“It’s all of a piece with your left arm, and the way your voice goes funny when you’re nervous, ain’t it?”

  He’d noticed my arm. I found I was rubbing it with my right hand and stopped abruptly.

  “From the accident?”

  I nodded. I didn’t like to speak about it, usually. But there was nothing usual about being here, with Jem. “A...carriage crash. Traffic moves faster where I’m from. My parents were killed, and so was Alasdair. He was my...” I swallowed. “I should have been driving. I was tired, and in a bad mood, so he volunteered. But it was my car. I should have driven.”

  “You can’t go blaming yourself for something you didn’t even do.”

  Sins of omission, and sins of commission. Which were supposed to be worse? I couldn’t remember. I tried to think of something less depressing to talk about, casting about for subjects we might have in common. “Do you read Sherlock Holmes?”

  “Never heard of him. What’s he write?”

  Damn. It must be too early. “He doesn’t. He’s a fictional character. A detective.”

  Jem gave me a crooked smile. “Don’t reckon I’d take to reading stories about the peelers, anyhow.”

  “He’s not a policeman. He’s a private detective, sort of. But I think he must be after your time, or you’d have heard of him.” After that failure, I chose a safer subject. “Have you always lived in London?”

  He nodded. “You?”

  “No, I grew up in Kent. Not far from Canterbury.”

  Jem cocked his head to one side. “Most folks I’ve met who come from the country say they miss it when they’re in London.”

  “I suppose I do. But not enough to live there. London’s...” I shrugged. “There’s nothing quite like London theatre out in the provinces. I suppose I feel I’ve missed out on enough. You see, I didn’t always work in the theatre. I had a job in a bank, before the accident. My parents wanted me to have a proper career, and after they’d paid my way through Uni it didn’t seem right to just throw it all in their faces. I mean, they were so good about me being, well...about me not wanting to get married.” I finished in a low voice, hoping he’d understand.

  Jem’s eyes widened. “You told ’em?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, people do, in my time.” I realised I was probably giving him a false impression. “I mean, not everyone accepts it, but it’s not the big deal it is here.”

  “Can’t imagine that,” Jem said. He sounded sad, and I had to remind myself not to reach across the table to him. Even a friendly gesture might give an onlooker the wrong idea—especially as it was in fact the right idea. But then a smile flickered over his face. “Sounds good, though. What about in this theatre of yours? Do they treat you right?”

  I nodded. “Better than I deserve.”

  “And the plays? What are they all about? I seen a play once. A gentleman took me. It was full of swordfights and queer words, and they all died at the end.” He took a swallow of his pint.

  I tried not to feel jealous of this unknown gentleman. “Sounds like one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, or maybe a poor imitation. Wild Oats is different—it’s a comedy. I think you’d like it. It’s about love and long-lost relatives and mistaken identity. And about the theatre itself.” I looked down at the table, its surface scarred and pitted with use, crumbs of long-digested meals wedged in its crevices. “I’d love to take you to see it, but I’m not sure it’d work.” Or what the hell I’d say to Rob if I turned up with a Dickensian renter. Desolation flooded through me. What was I even doing here with Jem? We were from two different worlds.

  “Oi. I ain’t asked you to take me nowhere, have I?” Jem’s tone was soft, coaxing. Accepting. “Now cheer up—food’s here.”

  Startled, I glanced up as a stout, red-faced woman who looked fifty but for all I knew, might have been twenty, put our plates down in front of us with a clatter and a waft of rich, greasy gravy. “’ere you go, gents.” She waddled back to her kitchen, an advert for her cooking if ever I’d seen one.

  We dug in to our steak and kidney puddings, Jem with gusto and I hesitantly, my mind rife with half-remembered fairy tales from my childhood and their stern advice that if you ate anything during a visit to fairyland, you’d be stuck there. It was very fatty and the meat was tough, but it was tasty enough, and filling. The sort of food you’d eat if it was a cold winter and you weren’t sure how regular your meals were going to be. I could have done with a pint to wash it down with, but I’d have to be an idiot to drink anything here, the way it affected me these days.

