The Next Together Page 7

  “You were spying on me. You thought I was a Rebel. That’s why you’ve been talking to me, all this time.”

  She froze.

  “You were spying on me,” he repeated quietly, like he was only just believing it. “All this time I thought we were…” He sighed. “I thought we were friends.” He said it softly, regretfully, and the sound of it hurt somewhere deep in her chest.

  “We are friends,” she managed to choke out, the reassurance ringing false even to her ears. “I had to make sure, that’s all. You were acting a little suspiciously, and I needed to ensure that you—”

  “All this time,” he interrupted, “you were watching me and waiting to see if I made a mistake. Was every conversation a lie?”

  “No! Spending time with you, it’s… You healed me, Matthew. I was so miserable here, after my grandmother died. I was alone in Carlisle, and you made me happy again. None of that was false. I just had to be sure that you weren’t lying to me.”

  As soon as she said it she realized how terribly she’d been acting. Of course Matthew hadn’t been lying to her: everything about him screamed honesty. She was the one who had lied and deceived and hurt him.

  “I can’t talk to you now,” he said and turned away.

  > Previously scheduled progress in time-landscape 1745 has been affected by the actions of subject allocation “KATHERINE”

  > Project may not proceed at projected rate

  CHAPTER 8

  Folios/v7/Time-landscape-2019/MS-149

  Near Greece, Mediterranean Sea, 1854

  Katy breathed in the musty scent of the stables below deck as she ran her hand along the flank of a docile mare whose stall Matthew was sitting in. He hadn’t looked at all surprised when she’d appeared in his hiding place. After a nod of hello, she held out a tot of rum as a peace offering. He took it, and knocked it back with barely a wince.

  “Sit down.” He gestured to the straw-covered floor. She considered objecting – he was sitting on a barrel of water – but decided not to push her luck. She sat, pulling her legs up to her chest and staring determinedly at her knees.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said. “But you’d never have employed me if you’d known. And I have been living as a boy for so long that it’s not something I talk about with anyone.”

  He was silent. She grimaced at her knees, trying to think what else to say. It felt so wrong to be openly discussing something she’d hidden carefully every day for years, something her livelihood depended upon.

  “How long?” he eventually enquired. He was fiddling with a curry comb, and his head was bent, so his fringe hid his face. Although it was obvious what he meant, he added, “How long have you been living like this? As a boy?”

  “Four years. When I left the orphanage, I would have had to go to the workhouse. This was a better choice.”

  “Four!” His surprise broke his carefully blank tone, putting a touch of the Matthew she knew back into the formal voice he’d been using. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen at Christmas.” She paused, and then asked something she’d been wondering for a while. “How – how old are you?”

  “One and twenty.” She was a little surprised. She’d expected him to be older. He’d achieved so much at such a young age. “And has no one known that you’re really female all this time?” He said the word “female” in a lowered tone, as if it was a swear word.

  “No. That might change when I get older and never grow a beard, though.”

  “What is your real name?”

  “At the orphanage they called me Katy. Katherine.”

  “Katherine,” he repeated quietly, and her reaction to the sound of it was stronger than she’d expected. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  He dropped the comb then and sat up straighter. He still wouldn’t meet her gaze, but his shoulders had dropped and he seemed more relaxed. He carefully looked her over from head to toe.

  She had a sudden bout of dizziness, and when it stopped she wasn’t sure where they were. For a moment it had seemed as if they were in an actual stable on land, the morning sun lighting up the straw in a golden glow and Matthew gazing at her clothing with dark eyes, his lips parting… She blinked the image away, and they were back in the dingy bowels of the ship, and instead Matthew was staring at her like he was finally letting himself compare the Kit he knew with the girl underneath the clothes. When their eyes met, it felt like he was seeing right through her.

  She said gently, “You can ask anything you want.”

  “Does it hurt?” he said in a rush, and immediately his blush deepened.

