mylifeasasongtitle: May 2011

My novella 'Echoes'. It's a very nice story about Queen Mary I and her (entirely imaginary) adventures in twenty-first century Belfast. Enjoy!

When she awoke it was dark.

Where am I?

She was still for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She was dimly aware of

someone beside her, but she didn't know who it was. She had no idea who it might

be. Maybe her husband, or her sister. Or someone completely unknown to her.

Think, Mary. What might this place be?

The last thing she remembered was the morning light filtering in through the curtains

as she had slipped quietly from one room to another. All she had heard around her

then were murmuring voices and muffled tears. Now, there was silence. It was cold

where she stood now. And all she could see was darkness. It was not quite pitch

black, she could make out some shapes, but nevertheless she was unable to see

clearly.

She could make out a faint light some way in front of her. It must be daylight. She

did not want to be in the dark any more. Something was calling her, the voice of God

maybe, or something else, calling her towards it. She was meant to go there. She

knew this for certain.

She took a deep breath and moved towards the light.

PART ONE

It had started off as just another day for William Marcus. He had got up, showered,

got dressed and went to work. As he normally did, Monday to Friday. And

occasionally at weekends. He had no idea that this day would change his life.

At ten past two he was sitting in his office looking at the woman in front of him. Her

name was Mary Smith and she was forty two. She was small and slightly built, with

long auburn hair. She was dressed soberly, wearing a dark trouser suit and white

blouse. She gave the air of someone who was completely in control of her life, of

someone who had practised that self-control over many years, and had never lost it, at

least not in public, despite extreme provocation. She was not unlike many of the

clients Mr Marcus had seen in almost thirty years of providing psychotherapy to the

well-off of Belfast, and further afield. Often their polished, controlling exterior

masked a deep well of emotional pain. He had no doubt that Mary Smith was any

different. As with all his new clients, the priority was to find out why she was there

and what particular psychological manifestations had led her to seek his help.

'It's hard to say what brought me here really.' she said. 'I've been thinking a lot about

my life lately. I went through a really hard time growing up, and I thought I had put it

behind me and moved on, but recently I've started to question whether it's affected

me more than I thought. I've made some decisions that people didn't really like, and I

wonder if what happened to me had affected my judgement in some way. I've heard

you're very good. I spoke to a friend of mine at work who I know had some problems

before, and she recommended you. I think what I want most of all is someone to talk

things through with.'

William nodded. 'Well, I will be able to help you if you're committed to working with

me. If your problems are quite complex it may take a while to deal with the issues

surrounding them. If you're willing to commit to that then I am sure that I will be able

to help you.'

'I'm willing to do whatever it takes.' said Mary.

'Good.' William smiled.

He looked down at the questionnaire she had filled in when she arrived at reception.

'It says here that you're a volunteer at the Belfast Medieval History Museum. That

sounds like it would be quite interesting. I had never heard of the place myself until a

few months ago, when a friend told me about it. I keep meaning to go but I've never

got round to doing so. Would you recommend it?'

'Oh yes,' said Mary. 'it's a fascinating place. They have great exhibitions on different

aspects of medieval life. Actually, the first time I went in was six months ago, which

was actually the day I agreed to become a volunteer.'

William wondered what she had been doing before that. It wasn't terribly important,

though, to know the answer to that. He filed the question away for later.

He looked at the questionnaire again to check Mary's marital status. He hadn't noticed

a wedding ring. It was a terrible habit of his, checking people's wedding fingers. Male

and female. His wife had noticed him doing it once and had joked about him lining

up potential future wives.

Mary noticed him looking at her ring less finger. 'My husband has been away a lot.'

she said. 'In fact, since we married he has spent very little time with me. I have given

up all hope that he will be a real husband to me, one who will be constantly at my

side, so I have decided that I will live as if I did before I married.'

William thought her choice of words odd, but said nothing. Instead, he sat back in his

chair. He looked again at Mary, thoughtfully. Already, there was something about her

that intrigued him. Occasionally, William took clients on without asking for payment,

purely because of the lessons he would learn from treating them. He had already

decided that Mary would be one of those clients.

He was keen to get started straight away. Almost as if he felt certain that she would

not be here for long, and he would have to find out as much about her in as short a

time as possible.

He decided that he would start by finding out about her family.

'Tell me about your mother.' he said.

Mary looked thoughtful, wistful almost. In the few seconds before she spoke,

William could sense that she was almost deciding what to say. That she knew that she

had to choose her words carefully.

My mother was Spanish.' she said. 'She left Spain when she was fifteen, and came to

England where she married my uncle. After he died, a few short months after their

wedding, she married my father. '

'Is your mother still alive?' asked William.

'No, she died just before my twentieth birthday.' said Mary.

'That must have been difficult for you.'

'Yes, it was.'

She lapsed into silence, clearly uncomfortable with the way that the session was

progressing. Dr Marcus was used to his clients reacting in this way, their reluctance

to talk about certain subjects often meant that those were the very things that should

be discussed. For whatever reason, Mary did not seem to want to discuss her mother

in emotional terms. At least, not yet. When asked about her, she had merely stuck to

the physical characteristics. Where she had come from. Who she had married.

William knew that he would have to break down these barriers if Mary were to make

any progress. He would have to think very carefully about how he would help her do

this. If they had more time today, they would be able to explore these issues further,

but he had a feeling that the questions he wanted to ask her about her father, her

childhood, and her marriage would have to wait until the next session.

He had an idea at the back of his mind that it would take a lot more than just one

session to find the answers to Mary's problems. William Marcus often got a feeling, a

vibe from people, and he had a suspicion that Mary Smith was not telling him the

whole truth. One day she would, though. It might take a while, but he would get

there. He would not give up on this challenge.

It was now three o'clock and the allotted hour had passed. William stood up. 'Thank

you very much for coming today,' he said politely. 'Suzanne will make another

appointment for you.' He opened the door and motioned for Mary to go out.

Mary started to leave the room. As she reached the threshold she turned to face

William.' Thank you for your time today' she said. 'I know already that seeing you is

going to be an enormous help.'

William nodded. 'I will see you at your next appointment. Take care.'

She left the room and William closed the door. He could hear her voice through the

closed door, talking to the receptionist, arranging her next appointment. There would

be plenty of free slots for her to choose from. Back when he had first started out,

therapy had been the buzz word. He had made a success of his practice, on Belfast's

Lisburn Road, but he had found as the recession started to bite that people no longer

felt the need to sort out their problems with someone who was trained to do so,

although where they were turning to William no longer knew. Maybe they had found

solace in organised religion, that always seemed to be source of sustenance,

emotionally speaking, when times were hard. This was something that annoyed

William a little bit. He had gone to church when he was growing up and throughout

his teens, but then again it was hard to find a Northern Irish person of his generation

who hadn't. Over the years though, the churchgoing had stopped, although he still

believed in God in a vague way. It irritated him though, when people stopped using

faith in a constructive way and started seeing God as a divine Jim'll Fix It.

Psychology had taught him that there really was no need to expect someone else to

sort out your problems. We all have the tools, he often thought, we just need to know

how to use them.

He was interrupted in his reverie by a knock on the door.

'Dr Marcus, your next patient's here.' said Suzanne, from the other side of the door.

'Send them in!' he shouted. He looked at the list Suzanne had given him at the start of

the day to ascertain who his next patient was. It was hard spending so much time in

other people's heads. He had been doing this job for a while, maybe it would soon be

time to give it all up. He would think about that later, he decided. It was time to focus

on helping the next person who walked through the door.

*****

At five thirty William Marcus was getting ready to head home. He sat in his waiting

room for a few minutes after his final patient had left, thinking about the day he had

just had.

And about one aspect of that day in particular.

Already, he was intrigued by Mary Smith. He had only met her a few short hours ago,

but in a strange way he felt as if he had known her for a lot longer than that. She had

come into the room and completely commanded his attention while she was there.

Now she had left, he found himself almost unable to think of anything else. He knew

that he would not rest until he had helped Mary to deal with whatever was causing

problems for her in her life.

He looked at the clock on his wall and realised that the day was over. He got up,

switched off the light in his office and went out to the reception area, where Suzanne

was just locking up the various filing cabinets which contained the confidential client

details that were such an essential part of their work.

'Any plans for tonight, Suzanne?' he said conversationally.

'Just a quiet one. You?'

He shook his head. 'No plans. I expect that Jolene will have made something

delicious for dinner, we'll maybe have a bottle of wine with that, but that's about it.'

'Well, have a good evening. See you tomorrow!'

William left the office and began the short walk to Adelaide Station to catch the train

to his home in Moira. It was November, and already a frost was starting to form. No

doubt these cars would be completely frozen over in the morning, he thought. He

reached the station fairly quickly, it being only a ten minute walk from his office, and

bought his ticket. While waiting for the train he pulled a copy of that morning's

Belfast Newsletter out of his briefcase, and began to read. As far as he could see, the

headlines were much the same that morning as they were every other morning, with

political disagreement being the top story.

He looked around him as he boarded the train. He could see people he knew,

neighbours of his, as well as people he passed in the street but had no idea of their

names. He sometimes wondered about these men and women, maybe even made up

alternative lives for them, but not this evening. He was much too tired to do anything

like that. He lazily looked through the rest of the paper, then, when he saw that there

was nothing that interested him he looked out the window for the rest of the journey.

When he arrived in Moira about twenty minutes later he walked the short distance to

his home. A wonderful smell hit him as soon as he opened the door. His wife, Jolene,

was a great cook and it looked like tonight there would be another fantastic dinner in

the Marcus household.

'I've made your favourite, steak and Guinness pie.' Jolene announced. 'There's a nice

bottle of red wine to go with it.''

He smiled. 'Great. I'll just leave my things in the study.'

Over dinner, the two of them chatted about their days. Jolene worked in a card shop

in Moira, and somehow she managed to find out everything that was going on in the

village.

'Joan Campbell's daughter's had a wee boy.' she said. 'Elizabeth was in buying a card

for her. I think they're going to call her Jessica.'

'How many children is that she has now?'

'I think it's three,' said Jolene doubtfully. 'Megan's the eldest, then they had Joe, yes

that's right, there's three children. It's a shame her husband had to take that job in

Saudi Arabia, as it leaves her with the three little ones, but I suppose it's better than

him having no job. Would you like some more mashed potato?'

He nodded. 'Yes please. This pie's delicious. The meat's so tender. Did you get it at

the butcher's at the top of the town?'

She shook her head. 'I actually got it in Marks and Spencer. I know you don't

normally like supermarket meat, but it did look good quality.'

'It's lovely.'

They ate the rest of the dinner, then washed the dishes before repairing to the sofa

with their glasses of wine. For William, this was in some ways the best part of his

day. Everything was done with and all he had to do was relax.

'So, how was your day?' asked Jolene.