  I gave up on my meal halfway through. “Do you want to finish this for me?” I asked, pushing my plate in Jem’s direction. “I’m just not that hungry.”

  “Well, it’d be a crime to let it go to waste,” he said, pulling the plate the rest of the way across the table and tipping my uneaten food on his own plate. He took a couple more forkfuls then looked up at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Seems you’ve got a poor deal this evening. You could be in that theatre watching a proper play, and instead of that, you end up sitting here and watching me eat.”

  I smiled back. “I like watching you eat.”

  “Wish all my gentlemen were this easily pleased.” It was like a punch in the gut. I don’t know if my face betrayed me, but Jem seemed to realise his slip at once. “Ted, I din’t mean—” He sighed, putting down his fork. “You know what I am.”

  “I know.” I traced the cracks in the table with my fingers until Jem’s hand came to cover mine with gentle pressure. Startled, I looked up. “Is this safe?” I whispered.

  Jem shrugged, but he withdrew his hand. “No one ’round here’s likely to go running to the police. Ain’t you noticed Piccadilly’s full of Mary-Anns?”

  “No,” I said, and meant it. Since I’d met Jem, I hadn’t bothered to look at other young men.

  He went still for a moment, as if surprised, then half smiled and resumed eating.

  “Tell me about your family,” I urged. “I mean, you said you haven’t got one, but you must have once.”

  “It was just me and my mum when I was a littl’un. Don’t know who my dad was. For a while my mum had a gentleman who was sweet on her, and he put us up in proper lodgings and bought us presents sometimes.” Jem shrugged, and took a swallow of his ale. A little foam remained on his top lip, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. “Then something happened. I didn’t know what it was then, only that we had to pack up right quick and get away.” He laughed. “Mum told me later he’d been arrested for embezzling, and they took all his stuff to pay off the debt. Seemed like he wasn’t such a gentleman, after all.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “We were all right for a bit. Sold a few things to get by, and Mum took in sewing. Then she got sick. She was sick for a long time. She kept saying she’d be better when summer came, but she just got worse. I looked after her best I could. Then one day she...” Jem looked away, into the fire. “She just died. She sat down to rest, and she never got up no more.”

  “Jem, I’m so sorry. How old were you, then?”

  He prodded at the traces of gravy remaining on his plate, as if to check for any morsels of steak hiding there. Seemingly disappointed, he put down his fork. “I was eight, nearly nine. They put me in the workhouse, after that. It wasn’t so bad ’til they got a new schoolmaster when I was thirteen. Bit too fond of floggings, he was. I ran away the first time he thrashed me. Lived on my own since then.”

  Thirteen. I didn’t want to think about how he’d managed. “Jem,” I said hesitantly. “I want you to know I don’t want anything more from you tonight. Just your company—and only if you want to be with me. The gold chain, that was a gift. And to make sure you’re not out of pocket for this.” I gestured vaguely at the room. “You don’t owe me anything for it.”

  He gave a troubled smile. “Where d’you come from, Ted Ennis?” he murmured and then shook his head. He didn’t seem to expect an answer. “Since you ain’t drinking,” he carried on, “do you want to take a walk with me?”

  “I shouldn’t. I ought to get back to the theatre.” I didn’t want to leave him.

  “They can manage without you for a bit, can’t they?” He finished his pint and belched. “Sorry.” The cheeky look on his face was unbearably endearing.

  Hadn’t Rob told me I should take some time off? “Just a short walk, then,” I said, and we pushed back our chairs and stood.

  I hardly noticed where we walked. The streets were too dark, their overhanging buildings masking what little light there was, and I had eyes only for my companion—although when we reached Covent Garden I couldn’t fail to recognise the covered market and the Royal Opera House, incongruously fine and familiar in this world of tumble down slums from several centuries past. Jem asked me questions all the time, and I told him as many timeless things as I could think of, about Canterbury, its medieval streets and its cathedral, and about the beaches I’d visited as a child.

