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The appointed time had come for Nancy and Maxine to meet Rodney in the vicarage in Newdon. Nancy pushed the door open inside her control hut, and she and Maxine stepped through into Rodney’s personal control room. In keeping with the vicarage decor, they noticed heavy wooden furniture scattered around the dimly lit room, and drab looking wallpaper and carpets to match the old-fashioned theme of the building.
‘Maxine, look at this desk,’ Nancy whispered. ‘I bet this is where everything important takes place.’
‘Where he sent the wildlife to our new island from,’ Maxine murmured as she ran her finger along the length of the desk. ‘I wonder where Rodney is...’
‘Maxine, look at these photos on the wall. Aren’t the fashions funny? I wonder what decade these are from.’ Nancy peered at the nearest photograph, which seemed strangely familiar. ‘I know where that is...it’s this church. Doesn’t the bride look gorgeous?’
Maxine did a double take. ‘Nancy, look! The bridesmaid is as ginger as Damien! Do you think...?’ Her voice trailed away, leaving an obvious hint as to what her thoughts were. ‘Nancy! Look at this!’ Maxine screeched and pointed at another photograph that had materialised before her eyes.
Nancy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Marcus!’ She touched the glass covering the gloss paper. ‘There’s Nicola too. It looks like she was bridesmaid.’ A tear of happiness rolled down her cheek, chased by a sad one. ‘I wish that I’d have known. Damien and I could have attended unseen, just as we did for my funeral.’
Maxine hugged Nancy close. ‘Hey, lady,’ said Maxine and she brushed a tear away from Nancy’s cheek, ‘try to be positive. At least we know now that Marcus has got the woman of his dreams. Although, to be fair, it looks like he is punching well above his weight; she is gorgeous!’ That got a laugh from Nancy, who pulled her hair back into a tight pony tail.
A door opened and Rodney appeared with a wide smile. He breezed into the room and pushed his glasses to the end of his nose so that he could see the photographs better. ‘Lovely day, by the looks of it.’ Rodney jabbed a finger towards one of the photos on the bottom row. ‘I should have had my hair cut before that wedding. Look, it is blowing in the breeze.’
Maxine said, ‘I wouldn’t worry about the hair on your head, Vicar. Look, you have some nostril hairs sticking out too!’
‘My goodness me!’ exclaimed Rodney. ‘I’ll have to take care of those before the actual wedding.’
Nancy and Maxine gave him a puzzled look, and Rodney quickly realised he had two intrigued faces staring at him. ‘Oh, yeah, the photos on this wall are all from the future. Let me see.’ He took one photo out of its frame and held it delicately by its edges. ‘The big sycamore tree I know will be struck by lightning and burn bright until it is destroyed on the 25th of December 2027, so this wedding has to be from before then. Hang on.’ Rodney crossed the room and plonked himself into an office chair. With a practiced flick of his ankle, he sent himself scooting along the side of the desk while grinning like a schoolboy. He reached under the end of the desk and retrieved a massive book. ‘My diary.’ Waving a hand at it, he said, ‘It covers five years, a page a day.’
Maxine let out a low whistle. ‘That is some book, Rodney! It’s twice as thick as the old Yellow Pages telephone directory. You know, the one that had everyone’s number in before the internet took over.’
Rodney looked over the top of his glasses at Maxine. ‘I remember those, yes. My mum used one as a step to reach the top shelves in the kitchen cupboards.’ Looking back at the book, he licked his finger and began to sift through the sheets of paper. He flicked faster and faster until the pages became a blur, and a plume of disturbed dust rose into the air. Suddenly, Rodney stopped and jabbed his finger at the selected date.
‘Seventeenth July 2027, Saturday. Marriage between Marcus Lennon and Rebecca Rigg,’ Rodney declared.
‘When’s that? I don’t even know what the date is today on Earth,’ said Nancy.
‘Next weekend,’ smirked Rodney.
I bet he knew I’d see my family in the photo and ask about it. Cheeky sod, he didn’t need to look through that diary after all. ‘Damien and I have to be there. It won’t be a problem, will it?’ Nancy looked at Rodney with a flutter of panic rising in her chest. She felt her cheeks reddening. Maybe I’m not as in control of myself as I would like to be.
‘Of course you can both be there, Nancy! Why wouldn’t I allow that? I’m not the curator you know.’ He winked to show that he wasn’t being entirely serious about his colleague. ‘What was the reason for you and Maxine wanting to come and see me today?’ Rodney asked, sitting back in his chair with his hands interlocked behind his head.
Nancy cleared her throat. ‘Maxine and I have been talking. We are really pleased with how our islands are turning out...’
‘But?’