'Not too bad,' he said. 'Quite interesting, actually. I have a new client.'

'That'll bring some more money in.' remarked Jolene.

'Well, actually...' began William.

'Oh, William, not again.' Jolene disapproved of her husband's freebies. She didn't

realise that he saw his sessions with these people as mutually beneficial and thus felt

unable to charge them any money. Fortunately, the house they lived in had been

inherited from Jolene's great uncle, who had been something of a recluse, so they had

not had to worry about mortgage payments, which would have definitely put a

financial strain on things with William's penchant for deciding on a whim not to

charge his patients, as Jolene saw it.

'Claire rang, ' said Jolene suddenly.

'Did she? That's good. How is she getting on?'

'She seemed fine. She's having her contract extended for another few months, which

she's really excited about, as it means she gets to spend more time in London. The

painting's a bit more damaged than they thought, so it will take longer to restore.'

'That's the one that was in the National Gallery, isn't it? I've always liked that one.'

William and Jolene's eldest daughter had done a degree in Fine Art at Edinburgh. She

had been working in an art gallery for for a few years, then the opportunity had come

up to work on the painting of Anne Boleyn which was displayed in the National

Gallery in London. It had become damaged over the years and was badly in need of

restoration. Claire had seen this job for the great opportunity it was, to work on a

national treasure, and had been very excited when her application was successful.

'I don't think she'll be home for a while yet.' said Jolene.

'She's happy though, isn't she, I'm glad that she's living her own life now.'

Jolene nodded. 'I was so worried when she got involved with Damien, she seemed to

give her whole life up for him when they were together.'

'I'm glad she saw sense, ' said William 'and realised that there's more to life than

having a man. I feel sorry for people who don't realise that, there's so many whose

lives revolve round their partners and all they have is them and the things they do

together. Claire's a sensible girl.'

His wife smiled. 'She is.' She started to get up. 'I'll make us a cup of tea.' She picked

up the wine glasses and made her way to the kitchen.

'Would you like a biscuit?' she called.

'Yes.' said William.

He sat back and concentrated on relaxing. He did this at the end of each day, usually

when he had dinner out of the way, the dishes were washed and he was having his

nightly cup of tea with his wife. He focused on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling,

clearing his mind of all his clients, their worries, and how he could possibly help

them. He had been worrying for some time now that he was no longer able to do his

job, that it was too stressful for him and listening to people's many problems and

worries, day in and day out, were starting to mentally take their toll. He had thought

for some time about giving up his practice and now that he no longer had as many

clients as he had had previously, it seemed an ideal time to start to wind down. His

hope was that his work would come to a natural end.

Jolene had returned with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits on a tray. 'You're

looking very serious.' she said.

'I was thinking about maybe closing my practice.'

'Why?' asked his wife.

'You know yourself that I'm not getting the same number of clients as I used to, and

as well as that the job's really starting to get to me. I think that I'm spending too much

time in other people's heads. I've started to find it really difficult to be objective when

I'm counselling someone, and I've started to bring my work home with me. Not

physically, but mentally. I find it hard to switch off when I come home at night.'

'You know that I've always admired what you do' said Jolene. 'I certainly couldn't do

your job. I know it's difficult, but I believe you do make a difference to people's lives.

You know that I'll support you, whatever you decide, but I think you should really

take some time to think it over. Maybe you should take a bit of a break. I'm due some

holiday soon as well, why don't we go over to visit Claire?

'That sounds like a great idea, it'll give us both the chance to get our heads showered.'

They drank the rest of their tea and began discussing their upcoming trip.

Meanwhile, fifteen miles away, in a house in Cromwell Road in Belfast, Mary Smith

was mulling over the day's events. She would never have thought that she, of all

people, would be seeing a psychotherapist. It certainly was unusual, but no stranger

than the rest of the events which had recently occurred. She had spent so long trying

to work out where she was, what she was, that what she had told William Marcus was

certainly true. She was feeling lost. And she had not told him this, but she was

desperate. So desperate that she was willing to disclose her past in exchange for

freedom and peace of mind. She was aware that her poor therapist, William Marcus,

might think that she was mad, in fact that he was going mad, when he finally learned

the truth about who she was and where she was from.

When she was a child, it had been an idyllic existence. She had been so happy.

Pampered, certainly, but not spoiled. Her parents were proud of her and everyone was

certain that a golden future lay ahead. But all that was to change.

She closed her eyes and thought back to her childhood. Scenes flitted through her

mind, of suitors, music and dancing. Yes, what had been then was a universe away

from where she was now. Her last memories of the time where she was were

fragmented. She had been ill, she knew that. She must have died because she

remembered nothing that had happened after her illness. The first thing she had been

aware of when she awoke was the darkness, then the faint light which she had moved

towards. When she had reached it, she had noticed how incredibly bright it was.

Then, in a second it was all around her.

She was standing with her back against something solid. Turning round, she had

noticed it was some kind of reproduction of a picture the artist Hans Eworth had

painted of she and her husband, Philip of Spain. The room she was standing in was

unfamiliar, and seemed to be filled with exhibits of some kind. She wondered where

she was. Looking down, she saw a leaflet that someone had dropped on the floor. She

bent down and picked it up. 'Ulster Museum : 2009 Events' it read. 'How very

peculiar!' she thought. 'Surely this must be a dream?' And where was the Ulster

Museum? She thought that she remembered something quite vague about the location

of Ulster – she tried to bring it to the front of her mind but couldn't quite manage it.

'Never mind.' she said to herself. 'I will soon find out exactly where I am.'

She looked directly in front of her and noticed a painting of a woman she recognised.

'Ah,' she thought 'my dear sister.' She read the inscription carefully. It informed her

that Elizabeth had become Queen in 1558, after her sister Mary's death.

Naming Elizabeth as her successor had been something that Mary had been reluctant

to do, but in the end she had had no choice. Now, as she looked at what had been

written about her sister, she realised that Elizabeth had been a great success as Queen,

something Mary hadn't quite managed. Even though they'd had a strained relationship

at times, in a weird way she was proud of the woman her half-sister had become.

It was a miracle, a real act of God that she and Elizabeth had had the chance to rule

England at all. Of course, their brother Edward, as the only boy in the family, was

first in line to the throne, and it was fully expected that he would have a long reign. It

was a surprise when he died, six years after succeeding to the throne. Of course, after

he died there had been that horrible business with Lady Jane Grey. Mary regretted the

fact that she had had to have the girl executed. She had wanted to imprison her

indefinitely, but events had overtaken her and Mary knew that she had no other

choice. The girl, and her husband, were so young, but Henry had taught his daughter,

if nothing else, that the kingdom had to have stability, and this could only be

achieved by the young people's deaths.

She remembered sitting in Hampton Court Palace while she had talked the situation

over with one of her advisers.

'I am in two minds' she said. 'She is so young, but she is a threat to me and to the

stability of the kingdom.' She had paused, thinking about the consequences of her

decision. 'I have made up my mind. She must die.'

'As you wish, Your Majesty. I shall have the warrant prepared.' He bowed, and left

the room.

Her secretary had prepared the death warrant and she herself had signed it, not

without hesitation or the pangs of conscience. She herself had once been of the same

age as this girl, under threat of execution, and she wavered for a moment, wondering

if she was doing the right thing. 'It is right for the Kingdom.' she told herself. Besides,

Lady Jane had Reformist leanings and it was Mary's duty to protect that sacred,

ancient faith in which she herself had been brought up.

She had thought about the past a lot since she had come to this time, after all she had

very little to occupy her. Certain things weighed heavily on her mind. She thought

often about her mother, and how she had been treated during her final years. She

thought about her own life, and the decisions she had made. She knew from reading

about Elizabeth's achievements as Queen that she was well thought of. Mary had

started to realise that her own reign was seen very differently. Why had this

happened? She had tried to do God's will, and act according to her conscience but this

did not seem to have been impressive enough for most people. Yet, what else could

she have done? The one thing she was happy about was that she now had someone in

this day and age who she could talk to, and who she fully intended to tell the truth to

when the time came.

Mary had no idea how she had ended up in the twenty-first century, or indeed why

she was here. She knew that she was meant to be here, but beyond that she had no

ideas of why she had come. Very quickly she had realised that the questions of why

she was here, in the twenty-first century, and of how she had managed to travel four

centuries would have to wait. She had been feeling very unwell, as indeed she often

had in her own time, and the idea of talking to someone about her problems had

appealed to her immensely. She would talk about what was bothering her, her

therapist would listen, and she would benefit enormously from the experience.

Somewhat naively, she had thought that it was just a matter of talking about the

things that she wanted to discuss. She had had no idea that the therapist's questions

would be so probing.

William Marcus's first words to her had unnerved her.

'Tell me about your mother.'

She had paused, knowing then that she was unable to tell him the full story, at least

not until she knew that she could trust him because she feared that he would never

believe her. No psychotherapist worth their salt was going to accept that someone

who had been dead and buried for over four hundred years was seemingly alive and

sitting in their office in 2009. The poor man would most likely assume that he was

delusional, and that assumption would do him no good, as he clearly was not.

Mary had gone through a few changes since arriving in the twenty-first century,

knowing immediately that she needed to blend in until the time came to reveal her

true identity. Her first challenge had been to get out of the Ulster Museum without

being noticed. She had observed straight away that the style of clothing of the others

in the museum was unfamiliar to her, and the more exhibits she saw the more

panicked she became. Where on earth was she? She thought that the best plan for

getting out of there was to be as inconspicuous as possible. If the unthinkable

happened and someone saw her, she would merely pretend that she was in costume.

This plan worked well, and soon she was outside the building. She started walking in

the direction of a park. She had always enjoyed a good walk.

On the way through the park, which she had later come to realise were the Botanic

Gardens, she had been aware of some people looking at her with curiosity. She heard

murmurs as some people passed by her.

'Mummy, look at that lady. Why is she wearing those funny clothes?'

She turned round and noticed a small child staring at her.

'She's probably come from the museum and they are having some kind of special

event where people dress up.' The child's mother couldn't think of any other

explanation.

Obviously Mary stood out more than she had anticipated. The distinct lack of other

people dressed as if they were from the sixteenth century made it obvious to her that

if she wanted to blend in, she would have to make a few changes to her clothing, her

hair, and probably the way she spoke as well. For some reason, she felt that being in

the twenty-first century would not be a momentary experience, or one that would last

for a few days or weeks, but she had a strong sense that there was something that she

must accomplish, and she would not be able to leave this time without doing it.

From her short walk through the gardens, she had realised that the first thing she must

do was to change her clothes. How was she going to do this? She soon found her

answer. On leaving the Botanic Gardens she had started walking down a street. She

noticed that one of the shops (or she assumed it was a shop) had some bags outside.