  “Does what hurt?”

  “Being, ah, bound? You must have been bandaged for weeks, years, without a break.”

  Surprised, she unconsciously wrapped her arms around her chest. He watched her carefully. It was a perfectly innocent look, but it still made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Oh. Not much. It hurts a little now as I haven’t had a chance to take the bindings off for a while. There isn’t anywhere you can be alone here.”

  “But not being able to move freely, in all that time?”

  “Haven’t you heard of corsets?” Katy asked with a wry laugh.

  “I suppose.”

  “Having my hair cut short is the hardest part,” she confided. “I wish I could wear it long.”

  “It must be very hard for you,” he replied, eyes twinkling. His tone was almost teasing, if still slightly formal.

  “It is. This hairstyle makes me look like a twelve-year-old boy.”

  “Well, maybe a bit…”

  “Matthew!” she said, mock-offended.

  He shrugged helplessly. Looking at him made her chest ache.

  “You’re not keeping any other secrets from me, are you?” he asked, shakily. “I’m not sure I could take this again.”

  She choked out a laugh as her stomach twisted. “None,” she lied.

  For the rest of the day she found herself walking more delicately, like a girl. Why was it harder to pretend now that Matthew knew? She just felt more feminine all of a sudden. She reminded herself she was a boy, at least for now, and tried to walk with long, confident steps.

  Carlisle, England, 1745

  After their argument in the stables, Katherine and Matthew avoided each other for almost four days with awkward and sometimes even aggressive determination. She would see him grooming the horses and turn the other way, or he’d be talking to a servant when she went to ask for hot water and would conveniently disappear before she reached them.

  On the fifth day, Katherine decided that she had to find him and apologize. After lunch, she hovered uncertainly at the stable door, but he didn’t even look up. Instead he bent closer over the bridle he was cleaning, rubbing the saddle soap into the leather forcefully. She stood in the doorway, trying to come up with the perfect way to describe how sorry she was.

  Before she had sufficiently collected her courage he spoke. “I didn’t think I would see you again now that you have found out everything you wanted about me, Miss Finchley.”

  “I can assure you that I wasn’t only here for that, Matthew.”

  “Oh? Did you want to gather enough evidence to have me arrested or perhaps sent away for disrespecting your rank?” He seemed resigned and disappointed.

  “No! That’s not how it was.” Did he really think everything between them had been a trick, to get him into trouble? She opened her mouth and then closed it again.

  “I should have realized at the beginning,” Matthew said. “During our carriage journey together … that night.” He swallowed hard. “You were just trying to get close to me to find out if I was a traitor. It was stupid of me to have thought, even for a moment, that it was anything else. You’re practically nobility.”

  “I wanted to be friends with you before I ever suspected you of any involvement with the Rebels,” Katherine said. “But once I had overheard you and your cousin speaking, I… Well, I had to investigate further
. When you said you were volunteering, I saw an opportunity, and I took it.” Even as she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

  “An opportunity,” he repeated dully. “Is that all I am?”

  Suddenly she was furious. “Oh, please. Did you not think of me in the same way? Why else would a servant want to get close to an unmarried girl with a dowry, Matthew? I’m sure it wasn’t for my tantalising conversation.”

  He actually took a step back, as if her words had physically hurt him.

  “I…” He stopped. “I suppose it only makes it worse if I say I wanted to speak to you because I thought you were beautiful.”

  She gaped at him. Did he really think that was a compliment? He had wanted to be friends with her because of how she looked? That was how every man she’d ever met saw women – as objects, possessions. She’d thought he was different.

  He hadn’t noticed her silent fury, and continued, “I thought you were beautiful, and funny, and knowledgeable. You were so sad, but you still took the time to speak to me as if I was a person, not just a servant. I have never met anyone like you. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. You thought you’d found a Jacobite spy, and so you decided to spy on them. I don’t understand you at all. If you’d been a serving maid, I still wouldn’t have been able to stay away from you.”