‘We would like to take on a project, like how Eloise and the curator looked after me and Marcus before I died. I think something like that could be very satisfying for us. Is that something we can do?’
Rodney opened yet another drawer and took out three cut crystal tumblers and a bottle of Scotch. He took his time in pouring three generous measures. After passing a glass to each of the women, he raised his glass and said, ‘I propose a toast. To the rescued souls.’
He downed his glass in one and the liquid burned down his throat, causing him to double over with a spluttering cough.
The two bemused women followed suit. ‘To rescued souls.’
Rodney took his glasses off and polished them with the end of his sleeve. For Nancy and Maxine, time seemed to come to a standstill as they awaited Rodney’s response. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his desk. ‘I have been waiting for you to come and talk to me about this.’ Nancy and Maxine exchanged glances, not sure what to say. ‘I am delighted that you have though. It means that I can start the next phase of my plans.’ He poured another measure of Scotch and topped up Maxine’s. Nancy hadn’t touched hers, apart from a sip for the toast.
Maxine’s voice seemed to slip into a broader Yorkshire accent than of late as she asked, ‘What’s that then? Come on, Rodney, you can’t say that then say nowt else!’
Rodney wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Sorry, Maxine, you know that I am as honest and transparent with you all as I possibly can be. This time though...well, it’s not quite above my pay grade what I am trying to do, but I am certainly pushing the boundaries. If it works, then you guys aren’t going to believe it.’ He looked around the room and began to straighten some books on a dusty shelf.
Nancy said, ‘So the answer is actually a ‘maybe’?’
Rodney slumped back down in his chair. ‘Yes. I think that covers it. Is that all?’
Since Nancy had asked her question, the atmosphere in the room had become noticeably awkward. ‘Any more of that Scotch going?’ Maxine asked, wanting to break the silence.
Rodney said, ‘Of course. There’s always plenty of Scotch around here. The bottle is never ending.’ He leaned forward and whispered as though revealing some kind of conspiracy, ‘Perk of the job...’
Nancy walked back over to the photographs on the wall and gazed at each in turn. A red-haired woman caught her eye, and she turned to the clergyman. ‘Rodney. Why is Eloise in my son’s wedding photo?’
Rodney squirmed under Nancy’s hardening gaze. ‘Eloise still wanted to help your family where possible, despite the history between you all. I think that is a testament to the woman.’
‘But why is she in the photo? Is it to taunt me?’ Nancy demanded.
‘Not at all,’ sighed Rodney. ‘I didn’t even know that she’d be there at the wedding.’
Nancy looked back at the photograph. ‘Maybe there is a clue in what she is wearing. Wait...what? She isn’t even in the photo now! Damned woman.’
Maxine said, ‘Don’t let it get to you. We have to remember that we are dealing with the supernatural realms now. Perhaps something happened in someone else’s life that meant her plan to go to the wedding was disrupted.’
‘Hmm, maybe,’ Nancy mused. Rolling her shoulders back, she snapped herself into standing tall. ‘I won’t let this play on my mind when it could be nothing. Come on, Maxine, let’s get back to Lennon Isle and update the others.’
Rodney stood and extended his hand for the women to shake in turn. ‘Thank you for coming to see me. I am sorry I couldn’t be of any more help, but watch this space.’ He gave his very best vicar smile.
‘Oh, Rodney,’ said Nancy as she playfully poked at his belly, ‘you do know how to get back in my good books. See you at the wedding on Saturday. By the way, can you make my hut’s front door stop hitting the wall, because when the curator barges in, something always falls off the wall and breaks!’
Nancy and Maxine chuckled at Nancy’s strange request and left through the portal door. Within moments, they were back in Nancy’s control hut. ‘What do you think about that, Maxine? What was it all about?’
‘God only knows. Don’t let Eloise get to you. For all we know, Rodney himself could have made her image appear and then disappear. Admittedly, that’s more like something that the curator would do, but there’s nothing to say that good old Rodders wouldn’t do it. Don’t let it get to you, Nancy. You and Damien have a wedding to go to!’
Nancy hugged Maxine and pulled her close. ‘Thank you, Maxine. If you hadn’t put it like that then it probably would have got to me, and I would have only ended up doing my own head in. And everyone else’s too.’ She relaxed her grip and Maxine wiggled free.
‘Don’t be getting soppy on me now, Nancy! I think there will be much harder times ahead if we do get to have our own mission. Save your energy for then. Whatever we do, we have to stick together. I’ll be off now. Maybe you should order you and Damien some new clothes for the wedding?’
‘I think I might just do that. See you on Saturday, Maxine. You are coming, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am. I might even bring Hector too.’ Maxine laughed. ‘See you when I see you.’