She peered inside the bag and found that it was filled with clothes. 'Just what I need'

she thought. She rummaged through the bag until she had found a suit and some other

clothes that would fit her. She picked them up and was about to walk off when a man

came out of the shop.

'Hey, you, what do you think you're doing?' he shouted.

Mary turned to face him. She assumed that her queenly bearing would make him

instantly tremble in fear, but in fact it did nothing of the sort. Instead, the man started

to move towards her in a threatening way. Her survival instincts instantly kicked in.

She turned and started to run off. Baffled at the sight of what appeared to be someone

in fancy dress running down Botanic Avenue carrying an armful of clothes, the

people currently about their business in the street parted like the Red Sea as she came

running towards them.

'Stop that woman!' the man shouted. But his pleas came to no avail. No one stopped

her.

The man came running down the street. 'What's wrong with you?' he said to the

passers by. 'That woman stole clothes from outside my shop!'

A woman started to laugh. 'Don't be daft son, why would anyone do that?'

'I saw her!'

'You're serious?' The woman's tone of voice changed. She wasn't smiling now.

'Where is she?' She and the man looked around, but the person they were looking for

was no longer around.

Mary had got as far away from the frightening man as she possibly could. She had

gone into a side street and had hidden behind a wall, peering out to make sure no one

was still chasing her. That had been a close call. Obviously, life in the twenty-first

century would not be simple for her.

She realised that she would have to change her clothes as a matter of priority. But

where would she go to do this? She could not be expected to undress in the street.

She looked around her. Maybe she would find some help in one of these houses.

She walked up to the first door and hesitated. How would she alert someone to her

presence? She thought back. Maybe she would knock on the door. That seemed to be

the best way to summon someone.

After a wait of a few minutes the door was opened by a young man, dressed in what

Mary now assumed to be the main style of the age. He was wearing some kind of

bright blue garment on his top half, and his breeches, or whatever one called them

now, were a dark blue colour. The young man looked tired. Maybe he had just woken

up.

'Good day.' she said. Inwardly she was having doubts already about the success of

this enterprise. She wasn't even sure she had used the correct greeting. Was that what

one said in this day and age?

'Can I help you?' the young man said.

'Do you have a room in which I can change my clothes?' she asked.

The young man looked at her. He took in the French hood, the sixteenth century

dress, and finally the armful of clothes she was carrying. He looked bewildered, and

slightly scared.

'Sorry, I don't.' he said.

'Alan, who's at the door?' she heard a female voice shout.

'It's just some...' he turned round but Mary had already left.

That had been a mistake. She would have to find somewhere else. Somewhere of her

own.

She noticed that a few of the houses on the street were for sale. Maybe these would

have no one in them and she could change her clothes there. She tried the door to the

first house, knocking first to make sure that there was no one there. She heard

footsteps on the other side of the door and realised that there must still be someone in

the house. Obviously, a for sale sign did not mean that the house was empty. She

tried another door. It wasn't even locked. There were no lights on and when she

looked into the rooms they were completely empty. This would do.

She found a full-length mirror abandoned in one of the bedrooms and stood before it,

studying herself. She looked the same as she always had. She studied her hair, her

face, her body, before taking her clothes and her hood off. Where would she put

them? There were no cupboards and nothing to hang her gown on on. She supposed

that there was nothing else to do but to lay her belongings carefully on the floor.

She selected some clothes from the pile she had taken from outside the charity shop.

She looked at them carefully. They were so different from what she was used to, but

if she was going to blend in she had no choice but to wear them. She had noticed on

her walk through the park that all the women she had seen tended to wear similar

things, and this had made it easy for her to find suitable clothes quickly.

She dressed and looked at herself in the mirror again. She looked now like she would

blend in to the time she was in now. In appearance, at least. A few other things would

have to change if she was to truly blend in.

Her name, Mary Tudor was instantly recognisable so this would have to change. She

had thought long and hard about what to call herself. She had found a phone book

abandoned in one of the rooms, and had looked through it to find a common surname.

There were a lot of people called Smith, so she decided to adopt this as her surname.

Her first name, Mary, was common enough, so that could stay as it was. So far, so

good. Now for her voice. She thought back to the accents of the people she had

encountered. She would have to sound like them if she wanted to fit in. She had tried

saying a few things, and had eventually found an accent that wasn't too different from

those she had heard in the park and on the street.

These changes had helped her to blend in. And after a few days of being in the house,

she was convinced that no one would ever come there, so she had decided to stay.

There was only one problem. She had nothing with which to occupy her time. This

would not do. She was uncomfortable with being idle, as she had always had

something to do.

This had led to her becoming a volunteer at the Belfast Medieval History Museum.

This had happened entirely by accident, but nevertheless it was a turn of events that

she was more than happy with. Having nothing else to do, she had taken to walking

around the city during the day. If nothing else, it would familiarise her with her new

surroundings.

She had walked past the building the museum was in and the poster outside

advertising their current exhibit had caught her eye. She had studied the poster

carefully. The museum was currently displaying Books of Hours from the fourteenth

and fifteenth centuries. Now that was something that definitely interested her. She

pushed open the door and went inside.

A woman was standing at the door. She smiled at Mary. 'Hello' she said.

Mary smiled back. 'Hello.'

'Are you here to see the exhibit?'

'Yes I am. I'm very interested in books from that time.'

'That's great.' said the woman. 'Most people only come in here to get out of the rain.

It's nice to meet someone who's actually interested in learning something.' Mary

studied the woman carefully. She had a pleasant face, curly blonde hair and was quite

plump. 'Would you like me to show you around?'

'Yes, please.' said Mary.

They went into the room where the exhibit was kept. To Mary's dismay there were

very few books actually in the exhibit, and the main focus of the room was a series of

panels explaining the history of the Book of Hours and how it had been used as a

devotional by people in that time. She was very familiar with this, having used one

herself throughout her life. She concentrated on reading the panels as the woman she

had spoken to before explained the basic history of the works to her.

Mary listened carefully. Meanwhile, a thought was forming in her mind. She

pondered and pondered as she listened to the woman speaking.

'That was very interesting.' Mary said. 'They are lovely to look at, aren't they?'

'They are.' agreed her companion. 'I often wonder what it would be like to be a

medieval lady reading one of those books.'

Mary knew only too well what it was like to read those books as part of her daily

devotions but said nothing.

They walked back out to the entrance. The woman paused. 'I don't know if you'd be

interested, but we're looking for volunteers for the museum. We can't afford to pay

people, because the museum's so small and we don't get much funding, but we would

be able to give you money towards your travel expenses and things like that.'

Mary thought about it, but only for a second. It was just what she had been looking

for. It would give her something to occupy herself. 'That sounds great!' she said.

Things had gone well since then. She volunteered for a few days a week at the

museum, then the rest of the time was spent exploring the city she had found herself

in. She had been slightly concerned that the referees she had listed on her volunteer

application (who by now had been dead for over four hundred years) would pose a

problem but everything had gone smoothly and by the time she had started seeing

William Marcus she had been volunteering at the museum for six months. She had

been thinking about things during that time as well. Tossing and turning at night

mulling over her past and her unexpected present.

She had thought that she would maybe need to find someone to talk to. For some

reason, when she had seen William Marcus's name in the Yellow Pages (he hadn't

been recommended by a work colleague, she'd lied about that too) she had felt a

connection. This was something she couldn't explain either.

She got up, paused to take a book from the makeshift shelf, and knelt before the

crucifix on her wall. It was time for her nightly ritual. There was something about the

Latin prayers that comforted her, maybe it was the fact that they had been part of her

childhood, and her mother had taught them to her when she was very young. She felt

connected to her mother in a way, through her faith. Even though Marie knew that to

be so religious in the twenty first century was very uncommon, and some people

might see it as strange, her faith was very important to her and had sustained her this

far throughout her life.

She was not going to stop believing now, no matter what anyone said.

******

A week later, Mary sat opposite William Marcus as she began her second therapy

session.

'How have you been since the last session?' he asked.

'I've been quite well, thank you.' said Mary. 'I've been feeling a lot more positive

about everything, a little less lost, and I want to say again how happy I am that you

are helping me to sort things out.'

William smiled. 'I'm glad to hear it. And you know, Mary, I really do want to help

you, and as long as you're honest with me I'm confident I'll be able to do that.' He

paused. 'Have you been thinking any more about what we were talking about last

week?' he asked.

Mary nodded. She had decided to tell William some version of the truth. Not the

whole truth, at least, not yet, but she would be able to give him some kind of idea

about the real events which had happened to her throughout her life. She couldn't of

course, tell him her mother was Catherine of Aragon and her father was Henry VIII.

She would probably find herself in the nearest mental institution in a short space of

time if she were to disclose that secret.

'I have.' she said. 'I have been thinking a lot about my mother. What you just said,

about being honest, I really want to do that. Honesty has always been very important

to me. Some might have said it was too important to me.'

'When I was growing up, my mother was a very important figure in my life. From her

I inherited many of the things that I hold most dear in my life. My faith. My courage.

It all came from her. She taught me to be the woman that I am. It broke my heart that

I could not be there when she died.'

'Why couldn't you be there?' asked William gently.

'I was away at the time, and I wasn't able to get to her before she died.'

'Does that still make you sad?'

'Very.' said Mary softly.

'What was your mother like?' asked William.

'She was a very strong woman, she was able to stand up to my father, which not

many people were able to do. She was a very loving, caring person, and she was so

happy to finally have a child when I was born. She had had miscarriages and

stillbirths before I came along, you see. She'd had another child, but he died before he

was even two months old. She was very sad about that. About all her children. But

she knew that it was God's will. That it had pleased God to call them from this world.'

'Was she religious?'

'Yes, she was. She has passed her strong faith on to me. It is very important for me to

be true to my beliefs and to uphold the faith in the face of....' she trailed off, fearing

she had said too much.

'Go ahead.' said William.'Don't be afraid to say what's on your mind.'

'Yes, I know.' said Mary. 'What I meant to say was that nowadays it seems that there

is so much opposition to faith and it's important to me that I am true to what I believe

and what I know to be the truth.'

She felt relief that William had not seemed to notice the strangeness of what she had

begun to say. She must learn to be a little more guarded while she was talking to him.

'You say that your mother taught you to be true to your beliefs. How has this affected

your life, do you think?'

Mary paused before answering. 'I think sometimes it has made me unpopular. Other

people sometimes don't seem to understand the reasons why I have done things. I

think it's probably because they don't feel the same way I do.'

'What kind of things did you do?' asked William.

She paused again before answering. She had thought a lot about the events that had

happened during her reign since she had come to this time, and she knew that she

could not tell William the truth. At least, not yet. It was a very different time that she

had come to, and she knew that what was acceptable during her lifetime was

completely abhorrent now. Of course, William would know what had happened,

everyone did, but he would never associate those events with the woman sitting in

front of him. Of that she was sure.

