Allergic To Time (11 page)

“I worked in a supermarket part time,” he sighed and finished the last bite of his burger. “See? Shit, really.” He looked around at our
 
present surroundings. “Not that I would rather be here, mind.” His tone was sad.
 

Martin looked at him with empathy, the first sympathetic look he had given Robert since this had all started less than 48 hours before. He nodded. “No one I have ever spoken to wanted it to happen, nor would have wished for it to happen.”

Robert looked at him in shock. “What do you mean? You know other people who have travelled through time?” I remembered Robert hadn’t been there for the presentation of the folder.
 

Martin nodded.
 

“Yes, I’ve been...” he paused, searching for the right word. “Investigating this kind of thing for about ten years.”

“That’s what Anna said yesterday…” he said, switching his gaze to me, with a look of surprise on his face. “He’s admitting to it!”

I raised my eyebrow. “I know, shockingly enough.” I took a sip of my coffee. It was still hot enough to burn my tongue. I blew on it before I tried again.
 

Martin laced his
 
fingers
 
together and rested his head on his hands. “Only because I had no other choice.”
 

After a moment he looked up at me. “Considering you already know.” He thought about this. “Why didn’t you say anything to me sooner?”

My mouth flew open. “Why didn’t
I
say something to
you sooner?
Are you kidding me?”

“Well considering you were investigating me privately behind my back...”

“Oh, that is rich.”

Martin shut up. Considering where we were — half way on a trip to Nelson Bay, to see my
father,
who Martin apparently secretly knew existed, and considering he had a secret folder of information on me, he had absolutely no right to accuse me of anything.
 

We sat there in tense silence for a moment.
 

“This is nice,” Robert said, ironically, raising an eyebrow.
 

Martin pushed his seat back and began to stand up. “We should get going. We still have half the journey to go.”

***

We finally reached Nelson Bay at 1am in the morning. The quiet coastal town was sleeping, drowned in moonlight, but I could still make out the main landmarks that I recognised from my youth. I also recognised very well the direction Martin was driving us: up towards the Eastern side of the town which was home to the area’s most picturesque beaches.
 

We pulled into the driveway of a modern-looking apartment block. “I own two apartments in the building,” Martin announced, much to my surprise. He was always taking part in protests against the poor wages that academics in Australia received. “I rent them out during the holiday season, but they’re empty right now. It’s tough to get people up here in the winter.”

As we got out of the car and unloaded our hastily packed luggage I couldn’t help wondering why Martin Anderson owned property in
Nelson Bay
, of all places. Was it just a coincidence?
 

We climbed up several flights of stairs to the apartment — the larger one of the two apparently
 
— that we would be sleeping in. No one offered to help me with my heavy bag, so I dragged it up behind me, wondering if I’d packed enough and how long we’d be staying there. I was almost certain we wouldn’t be back in Sydney by the following afternoon, which was when I was supposed to be presenting at the physics seminar.
 

“What about the seminar tomorrow?” I asked Martin, who was half a flight of stairs above me. He only had a light overnight bag to contend with. He looked uncomfortable at my question.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. He put a key in the door and unlocked it, then glanced over his shoulder at me, apologetically. “Do you think you could possibly ring Connie and ask her to cover for us?”

My mouth was wide open. I had never seen Martin Anderson acting so cavalier about university matters before. Get Connie to cover for us? What was he thinking? She would screw things up royally.

I stepped inside after Martin, and he flicked on a light switch. The apartment was decked out in tacky blue and green furniture with sea shell decals on it, and there were paintings on the wall to match. “And what will I tell Connie exactly?”

“Tell her we’re both too sick to make it to class.” Martin took his shoulder bag off and placed it on a blue couch with white seashell decals on it. “She’ll be flattered that I trust her to take over, for once” he muttered, with an arched eyebrow. He really was dropping his professional facade, if he was willing to make snide little remarks about other students to me.
 

“Fine, I’ll ring her in the morning,” I said. Although I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. Maybe we could still make it back to Sydney by the
 
following afternoon.

“Jesus, this place is huge,” Robert said, making a lap around the joint. I took a glance around the apartment myself. It actually was pretty big, or at least, it was a lot bigger than any apartment I had seen in Sydney. There were three bedrooms, and plenty of space in the living room as well for extra bunks and sofa beds. Martin said it slept up to twelve people — in the summer he apparently made a killing with group parties and large family bookings. There were enough individual rooms for us each to take our own. Martin and Robert graciously let me have the larger one with the en-suite, while Martin took the smaller double room and Robert was left with a tiny bedroom that had two single beds in it, which looked like a children’s room.
 

In the main living space was a kitchen and dining room, with a drinks bar separating them. “Oh cool,” Robert said, walking towards it. “Is this thing stocked?”

Martin nodded. “Yes, there should be scotch and wine — should we have a drink-“

“Goodnight,” I said, cooly, interrupting them. Without waiting for a response from either one of them, I walked swiftly to my bedroom, shutting the door forcefully behind me to signal to them, that for me at least, the night was over.

Chapter Twelve.
 

The following morning I awoke to the unusual sight of sunlight streaming in through my bedroom windows, the first sun I had seen in over a week. I sat upright, suddenly feeling slightly better about the situation we’d found ourselves in. After all, we were at the beach! Maybe we could even make a bit of a holiday of it, now that we were there.
 

And, you know, just ignore the fact that we were there to track down my estranged father while being on the run from villains who were trying to kill us. I laid back down and pulled a pillow over my face. This would be no holiday.

I was tempted to just pull the covers back up and return to sleep, but the smell of bacon prickled at my nose and I threw the covers off and jumped out, then wondered down the hall to the kitchen, following the delicious smell.
 