  “I’d like to see the sea one day,” Jem said. “Wouldn’t want to be a sailor, mind. They say they don’t allow floggings no more, but I ain’t chancing it.”

  “I don’t blame you. But have you really never been to the seaside? You didn’t go on any excursions with your mother and her gentleman?”

  “Not with him, no. Reckon he was frightened his wife might see him. But Mum used to take me to St James’s Park sometimes, before she got sick.” He smiled at me, sidelong. “That still there in your day?”

  “Oh, yes. And Buckingham Palace, too.”

  “So what’s changed, then?”

  Where to start? Should I even start? My instinct was to leave as few ripples as possible in my trips to the past. What if I told Jem the wonders of modern technology, and he told someone else, who told someone else, until eventually it reached the ears of someone who might be in a position to change history? “It’s...busier,” I said at last. “There are more people, and everything moves faster. Everything’s brighter, and louder. And cleaner,” I added, dodging around a pile of horse droppings that steamed pungently in the night air.

  “Wish I could visit,” Jem said.

  I felt a pang in my chest at that. Could I take Jem back with me? Too risky, surely, even if it worked—who knew what consequences taking him out of his time might bring? But oh, it was tempting. “Maybe one day,” I hedged.

  Jem seemed to accept that. I supposed he wasn’t used to asking for much, and actually receiving it.

  We walked on, leaving Covent Garden behind us. I seemed to be in a dream. It was only when a church clock chimed that I awoke. I checked my watch hurriedly. “Jem! I have to get back.” The play must be almost over by now, and I’d said I’d be back before the end of the first half.

  Jem looked like he was about to say something. Then he nodded. “All right. This way—it’ll be quicker.”

  It might have been a short cut, but it still seemed like an age before we reached the relative brightness of Piccadilly Circus once more. If I’d had money, I might have suggested we take a cab, but I couldn’t ask Jem to pay out any more for my comfort. I’d just have to grovel a bit to Rob when I got there.

  “Will you come tomorrow?” Jem asked as we reached the Cri. “Just for a short while?”

  “I’ll try,” I said. “Sort of depends what kind of mood Rob’s in, after tonight.”

  Jem nodded. “If not—well, I’m always here.”

  My heart ached a little, saying goodbye. “It was a wonderful evening. I’ll see you again soon, I promise.”

  Then I turned and walked into the Criterion.

  I froze. The sepia tiles, the gorgeous ceiling—all was as I knew so well. Terpsichore still smiled serenely, while the cherubs frolicked above her, forever young and carefree, secure in their immortality.

  But the carpet was the wrong colour, the fittings not quite right and a stranger with a high collar and a moustache looked at me with a suspicious gaze.

  “Can I help you, sir? The show’s just finished for tonight.” His eyes narrowed as he took in what was obviously, to him, my outlandish appearance.

  “I—no,” I stuttered. “I’m sorry.” I fled out into the street and stood there panting, looking at the place. Then I took a deep breath and pushed open the door once more.

  Although the stranger in the box office seemed somewhat keener to call a constable, nothing else had changed.

  Something had gone wrong.

  I was stuck in the past.

  Chapter Four

  I whirled and ran to Jem. He was still there, thank God, and watching me with concern in his eyes. “I can’t get back!”

  Jem took a step forward at the panicked tone in my voice.

  “I go back in, and it’s—it’s still now.” I could hear my words slurring together as I gestured wildly around at the scene.

  A couple walking past turned to stare, and the man took his lady’s arm and encouraged her to quicken her steps.

  “Ted...Ted! Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. You’ll just have to come home with me for tonight.”

  “But—” The crazy idea formed in my head that if I left the Criterion, that’d be it. I’d be stuck here forever.

