The first thing Franky realised as she rematerialized was that something was wrong.

Where Claremont had once stood was a large field in which cows grazed. There was a peaceful lull. No distant noises. No industrialisation and no fog hovering over the landscape. Wooden huts were scattered where the apple orchard should be. Smoke billowed from the huts and there was a rabble of children playing nearby, dressed in tribal outfits.

Franky leaned forward, blinking. Hoping that if she stared long enough the sight before her might correct itself.

The Tiraveller powered-down and the shield retreated. Franky glanced down at the Time Wheel and guessed that she had gone a little too far back… while she could not decipher words, the numbers on the dial seemed to be telling her she was in 562.

The children alighted on her and started towards the Tiraveller, curious. Then a man in fur skins and brandishing a spear exited one of the huts. His eyes narrowed as he spotted her and he let out a primal howl which rallied several hunters from other huts, armed with weapons and angry looks.

"Shit!" Franky muttered as she spun the Time Dial again and retched the silver lever. It screeched in protest and the Tiraveller juddered to life, straining at having to jump into action so soon after its arrival.

Franky's pulse galloped as the warriors raced towards her. The film shield slipped back into place, surrounding her. She sighed with immense relief as the warriors faded from view and she was thrust forward, to another time and place.

She landed with a thud amidst tall green hedges on a balmy summer's day. Franky stood on the seat of the chaise longue and looked about vigilantly. She was splat in the middle of the maze in Claremont's walled garden.

Claremont stood tall and proud in the foreground and Franky released a breath. She'd have to have a word with Gidge about installing more accurate navigational equipment on the Tiraveller.

She left the time machine hidden in the labyrinth. As she neared the Westfall Estate she realised the treehouse wasn't there. She looked about, trying to get her bearings. She moved towards where the treehouse should be – she was definitely at the right site. She stopped and leaned against a tree trunk, perplexed.

Franky heard sniffling and looked up to see a blonde girl, no more than 6, sitting on a branch, crying.

Little Bridget wiped her nose on her sleeve, her shoulders wracked with sobs as she tried to get her weeping under control.

Franky's heart leapt as she gazed at the round little face framed by blonde plats.

"Hey!" she called up to the girl.

6 year old Bridget immediately stopped crying and stared down at Franky.

"Are you alright?" the brunette asked kindly.

Bridget stared blankly at the stranger.

Franky grasped the nearest branch and nimbly clambered up the tree. Wide-eyed, little Bridget watched her. Franky reached the branch Bridget was seated on and sidled-up beside her.

"I have never seen a lady climb a tree," Bridget said awe-struck.

Franky grinned. "The skirts and corsets hold us up but we can do anything the boys can."

Bridget giggled.

Franky nudged her shoulder playfully. "Why're you up here?"

Bridget sniffed. "The boys refuse to play with me. They called me a nuisance."

"So play with the girls," Franky suggested.

"They only want to play Mummies and Daddies - which is boring."

Franky nodded. "I hear ya."

"I want to have adventures," little Bridget professed, her face becoming animated, "have sword fights, fly to the moon, be a pirate Queen but they just want to have tea parties and change their doll's nappies."

"Your games sound much more fun," Franky encouraged.

Bridget beamed and gazed at her with trusting eyes.

"Just because others don't see things the way you do, doesn't mean you're wrong," Franky said.

Bridget clasped her hands in her lap and gazed at the stranger questioningly. "Why are you here?"

"I'm lookin' for my friend."

"You lost her?"

"Temporarily."

"I hate being lost."

"Me too," Franky admitted. "But I never felt lost when I was with her." She smiled down at the young Bridget. "One day you'll find someone who wants to have adventures with you and makes you feel like you could conquer the world!"

"Mama says I am odd, that I should try and behave like other girls," little Bridget said.

"Your Mama's an idiot."

Bridget gasped with shock, covering her mouth with her hand, and then giggled. "You cannot say that!"

"Principled even at 6!" Franky mocked. "Figures."

Bridget looked at her inquisitively. "Pardon?"

"Nothin'. Hey, you know what - this would be a great spot for a treehouse."

Bridget looked about, her eyes filling with inspiration. "A treehouse?"

"A hideout just for you. Where the mean boys and silly girls aren't allowed!"

Bridget laughed again, her eyes gleaming. "Will you play with me?"

"Sure," Franky replied.

Bridget reached out and took Franky's hand. She got steadily to her feet and tugged Franky towards the tree trunk.