'I made decisions that affected people's lives.' She paused. 'I don't feel that I can tell

you yet what those decisions were, I hope you can understand.'

'I do appreciate that, Mary' said William 'but if we are to get to the bottom of why

you feel the way you do about things, and what is going on in your mind, you will

have be honest with me and open up to me.'

'I know, said Mary, 'it's just that I'm finding it hard to be honest with you. I don't

mean that I've been lying to you, it's just that I find it hard to be honest with most

people and tell them how I'm really feeling.'

She paused.

'I have had to have my guard up for my entire life, can you understand what that is

like? I can't let my guard down in case I say the wrong thing.'

'What do you mean by that?' asked William.

'I...' she faltered, fumbling for an explanation. There was a silence. Then she spoke.

'I suppose I've always been aware of how what I say can have an effect, not just on

me, but on others around me.'

'Is this something that your mother taught you?'

She shook her head. 'This idea, this belief, really came from my father. He was a

difficult man sometimes, and often he would fly into a rage if someone said the

wrong thing.'

'Was he ever violent?'

She nodded. 'He was. People would often get hurt when he got angry.'

'Did you ever see him being violent?'

'No, but I heard about it from others after it had happened. Some of the things he did

were awful, he was worse than....I ever could have imagined.'

'So these rages, they were completely unexpected?' asked William.

Mary nodded. 'His personality seemed to change quite suddenly. One day he was a

kind father, then the next his behaviour was threatening.'

'So he was violent towards you.'

It was more of a statement than a question, but nevertheless Marie felt compelled to

answer.

'No, he never was. Although, sometimes, I did feel threatened by him.'

'You did?'

'He had a very bad temper, as I've already said, and he couldn't handle his authority

being challenged. I suppose he felt that I was challenging him, from time to time, and

he couldn't deal with it.'

'Was this as you were growing up? That you felt threatened?'

Mary nodded. 'Yes, it started when I was fourteen. I suppose, at that point, he was

determined that he was going to divorce my mother, and he thought that I was some

kind of obstacle to his plans. I didn't like the woman he was going to marry, and he

was completely besotted with her, and because I couldn't accept their relationship he

wasn't happy. He made this very clear on many occasions.'

William was intrigued. 'So your father was getting divorced from your mother,

essentially, so that he could marry another woman?'

Mary nodded.

'And how did that make you feel?'

'I felt that he had betrayed both my mother and I. She had loved him for a really long

time, and was devastated when he told her that he didn't want to be married to her any

more. It was very upsetting for her. I hated to see her being hurt like that.'

'And did you blame your father?'

'A little bit, but the one who was really responsible for it all was his mistress, the

woman he eventually married. She wouldn't settle for being his bit on the side, she

wanted to marry my father and would not have settled for anything else. As for him,

his head was turned by her and I always thought it was almost like she had put a spell

on him. He would never have divorced my mother if she hadn't come along. And my

mother wouldn't have died sad and alone, away from her only child, less than three

years later.'

William looked at the clock on the wall. 'Our time is up.' he said. In fact, they had

gone slightly over the allotted hour, so engrossed had William been with what Mary

was telling him.

Mary got up. 'Shall I make another appointment?'

He nodded. 'I feel that we're really getting somewhere here. If you carry on with this

therapy, you will no doubt be able to resolve your present difficulties.' He smiled.

'Suzanne will be able to make another appointment for you.'

He watched her as she walked out the door and went to the reception desk. He stood

with the door slightly ajar, his eyes on her as she chatted with his receptionist.

William couldn't shake the feeling that there was something that she was not telling

him. He was an experienced therapist, and knew by instinct when someone was not

being entirely truthful. He had been aware from the start that this was true in Mary's

case. Although he was beginning to realise that she was not deliberately lying to him.

He sensed that she was unable to tell him the truth for some reason.

He sighed and sat down in his chair. This client was beginning to cause him some

difficulty. He wanted to get at the truth, wanted her to open up to him but he was

beginning to realise that perhaps this was impossible for her for some reason. He

wished he knew what that reason was. In a way, he wished that he no longer had to

think about other people's problems. Not for the first time, he wondered if maybe his

earlier idea about closing his practice had been the right one. He had said that he

would wait until his trip to London with Jolene to make up his mind for sure, but now

he thought that he probably would be closing the practice sooner rather than later. It

wasn't something he wanted to do, but rather that he felt he had to do, for his own

peace of mind. There was no real reason for staying on, financially he and his wife

were well enough off and would be able to survive quite well without the income that

he brought in.

He heard the door shut and realised that Mary had gone. He went out into the

reception area, where Suzanne was poring over some paperwork.

'Did Mary make another appointment?' he asked.

'She did. A week on Wednesday at 2pm.'

'Did she talk to you about anything else?'

'No, she didn't' said Suzanne 'she just made the appointment, then left. Was there

something she'd forgotten?'

William shook his head. 'No, there's nothing. Thanks Suzanne.'

He went back into his office and shut the door. An idea was starting to form in his

mind. At the next session, if Mary was okay with it, he would try some

hypnotherapy. He had learned the technique some years ago, and although he had not

used it recently, he was confident that he still knew how to carry it out. Perhaps being

more relaxed would enable Mary to open up to him more easily, and she would be

able to tell him the things which she felt unable to say under normal circumstances.

As for Mary, she had left William's office in a somewhat strange state of mind. She

wondered if she could ever bring herself to tell him the truth about who she was. She

didn't quite understand herself how she had somehow managed to be in twenty-first

century Belfast, with so much emotion inside of her. Of course, she had always been

emotional, had always had feelings, but she had learned from a very young age that

she had to bottle them up and not betray what she was really thinking. Her one

refuge, the one place where she knew that she could always be honest was when she

was at prayer.

It was cold outside and Mary wished that she had worn something a little warmer.

She thought back to the clothes she had worn in the sixteenth century. She missed

them. The long skirts, the trailing sleeves and the jewels were exquisite and the drab

suit she was wearing now just didn't really compare to that finery.

Her mind couldn't quite grasp the fact that she was here, in twenty-first century

Belfast. It really was too much for someone from over four hundred years ago to take

in. She felt distinctly uncomfortable in the modern age, like a fish out of water. She

was frightened, far from all that she knew and above all she had felt compelled to

open herself up to the closest of scrutiny, with attending a psychotherapist's clinic.

She had no idea why she had done this. It was as if her lifelong need to make herself

understood had finally come to fruition, in the oddest of ways.

There were no therapists in the sixteenth century. Then she had talked to her

confessor, or her advisers, and had sought guidance from them. She was confused by

the myriad of leaflets she had seen in the waiting room of Mr Marcus's office, which

offered advice on everything from dealing with the break-ups of someone's parents'

marriage to coping with bereavement.

She thought back to when her mother had died. Mary had been living in her halfsister

Elizabeth's household at the time.

She had gone to bed early as she had had a headache. She had just been drifting off to

sleep when she had heard a knock at her door.

'Lady Mary?' a voice had called out. It was Lady Shelton, her sister Elizabeth's

governess. 'Are you awake?'

She had got up from the bed and opened the door. 'What is it?' she had asked.

'There is a letter for you. I think it is from your mother.'

She had opened it with anticipation but as soon as she had read it she had been

overcome with emotion. The letter was not from her mother, but one of her mother's

servants. It informed her that her mother had died a few days ago. Wordlessly, she

had handed the letter back to Lady Shelton who had also read it. Dumb with shock,

Mary had only been able to retreat back into her room and had closed the door. She

had wanted no one with her, no one would be able to comfort her. Her mother was

dead, she had died alone and separated from the man she had loved and the child she

had adored.

It had been a terrible time and one that she avoided thinking about as much as

possible now. The memory was too painful. So, Mary shook herself back into the

present day. She had things to do, which she would never be able to accomplish if she

allowed herself to be dragged back into the misery of the past.

*****

The day was cold and William Marcus was finding it hard to drag himself out of bed.

It was the middle of December by this point, and it was one of the harshest winters he

could ever remember.

On his way to the office he thought about the day ahead. He thought that perhaps

today would be the day that he would finally find out the truth about Mary Smith.

This idea implanted itself firmly in his brain as he walked from his house to the train

station, during his train journey, and then again on the short walk from the train

station to his office.

He arrived in his office to find Suzanne there. This was unusual. He usually arrived

before her.

'You're in early.' he said. He meant it just as a comment, but his tone of voice seemed

to Suzanne to be somewhat accusing. She glared at him.

'I couldn't sleep.' she said defiantly. 'I thought I might as well get an early start.'

William realised what he had done. 'I'm sorry for snapping at you.' He smiled at her

apologetically. 'Do you have my list for today?'

She handed it over. He studied it carefully, then handed it back. 'There's a name

missing.' he said.

Suzanne checked the list again. 'No,' she said firmly 'all your clients' names are on

there.'

'Mary's name's missing.' It was his turn to be firm.

'Oh, I forgot to say. She rang yesterday to cancel her appointment.'

'Did she make another one?'

'No, I asked her if she wanted to change to another time but she said no, that she

wanted to cancel completely.'

'Did she say why?' asked William.

'No.' said Suzanne.

William stormed into his office and slammed the door with such force that Suzanne

wondered if she shouldn't ring Jolene to tell her that her husband was behaving

strangely and she should come and collect him. She had never seen him like this. He

was usually so calm.

William was furious, and confused to boot. He had no idea why he was so upset. He

had dealt with this kind of situation before. He had had a few clients over the years

who, for one reason or another, had felt unable to continue their work with him.

But none of them had intrigued him quite as much as Mary Smith had.

There was something about her that he could not quite explain, something that drew

him in and made him want to know more. From that first time she had sat in his

office, just a few weeks ago, he had felt that she was hiding something. Now he

would never find out the truth.

He realised that he must have alarmed Suzanne with his strange behaviour, and that

he needed to apologise to her. He came out of his office and approached the reception

desk. Suzanne regarded him warily. She had never seen him so upset before, and she

wondered what had caused it. Surely it wasn't the loss of his client, that had happened

before and it had never affected him in that way.

'I'm sorry I flew off the handle there, Suzanne.' he said. 'I must have scared you.'

She nodded. 'I've never seen you like that before. Do you want to talk about it?'

He paused. How could he tell Suzanne what he was feeling? He wasn't quite sure

himself. It wasn't like him to get upset at losing a client, but then this was no ordinary

client. Of that he was sure.

'Thanks for the offer, Suzanne, but I think I'll be okay.' He started walking back

towards his office, then stopped. He turned to his receptionist. 'Suzanne, I think I've

become a bit more emotionally involved with Mary Smith than is advisable. It's

probably for the best that she won't be coming to see me any more.' He paused again.

