

“Seriously, though. I owe you a favour. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, let me know.”

He couldn’t help asking. “The people who come on your trips. Do any of them ever try and stay?”

“Some people get the idea in their heads, yeah. We’ve got one on this trip, actually. Gave me the slip early on and still

hasn’t reappeared.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t bother us, as long as they don’t interfere with the target. It’s all covered in

the terms and conditions. We just say their future was always in the past.”

It meant Esi was safe, as long as he kept away from her. He felt a pang of bittersweet relief. But Vera’s words made him imagine something else: a future where Esi didn’t go back through the wormhole. A future where she stayed. The consequences spiralling out from that decision felt immense enough to knock the world off its axis. “But if you let people stay in the past, they’re going to affect everything. They could change the future completely.”

Vera wrinkled her nose. “Not the future. A future, maybe.” He didn’t understand the distinction. Maybe if you were used to everything being rewriteable, it made your

idea of time less absolute. She clapped him abruptly on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. Thanks, Mr. Greene. I appreciate

it.”

He sketched an awkward half bow. Seconds later, he had no idea why. Something about being called Mr. Greene, probably. “You’re

welcome. Sure I’ll see you around.”

“Soon.” She darted a glance at his leg. “Although we’d better wait till that’s healed up.”

“Thanks. That’s very considerate.”

She shot him an odd look as she jogged away.

He went to sit on the grass behind Queens’, watching the postlecture wave of students pass down Silver Street. For so long,

he had thought his future was guaranteed. Then he had thought it was hopelessly lost. In truth, it was neither. Vera had come

from a future where he and Diana were together, where he was still famous for his poems about her. He felt a strange, tender

awe, that their connection was powerful enough to survive everything he’d done to destroy it. But nothing was set in stone:

with one wrong step, that future could disappear.

He had wanted his life to feel less scripted, for his decisions to truly be his own. Now, he’d got what he wanted, and the

result was that he felt paralysed, too afraid to move forward.

Weeks passed. His leg healed. The first time he stepped out of college and saw the time travellers across the street, his insides melted with relief. But it didn’t last. Instead, it sent him into an anxious cycle, obsessively checking his pigeonhole for gifts, terrified of finding it empty in case some random action had thrown his future off course. His borrowed confidence was gone, and he didn’t know how to get it back.

His pigeonhole wasn’t the only one he kept checking. Each day, he stopped by Trinity Porters’ Lodge and went to the one labelled

Eshun, E. The tape was gone, her name clearly visible, as if he had imagined it ever being hidden. The contents were unremarkable:

a random flyer, a cupcake, a letter with an official college stamp. Nothing that looked like a note from Esi. She must have

held back, too afraid of consequences she couldn’t control. It was so like her that it made his chest hurt.

On the last day of term, he was working on an essay when a message popped up in his MSN window. He opened it, expecting Rob

demanding tea, but instead, there was a request from a new contact:

[email protected] has added you

He stared at the email address, not daring to hope. He accepted the request and waited.

hi

Nice email , he typed, fingertips buzzing. Is that a quote from something?

just some poet

you won’t have heard of him he’s pretty underrated

He laughed as a host of yellow smileys filled the window.

no more stupid punctuation faces

I feel so free

How did you even find me on here?

Rob told me to add you

bumped into him when I was following my mum

he said this is the best way to reach you when you’re in hermit mode

He remembered what he’d told Rob, leaning over the bridge and staring out into the fog. His heart quaked with vulnerability.

How much did she know?

we should talk

can we meet?

He checked a street map, tracing a half-mile radius around King’s Lane.

Do you know Hodson’s Folly? It’s on Coe Fen, just upriver from the boundary.

A pause.

ok

meet you there in half an hour

It would only take him fifteen minutes. Still, he set off straight away, walking with jittery purpose. The Folly was an odd, roofless ruin that looked like a miniature temple, perched on the edge of an island on the river. He sat in the windowsill facing the water and waited.