When they reached the ground Franky played adventure games with her for hours. They traipsed through the Amazon Jungle in search of the lost treasure of Elderado, then dived to the depths of the ocean in search of mysterious sea creatures hitherto undiscovered, flew around the world in a hot air balloon and foiled the plans of moon Martians intent on taking over the world with their slave automaton spiders. When the sunlight started to wane they heard Mrs. Jenkins call from the back steps of Claremont for her charge to return - supper was ready.

"I must go," Bridget said regretfully.

Franky bent down and gently tugged on one of Gidget's plats.

"You're the bravest girl I ever met Bridget Westfall. Braver and smarter than all the mean boys and silly girls put together. Remember that."

Bridget smiled up at her new friend and engulfed Franky in a hug. When she pulled away, she said hopefully. "Shall I see you again?"

Franky grinned. "Definitely."

The girl beamed and started running back towards the house. She stopped and twisted round. "I hope you find your friend!" she called, then sped off towards Claremont.

"So do I," Franky muttered.

She returned to the Tiraveller and fell back into the seat, deflated. She was so close… but not close enough. Franky reached out and dabbled with the Time Wheel again. The Tiraveller whined and whirred as she kick-started it. The shield went up and she spun the dial – sending her swirling to another time at a ferocious velocity. Everything about her became a blur. Her stomach lurched as she spun and twisted through time.

Franky crash-landed in the attic of Claremont on an Autumn's night sometime in Gidge's 10th year. A precarious blonde-haired girl sought her out – investigating the unusual noise in the middle of the night. Bridget recognised the intruder immediately and embraced Franky happily. "You said I would see you again! I did not think it would be so long!" Bridget exclaimed. "Did you find your friend?"

Franky grinned. "Almost."

They were the only two awake in the household so they snuck downstairs and invaded the pantry for a midnight snack. Then they built a fort of sheets in Bridget's bedchamber and Franky told her scary stories that had her shrieking with laughter. Franky fell asleep in the fort while Bridget slumbered contentedly in her own bed.

Come the morning, while Bridget still slept, Franky placed a tender kiss to the top of Gidget's head and set off on her time travels again.

Next, Franky span the Time Wheel and leapt into the winter of Bridget's 13th year. The temperature had dropped so drastically the pond in Hyde Park froze. They snuck out of Claremont through the secret passage and joined the hordes as they whizzed across the ice on skates. They skated until their cheeks were red and their lungs fit to burst, giggling and joyful.

When Franky time-jumped again she arrived on the evening of a ball. Claremont was lit-up with paper lanterns and overflowing with guests and music. Bridget was 16, just returned from St Mary's and heartbroken over Lenna Cosgrove. Franky leant her a handkerchief and a shoulder to cry on, reassuring her that one day she'd find her true love.

Franky returned to the Tiraveller which was buried deep in the coal stockpile in the cellar of Claremont and started it up. It coughed and spluttered. Franky felt uneasy – it had never made that sound before. Reluctantly it hummed into life. Lights spinning. The engine gasping and choking.

After the next time-leap, the Tiraveller powered down and refused to start. It took Franky the best part of a month to find replacement parts and discover that the engine ran on apple juice. Fortunately she had landed when Bridget was 18, had just completed building the treehouse (minus the booby traps) and was buried under science textbooks she found riveting.

"You never get any older," young Bridget said one night as they were seated before the hearth in the treehouse.

Franky sipped her tea and smiled at the innocent face before her. "It's magic," the brunette teased and grinned wolfishly.

Bridget snorted. "There is no such thing. Science is the key to everything."

Franky stayed in the treehouse for four weeks, growing increasingly anxious at all of Bridget's intrusive questions. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why did she keep coming back? Why hadn't she aged? Had she found her friend?

This time when they parted Franky cupped Gidge's face and kissed her forehead. "I can't give you any answers but I can tell you this - you will go on to do great things," Franky said softly.

Miss Westfall gazed at her devotedly and with great trust.

That was the last time-leap where Franky made direct contact. It was too risky: she was altering Bridget's timeline. So, as difficult as it was, from then on she kept her distance.

Hidden amongst the crowd Franky attended Bridget's debutant ball, saw her play badminton with Mr. Jackson, watched her graduate University, attended her Christmas lecture on time travel and saw The Freak enraptured, observed her send the flying machine soaring into the sky for 23 seconds, saw her test the first ray gun and fail on a hundred other ideas. Franky shared silently in so many of her triumphs and disappointments. Her heart reeling every time at not being able to reach out, not being able to properly share in the moment, before disappearing into the shadows.

Finally, after weeks of near misses, Franky hit the correct timeframe. She arrived a fortnight before the events she was set to change.

