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I
recognised the young usher.’
    ‘Who?’ Becky
asked.
    ‘Only the King
of Rock and Roll: Mr Elvis Presley, himself,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘You’ve heard
of Elvis?’
    ‘Of course,’
Becky replied.
    ‘Quiff bloke,’
Joe added.
    ‘And a fine
quiff it was, too,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes. Anyway,
he ran over and helped me out but he never once took his eyes off Betty. A few
years later, after he’d become famous, he bought a pink Cadillac and kept it
until the day he died.’ He brushed his hand affectionately across the car’s
bonnet. ‘I like to think it was Betty that sparked his love affair with the
pink Caddy.’
    Becky found
herself grinning.
    ‘Anyway,’ Uncle
Percy continued. ‘She’s loaded with Gerathnium so why don’t we shake a tail
feather back to the middle Palaeolithic era. If you’re familiar with a golden
oldie like Elvis, I’m thinking you might recognise the musical entertainment
laid on for tonight.’
    ‘Why? Who is
it?’ Becky asked.
    ‘You’ll have to
wait and see…’ Uncle Percy said mysteriously.
    Uncle Percy
opened the rear doors and Becky leapt in, followed by an eager Joe.
    Becky sank into
the saddle beige leather seats, a rich, sweet aroma filling her nostrils, and
scanned the lush chrome interior. Uncle Percy climbed in the front, keyed six
digits on to the time-pad and sat back.  At once, a series of buttons and
knobs and dials erupted into life. Streams of light poured from the dashboard,
gathering in clouds, before surrounding them, igniting their faces like candles
on a pitch-black night.
    The Cadillac
shuddered slightly and with a thunderous bang , it disappeared.
    *
    Becky’s eyes took some
time to adjust. Whereas the Time Room was so bright and vibrant, their new
location was dim, gloomy and vast, illuminated poorly from above by rows of
track lights, which sent thin shadows on to the dozens of tall pillars that
buttressed the high ceiling and the sprawling mezzanine floor.
    ‘It looks like an NCP
car park,’ Joe said, somewhat disappointedly.
    ‘And that’s pretty
much what it is,’ Uncle Percy agreed. ‘This is the arrivals hangar.’
    ‘And we’re definitely
underwater?’ Becky asked.
    ‘More than half a mile
beneath the surface,’ Uncle Percy said, flinging open the driver’s door. ‘Come
on. I imagine the band is coming to the end of its first set, but don’t worry …
they’ll be on again later. I doubt you’ll want to miss them.’
    Intrigued, Becky and
Joe followed him out.
    Glancing round, a grin
formed on Becky’s face. They were surrounded by the most bizarre mix of time
machines, from numerous historical eras: cars, minivans, a penny-farthing
bicycle, a blue police phone box, a hang-glider, a miniature steam train, a
Venetian gondola, and various styles of motorbike and scooter.
    ‘Is Bruce coming?’
Becky asked, her eyes searching out ‘Sweet Sue’, Bruce Westbrook’s silver
Harley Davidson motorbike.
    ‘I’m afraid not,’
Uncle Percy replied. ‘The doctors have put a strict no-alcohol clause in his
recuperation and I think the temptation for him to fall into a vat of tequila
tonight was too much for him to handle.’
    Becky chuckled, when a
loud, squelchy snort echoed from behind. Looking back, she saw an enormous
camel wearing an ornate leather saddle and drinking from a bucket of water.
    ‘Ah, Kareem’s here.’
Uncle Percy said. ‘Good evening, Jawna.’ He waved at the camel, who promptly
looked up, shot him an imperious look, and returned to her water. His voice
fell to a whisper as he leaned into Joe’s ear. ‘Between you and me, I find
Jawna a bit too snooty for her own good.’
    Joe laughed. ‘Someone
has a camel for a time machine?’
    ‘Kareem Kassab does.
Well, strictly speaking the time machine is the saddle but, yes, I suppose you
could say that.’
    ‘Doesn’t travelling
scare her?’ Becky asked, concerned. ‘I mean … there’s all the lights, the
noise.’
    ‘Oh,