  “You … you really saw all of that? In me?”

  “Yes. But then I found out that you’ve just been playing with me all along, and now I feel as though everything was a lie.”

  “I wanted to be friends with you too,” she admitted in a rush. “I was a fool. I am ashamed of the way I have treated you. I do things without thinking sometimes. I didn’t even know anything about the Rebels before you told me about them. I got caught up in something I didn’t understand and I hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself ever being so thoughtless.”

  “You were thoughtless.” The way he said the word made her realize how terribly she had hurt him. She stepped hesitantly towards him, but he turned away from her.

  “I should get back to work,” he said, to his saddle soap.

  She bit her lip, trying not to let her disappointment show. “I am really, truly sorry. It was all my fault, and I wish you’d forgive me.”

  “I forgive you for being a fool,” he said with a heavy sigh. “But I’m not sure we can be friends the way we were before.”

  Katherine’s vision blurred with tears. “You are right, of course,” she said, tight and quiet.

  She had wanted him to fight for her or to give her some confirmation that the connection between them hadn’t just been in her imagination. But she shouldn’t have expected that of Matthew. He was too noble, too moral and too loyal to do the wrong thing, even if it was what he wanted. His ideals were clear-cut. Risking Katherine’s honour wasn’t something he would do in any situation – she could see that now. He was better than Katherine. She always took what she wanted without considering the consequences.

  She couldn’t force Matthew to change his decision, though, however much she wanted to. It was the right one, after all. They needed to stop this … this dalliance. It was ridiculous, a danger to both of them, and it needed to end before it went too far. She walked slowly back to the house without another word. She felt as though she were splitting in two.

  > Relationship advances in time-landscape 1745 rejected by both subjects

  > The social dynamics of this time-landscape may make any relationship between the subjects impossible

  > Consider situation further

  NOTTINGHAM, ENGLAND, 2039

  After a shocked pause when Kate’s grandparents had stared at Matt in surprised recognition – apparently they hadn’t believed her when she said he looked just like her aunt’s Matthew Galloway – they had been ridiculously, effusively thrilled to meet him. Flo had pulled Matt into a long, hard hug. Nancy had begun to quietly cry.

  “You look so like him,” Flo said. “It is just … it’s crazy. Such a coincidence that the two of you should end up at the same university. How is that possible?” She shook her head. “I can scarcely believe it.”

  Once they had recovered sufficiently from the shock, they had both begun embarrassing Kate as much as possible by talking rapidly about how she never brought anyone home and how nice it was to meet him. Kate suffered it all quietly, while slowly turning redder and redder, but when Nancy wanted to show him Kate’s baby photos she interrupted. There was a line that she wouldn’t let them cross, and it involved a particular picture with a dropped ice cream and a seagull and many, many tears. She definitely didn’t want Matt to see that – ever.

  It had taken a bit of persuasion, but finally Kate’s grandparents had agreed to let them look in the loft for any of their aunt and uncle’s old stuff. Kate had explained that they just wanted to find out more about their namesakes.

  They headed upstairs, where Flo directed Matt to lift up the polystyrene ceiling panel of the loft, with all the precision of a military general. A shower of dust fell onto his head when he worked it free, standing on the toilet so he could reach.

  “Nice look,” Kate teased as he wiped the dust away, grimacing.

  “Kate, you go up,” Flo ordered. “The ceiling is a little delicate up there. You are lighter. Matt might fall through.”

  Torch in hand, Kate climbed up. She lay on the dusty floor of the loft for a moment while she caught her breath. The loft was full of old crates and boxes, and a Christmas tree wrapped in a sheet. All Kate’s old toys were up there too. She had rescued them from a clear-out the year before. Her mum had been about to throw them away, but Kate, who had always known she wanted children one day, had wanted to keep them for the future. Her grandparents had come to the rescue by offering to store the boxes in their loft.