'There's something I need to tell you. I've been thinking for a while about shutting up

shop. I think I've been inside other people's heads for far too long and I need to take a

break from it. What happened today has convinced me that it's the right decision. I

know you'll be out of a job and I'm sorry about that. You're a hard worker though,

and I'll be giving you an excellent reference. You've been a great help to me since

you started here. I know you won't have any trouble finding another job.'

Suzanne looked thoughtful. 'Thanks for letting me know. When do you think the

place will close?'

'I'm not sure.' William replied. 'I won't do anything until after Christmas though. Six

months, maybe?'

'At least the office is only rented, so you won't have to worry about selling the place.'

pointed out Suzanne.

'That's true' said William. 'Well, I'd better go and do some work.'

'Would you like a coffee?' asked Suzanne. 'I'm going to make one for myself.'

'That'd be lovely.' said William.

'Okay.' said Suzanne. 'I'll bring it into you when it's ready.'

The rest of the day passed without incident, and soon William was on the train

heading home.

Jolene was out when he arrived at the house, so he pottered about the kitchen, making

himself a cup of tea. He had just sat down when the door opened and his wife came in

with a woman he didn't recognise.

'Hiya, love.' the woman said.

Jolene made the introductions. 'William, this is Dolores, who I work with. Dolores,

this is my husband William,'

'Pleased to meet you.' said Dolores.

'Likewise.' said William. 'How are you?'

'Fine thanks. Not loving this weather though. It's awful cold. How are you?'

'Not too bad. I had a bit of a rough day, but I'll be fine.'

'Jolene says you're a psychotherapist.' said Dolores.

'That's right' said William. 'I've been doing that for more than thirty years.'

'You must get some interesting cases.'

He smiled, thinking of Mary Smith. 'Sometimes, yes.'

The three of them chatted for an hour or so over cups of tea. Eventually, Dolores

stood up.

'Well, I'll have to get home. My husband will be wondering where I am.'

Jolene and William stood up as well. 'Where do you live?' asked William.

'Just on the other side of the town' said Dolores.

'How did you get here? Do you need a lift home?' asked William.

'I'll take her.' said Jolene, 'You stay here and rest yourself.'

As the two women left, William settled down in front of the TV. He flicked aimlessly

from channel to channel before eventually finding some kind of apocalyptic drama

which intrigued him enough to take his mind off the events of the day. After a while,

he heard the front door opening.

'Jolene, is that you?' he called out.

There was no answer. However, after a few minutes his wife came into the room.

'Hi, honey, I'm home.' She smiled. 'How was your day?'

He decided not to mention that he had lost his temper. 'It was fine.'

'Just fine?'

He didn't answer.

'I thought I heard you tell Dolores you'd had a rough day?' his wife said.

'Did you?' he lied. 'I don't remember saying that. You must have misheard.'

Jolene shrugged. 'I probably did. You know what my hearing's been like. What are

you watching?' She gestured at the TV.

'Some drama about the end of the world. It's not too bad, actually.'

She made a face. 'Rather you than me. I'm going to make a cup of tea, do you want

one?'

William shook his head. 'I think I've had enough tea for tonight.'

His wife came back into the room with her drink and they watched the end of the

drama together. Afterwards, William said he was tired.

'It's been a long day. I'm going to go to bed.'

'I'll just finish this,' his wife gestured at the cup of tea in front of her. 'then I'll be up.'

William headed upstairs. He was tired, but at the same time his head was buzzing and

he knew he would probably find sleep difficult to come by that night. He had a

notebook that he kept by the side of his bed, which he wrote in when he had a lot on

his mind. He decided he would make use of it tonight.

He was still writing when Jolene came up. 'Are you okay?' she asked, as she got into

bed. 'You seem to be writing 'War and Peace' there.'

'Just got a lot on my mind.' he said. 'You know that I like to write these things down.

In a few months I'll look back and wonder what I was thinking!'

'Is there anything you want to talk about?' his wife asked.

'No, it's just silly stuff. Things to do with work. I don't like to bother you.'

'Well, I am your wife.' said Jolene. 'For better, for worse, and all that.' She paused.

'Well. I'm going to try and get some sleep. You should, too.'

William put the notebook down. 'You're right.' He switched off the bedside lamp and

lay down. 'Goodnight Jolene.'

He awoke in the middle of the night, not quite knowing why. Something was niggling

at the back of his mind and insinuating itself into his dreams. If only he knew what it

was.

He tried to go back to sleep but unconsciousness eluded him. That feeling was there

again. He couldn't quite grasp it, it kept slipping away, but it was there nonetheless. It

was an unfamiliar feeling to him. It was as if he was trying to remember something

that was buried far inside his mind.

He tossed and turned for a little while longer but it was no use. He couldn't get back

to sleep. He got up, put on his dressing gown and went downstairs. He poured

himself a glass of water and sat at the kitchen table. He had to work out what was

bothering him.

He had taken his notebook downstairs, and he looked at what he had written before

he had gone to sleep that night. It had mostly been about retiring from his profession.

Concerns that now he would no longer be working he would find it difficult to know

what to do with his time. At the bottom of the page he had written a name.

Mary Smith.

He couldn't get her out of his head. He knew that he was being irrational. If he hadn't

known any better, he would say that he was almost becoming obsessed with her.

With finding out who she really was. That feeling that had been niggling at him now

presented itself. William was faced with an uncontrollable desire to find out the truth

about this woman. She had not revealed her true self to him at all. Of that he was

sure.

He had to find out who she really was.

*****

William woke up the next morning none the worse for the broken sleep of the

previous night. He and Jolene assumed their normal morning routine.

William looked at the notebook in his hand. Under the name 'Mary Smith' he had

written 'Find out the truth.' This seemed to him to be a reasonable undertaking. Yet,

how was he going to do this? He would have to find her first.

He kissed Jolene goodbye and headed for the train station. The first thing he would

do when he got into the office was look at the form Mary had filled in at her first

appointment. That would contain some contact details. If she didn't want to talk to

him after he got in touch with her, then he would have to find some way of making

her tell him the truth. William had a burning desire to know what Mary's real story

was, and he would not rest until his task was accomplished.

He arrived at the office to find that Suzanne wasn't there. This was nothing unusual.

William often arrived at the office before she did. He went to the filing cabinet where

all the client details were kept. He opened it and started looking for Mary's forms.

Suzanne came in just as he was getting started.

'Good morning, Mr Marcus.' she sang.

'You're in a good mood.' he said.

'Well, it's better to have a positive attitude. That's what my granny used to say.' She

noticed the open filing cabinet. 'What are you looking for?'

'I'm looking for the form Mary Smith filled in at her first appointment.' he said.

'It'll be in the bottom drawer, with all the other ex-client's forms.' She winced as she

remembered how upset William had been yesterday. She rummaged through the pile

of papers, before pulling a form out. 'Here you are!' She handed it to him with a

flourish.

He looked at it. She had written her name and her address in neat handwriting, but

there was no phone number. He looked at Suzanne. 'Why didn't she leave a contact

number?' he asked.

'She said something about not having a land line at the minute because some work

was being done to her house, and she said she didn't have a mobile either. I did say

she would be best to leave a number in case we had to get in touch with her for any

reason, but she was insistent. If there were any problems, she said, we could always

contact the museum, and they would be able to get a message to her.'

William scanned the rest of the form for information. Other than her work

information there wasn't anything else listed. William sighed.

Suzanne looked at him oddly. 'What do you need her details for anyway? I don't think

she's going to come back. She came here of her own accord after all, and she can

leave if she wants to. It's voluntary. You know that.'

'What did you make of her?' asked William.

'I never really gave her much thought. She was nice enough. Just came in, sat down

and waited for her appointment time. There was one thing that freaked me out about

her though.'

'What was that?' asked William.

'Her eyes.' answered Suzanne. 'When she looked straight at me I felt like she was

trying to look inside me.'

William had not experienced this. 'Why do you think she was trying to look inside

you?'

'I don't know. It was just the way I thought she looked at me. Maybe I was wrong.'

'Maybe.' said William. He moved towards the door of his office, then stopped. 'Did

she ever talk to you?'

Suzanne shook her head. 'Just small talk. Hello, it's a cold day, that kind of thing.

Nothing deep and meaningful.' She looked at William. 'Why have you got such a bee

in your bonnet about her? You were upset yesterday, and now you're asking all these

questions. Is there something you're not telling me?'

He came back over to the reception desk. 'I don't know.' he said slowly. 'There's

something about her that intrigues me. I don't mean that I fancy her or anything like

that, but there's just something about her that makes me want to know more. And I

think she's hiding something. I got the feeling sometimes that when we were talking

she was thinking more about what to say, that in a way she was saying things that

weren't exactly the truth.'

'Do you mean she was saying what she thought you wanted to hear?' said Suzanne.

William shook his head. 'It was more like she wanted to tell me the truth, but couldn't

for some reason. Maybe that's why she's stopped coming. Maybe she couldn't handle

telling me the whole story.'

'I don't think that's it.' Suzanne said. 'Apart from the freaky-eye thing, I got the

impression that she was a very brave lady. She looked like someone that wasn't

scared of anything.'

William nodded. He had kind of got that impression too. 'So you don't think she'll be

back then?' he asked his receptionist.

'I doubt it. You'll be okay, though. You've lost clients before and you've always

bounced back.'

He knew this was true. He headed once again for his office. This time there were no

more questions for Suzanne. He shut the door behind him and sat down.

Now what was he going to do? He had no phone numbers for Mary, although he did

have an address. Maybe he could go round there. And then what? He was well aware

that if he went to her house he would look like some kind of stalker.

He had taken the form she had filled out into the office with him. He looked at the

address. Cromwell Road, just off Botanic Avenue. He calculated that it would take

him about twenty minutes at the most to walk there. He could always do it at

lunchtime and Suzanne or anyone else wouldn't have to know. He was just going

round to Mary's house to check if she was okay, he told himself. There was nothing

wrong with that. Of course, on the other hand, someone might say there was a lot

wrong with that. This was a woman who he had met twice, in a professional capacity,

who for one reason or another had decided to discontinue her appointments with him.

He was not her friend, nor had he any reason to go to her house other than intense

curiosity. He tried to reason with himself, but could not talk himself out of what he

was about to do. He knew it was highly unprofessional, but he felt compelled to do

this.

And after he did, it would really be time to shut up shop. All his feelings surrounding

Mary were convincing him of this more and more.

He had a few clients that morning and made half-hearted attempts to listen to them,

and to help them but he felt like he was having some kind of out of body experience.

He was not himself. He didn't know who or what he was, but for the past few weeks

he had been living someone else's life. It was like someone else had taken control of

his body and of his mind. William wasn't quite far gone enough to think that he was

possessed by something. That was a step too far.

Everything had changed for him the moment Mary Smith had walked into his office.

He had been different since then. Usually his clients barely scratched the surface with

him, he could be an observer in their lives but this woman was different.