Weary from her travels Franky stood outside Wentworth Inn, her heart heavy. This had been her home for so long but now she felt sick. She missed her friends something fierce but not the cold attic and the endless days bleeding into each other with no meaning other than where the next penny was coming from. Living hand-to-mouth and relying on her wits had been a necessity, now, she found she didn't have the inclination. Bridget had opened her eyes, had shown her a whole new world. A world that was locked to her, for now.

Franky pulled the door to Wentworth open. It slammed shut behind her. No one looked in her direction. She knew Liz thought she was still locked-up in Millbank, so she had to tread carefully. She sauntered towards the bar. The gas lamps suspended from the walls burned low and for the first time the downtrodden atmosphere of the place struck her. Feeling its drudgery, she glanced balefully at the drunks cluttering the place. Precariously propped-up and gazing into their drinks, lost.

Franky saw the familiar crown of blonde curls. Liz was perched on a man's knee, laughing at something he had whispered in her ear. His arms wrapped keenly about her waist, enjoying her attention.

Franky leaned her elbows against the bar counter, facing them. "What's a girl got to do to get served 'round here?!"

Annoyed, Liz turned to her, about to unleash a stream of abuse when her eyes alighted on her friend. "Franky?"

"One and only," the brunette retorted.

Liz moved towards her. "Gawd blimey! What're ya doin' here, love?"

"Couldn't stay away," Franky joked, slipping into the familiar banter but it stings her insides. Rings false in her ear.

Liz grinned and hugged her. "It's good to see ya love, we thought you was in - "

"The Tench?"

Liz nodded.

"It's a long story. Don't s'pose me old bed's goin' beggin'?"

Liz eyed her: something was off. "'Course love. Any time, you know that."

Franky reached out and took Liz's hand, squeezing it gently. "Thanks Liz."

"You get some shut-eye," Liz suggested. "We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"

Franky nodded gratefully and took herself upstairs, ascending wearily to the dusty attic.

Franky stood stock-still in the doorway and scanned the dreary attic. It was dark, dank, windowless and smelt musty. She heard the scuttling of rats, the drip of a leaking roof and felt a draft. She wanted to cry. Everything would be bearable if she had the guarantee of Bridget… but she doesn't. She suddenly felt very alone and very hopeless.

She moved towards a bundle of hay in the corner where a moth-eaten blanket lay. She sat down and wrapped the blanket about her shoulders. Feeling out of place, miserable and desperately missing Gidge.

Just then Boomer entered, brimming with boisterousness. "Hey! Heard you was back! Got a surprise for ya – think of it as a welcome home present!" she declared. In her hand was a collection of risqué postcards – ladies posing in various states of undress. Enthusiastically she started to stick them to the attic wall. "It's allurin' tarts. Cos you're a Tom."

Franky watched Boomer with a sinking feeling that morphed into despair. "Booms, I'm not stayin'," she heard herself say.

Boomer gave her a look like she'd run mad. "Course you are. It'll be like old times. The family back together."

Before she knew what she was doing, tears were streaming down Franky's face and rage filled her belly. "Stop!" she cried. She tore at the pictures Boomer had just stuck up, ripping them to shreds.

"Hey!" Boomer cried, confused by her friend's behaviour. It had cost her two days of arm wrestling money to buy these little beauties. "What're ya doin'?"

"This isn't my home anymore Booms! I never want this to feel like a home again… I had a girl, I had a future, I had..." Franky stopped, the grief overtaking her. She covered her mouth, unable to breathe, feeling the loss of Bridget so acutely it hurt like a knife twisting in her gut.

Boomer stared at her, wide-eyed and affronted. Suddenly she wasn't enough. Wentworth, their friends and way of life weren't enough. She couldn't understand what had changed.

"I don't want this to be my life," Franky stated.

Boomer narrowed her eyes. "Well fuck ya then!" she exclaimed angrily and threw the remaining postcards in Franky's face, storming off.

"Booms!" Franky called after her but her friend was already gone.

Franky sat on the bed of hay and wept.

During the day Franky strolled London's streets aimlessly. A restlessness filled her, a perpetual waiting…

She took to following Bridget. Hovered outside the gates of Claremont and tracked the Westfall carriage or followed Bridget on foot. Franky kept a safe distance but she ached when Gidge laughed, argued or talked animatedly and wished she could join in.

One afternoon she shadowed Bridget and her father to the Victoria and Albert Museum. She lingered outside, close to the stone arch doorway. When she spotted Bridget exiting the building, clutching a brochure in one hand while she and her father excitedly discussed the exhibit, she turned away. They looked so happy. Franky kept her back to them as they passed her by.