  Kate closed her eyes. If she was going to hide something here, somewhere a search wouldn’t find it… She turned to look at the chimney breast, where it disappeared into the roof. After picking her way through the crates to the brickwork, she moved aside boxes and squeezed past an old filing cabinet, so she could get at the wall.

  She prodded at the bricks cautiously. To her surprise, one of them moved. Kate grasped the edges of the loose brick and tugged it until it slid out with a dry grinding sound. The hole was filled with cobwebs, so she blew into the opening. When the dust and dry mortar had cleared, she shone her torch inside. The light lit up a plastic bag. Her heart jumped into her throat.

  She tugged the bag free, brushing away a brown layer of grime. The bag was surprisingly heavy, and inside were several notebooks, some papers and an ancient laptop that was bulky and old-fashioned. Kate whooped delightedly.

  “You’ve found something already?” Matt called up, amazed.

  “It was in the first place I checked!” It was like she’d already known where it was.

  “What a coincidence,” he said as she carefully passed the package down to him. He handled it just as reverently as she had. “Where was it?”

  She paused. She couldn’t tell him that she’d decided to ignore all the boxes in favour of following a weird hunch and checking inside the wall. It sounded crazy. “It was … er … it was in one of the boxes.”

  “That’s brilliant! It’s like you knew it was there all along.”

  She didn’t comment.

  Matt helped her down. They grinned triumphantly at each other, their faces so close together as she dropped to the floor that their noses were almost touching.

  His eyes were shining. His lips parted slightly as he helped her down from the rigging. The rain was just starting up again. He gazed at her with wide eyes and she could feel the gentle rock of the boat. The crisp smell of the sea filled her lungs, and—

  No, that wasn’t right.

  She blinked.

  They were in the bathroom of her old house? Yes: she remembered dyeing her hair black at this sink during her goth phase. She’d stained the tile grout and made her mums c
razy.

  She blinked.

  No, that wasn’t right either. She’d never lived here. It was Nana and Gran’s house.

  She focused on Matt, whose gaze had always steadied her, and felt herself re-centring and finally she remembered where she was. She swallowed.

  “Did you … did you feel that?” she asked.

  He looked at her, expression blank. “Feel what?”

  “Nothing,” she said weakly.

  CHAPTER 9

  Folios/v7/Time-landscape-2019/MS-149

  Near Turkey, Aegean Sea, 1854

  “Matthew, is that a bird?” Katy asked. They were walking around an almost deserted deck, admiring the Turkish coast. It was their third week at sea and they were due to land any day now. Katy had been warily eyeing the black clouds collecting ominously overhead when she’d caught sight of a brown blur, high up in the rigging.

  Matthew peered up, following her pointing finger. “Yes! It’s an owl, trapped in the rigging. It’s tiny!”

  The deck was treacherously wet, and they gingerly made their way over to the rigging, holding onto each other as they walked, to avoid slipping.

  “We need to help it.” Katy rolled up her sleeves and tentatively put her foot on the rope, testing it. It held her weight, and she began climbing up the thick ropes to the bird.

  “Katy, what are you doing? You can’t do that!” Matthew hissed.

  Grinning, she looked down from her perch above his head. “Are you scared?” She giggled, before turning back to the rope to climb further.

  “Some people are just too reckless for their own good,” he muttered.

  She held in her laughter this time. She needed to focus on climbing.

  The bird was tangled in the ropes and completely motionless. It was obviously exhausted from trying to escape. She manoeuvred beside it, moving slowly so she didn’t scare it.

  “Be careful!” Matthew called up. Preoccupied with the tiny creature, she acknowledged him with a small flick of her hand. She brushed her fingers over the bird’s soft feathers. It startled but let her gently unwrap the tangled rope. Once free, the bird flapped its wings madly, wriggling until it slipped out of her grasp. Leaning back against the rigging, she watched it fly off until it was barely a speck on the horizon.