Spring was a little late arriving, but they enjoyed the first warm day of the year with a short walk to Leicester Square.

"So neither of us have heard anything from either of Them for several months now," said Craig. "Not a surprise." He stepped over the water running down the gutter. The drain was clogged with leaves and cigarette ends.

"It's a shame you fell out with each other," said Martha. "Maybe it's good that you're having a break from each other. You can have a chat next time you meet and be friends again."

"He was getting too close, Martha," said Craig. "He wanted to take away my decision. As if he was in charge of history. My history."

They stood on St. Martin's Lane and looked up the little path that led to Charing Cross Road. Book shops stood on each side of the path.

"Don't worry about it. He has that effect on everyone." She sipped coffee from a waxed paper cup. It tasted thin and horrible but warmed her hands.

"Maybe we should go around the theater, Martha," he said quietly. "This is the street. The shop with the book is here." He was a little worried, and a little wary.

Martha's eyes lit up. "Which one is it?" she asked. The canopies used to keep off the rain were stowed away carefully, and each bookshop was well attended with people looking in the windows and walking in and out of the black painted doors.

He sighed and thought for a few seconds. Then he decided to step forward. "I'll show you," he said quietly. They left the traffic and passed the first two shops. "It's here," he said. He pointed at an unremarkable second-hand bookshop. Piles of Penguin classics were piled high in the window in no discernible order.

Martha looked in the window, noticing how ordinary it looked. And timeless. She put her arm around his waist and gave him a reassuring hug. "I'm going to take a look," she said.

He put his hand against her forearm, almost holding her back. "No," he said. "You can't do anything that's based on knowing what happens in the future."

"Shut up," she laughed. "You want to change a football match. That's based on what you know, from the future. All those little bits of pub conversation. All that 'what if'."

"Oh, now you're interested." He stepped back. "I won't stop you. But don't do anything stupid." He nodded firmly.

"As if," she smiled. "I'll just take a quick look. See if the book is there."

He gritted his teeth and watched her push open the door of the bookshop. "Don't open the book," he said after her. "You don't want the ring or the ltter to fall out. Probably best not to even touch it."

"Don't worry," she joked. "Time travel is nothing to be scared of."

:::

"What is keeping her? What's happened?" Craig hissed, pacing back and forward.

He stared again in the window of the shop. The gilt paint on the glass was a little brighter than when he had first stepped inside, but it was still the same shop with the same shelves. It was hard to believe a shop could last forty or fifty years without a significant change in appearance, but it was the same.

The door opened, but it was a young man with an academic scarf. He smoothed his hair and walked off to the main road.

Craig looked back in the window and sighed with relief as he saw Martha's head scarf emerging from the lower floors. She paused to chat to the woman behind the small money drawer. She was in no hurry. He was not sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Maybe she was asking about the book. Maybe she should not ask about the book.

"There's some lovely stuff in there," she said as the door closed behind her. "Little medical guides and everything." She buttoned up her coat with no apparent excitement.

"Don't wind me up," said Craig. "Did you see it?" He realized that he wanted to know.

She looked up. "Yes, it's there." She covered her mouth to hide a broad smile. "It's odd. I've traveled in time before, but seeing the book just sitting there was exciting."

"What about the ring? And the letter?" He looked back in the window of the shop. The young lady was reading a Vonnegut paperback and eating a scone, oblivious to their animation.

"No." She shook her head. "I mean, no I didn't see them. I thought they might fall out if I opened the book."

"What shelf was it on? It was downstairs. I can't imagine they kept it in the same place for so many years."

"That's alright. I hid it at the back of… Well, I hid it well."

"What? No, you didn't hide it? How will I find it in the future?" He raised his hands in frustration.

"It's probably in the place that you found it. I probably just moved it there." She raised her eyebrows. "Look, we're still here."

He folded his arms around him. He certainly had not felt any great shift in history or his atoms being erased from existence. The cars still drove by noisily. The people still passed by in a hurry.

"You could still go back in," he suggested. "I could suggest a place for you to leave it. Then I'll find it in the twenty-first century."

Martha put her hands on his shoulders and pointed him down the lane toward Leicester Square. "History will be fine. Nobody died. You should be more worried about what you're planning. All that Mexican food and fixing football teams could be hazardous to your health."

He looked back over his shoulder. The shop was still standing between all the other shops. "Shall I explain my plan properly to you?" he offered.

"I told you before, Craig," Martha replied. "Football is just not my thing."