She found herself staring in a shop window and that's when she saw it. A lavender writing set. Her heart detonated. It was identical to the stationary the anonymous notes had been written on. Suddenly Franky was filled with certainty: she knew what she had to do.

She stepped into the shop and purchased the notepaper, then headed towards The Red Right Hand Headquarters.

She had to warn Bridget and guide her to The Tench or they would never meet. She was resolved and imbued with a lightness she hadn't felt since being parted from Bridget.

When Franky arrived at The Red Right Hand Headquarters she gazed up at the zeppelin floating above it and a chill ran down her spine. She wondered if Ferguson was up there now plotting her kidnap plan.

She climbed the steps to the front entrance and stepped into the hall. Evocations of the night of the fundraiser ball returned to her. To the night she'd twirled Gidge around the dance floor, pushed her up against a bookshelf and kissed her passionately. It seemed a lifetime ago.

She approached the reception. A plump young woman with dark skin and curly chestnut hair looked optimistically up at her, a practised smile on her face. She looked like someone used to a slum, someone who had risen above it.

"How may I help you?" asked Doreen.

"I'd like to see Miss Proctor," Franky requested.

"What's your name?"

Franky thought of the kindly matron at The Tench and replied. "Miss Davidson."

"Take a seat Miss Davidson, I'll see if she's available."

Franky obeyed and seated herself between an emaciated couple and a woman with three children who were dressed in rags and ready to pass out from hunger and cold.

She hugged the lavender notepaper to her chest. This had to work. If Karen Proctor didn't write these messages then Bridget would never find her.

She waited two hours and then Doreen ushered her into an office.

The office was serene. A large bay window let in plenty of light. Paintings hung on the wall and an oriental rug covered most of the floor. Miss Proctor sat behind a large oak desk that threatened to swamp her. She gazed intently at Franky as she entered and smiled earnestly. "Good afternoon Miss Davidson," Miss Proctor greeted and indicated for Franky to be seated.

"Afternoon," Franky replied and took the chair opposite her. It was odd that Miss Proctor did not recognise her but of course, why would she? The fundraiser dance had not yet happened.

"What can I do for you?" Miss Proctor asked, her blue eyes shinning.

"I have a request," Franky began.

Miss Proctor tilted her head curiously. "Oh?"

Franky placed the lavender notepaper before Miss Proctor. "I cannot read or write and I need to send a message to someone. It's of the utmost importance." She suddenly remembered mocking Gidge for that exact phrase and couldn't help but smile to herself. "Would you be so kind as to write it for me?"

Miss Proctor's eyes filled with warmth. "Of course."

Franky spotted the broach on her lapel; Ferguson's emblem of The Red Cross and West African Adinkra symbol entwined. She ignored the anger swarming in her stomach and leaned forward. "You must write exactly what I say – no deviations."

Karen nodded.

Franky swallowed nervously as she pushed the lavender notepaper forward and settled back in her seat. Wondering what Miss Proctor would make of her coded messages and if the mention of Ferguson would perturb her or pique her curiosity. After all, the last thing Franky needed was for Ferguson to be tipped off before events had a chance to take their natural turn. So Franky decided she was at liberty to tweak the notes. Surely someone as refined as Miss Proctor would not have heard of Fergusons' nickname, given the circles she moved in. So long as Gidge understood them, what harm could be done?

"Please write: Your father is in danger. The Freak will stop at nothing."

Miss Proctor quirked an intrigued eyebrow. She took up her pen and held it over the page. She glanced at Franky. "The Freak?" she questioned.

Franky nodded. Her foot tapped nervously and her top lip began to sweat. She couldn't blow this.

Miss Proctor lowered the nib of her pen to the sheet of paper and hesitated. "Whatever trouble your friend is in we could - "

"Thank you but… " Franky's impatience began to creep through. "She's very independent."

Miss Proctor looked back down at the blank sheet. She'd had her share of difficult customer's. In the charity business she had long ago realised you could only help those who wanted your help. So her hand scrawled across the page, scratching out the message that had been dictated.

"Thank you," Franky said sincerely. She reached out and took up the page. She folded the sheet and said. "The second should read: Seek out Francesca Doyle."

Miss Proctor wrote the second note obligingly. As Franky leant across the desk to collect it, Karen picked it up. She blew on it, to dry the ink and met Franky's gaze.

"Are you certain there is nothing more I can do to help?" she asked kindly.

Franky smiled. "Thank you but you have done more than enough. I'm most grateful," she replied as she plucked the essential note from Miss Proctor's nimble fingers.

"Tosh," Miss Proctor dismissed, waving her hand. "That is what we are here for."