He heard the gate open, and the soft sound of her footsteps. Then she was there, sitting down on the windowsill across from

him. He felt the time since he had seen her collapse and expand simultaneously, as if he had just limped out onto the darkened

street, as if centuries had passed since they had spoken. She looked different. Her dress was vibrant red, her hair coiled

into twists that bounced as she turned to look upriver. “How’s your leg?”

“Better, thanks.”

Silence hung in the air between them. It had been easier, somehow, to type words to her disembodied self as if nothing had

happened. Now, faced with her, he could only think of how badly they’d hurt each other.

She looked down at her hands. “Saw a few time travellers hanging around outside your college the other day. Guess your future’s

not broken after all.”

He cleared his throat. “I spoke to Vera. She says I’m still with Diana in the future.”

“Course you are,” she said with a shaky smile. “You’re meant to be.”

Their eyes met for an instant before he looked away. “Anyway, you’re safe. Vera’s not going to be looking for you, unless

she sees you with me. I told her all this”—he gestured, vaguely indicating the whole disaster—“was someone else’s fault.”

She laughed with a touch of bitterness. “We both know that’s not true.”

For an instant, he was back there in the darkened coffee shop, the expression on her face burnt into his mind. “I’m sorry for what I said. About you being a bomb.”

She didn’t flinch. “You weren’t wrong,” she said quietly. “I did kind of explode your life.”

“I did most of the exploding. You just lit the fuse.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “And you weren’t wrong either.

The future in the book—I was acting like it was mine by right. But it never was. I could lose it tomorrow. I could have already

lost it.” He imagined going back to college and finding his pigeonhole empty, the spot across the street abandoned. Terror

coursed through his veins.

Esi was watching him with fond frustration. “You’re still stuck on that book. Like your whole future’s getting marked against

it. But whatever comes next, it’s brand-new. A load of blank pages. What you end up writing on them—it won’t be the same.”

She shrugged. “It might even be better.”

He stared past her at the trees on the riverbank, new leaves rustling in the wind. “Huh. I didn’t think about that.”

She smiled. “Yeah, well. Creating a better future is sort of my whole thing.”

A better future without you in it . He focused on her, as if his attention could hold her to the here and now. “How’s that going?”

“I’ve been following my mum. Every chance I get. And I get a lot of chances.” Her brow furrowed. “It’s weird. She was so hard

to find before. But whatever she was hiding from, it’s like she’s not afraid of it any more.” Her expression turned curious.

“How did you find her?”

“Funny story. She’s Diana’s neighbour.”

Her eyes widened. “Come on. That makes it even weirder that she said she didn’t recognise her.”

He grimaced. “I don’t want to speak ill of my once and future muse, but—given the kind of person she is, it’s really not that

weird.”

She smiled reluctantly. “It’s actually kind of hilarious. That whole time you were rehearsing, she was literally next door.”

“I know. I’m such an idiot. I even used to hear her...” He stared at her, finally making the connection. “That tune you

hum sometimes. I heard her singing it. She’d been crying, just before. It was like she was trying to make herself feel better.”

She shook her head in wonder, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s a Twi song, from Ghana. Nana used to sing it to her, and

my mum sang it to me and my sisters. I sing it to myself whenever I need to calm down. I can’t believe she did...” She

paused, revising her thought with a trembling smile. “I can’t believe she does the same.”

He tried to put himself where she was, to conjure the strange, time-piercing depth of what she must be feeling, but his imagination

couldn’t grasp it. “What’s it like, seeing her?”

A troubled look crossed her face. “It’s not easy. Sometimes I see what a hard time she’s having, and there’s nothing I can

do to fix it. But—she has fun too.” A smile broke through. “One time, I was waiting outside Whewell’s Court, and she and her

friends came out all dressed up in old-timey gowns. And she’s part of a club that meets up to watch Nollywood movies. I snuck

in the week they watched Keeping Faith .”

He smiled, caught up in her enthusiasm. “Is that a good one?”

“The best. I must have watched that tape a hundred times growing up. Genevieve Nnaji and Richard Mofe-Damijo have such amazing chemistry. The way they look at each other, the way they make each other laugh...” She met his eyes and looked away, suddenly bashful. “Anyway. I just lurked in the back. I wish I could have sat and watched it with her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I can’t risk her seeing me.” She gave him a look. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re not going to change my

mind.”

