‘Yes. It plays merry havoc at a genetic level. It’s like a computer virus, rewriting lines of code with gibberish. Out here,’ he sighed, ‘outside the time bubble, I might get a little longer to live. I might get a week or two more. Maybe a month if I’m lucky. That would be nice.’
She thought about that for a moment. ‘But… you’ll always be…?’
‘That’s right, Madelaine. From your point of view, I’ll always be found here in Central Park, at twelve fifty-two a.m. on Monday the tenth of September. Like all these other people,’ he said, gesturing at the busy park, the queue of people standing beside the hot-dog vendor across the grass, ‘like them, I’ve become part of the furniture of here and now… part of the wallpaper. That’s the other reason why I left.’
She frowned, not getting that.
‘If I’d stayed with you and the others… I’d be long gone by now. This way, I can still help you. Someone to talk to.’
‘Ah.’ She nodded.
‘But each time you come and find me, Madelaine, remember, each time you come and find me… it’ll be the first time for me. Do you see what I mean?’
Of course it would. She realized, for the old man, Monday had been a coffee and a bagel and a goodbye. And now, three hours later, a momentary reunion in Central Park. Each time the field office reset itself, any conversation he had with her… never happened. For Foster there’d be no memory of it.
He laughed. ‘It’ll be like visiting some senile old fogey in a madhouse. You’ll have to get used to repeating yourself.’
She shared his chuckle. ‘I had a boyfriend like that once. He never listened to me.’
He sniffed. ‘You came here, I presume, because you need help?’
‘Well, we did have a problem, but it’s all fixed now, I think.’
He patted her arm. ‘See? I knew you lot were ready.’
‘Hardly. We scraped through this one, Foster. It was a close-run thing.’
She gave him the bare bones of their story. Foster shook his head. ‘Dinosaur times?’ he whispered. ‘I… I never thought the machine could take us so far back.’
‘You never did that?’
‘No. Never that far. How’s Liam?’
‘Well, that’s just it. I don’t know how much damage that did to him. It’s definitely done something to him, aged him in some ways. He has…’ She looked at Foster, and for the first time, she noticed the rheumy whites of his eyes were faintly laced with the scars of old burst blood vessels. ‘Like you, haemorrhaging. And a streak of white hair. Who knows what’s been damaged inside him. I mean, that’s just what I can see. Foster, how long can he take this kind of punishment? How long do you think he will live?’
He sucked in air through his teeth. ‘Well, he’s a tough old soul. I can tell you that. But, you see… it all depends on where and when he goes, Madelaine. Who knows how long he’s got?’
That didn’t help much.
‘Do I tell him or not, Foster? You know, he’s not blind. He’s seen his bad eye, he’s seen his hair. He jokes about it, but he’s not stupid. He must know this isn’t good for him.’
He shook his head. ‘I know he’ll cope. But whether you tell him has to be your call. You’re the one in charge now. I can give you what advice I can, but command decisions are yours. That’s how it is.’ He tossed the last of his bun in among the birds. ‘I can’t run the field office from out here on a park bench. You’re the boss now.’
‘But what about the agency? Is there someone else I can talk to? Someone in charge?’
‘I… I’m sorry, Madelaine. That’s… that’s off limits. You have to treat this like you’re entirely on your own. Do you understand? You’re on your own.’
She cursed. ‘What sort of useless freakin’ agency is this?’
He pursed his lips sympathetically. ‘I’m afraid that’s just how it is.’
She ground her teeth in silent frustration for a while, knowing there was nothing more Foster could offer her on the subject of Liam. In any case, there was a new pair of glasses she was due to pick up from the opticians. They’d promised her they’d be ready in a couple of hours and another day of squinting at monitors and getting a migraine for her troubles was something she could live without.
She stood up. ‘I’d better go. Things to do.’
He stood up, slowly, achingly. Polite, like a true gentleman.
‘You’ll be here again?’ asked Maddy. ‘For sure? Every Monday at this time?’
‘Of course,’ he grinned. ‘I do charge by the hour, though.’
She laughed then hugged him, awkward and faltering. ‘Enjoy your day, Foster.’
‘Oh, I have a fun-packed afternoon planned.’
She squeezed his arm. ‘Take care. I’ll drop by and see you again soon.’ She turned to walk down the path leading to the south-west gate. But a thought suddenly occurred to her. She stopped, turned and saw him standing there among his pigeons, watching her go, almost as if he’d been expecting her to stop and turn.
‘Foster? How can you be so sure Liam will cope? What if he works out he’s dying? What’s he gonna do? He might choose to leave us.’
‘He’ll do the right thing,’ he replied. ‘You’ll always be able to rely on that… the right thing. He’s a good lad.’ He turned away and began to wade through a parting sea of ruffling grey feathers and curious beady eyes.
‘Foster! How can you be so sure?’
He stopped in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder. ‘How can I be so sure?’
She nodded. ‘I mean, come on! Who the hell would be stupid enough to keep doing something they know’s killing them? What makes you think you know him so well?’
‘Oh, I know — ’ he cocked an eyebrow — ‘because he’s me.’