Unable to resist planting a seed she hoped would take root, Franky grinned sheepishly. "Mr. Jackson said you were a lady of pure heart. He was right."

Miss Proctor looked mildly surprised. "You are acquainted with Mr. Jackson?"

"Who is not? Such an amiable fellow. Whoever catches him as a husband will be a fortunate lady."

Miss Proctor's eyes flashed and she tilted her head as she studied Franky. "Indeed."

They both stood. Franky thanked Miss Proctor profusely and shook her hand emphatically. Just as she withdrew her hand, the door swung open and Ferguson blew in.

"Karen, I must speak with you!" Ferguson said urgently.

She headed straight for Miss Proctor, who looked startled at this intrusion. Ferguson crossed the room and stopped beside Franky, her eyes trained on Miss Proctor, her fingertips resting on the desktop, barely registering the stranger.

A chill ran through Franky as she drew back. She turned away, trying to hide her face from Ferguson's view. All it would take to ruin her carefully considered plans was for Ferguson to turn her head a fraction, and discover her here in this office. Her heart beat wildly and her palms became clammy.

"Joan, this is most unorthodox, I am in the middle of - "

"I apologise but it cannot wait!"

Franky retreated quickly, turning her back on the pair and moving stealthily towards the door, at great speed, desperate to escape unnoticed.

When Miss Proctor glanced over at Franky to apologise for the intrusion she found the peculiar girl had gone. She had hoped to help further but as things stood she could only hope Miss Davidson and her friend could manage their situation unaided. Reluctantly she turned her attention back to her new friend. "Yes Joan?"

As soon as Franky entered the hall she moved hastily to the exit. Smiling at the receptionist and ducking out of the main entrance and onto the rowdy streets of London, clutching the handwritten notes to her chest and grinning wildly.

Franky spent a restless night in the attic at Wentworth. Tossing and turning. Thoughts and possibilities running through her mind. Nightmares of Ferguson getting her deathly grips on Bridget. Milly appearing from the shadows and pumping Bridget full of bullets… and the blood… so much blood… no matter how she tried - Bridget died. Over and over.

Boomer slept apart from her now, since their row. She kept to herself in the far corner but Franky's violent stirrings and pitiful yells caused Boomer to shake her awake.

"It's just bad dreams," Boomer said soothingly.

Franky smiled at her friend. Barely able to see her face in the darkness. "I know," she replied.

"I don't know what shit you got yourself into this time Franky… but ya know, I'm here, right? No matter what."

Franky filled with regret at the way she had treated Boomer.

"Ta Booms," she said weakly, her voice cracking. "I'm real sorry about before."

Somehow they ended-up in a firm embrace.

"I hate it when we quarrel," Boomer said, her lips pressed against Franky's shoulder.

"Ah you great big souk!" Franky teased and held her friend tighter. "You've gone soft on me."

When she went back to sleep she dreamed of racing her kite along the Thames. Bridget beside her. Tess, Boomer and Liz waving from the other bank. The sun shining. The wind in her hair. Bridget's arms about her. She felt so happy, so content… She woke-up at dawn. To a cold dark room and Boomer snoring.

Franky snuck out of Wentworth and walked to Hyde Park. It was early morning and Franky loitered about Claremont. How she longed to enter, to fall in beside Gidge like the old days, to head to the lab and have Gidge look at her with love and trust... but right now Bridget wouldn't know her name… except she would because Franky had changed history. She had inserted herself in Bridget's life before she was ready… before she was supposed to and god knows what lasting impact that would have.

Franky took the first anonymous note out of her pocket, the one warning of Mr. Westfall's impending doom, and walked up the drive of Claremont. She slipped the note under the front door, bit her lip, then turned and hurried away.

A week passed.

Franky kept an ear out. Ruminated, scolded, doubted and questioned. She tried to decide on the best course of action whilst protecting Bridget without messing-up the timeline.

On the seventh day she delivered the second note. Her hand shook as she slipped it under the door of Claremont. For it was imperative - it was what had led Bridget to find Franky in Millbank Prison. The day that changed both their lives.

Franky leant against the exterior of Wentworth, smoked a cig and wondered what Bridget was doing when she caught sight of Mr. Steele driving the Westfall carriage towards her.

She dropped her cigarette in the mud and scurried into the tavern.

She rushed towards the bar. She must've look wild because Liz immediately exclaimed. "What's wrong love? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Franky gripped Liz by the shoulders. "Remember I told ya a time would come when you had to act as if you hadn't seen me?"

"Yeah."

"Well now's that time," and she ducked under the bar.

Liz looked dumbfounded, then the door to the tavern swung open and in strolled Franky with an elegant blonde.