It was now approaching one o'clock. His pre-lunchtime client had just left. He went

out to the reception area. Suzanne was just putting her coat on.

'Are you going out for lunch?' she asked.

William nodded. He felt slightly uncomfortable about lying to her, but he could

hardly tell her what he was about to do. She would think it was a terrible idea.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew that it was.

He left his office and started walking in the direction of the University area. It was a

crisp day, and he could feel the cold biting his fingers. He slipped them into his

pockets, wishing that he had worn gloves.

On the walk over he reasoned with himself. He was being a good therapist, caring for

his client. He did not want her to come to any harm. Yet, he knew in a way that he

was being anything but reasonable.

He reached his destination fairly quickly. He walked quickly down the street,

scanning the house numbers quickly. Mary had given her address as number 25. He

paused. The house looked unoccupied and had a for sale sign outside. It didn't look

like it could be the right address, but then that was the one that she had given him.

There was a young woman walking up towards the door of the neighbouring house.

He called over to them.

'Hi there, I'm wondering if you can help me? I'm looking for the lady who lives here.

Mary Smith. Do you know her?'

The young woman shook her head. 'Sorry, but as far as I know that house is empty.

They've been trying to sell it for ages. Only people I ever see round there are coming

to view it.'

William's heart sank. 'Thanks anyway.' he said.

Glumly, he made his way towards the end of the road. It had been a wasted journey.

If he had only looked up he would have seen something which would have convinced

him that this was not the case. Mary was watching him from the first floor window.

Her features did not give away how she felt, but inwardly she was afraid. This man

might find out everything about her before she was ready to tell him. This could not

happen. She would have to find some way of warning him off. He could only find out

who she was when it was the right time for him to do so. It would possibly ruin

everything if he were to stumble upon the truth now.

*****

William woke up the next morning thinking he was about to give up on finding Mary

Smith. If she had given a false address and no other contact details then she obviously

didn't want to be found.

There was just one more thing he could try. He could always go to the Belfast

Medieval History Museum and look for her there.

He phoned Suzanne and told her he would be a bit later in today. He had no

appointments booked until the afternoon anyway, so it wouldn't seem too strange.

He got the train as normal, only instead of getting off at Adelaide Station as he

usually did he stayed on the train until it terminated at Great Victoria Street. There,

he got off and walked to the Cathedral Quarter. The museum was just behind St

Anne's Cathedral.

The woman at the door smiled at him as he walked in. 'Can I help you?' she asked.

William looked around. There was an exhibit on medieval warfare, which seemed to

consist of a lot of information panels but not much else. He wondered if many people

ever came here.

'I'm looking for Mary.' he said.

'She's not in today.' said the woman. 'My name's Louise. Can I help you with

anything?'

'No, it's a personal visit really. Do you know where I might find her? I need to get in

contact with her urgently.'

Louise looked thoughtful. 'I know she goes to mass at St Malachy's Church a lot.

She's mentioned it a few times. She seems to really like it there. She mentioned one

of the priests, Father Tunstall. I think he's been helping her with some things.'

'Thanks.' said William.

'I'll let her know you dropped in.' said Louise.

William was about to tell her not to, but thought better of it at the last minute. What

harm could it do if she knew he had been looking for her?

The next stop was St Malachy's Church, on Alfred Street.

William approached the door, feeling rather nervous. In a way, he didn't want to do

this, but he felt that he had to, if he was ever going to find out the truth about Mary

Smith. He followed the rest of the Mass-goers into the sanctuary, resisting the

temptation to look around him as he did so. Instead, he sat down and focused on

looking straight ahead. It had been a long time since he had been at a church service

of any description. Of course, there were the obligatory visits to cathedrals and

churches when he and Jolene had been on holiday, but this was not quite the same

thing.

The priest stood up. William wondered if this was Father Tunstall, who Louise,

Mary's colleague had mentioned. He began to intone the opening words of the Mass.

They held little interest for William, and he was glad when he heard the final words.

'The Mass has ended. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.'

William approached the priest as he stood at the door after the service.

'Are you Father Tunstall?'

'Yes, that's right.' said the priest.

'I believe we share a mutual friend, Mary Smith.' said William.

'Yes, Mary comes to mass here quite regularly.' said the priest. 'How do you know

her?'

William paused. Should he tell the priest the truth? He didn't see why not. 'She's had

a few counselling sessions with me and now she's rung to say she's not going to come

back. I'm worried about her and just want to check if she's all right. I don't suppose

she ever said anything to you about what was going on?'

The priest shook his head. 'No, she didn't.' he said. 'And even if she had, I couldn't tell

you.'

William left feeling disheartened. Maybe it was time to give up his search. Maybe he

was not meant to find out the truth. He disconsolately made his way to his office,

deciding on the way there that if Mary had gone for good, then that was a sign that he

should focus on the rest of his patients.

A few afternoons later he was in a counselling session with another client when a

knock came to the door. He opened it to find Suzanne standing there.

'I don't like to interrupt you,' she said 'but there's a phone call I think you might want

to take. It's Mary.'

William's heart skipped a beat. He went over to the phone and picked up the receiver.

'Hello, Mary.' he said. 'I'm so glad you rang. I'm glad you're okay. I....'

She interrupted him. 'William, I just spoke to Louise. She said that you came here the

other day looking for me. And Father Tunstall said you were at the church as well.'

'I was worried about you.' he protested. 'I wanted to make sure you were okay.'

'William.' Mary's voice was firm. 'Please don't try to find me. There are things that

you don't know about me and I want it to stay that way. For now. I can't and won't tell

you until I'm ready. If that ever happens.'

The line went dead.

Mary had gone.

PART TWO

FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

William Marcus was getting ready to move house.

It was something that he had thought about for a long time after the events

surrounding Mary Smith, and he had decided that he and Jolene would sell their

house and move away. They had looked at a few places, and had eventually decided

to buy a little cottage just outside the village of Redcastle, in County Donegal. It was

far enough away from William's previous life to be attractive, but not so far away as

to leave them distanced from their relatives and friends.

The problem with moving out of a house that had been home for thirty years was the

amount of possessions that had been accumulated in the intervening time. Which was

why William now found himself in the attic sorting through boxes. It was in some

ways a boring task, but one that he hoped would prove cathartic for him. Over the

past year, William had tried to forget the mysterious woman who had so intrigued

him. He had tried but not failed completely. She had always been at the back of his

mind.

He had taken a break after she had stopped coming to see him. He and Jolene had

gone to London to visit Claire and William had concentrated during the trip on trying

to put the past few months behind him. He had more or less managed it, only

occasionally did thoughts of Mary enter his head, but for the most part he had

managed to push her to the back of his mind. After coming back from London, he

and Jolene had had a long talk and decided that a fresh start would be best.

Looking at the mountain of boxes in front of him, William decided that he had better

make a start on going through them. He picked up the first of the boxes and opened

them.

He picked up a handful of papers that lay on top. They looked like they had come

from his office. He leafed through them. They didn't look important, so he checked

them for staples before putting them in the pile for shredding.

A letter fell out.

He picked it up and studied the envelope. It had no postmark, which meant that it had

been hand delivered. He opened the envelope and started to read the letter.

Dear Mr Marcus,

I would like to apologise for my abruptness towards you a few days ago, when I

spoke to you on the phone. I did not mean to be so harsh with you, but the lengths

you had gone to in trying to find me had scared me a little.

As I told you before, there are things that you do not yet know about me. I have often

wanted to tell you, to contact you and to let you know the truth, but I have never yet

felt that the time has been right to do so. I would like to be able to tell you the truth in

this letter, but I feel that it would be better done face to face. When the time comes to

tell you the truth, I will contact you again.

Your friend

Mary Smith.

William looked again at the letter, and the envelope, trying to ascertain when the

letter had been written. It must have been at least nine months ago, as he had left his

practice at the end of the previous June. William was less interested in the timing of

the letter's writing and delivery than in the fact that it confirmed in black and white

what he had thought for a long time, and indeed what Mary herself had alluded to

when she had phoned him all those months ago to warn him off.

Mary had been hiding something, and she would tell him the truth when the time

came, as she had put it.

He had to tell Jolene. He had not told her the full story at the time, partly because he

wanted to keep it to himself, and partly because he did not want to worry her. Now he

had to seek her advice.

He went downstairs to where his wife was in the living room, sorting through piles of

old photographs. 'I'm going to put the kettle on.' he announced, 'Would you like a cup

of tea?'

His wife smiled. 'That would be lovely.'

He put his hand on her shoulder affectionately as he walked past her into the kitchen.

He switched the kettle on. While he was waiting for it to boil, he went through what

he was going to say to Jolene. He opted for the truth. It was the least risky option.

He carried the steaming mugs of tea through to the living room and set one on the

carpet beside his wife. He set his own mug down and plonked himself on the floor

opposite her.

'I got a letter.' he said. 'From Mary Smith.'

'Who?' asked Jolene.

William sighed inwardly. He had told Jolene briefly about her, but she obviously

didn't remember. He was going to have to tell the whole story from the start.

'Do you remember,' he began 'at the end of 2009 I had a client who stopped coming

after two sessions? She was one of my 'freebies', as you always insisted on calling

them. I was convinced she was hiding something and in fact I got a bit obsessed with

finding out her secret and I even went round to the address she'd given me to look for

her.' He didn't see the need to tell his wife the other lengths he had gone to in trying

to find out the truth about Mary Smith.

He stopped and looked up at Jolene. She didn't look too happy with the revelation

that he had been obsessed with one of his patients, even slightly, but she motioned for

him to continue.

'I never did find her. She just walked out of my office one day and never came back.

Disappeared into thin air, as they say. She rang me shortly afterwards because she'd

found out that I'd been looking for her and told me to stay away. Not in so many

words, but that was the gist of it.'

'And you didn't tell me any of this.' said Jolene softly. She didn't sound angry, just

matter of fact.

'I felt a bit foolish.' said William. 'I didn't even understand what I was thinking

myself, let alone explain it to someone else. And I'm a psychotherapist. I'm supposed

to help people with this kind of stuff. I'm not meant to behave that way myself.'

'So, what's made you want to tell me now?' said Jolene. 'After what, fifteen months?'

'I found a letter she'd written.' said William. 'It made me think about her again. I had

forgotten about her, more or less, then this letter appeared.'

'But she didn't write it recently. Did she?' asked his wife.

'No, it was written a few days after she'd rung me.'

'So what does the letter say?' asked Jolene.

William sighed. 'In the letter, Mary basically apologises for being so abrupt with me,

but says that there are things that I don't know about her that she's not ready to tell

me. Yet.'

'It sounds a bit strange to me.' said Jolene. 'What kind of things is she talking about?'

'I honestly don't know.' said William. 'Maybe she's just having a laugh.'