Standing in the kitchen was Martin, who was apparently cooking up a three course breakfast for us. There was bacon, eggs, and my favourite breakfast item of all: bagels. Well, I was hardly going to be able to stay too mad at him if he was going to cook me all this amazing food. Robert – who seemed to have a bottomless pit for a stomach — was already tucking into a bacon and egg roll which was slathered with BBQ sauce.
 

I smiled at the two of them and sat down at the bench. Outside the window was a stunning view over the pristine white sand and peaceful blue water of the beach. Martin really must have made a fortune out of the place over the spring and summer months.
 

Robert gave me a friendly grin, like he was pleased to see me. “Did you sleep all right?”

I shrugged. “I guess so. I was too exhausted to not sleep soundly.”
 

Martin cracked an egg in a frying pan and I realised how strange it was to see him in that environment: cooking me breakfast. Connie would be having a heart attack if she knew.
 

Martin seemed to read my mind, and he nodded towards the clock. I was surprised to see it was already 10am. I’d assumed it was far earlier. Geez, I’d really slept in.
 

“You’d better ring Connie,” he said.

I groaned. Did Martin really have to get right to business? Not even so much as a ‘good morning’ from him. Straight onto uni concerns.
 

But he was right, as much as I hated to admit it. The seminar would start at 1 and I’d need to ring Connie well in advance if she was going to be able to cover it for us. It was already cutting it very close. Martin had already abandoned one class that week, and doing so a second time would see him hauled before the Vice Chancellor. I nodded and reluctantly stood up to fetch my phone.
 

22 new messages from Connie H
greeted me on the screen. Jesus, I thought. I pressed the phone icon next to her name to call her.

“Hello?” she said, picking up on the first ring.
 

I remembered Martin’s suggested cover story. Cursing the fact that I was such a sub-par liar I launched into the lie.
 

“Connie?” I croaked into the phone, pretending that I was struggling to speak.

“Where have you been?” Her tone was angry.
 
“I wish you would reply to at least one of my messages.”

“I was throwing up all night,” I said in my best sick voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” she said, her tone becoming slightly less annoyed. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I croaked. “I’m not going to be able to make the seminar today.”

“Oh!” she said, and I could have sworn I heard glee in her voice. “That’s too bad! Do you want me to do the presentation instead?”

No, actually - I didn’t. Not only would she hold this over me forever, she’d now have more teaching credits than I would. And her presentation would probably be a disaster, for which I’d get the blame.

“That would be amazing,” I lied, keeping my voice in a croak. “Connie you’re a life saver.”

“No problem at all! I hope you feel better soon.” Yeah, right, I thought. Before I could reply she started to say goodbye.

“Wait Connie,
 
there’s just one other problem…”

“Yeah?”

I hesitated. This was the trickier part. “Um, I’m really sorry to do this to you, but, um... Martin is sick as well.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He can’t teach the seminar. So, as well as giving my presentation, do you think you could maybe also teach the entire class? No big deal. He’ll send the notes to you in an email. All you really have to do is lead the group discussion, you know how these things go.” I paused. “He would be really grateful.” My fake sick voice was starting to give out.

“Hang on, why is he also sick?”
 

“We must have eaten the same bad food or something.” It seemed like a reasonable enough explanation.

“What were you doing eating a meal together?” Her voice was no longer sweet and understanding. It had switched to shrill and accusatory in a split second.
 

Oh lord, I thought. “We had a...thesis meeting yesterday. It was just a quick lunch in the cafeteria.”

Connie didn’t respond.

“Con? So, can you teach the class or not?”

“Fine,” she said, sounding anything but fine. She hung up the phone abruptly before I could even thank her or promise to make it up to her, or reassure her that Martin and I were not having an affair. Which is what I was sure was the main cause of her anger.

I put my phone back down on me bed, and walked back into the kitchen. I nodded quickly at Martin. “She agreed to do it. It’s all fine.”

A look of relief washed over his face. “Thank god for that.” He handed me a plate with bacon and eggs on it, along with a couple of slices of orange which I thought was a strange addition to the dish. Very 1970s. I took the plate and thanked him, adding a T

That was strange, I thought, glancing over at Martin, who had busied himself in his eggs. Another coincidence?

Chapter Thirteen.

I was in my room changing when there was a knock on the other side of the door. “I’m not dressed!” I called out.

“Anna?” It was Martin’s voice. “I need to talk to you while Robert is outside smoking.”

I pulled my top back down and abruptly pulled the door back. “We seriously do not have anything to discuss.”

He sighed. He looked incredibly tired, much older than his 39 years. If I hadn’t known better I would have sworn his hair contained 50% more grey than it had two days earlier. Then again, I never really saw his head this close up. “We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said.

“Oh do we just?” I asked. “How about you start by explaining how in the hell — and I mean how in the
hell —
 
you know my dad. You cannot possibly be a good explanation for this.”

“I did try to explain, last night...”

“Yeah right, as if you would have given me a straight answer anyway.”

“Look, Anna you are just going to have to trust me.”

I laughed. “Yeah right. I did once, you know. I did trust you. But not right now, not anymore.”

“I told you this in the hospital two days ago,” he reminded me. “You shouldn’t have come along with us, you shouldn’t have been there. You didn’t listen though, of course. But I was right, wasn’t I?”

I thought about that. Sure, if I had listened to him my life wouldn’t have been in danger. But still, what right did Martin Anderson have to tell me what was wrong and right for me? So I refused to answer his question with a yes.
 

“You’ll just have to trust me on this as well,” he said, when I remained silent. He raised a hand to his hair and rubbed the top of his head. He was yet to start balding, despite his age. He sighed deeply. “Believe me, your father is the last person on Earth I want to see...”

“Join the club!”

“But we have to see him. We have to speak to him. I think the time has finally come.”