He adopted an innocent expression. “What are you talking about?”

Her eyes saw right through to his heart. “I read your poem, Joe.”

He felt a wave of crushing embarrassment. He had laid himself bare for her, more vulnerable than when she had walked in on

him naked in his bedroom. “Oh God. I’m sorry I wrote a poem. I know you hate my poetry. And I didn’t want to make it about

me, I just—I wanted to tell you, and the only way I knew how to do that was—”

“I loved it,” she said simply. “The way you see me—I...” She seemed to run out of words. She just looked at him, her gaze

soft, her lips parted.

He sensed a chance to say something, to finish the conversation he’d meant to have with her on that terrible Valentine’s night.

But he recognised now the selfishness of the impulse that had driven him there. It wouldn’t have been fair, to offer her a

conditional fragment of his future; any more than it would have been fair of her to say yes, when the person saying it wouldn’t

exist for much longer.

She seemed to recognise the same truth at the same time. She dashed a tear away, her voice shaking. “Anyway. It was good. Way better than Classic Joseph Greene.”

“I know, right? Fuck that guy.” She laughed, and he laughed too, all the tension melting out of him. “And I can’t think of

a greater honour than inspiring your email address.”

She made a face. “I didn’t want to get one. Felt like putting down roots. But Shola insisted. She said I need to stop living

in the past.”

“Little does she know.”

“I moved in with her, by the way.” Her glance warned him not to make a thing out of it, even as fondness warmed her voice.

“Big mistake. She has the worst taste in music. And she makes jollof all wrong.”

“And there I was thinking I’d have to invite you up to mine again for the Easter holidays.”

She smiled. “You’re going soon?”

“Wednesday.”

“Say hi to your mum and dad for me. And Jeely Piece.”

“Jeely Piece is about to get the shock of his life. One of the time travellers left me a kitten. Her name’s Bear. I’m taking

her home with me.”

“Your cat names are not improving.”

“That one’s actually Rob’s fault.”

She nodded, as if that made sense.

He settled back against the windowsill, a ray of sunshine lighting up the space between them. It felt so good to be with her

here and now, all their angry words behind them. In an instant, he knew what he needed to say. No flowery words, no grand

declarations, just the truth. “I missed you.”

She looked up at him sharply. Then she smiled. “Yeah. I missed you too.”

“I’ll be back at the end of April.” He shrugged. “Come and see me sometime.”

She swallowed a laugh. “What, waltz up to your college in full view of your future fans and their tour guide?”

“There’s a back gate. Text me when you’re there. I can get Rob to come and let you in. Vera’ll be none the wiser.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes, turning her face to the sun. The breeze rippled the river, set her hair dancing. It kindled something

inside him, fragile as a new leaf. It felt like hope.

He arrived back in Cambridge on a spring day in late April, wisteria blooming on college walls in purple profusion, the sky

streaked blue and white with scudding clouds. He checked his pigeonhole: two white roses, three scribbled notes of devotion.

He threw them away without reading them. He hadn’t earned them yet, and in any case, the details weren’t important. It only

mattered that they were there, a promise of better to come.

The only non-time-travel-related correspondence was a flyer for the college May Ball, which was happening on the twenty-third

of June. The day Esi would be leaving. He dropped it in the recycling. It wasn’t like he could afford a ticket anyway.

He climbed the staircase to his rooms and unlocked the door. The window of the living room was open, the curtains flapping

in the breeze. He was alone with the blank page of his final term at Cambridge. He closed his eyes, reeling with the terror

of how to fill it.

Through the silence rose a sound: a light, deliberate tread, faraway at first, then climbing closer. Outside his door, the footsteps stopped. He heard a breath, shallow and urgent, then a soft sound, like someone placing their hand against the wood.

He turned, wondering why his heart was pounding, why his neck was prickling with superstitious dread. He walked to the door

and pulled it open.

Standing there, her fist raised to knock, was Diana.