  Maybe I already was. The pub meal sat greasily inside me, threatening to turn my stomach. Were the old tales right? Don’t eat a morsel of their food...

  “It’s all right, Ted. It’ll be all right. I’ll look after you.”

  Soothing me like a child, Jem took my arm and led me through the dark streets. London was a hellish maze, half the streets without names, or at least without any signs to tell me what they were. Now and then I caught a glimpse of a familiar landmark—the river; the dome of St Paul’s silhouetted against moonlit clouds—and my mind tracked our progress mechanically. We were heading east. Unbidden, the theme song from EastEnders played in my mind, and I fought the urge to giggle. Get a grip, I told myself.

  “Here we are, Ted. Home. You’ll be safe here, with me.”

  Home? Did I still have a home? What would Rob think, when I never returned to the Cri?

  “Ted. I said we’re here, all right?”

  His tone was still patient, but a worried edge had crept in. It brought me to my senses, thank God. “Here. Yes. Sorry.”

  Jem smiled. “I’m at number twenty-two. That door there.” He pointed. “You going to be all right?”

  I nodded. “What street is this?”

  “Kingsgate Street, Holborn. Come on, let’s get you in the warm.” He turned a key in the lock and opened the door, ushering me into an unlit hallway, where he wiped his feet carefully on the worn doormat.

  In a daze, I followed his example.

  “This way, now,” Jem whispered. “If we’re quiet, she won’t hear us.”

  We walked up a narrow staircase, the bare wooden steps creaking under our feet. Halfway up, I jumped as a door opened below us, letting in a weak yellow light and a strong smell of soap and cabbages. Jem cursed under his breath.

  A strident female voice rang out. “Oi! I thought I tole you not to bring any o’ them dirty buggers back ’ere!”

  “It’s all right, Mrs. M. He’s a pal,” Jem said, turning with a pasted-on smile to the haggard-faced woman who stood in the doorway, her bony hands on her aproned hips. “Works in the theatre, he does.”

  “What’s he doing here, then?”

  “He don’t get paid ’til tomorrow, and his landlady won’t let him in ’til he pays his rent.”

  She sniffed. “If I see him here again tomorrow night, you’ll both be out on your ear, Jem Pocket.” The door shut behind her as she returned to her kitchen, and the stairway seemed darker than ever.

  “I don’t want to get you into trouble,” I whispered.

  “Nah, she’s all right. She won’t sling us out. Might come after you for rent, mind.”

  How the hell would I get money for that if I couldn’t get back to my own time? I’d probably end up on Piccadilly Circus with Jem. I felt ice-cold at the thought—then the ridiculousness of it hit me. Christ, who’d pay for my sorry arse when there were young men like Jem to be had? I laughed softly, despite myself, as we reached the top of the stairs.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “Just picturing myself with a new career as a Mary-Ann.”

  His hand had been raised, about to open the door, but he whirled to face me, his jaw set. “Ain’t going to happen,” he almost snarled. Then he took a deep breath and pushed back his hair from his face. “We’ll get you home tomorrow. Don’t worry. It ain’t going to come to that.”

  He opened the door, and we stepped into a room lit only by the ghostly glow of a streetlamp glimmering through thin curtains at the window. The room was small, with bare floorboards that creaked under our feet. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a bed with a small nightstand, a dresser and nothing else. There was a fireplace, but no sign of a fire having been lit in the grate in recent memory. I supposed enough heat rose from the room below to stop Jem actually freezing to death in his sleep.

  “This is it,” Jem said. His voice was a little defensive. Did he think I’d been expecting the Ritz?

  “Thank you,” I said. “For bringing me here, I mean.”

  “Think I’d leave you to sleep in the street?”

  “Other people would have.”

  “Yeah? Well, I ain’t them.”

  He seemed angry again. I took a step towards him then halted, unsure. Would he want me to touch him? “Jem, I—” I stopped, took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to act now.” I tried to smile, but it felt like a crooked travesty.