'That would be more like it.' agreed Jolene. 'Either that or she's desperate. I can't

imagine anyone wanting to tell you their secrets!'

'You're a cheeky cow.' huffed William. 'I don't know why I married you.'

Jolene laughed. 'Do you think she'll get in touch again?'

'I don't know. If there are things she wants to tell me, she might. But if she leaves it

much longer we'll have moved and she'll not be able to contact me. Which might be

for the best.' He sighed again. 'She'll just have to find someone else to bare her soul

to.'

The next few weeks passed fairly uneventfully for William and Jolene. They

continued to pack up more of their house, although they weren't moving for another

few weeks, and William tried to forget about the letter he had received. Not for the

first time, he was glad that he had taken early retirement. He no longer had to think

about what was bothering other people and how best to help them.

A few days later, it was yet another day in the seemingly unending saga of packing

and clearing out that had taken William and Jolene's life over for the last few months.

William got up around eight, had breakfast then settled down to pack up the

remainder of their belongings in the living room. He had been doing this for a few

hours when he heard a faint plop on the doormat. William walked to the front door.

He picked up his post and looked through it. Mainly bills. There was an unfamiliar

handwritten envelope among them, though. William opened it to find another

envelope, this time with more familiar handwriting on it. His heart was pounding as

he ripped it open.

Dear Mr Marcus

I need to see you. The time has come for me to tell you my story. I am afraid, but I

know that I must do it.

Meet me at the Ulster Museum at 2pm on Tuesday.

Your friend

Mary Smith.

Today was Tuesday. How had she known? He looked at his watch. It was just after

ten. There was a train at five to twelve, he would take that train in to the city and

make sure that he arrived with plenty of time to spare.

The rest of the morning passed fairly uneventfully. As Jolene was working, William

didn't have to worry about telling her where he was going. He left the house at half

past eleven, giving himself plenty of time to get to the train station and buy his ticket.

On the train, he thought about Mary. Would he recognise her after all this time?

He had no need to worry. At two o'clock, William was standing outside the Ulster

Museum when he noticed a woman walking towards him He realised it was Mary.

Even though he had recognised her at once, she looked different to how he

remembered her. She was more relaxed somehow, and she had a confident air that he

had not noticed before. Then again, he had only met the woman twice, although he

had thought so much about her since their meetings that he now felt as if she was a

close friend.

She walked up to him. 'Hello, Mr Marcus.' she said, formally. 'Are you well?'

He nodded. 'I am thank you. And how are you? It's good to see you. Although I was a

little surprised to hear from you.

'I have been well.' she told him. 'I am sorry about before. There was something that I

wanted to tell you, something important, but it wasn't the right time so I had to leave

before you discovered the truth.'

'And is now the right time?' he asked. He was a little confused by this carry on. What

could she possibly have to tell him that required a 'right time' to do so? And how did

she know that now was the right time as opposed to fifteen months earlier? William

had no idea, but he decided to humour Mary nonetheless.

Mary nodded. 'I am sure that it is.'

There was an awkward moment where neither of them spoke. Each of them was

wondering what to do next. Eventually, William broke the silence.

'Would you like to go for a coffee?'.

Mary shook her head. 'We need to go inside the museum.' she said firmly.

William knew that whatever she wanted to see inside the museum was linked to

whatever she was going to tell him. They climbed the steps side by side and at the

entrance William paused. 'Is there anything in particular you want to go and see?' he

asked.

'The Spanish Armada exhibit.' she said softly.

It was on the second floor. They climbed the stairs in silence. At the door leading in

to the exhibit Mary turned to William.

'Whatever happens in here, promise me that you won't run away.'

He nodded. 'I promise.' He wondered what on earth she was going to tell him.

They walked around until Mary stopped at a picture. William looked at it. A serene

looking woman was sitting on a chair. Beside her stood a man who looked almost

like he didn't belong in the picture. He looked at the writing on the panel below.

'Philip and Mary.' he read.

He turned to the woman standing beside him. 'I don't understand. Why have you

brought me here?'

'I told you that I was going to tell you the truth.' She paused. 'That was my motto.

Truth, the daughter of time.'

Something long-forgotten was stirring at the back of William's mind. He looked

again at the picture. The woman looked strangely familiar.

Mary took a deep breath. She had to tell him now, or she never would.

'I am the woman in that painting.'

William looked at her. Had he misheard? He didn't think so. Yet, he couldn't believe

what she had said.

A moment or two passed, then he realised that she was looking at him expectantly

and that he had better say something.

'How is that possible?' he asked. 'I don't mean to sound negative, but I spend so much

of my life dealing with irrational behaviour and this seems, well, really irrational to

me.' Although, as he said the words, he knew that what she said was true. He had

known that she was hiding something and now he knew what it was. He hadn't

expected the truth about her to be quite so strange, though.

'I came to this time through the picture.' she said. 'At least, I think it happened that

way. When I realised that I had arrived in this time I turned round and the picture was

behind me. I didn't really know what had happened, or why I had come here. Or even

who had brought me. I still don't know the answers to these questions.'

'Are you a ghost?' asked William.

'I'm not sure. I think if I was a ghost people wouldn't be able to see me. And I have

talked to a lot of people since I arrived.' She laughed. 'They talked to me as well, so I

know that they saw and heard me. I don't know if that happens with ghosts.'

William didn't know either. 'How did you feel when you arrived?' he asked.

'I felt very confused to begin with. I had no idea where I was, what city I was in. I

had barely even heard of Belfast, and had never visited before. I realised very quickly

though, that I was here for a reason, and that I would have to blend in if I was to fulfil

what I had come to do.'

While William and Mary had been talking, they had walked through the rest of the

exhibits on the second floor, and had now reached the stairs.

'Would you like a coffee?' he asked. He thought that this would give them more of an

opportunity to chat.

'I have never tasted coffee.' she said. 'We never had it, where I came from. I would

like to try it though.'

They went to the café and William motioned for Mary to take a seat. 'I'll get the

coffees.' he said.

He came back with two mugs of coffee and several sachets of sugar. He set the mugs

on the table. 'Thanks.' said Mary.

'You're welcome.' said William.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Mary spoke.

'What would you like to know?' she asked. 'You must have a lot of questions.'

'I do.' said William. 'I don't know if you'll be able to answer them though. I want to

know why you're here in Belfast. You had no connection with this place, why were

you brought here?'

'I don't know.' said Mary. 'All I know is that I was sent here for a reason. The place

and time do not make sense to me, but I know that it all has happened for a purpose.'

William thought a lot about what that purpose might be as he walked to the train

station, sat through the train journey, and walked the short distance to his home,

where he knew his wife would be waiting for him. He would have to tell her what

had happened.

It took him all the way through dinner and three cups of tea before he felt able to do

that.

'I met Mary today.' he blurted out. 'She was hiding something from me. It turns out

she's actually Queen Mary I and she came to twenty-first century Belfast through a

painting in the museum.'

Jolene choked on her tea. 'You are joking!' she said, when she finally recovered. She

noticed William's face was crestfallen. 'You're not, are you?'

William shook his head. 'No, I'm not. She's told me who she is, and I believe her.'

'William, how much do you know about this woman?' asked Jolene seriously. 'You

had two sessions with her well over a year ago. Now she's turned up claiming to be a

sixteenth century queen. It all sounds a bit mad to me. I don't know how you can

believe something so odd. You're a sane man. And you've spent most of your life

helping other people to be sane, too. This isn't like you.'

'I know it's not' agreed William.'But I know that I've found the truth.'

'How did she get here?' asked his wife.

'She's a bit vague on those details.' admitted William. 'The important thing is that she

is here, and she believes it's for a reason. I believe it, too.'

His wife looked thoughtful for a second, then she spoke. 'I know these things don't

happen in real life. They can't. It's impossible for a human being who's been dead for

over four hundred years to come back to life. I certainly can't believe it. But you

obviously have your reasons for doing so, and I'll just have to accept that. I did

promise to take you in sickness and health, after all. Maybe this is your sickness.'

William moved closer to his wife and kissed her. 'Thanks.' he murmured. 'It means a

lot to me.'

'So, will you be meeting her again?' asked Jolene.

'We've arranged to meet again next week at the same time. Do you mind?'

Jolene thought for a moment. 'No, I don't mind.'

*****

William and Mary were walking through the Botanic Gardens. It was a beautiful

sunny spring day, and everything was starting to come back to life. William loved

this time of year.

He and Mary had spent much of the time talking about her life. William was curious

to hear her story. He knew so little about her, and was surprised by the things that he

learned. She really was a remarkable woman.

They were walking down by the ravine when Mary turned to him. 'We've spent so

much time talking about me. I'd like to find out more about you.' She smiled. 'Are

you married?'

'Yes' said William. 'I've been married to Jolene for thirty four years now. She used to

be a history teacher but gave it up a few years ago. Now she works in a card shop in

Moira. That's where we live.' He looked at her to make sure she had understood, but

she was nodding, thoughtfully. He had forgotten that she had learned to adapt well to

modern life in the time she had been here. Not for the first time, he wondered if he

would be so resilient were he to find himself suddenly in the twenty-fifth century.

'Do you have any children?' Mary enquired.

'We had one child, our daughter Claire. She lives in London. We went to visit her just

before Christmas. It's hard sometimes with her being so far away, and we miss her

but she's doing really well for herself. She did a degree in Fine Art at Edinburgh, then

she got a job working in a small gallery. Then she got another job in London a few

years ago, and she decided to move there. I wouldn't like to live in such a big city, but

she loves it.'

They walked on a little further in companionable silence. Then William spoke. 'Did..

do you have any children?' he asked Mary. He couldn't really remember if she had

had any or not, but then history had never been his strong point, despite the fact that

he was married to a history teacher.'

'I never had any children.' she said. 'I wanted to, but it never happened. A few times I

thought that I was with child, but I was only fooling myself and most of those around

me. It was a difficult time. The people who hated me used what happened to prove

that God was not with me. That was not the way I saw it. God had been with me

during my whole life, through all my struggles, and He had not left me.'

They were now walking through the rose gardens and Mary stopped suddenly. 'The

flowers are so beautiful, aren't they?' she remarked. She went over to a nearby bench

and sat down. All was quiet for a few moments. William looked at her, this woman

from the past. He could scarcely believe she was really here. She seemed to be lost in

thought. Then she spoke again.

'I did not have a child because it was not God's will. I did not fully understand why it

did not happen, but God's ways are not our ways. It is not for me to question

Almighty God.'

'You have a very strong faith.' William remarked.

'I always have' said Mary. 'Ever since I was young. I knew that God was always with

me, and that he was my hope in this world. He was with me through all my trials. I

was comforted by that knowledge, and by the presence of the Holy Sacrament

wherever I was. That was my sustenance during the darkest days of my life, when I

was separated from my mother and rejected by my father. I knew that God was with

me when I was persecuted by my brother for being true to the faith. I refused to stop

celebrating mass in my house. They tried to force me to comply, but I did not give in.'

