'Wait,' commanded the big man. 'When it happens to you '

'Nothing's going to happen to me. Stop this.'

'When it happens, call us on this number.' He handed her a dog-eared slip of paper. In biro was written the word TIMELESS, and beneath it was a phone number with too many digits.

'We'll help you, then,' said Chloe. 'Me and Erasmus can give you a better life than you could ever dream possible.'

Celia ripped up the card furiously and threw it over them like tatty confetti. 'I've heard quite enough. Now kindly leave me alone, for goodness' sake!'

She slammed the door in their faces.

The letterbox opened and another card was pushed through it.

'You will want to speak to us when it happens,' the man called. 'I promise you!'

'We can take you back to Charles!' added Chloe. 'But you'd better save your pennies now. It won't be cheap, I'm afraid.'

'Leave me alone!' she shrieked, and the two of them walked away at last. Celia picked up the card, crumpled it into a tiny ball, and threw it in the grate.

Angry and fl.u.s.tered, she flicked on the television for distraction. There was that ghastly, gloating Heseltine, waving smugly at the dolts who had voted him in for his third term at Number Ten. On the other side, there was sport as usual. Two channels, and nothing worth watching on either...

She turned on the radio, and was soon lost in a wash of soothing symphonies. Charles came home promptly at seven, and she complained to him bitterly about the unscheduled disturbance to her day.

Within a week, she'd put the incident entirely from her mind.

It was to be exactly eleven months before she thought of Chloe and her guardian again.

They were all she could think of in the aftermath of the crash, with Charles crushed to pulp and her own lower spine pulverised. While the doctors rattled on about experimental therapies and positive thinking and what her insurance premiums didn't cover. Celia dwelled on Chloe and her strange eyes, the simple smile on Erasmus's face as he looked at her, and the tiny ball of business card that had burnt in moments as she'd lit the fire that night.

Once she was allowed home, she stared all day at the empty grate as if the card might simply appear good as new, as presumptuous as the pair themselves.

Weeks pa.s.sed in a fury of pain and tears and screaming, I cannot adjust, I cannot learn, I cannot go on this way I cannot adjust, I cannot learn, I cannot go on this way. Then, Celia had visitors.

They let themselves in.

The little girl pushed a card in Celia's hand, crossed her arms and tutted. 'I knew you'd lose the other one,' she explained patiently.

A large, dark doglike animal nosed its way about the room before sitting beside Chloe. She petted it. The creature looked up at the little girl, mournful and devoted. Then at Celia, expectantly. Like it wanted to be taken for a walk.

'Will you listen to us now?' said the big man softly. 'Listen to how we can make things better.'

Eleven.

No-chance meetings Guy forced himself to stop glancing back over his shoulder. He was acting like some cheap gangster, not a relatively well-paid minor civil servant.

The hospital smelled of disinfectant, luncheon meat and something indefinable; fear, perhaps. At least his wasn't the only hounded face round here. Crowds of pale-faced people shuffled back and forth with lost expressions, following coloured lines or watching out for helpful signs, and once Guy's dark gla.s.ses were stowed in his top pocket he blended in just fine.

He reached his nephew's ward without ha.s.sle. He recognised his sister's coat hung over the back of an empty chair before he realised the bed beside it was Pete's. His stomach twisted to see the boy lying there, dark and red like a mess spilled over the white sheets. Pete's flaky, swollen face was sticky with antiseptic gel. He was sleeping.

Guy asked a nurse at ward reception. 'Pete's visitor, Liz Webber, is she about?'

The skinny nurse gave him a tired smile. 'She went to get some food, I think. Probably in the canteen, doesn't like leaving him for long.'

'I'll just wait for her then.'

'Are you a relative?'

'Oh, G.o.d, no,' said Guy hurriedly. 'No, not me. I'm... I'm just a friend of Liz's.'

The nurse looked at him strangely. 'OK,' she said in a manner that suggested it wasn't.

Guy turned quickly before she could see him blush, and crossed to the boy's bed. 'Pete,' he breathed, wanting to hold his hand but scared of hurting him. 'Pete, it's me. Uncle Guy.'

Pete didn't react. Probably tranquillised.

Carefully, Guy pulled from his jacket pocket the bottle of magic lotion, poured some into his hand and gently ma.s.saged it into Pete's raw fingers. The boy stirred a little, but didn't cry or anything. Emboldened, Guy tried rubbing some of the odourless liquid swiftly into the lad's sticky red cheeks, and over his burnt patchy scalp. Guy's own burns had been minor in comparison, but surely this stuff had to do some good.

'What are you doing to him?' asked a podgy black girl in the bed next door.

'It's just moisturiser,' he said, forcing a smile as he started rubbing it into Pete's sore shoulders.

'The nurse won't like you doing that.'

He gave her a conspiratorial wink. 'Then let's not tell her, eh?'

'Are you a pervert?' the girl asked him with interest.

He glanced back to the nurse at reception. She was looking at him in alarm. 'What do you think you're doing?'

He stood up guiltily. 'Uh... Nothing. Just trying to help.'

'He's a pervert!' called the little girl helpfully.

Guy swore. The nurse was already reaching for the phone. 'I'll be back, mate,' he whispered to Pete. Then he turned and walked briskly from the ward. When the nurse called after him, he started to run before she had security on to him.

The way out proved almost impossible to find. In the end he chanced upon the back exit, and tried to look as innocent as possible as he stepped out into the street.

Where his boss was waiting.

'Mike!' Guy said, drawing out the word like it was full of i's as he fought to find something to say beyond 'What the h.e.l.l are you doing here, you bearded git?'

'Thought I'd find you here,' said Mike, easing himself up from the bench outside. 'Not a good day for you, this, is it? No, can't be.'

