After Eden

Was I losing my sanity, or . . .

I ran to my mirror. The wild-haired, bright-eyed girl in the mirror was still me. For a moment there I had expected to see the reflection of a woman of eighty-five staring back. Just for an instant, I thought that I had lost sixty-nine years.

I opened my mobile and dialled Connor. He answered on the first ring.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, before I had the chance to say a thing. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘What?’ I asked. ‘It’s me. Eden.’

‘I know it’s you, Eden. I’m apologising for being an asshole this afternoon.’

‘Connor, you remember the photos I took of you on the last day of school?’

‘Yeah. When are you gonna send me copies?’

‘I haven’t done that already?’

‘No. At least put them online so I can see them. I posted yours ages ago.’

‘I’ll do it later.’

So I hadn’t posted the photos online or sent them to Connor. I knew that, but I was beginning to doubt my own memory.

‘What do you think?’ Connor was saying.

‘I’m not sure.’ I hadn’t been listening.

‘Oh.’ He sounded glum. ‘I suppose you have other plans.’

‘What are we talking about Connor?’

‘I asked if you wanted to get together on Tuesday to revise for French.’

‘That would be great.’

‘We could study in the morning and then go to the beach or the arcade in the afternoon.’

‘Perfect. I have to go.’

I snapped my phone shut and picked up the book again, flicking through the pages until I wound up back at that photo.

I turned the page. The next photo was of a telescope. The caption read My first telescope: a sixteenth birthday present. Connor was fifteen. His birthday was exactly a week away.

My heart thumping wildly, I turned the page. The next picture was an older-looking Connor, aged about twenty perhaps, standing on the beach with a surfboard. Connor had been taking surfing lessons for weeks, which he really enjoyed, despite the fact he couldn’t stand up on the board. The next plate showed him sitting behind a desk of books. The caption read Studying for finals, University of Manchester, 2018. I turned the page. Connor, now older, standing next to a good-looking young man identified as Nathaniel Westland. Westland. A relative of Ryan’s? Connor looked middle-aged, though it was clearly him; Nathaniel looked as though he was in his early twenties.

There were only three photographs left. One was of a blue planet that looked just like Earth but had three moons in its sky. The caption simply stated Eden from Mayflower II. The next was of a middle-aged Connor beaming at the camera, surrounded by towering pink cliffs, a green river winding into the distance. Zion Valley, Eden, 2053. And the last one was of an old man with white hair and a party hat. Connor Penrose at his eightieth birthday party, 2076.

This was insane.

I turned to the front of the book and began to read. The chapter described a boy born in the late twentieth century, the first and only child of David and Rosa Penrose. David, an accountant, died from bowel cancer when Connor was six. His mother, a teaching assistant at a local primary school, raised him alone after that in a small fisherman’s cottage near the harbour. All the facts added up. This was my Connor.

I needed the internet. The problem was Miranda had decided – on one of her overprotective whims – that the only computer with access to the internet should be in the living room.

I pushed the book under my pillow and ran down the stairs to the living room. Miranda and Travis were cuddled up on the sofa, the papers spread out between them.

‘Here. See if you can finish this,’ said Miranda, pushing the crossword across to me. ‘There are only two clues to do.’

‘What you been up to?’ asked Travis.

‘Science revision,’ I said.

‘You mustn’t study too hard,’ said Miranda. ‘You need some down time too.’

‘I’m having down time right now.’ Privately I was calculating how long I would have to sit there and socialise before I could go online.

‘Put the news on, Travis,’ said Miranda.

He clicked the remote and the BBC News 24 channel appeared on the TV screen. I plastered a mildly interested expression on my face and tuned out. I needed answers.

‘Do you mind if I use the computer?’

‘More work?’ asked Miranda.

‘I got stuck on one of the science questions.’

‘What was the question?’ she asked.

‘Is time travel possible? But I’m struggling with it. I thought I’d do some research.’

Travis shook his head. ‘That’s a complex topic for Year Eleven exams. Scientists themselves don’t agree on that subject. Whose theories are you supposed to be considering? Einstein’s?’

Einstein was supposed to be pretty smart. That seemed a good place to start.

‘Yes. Einstein.’

Travis pressed the mute button. ‘According to Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity, time travel would require faster than light travel and it would take an infinite amount of energy to accelerate an object to the speed of light.’

‘So Einstein thinks time travel is impossible,’ I said, feeling oddly disappointed.

‘Yes. And no. General Relativity is a different matter,’ said Travis. ‘And then, when you bring quantum mechanics into the discussion . . .’

‘Travis!’ said Miranda. ‘Where is all this geek-speak coming from?’

Travis grinned. ‘Would you believe me if I told you that, before I decided to train as a chef, I briefly flirted with a career as a science teacher?’

‘You’re joking?’ said Miranda, wide-eyed.

‘Forget Einstein and quantum whatever,’ I said. ‘Do you believe in time travel?’

Travis caught my eye. ‘No. Nor do most scientists. Just because something may be theoretically possible, doesn’t mean it’s likely.’ He stood up and removed a packet of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans. Miranda pulled a face. Considering how much she loathed cigarette smoking, it surprised me that she was willing to overlook it in Travis. On the other hand, guys hadn’t exactly been knocking down our door.

He pulled a cigarette out of the packet and tucked it behind his ear. ‘I need to head home now. Early start tomorrow.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ said Miranda.

As soon as I heard the sound of Miranda brushing her teeth, I booted up the computer.

The first thing I searched for was Connor. Connor Penrose. Not a common name, but on a planet with 7 billion people, there must be loads. Googling Connor Penrose brought up over a million results. I scanned through the first ten pages of results: Facebook profiles, boys who had won sporting tournaments or competitions, place names. But I didn’t find any reference to an astronomer who had discovered a planet called Eden. I’m not sure I really expected to. Next I tried a web search for Eden, which brought up lots of pages about the Eden Project and an episode guide for Star Trek. It was a waste of time.

On a whim I searched for Wolfeboro, Ryan’s home town. Like the previous searches, it brought up thousands of results. Wolfeboro was a small town of about six thousand people and claimed to be America’s oldest summer resort. I scanned through images of the town, which was surrounded by blue lakes and huge forests of green trees. I remembered Ryan telling me that all the trees had died due to some sort of industrial accident. I added that to the search.

Nothing.