'I would have thought going through an experience like that would have made you

more tolerant.' remarked William.

'What do you mean?' asked Mary.

William thought for a moment before speaking. How could he phrase this? There was

no nice way to tell someone they generally weren't well though of.

'It's just that the things you authorised back then have made you quite unpopular

down through the centuries.' said William.

'You mean the burnings.' said Mary, matter-of-factly. 'I know what people think of

me. I know they call me 'Bloody Mary.' I've heard the things they say. I wish I could

say that if I had another chance I would go back in time to change it all, but I know

that I would never do that. I could never have done things differently. The faith which

my mother had passed down to me was far too important for me to allow it to be

destroyed by heretics!' She had become quite agitated, William noticed. Her

previously calm demeanour had been replaced by something which was on the verge

of being frightening. William knew that this was a woman who was not to be messed

with; no one could challenge her deepest held beliefs and remain unscathed.

'I was doing God's work.' she said more calmly. 'It was all for His glory. Surely you

can understand that?'

I'm afraid I can't.' said William. 'I can't see how God's work would involve killing

people who didn't, or don't believe the same as those in power do. I heard someone

say once that if you kill in God's name, you make God an accomplice in an evil act. I

don't see how God can be glorified by what happened.'

'I thought you might have understood.' said Mary sadly. 'I was wrong. Now it's all

been wasted.' This last part was so faint she may have been talking to herself, for all

William knew.

'Nothing's been wasted.' said William firmly. 'Just because I don't understand doesn't

mean I don't want to at least try to have some idea of where you're coming from. Life

now is so different, I think, to what it must have been like for you back then. It's hard

for me to get my head round it, that's all.'

'I have found that people in this day and age don't understand.' said Mary. 'Most of

them don't want to understand. That's why I choose you to tell my story to. I could

see from the start that you're different.'

'That doesn't mean I don't want to ask difficult questions.' said William. 'I want you to

think very carefully about this. Have you ever felt like you blamed the wrong people

for what happened in your life?'

Her voice was firm. 'I never blamed anyone. What happened was God's will.'

'Was it?' he asked. 'Or was that just what you told yourself to make it easier to accept

what was happening?'

He wasn't expecting the reaction he got. Her eyes filled with tears and very soon she

was sobbing uncontrollably. William steered her off the main path and off to a

secluded bench where no one could see them. Mary cried for a while, William's arm

around her shoulders to comfort her, then she sat up.

'I didn't blame anyone.' she said. 'I wasn't vindictive and I wasn't bent on revenge. I

know people say that I was. It's not true though.'

'So why did you do things the way you did?' asked William.

Mary stood up. 'I wish you would stop asking me all these questions!' she cried.

'Mary, it's what I do.' said William softly. 'I try to find out what's going on in people's

minds. You were the one who came to me and told me you wanted me to know the

truth. So I'm asking you for the truth.'

'It's no use.' she said softly. 'I have told you the truth and you don't believe me. No

one will ever believe me. No one will ever understand. No one has, not through the

centuries. They have never seen past the half-truths that have been written, to the

woman that I really am. I had thought that now, when I have come in person to tell yo

my story, that you would understand. I thought that you were someone who would

listen. I was wrong. This has all been for nothing. Goodbye, Mr Marcus.'

Now she was running, desperate to get back to where she had come from. Away from

William Marcus and all that she had tried to do. As she ran, she was crying. She did

not know why, but as she felt the tears fall on her face there came with them a sense

of relief. She had failed in her quest, but now she could rest, secure in the knowledge

that at least she had tried.

She walked sadly up the steps to the museum for the final time. She knew that it was

time for her to leave, that her quest for understanding had come to an end, and had

proved fruitless. She felt as if she were made of lead. She climbed the stairs to the

second floor, her destination being the place where, a few weeks ago, she had told

William Marcus who she really was.

She moved to the picture and stood in front of it. The echoes of her life called to her,

down the centuries. She touched the surface and her fingers all but disappeared. She

drew back, hesitant, reluctant to commit herself to an eternity beside the husband who

in life had abandoned her when she needed him most. And yet, she could not stay

here forever. She steeled herself and began to step forward.

'Mary, stop!'

She turned. William was standing there, his hand outstretched towards her. He had

seen what she was about to do, and had known that he must stop her. He didn't want

her to go without knowing the truth. It was true that he could never understand her,

she was a sixteenth-century woman, and he found the ladies from his own age hard

enough to understand at times. Even though he didn't understand Mary, how her mind

worked and how strong her beliefs were, he knew that he could accept her for who

she was. He wanted her to know this, too.

'Please don't go.' he said.

She shook her head. 'I can't stay. I must go. Philip will be expecting me.' She laughed

bitterly. 'Isn't it ironic that I'm spending so much time beside a man that I hardly ever

saw during my lifetime. I don't think he ever really cared for me.' she said sadly.

'He may not have cared for you, but I do.'

'You're just being kind.' she said flatly.

William moved closer towards her. 'It's true. I know that we are centuries apart, and I

can't understand why you think the way you do, but that doesn't mean I don't care

about you. That doesn't mean I don't accept you for who you are.' He sighed. 'Ever

since you walked into my office that day I have been on a journey. One that you have

taken me on, even if you haven't realised it. You have opened my mind. You came to

this century in person and that's just unlike anything I have ever experienced before.

If someone had told me I'd meet you, and that I'd actually be quite fond of you, I

wouldn't have believed them. You're completely different to what I expected, and I

want to make sure as many people as possible know that.'

At last, Mary knew that she had not failed in her quest. She was accepted for who she

was. She had found someone willing to look beyond the myth and see the real woman

there. She moved towards William. 'Thank you.' she said.

All of a sudden, the air in the room changed. Mary held out her hand. She felt the gap

between this time and where she had been previously lessen, until it was paper thin.

William must have felt it too, for he moved even closer. He didn't want her to go. He

would have cut off his right arm if he had thought it would mean she could stay here,

as she was, but he knew that this was impossible. He held out his hand. She moved

closer and closer until their hands were touching. Then, wordlessly, she let go of

William's hand and moved towards the picture.

She seemed to fade away slowly, from William's view, yet in reality, she disappeared

in a very short space of time. For a few seconds William just stood rooted to the spot.

He was overwhelmed by what he had just experienced.

Eventually, he moved from where he had been standing and stood before the picture,

looking at it. It was no different now to what it had been when Mary had first shown

it to him, and had told him who she really was.

He walked aimlessly around before deciding that he needed some fresh air. He left

the museum the way he had come, out the front door and down the steps towards the

Botanic Gardens. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and it was the sight of

them that brought tears to William's eyes.

A woman walking her dog stopped to speak to him. 'Are you all right, son?' she asked

kindly.

William wiped his eyes. 'I'm fine.' he said. 'I've just said goodbye to a friend of mine

who I don't think I'll see again. It's been a bit of an emotional time.' He smiled

weakly. 'I'll be OK, thanks.'

The woman nodded. 'Take care of yourself.' She walked off, her small dog trotting

after her.

William walked through the gardens. He had no idea where he was headed. He knew

he would have to go home eventually, and tell Jolene all that had happened, but for

now that seemed very far away. He was entirely focused for now on Mary, how she

had come into his world, how she had allowed him to know her, and then how she

had left, so unexpectedly it seemed. William knew she had always been aware that

her time was short, but he had not expected her to leave so quickly.

He sighed. He needed a few days to think about what had happened, to digest it all.

Maybe he could try his time honoured method of writing it down. This had gone by

the by recently, what with the forthcoming house move, but he was aware that he

needed to get back to his journal keeping. He had to think about all that had

happened, and what his next step was. He knew that something lay beyond all of this

for him, but he did not quite know yet what it was.

Eventually, he made his way to the train station and boarded the train for Moira. It

was fairly quiet, so the journey gave him a chance to reflect. He thought a lot about

what had happened to him, not just today, but over the past eighteen months. It had

been a strange time. Even now, a few hours after she had gone, it all seemed like a

dream, too far-fetched to have ever been reality.

Jolene was cooking when he arrived home.

'She's gone.' he announced, as he went into the kitchen.

'Who has?' asked Jolene absent-mindedly. She didn't mean to be flippant, it was just

that the recipe she was following was complicated and required her full attention.

'Mary's gone.' said William. 'She's gone.'

His eyes filled with tears. 'What is wrong with me?' he shouted. 'How could someone

make me feel the way she did?'

'William.' Jolene walked over to her husband. Her tone was soft. 'I know, at least I

hope I do, that the answer to this question is going to be 'no', but I have to ask it. Are

you in love with her?'

William looked at his wife. 'Of course not.' he said weakly. 'I know it might look that

way, but honestly, I'm not. I never was. There was just something about her that

intrigued me from the very start. I don't think she was in love with me, either. She

talked about having chosen me to tell her secret to, but I don't think there was

anything romantic behind that.'

'So what are you going to do now?' asked his wife. 'Now that she's gone?'

'We are going to move house.' said William. 'Just like we planned to do.'

*****

William Marcus walked along the beach at Benone.

He looked at the sand in front of him. How many people have walked on this beach?

he thought. How many stories could this sand tell?

He knew from his past experiences that stories were important. They shaped the

world. More than that, he knew they had a power that lay beyond the lives of the

people about whom the stories were told. The echoes of their lives reached down

through the centuries, calling out to those who would listen and be willing to search

for the truth.

He had listened to the truth about Mary. What she had told him about herself would

live with him until the day he died. He would not forget her. He had not yet decided

what to do with the insights he had gained, but he knew one thing.

The truth must be told.

****************************************

Author's Note

This is a work of fiction. The events detailed here are imaginary and any resemblance

to actual events are purely coincidental. My characters, apart from those in the public

domain, are also imaginary and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely

coincidental. The Ulster Museum, St Malachy's Church and the Botanic Gardens all

exist and are are well worth a visit. The Belfast Medieval History Museum does not

exist.

I would like to thank Stuart Dickinson for coming up with the character 'Mr Marcus'

as part of an exercise in our creative writing class. Also for being a brilliant creative

writing tutor and helping me to realise my potential.

I would have been completely unable to write this book without all the amazing

research that has been done recently into the life of Mary I. I have found Linda

Porter's biography 'Mary Tudor : The First Queen' and Anna Whitelock's book 'Mary

Tudor : Englands First Queen' excellent sources of information. There is also a lot od

useful information about Mary on the internet – particularly 'The Anne Boleyn Files'

and 'The Elizabeth Files' which contain information not only on the life of Mary, but

on the whole Tudor period.

mylifeasasongtitle

Tuesday 31 May 2011

Ghost Stories

Monday 23 May 2011

Next project!

Sunday 22 May 2011

Echoes