'You could say that.' Guy looked around, half expecting to find a dozen coppers creeping up on him. They might be hidden from view by Mike's expansive gut. 'On your lunch break?'

'Yeah. Early one. But I needed the air. Pure oxygen, more like, actually you know that temp's let me down. Never showed up this morning, and the company don't even have her details on file!'

Moving swiftly on, thought Guy. 'Hey, thanks for being cool about me needing the day off.'

He shrugged. 'I might be your boss, but I'm your mate first and foremost, aren't I?'

'Are you?' Guy frowned, deciding to test the Doctor's theory. 'You tried to throttle me yesterday.'

'Eh?'

'Outside the lifts. You almost throttled me.'

'Throttled you?' Mike's face was frozen somewhere between laugh and grimace, like he was waiting for a punchline to put him out of his misery. 'Er, did a few of your brain cells go up in smoke too last night?' He caught himself. 'Sorry, that was a bit sick. Still,' he laughed cheerily, 'there's a hospital here, shall I check myself in? Nurse! I'm sick! Heh, heh.'

'Maybe you should get them to look at your bruised foot?'

Mike frowned. 'The old toes are are a bit sore as it happens, but how did you...?' a bit sore as it happens, but how did you...?'

Guy gave up. 'You don't remember.'

Mike glanced about almost as shiftily as Guy himself. 'Look, mate. I know this isn't an easy time and all that, but... did you go through all all the files on my desk when I was away?' the files on my desk when I was away?'

Guy frowned. 'I was only trying to be efficient, Mike. The subcommittee were after those stats for the south-east, and I '

'Yeah, well, spare me the whys and the wherefores, Guy.' He sank his hands in his trouser pockets. 'Just tell me what you went through.'

'Nothing confidential!' Guy protested. 'Just the landing stats, the quota monitoring...' He trailed off. 'Hang on. You came all this way, on the off-chance I might be about, to ask me about the stuff on your desk?'

Mike looked suddenly defensive. 'You crossed a line, mate.'

'Oh yeah?' Guy's eyes were watering. He rubbed them but couldn't clear his vision. 'Well, when I'm back at work, you can shine a desk lamp in my face and I'll see if I can remember if it was the market a.n.a.lysis on cod or haddock that I pulled out first, satisfied?'

Mike scowled. 'Remember who you're talking to, son!'

Rain had started falling in a fine mist. 'Why? You can't even remember trying to kill me!'

Mist? b.u.g.g.e.r. b.u.g.g.e.r.

By the glazed look on Mike's face as he lunged for Guy's throat, he wouldn't remember attempt number two, either.

Before Guy could even react something slim and dark cannoned into Mike and sent him staggering back into a wall.

'Didn't I tell you it wasn't safe to go out?' panted Anji.

'Ten points for rescue in the nick of time,' grinned Guy. 'Minus one for smugness.'

Mike snarled and lumbered forwards again, reaching out for Guy.

'Oh, G.o.d!' panicked Anji, and she kicked him in the crotch. He went down heavily.

'He'll have a job forgetting about that,' observed Guy, glancing round nervously as a concerned crowd started to gather.

'Honestly, I'm not normally the action heroine type,' Anji told him, looking quite crestfallen as Mike lay groaning at her feet. 'I feel quite bad about this.'

'Call the police!' twittered a pa.s.ser-by. 'Quick!'

'It's all right,' Anji said, holding up her hands. 'We're only just outside a hospital, why don't I help him up and...' The sound of sirens started up. 'G.o.d, that was quick!'

'Probably just ambulances!' Guy said hopefully.

'Let's not stick around to find out.' She grabbed Guy by the wrist and hauled him after her. Together, they ran full tilt through a bundle of back streets, putting as much distance between themselves and the hospital as possible.

Mike got up, struggled to his feet, feeling nauseous and very tender in the trouser department. Everything was hazy. He'd done as he was told, he'd come here to speak to Guy, and then...

'I saw it all!' a skinny young woman was screeching to some hospital official. 'He tried to attack this man, and this girl comes along, and they're kicking and screaming and off they both run...'

The official clearly had no idea what had happened here. Good, thought Mike, I'm not the only one. While the hysterical woman kept the official busy, Mike pushed past the ragged crowd of onlookers and hurried painfully down the street, not daring to look back in case someone asked him to give a statement or something. What the h.e.l.l had collided with his twig and berries? A light aircraft by the feel of things...

Guts griping, he zigzagged through side streets, with no clue where he was going. Then a broad, tall figure in a dark suit came round the corner and stopped him dead.

'You seem in a hurry, Mike,' came the low American voice.

Mike swallowed hard. 'Mr Basalt? Daniel!'

Basalt walked down the alley towards him. 'You quizzed your junior, right? Does he know anything?'

'I...' Mike caught a whiff of something foul; 5050 if it was the dustbins beside him or just standing downwind of Basalt. 'Yeah, I spoke to him. He doesn't know a thing.'

'You sure?'

'Sure.'

'You positive?'

'I always look on the bright side, if that's what you '

Basalt grabbed hold of Mike by his lapels and leaned in to look him close in the eye.

'Of course, if you'd been careful in the first place and kept stuff under lock and key...'

Mike could feel sweat trickle down the back of his neck. 'I was panicking over nothing. It's cool. No sweat.' He took a deep breath of B.O. and wished he hadn't. His stomach was churning. 'That is to say... Oh, I should never have even bothered you.'

'No, you shouldn't have.' Basalt's voice was quiet and menacing. 'We have a good thing going here, you and me. But if one of us screws up, it all gets shot to h.e.l.l. See?'

'Sure.'