Step Back in Time

by Ali McNamara

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Harry says. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’

  ‘I need to ask you a favour,’ I say, smiling apologetically at him. ‘And I wonder if you’d mind not asking me why.’

  I wait for Lucy in the staff canteen, which, in the middle of the afternoon, is deserted.

  I wonder how I’m going to ask her this. I mean, it’s not every day someone comes up to you and asks the question: ‘Are you from another time – just like me?’

  And what if she isn’t? What if I’ve got it all wrong? I made a mistake easily enough with Harry the other day; maybe time travelling has messed my judgement up completely. Lucy will think I’m a head case, and probably tell Harry. And oddly, as much as I don’t want it to, what Harry thinks about me matters.

  I think about him while I wait. He was very sweet last night after we left the vault. He took me home to my flat, and made sure I was safely in before driving off with Henry. He casually mentioned us seeing one another again – but he meant for drinks or a meal some time. Not me storming into his company and asking for favours that he wasn’t allowed to ask about. But, as always, Harry was very calm and collected and did as I asked without making a fuss. He simply said, ‘I guess you’ll tell me when the time is right.’

  Lucy walks into the canteen now. She’s wearing jeans, pixie boots and a T-shirt with Duran Duran on. She has virtually no make-up on, and her black, bobbed hair is held back with a thick black Alice band. She looks completely different from the times I’ve seen her in the club, dressed in her mini skirts and low-cut tops and I realise now how young she actually is.

  ‘Jo-Jo?’ she asks, looking surprised as she sits down at the table opposite me. ‘They said there was someone here to see me, but they didn’t say it was you.’

  I study Lucy’s eyes for a moment, just to make sure.

  ‘What? Why are you staring at me?’ she demands. ‘What’s going on? Have I done something wrong?’

  ‘Are you lonely, Lucy?’ I ask.

  ‘What sort of question is that?’ she says, suddenly defensive. She folds her arms and sits back in her chair.

  ‘Please, it’s important.’

  She sighs. ‘I don’t have a packed social calendar as you well know, working two jobs.’

  ‘And you mentioned the other night you don’t have any family here, either?’

  ‘What is this?’ she asks, looking at me suspiciously. ‘Are you from the Social? I thought you were a journalist. Where’s your photographer mate today?’

  ‘Do you feel like you fit in?’ I attempt. Can I really be wrong again?

  ‘Yeah, I love packing bloody records up all day and serving drinks to leering fat bastards at night. Look, when they told me I was going to talk to a journalist today I was hoping for a six-page spread in OK! or even Hello! if I put a posh enough accent on!’ She grins at her own joke. ‘I certainly didn’t expect it would be you asking me weird questions, Jo-Jo. I thought you were one of the all right ones.’

  I sigh and lean back in my chair; this is going nowhere. Then suddenly my eyes dart back towards Lucy.

  ‘What did you say just then?’ I ask. ‘About magazines?’

  ‘Dunno,’ she shrugs, her cheeks pinking a little.

  ‘Hello! and OK! magazines aren’t around yet,’ I say, my eyes lighting up as my brain begins to whizz. I sit forward in my seat again. ‘So I am right. You’re one of them, aren’t you? I mean, one of us.’

  ‘What are you babbling on about now?’ Lucy asks, opening a pack of gum with fingers that are trembling slightly. She offers me some, but I decline.

  ‘You’ve travelled in time,’ I whisper just in case anyone should be listening in the deserted canteen.

  ‘What do you know about that?’ she hisses.

  ‘I know, because I’ve done it too.’

  Lucy’s eyes narrow. ‘Why should I believe you? You’re a journalist, you’ll do anything if you get the whiff of a good story.’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth, Lucy. I’ve been back to 1963 and 1977 and now I’m stuck here in 1985. I don’t belong in any of those years, any more than you do. And I’m not a journalist, I’m an accountant from 2013.’

  Lucy looks unimpressed by my plea until I mention the word 2013.

  ‘You’re from 2013?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  She considers this. ‘If you are, who’s the president of the United States then?’

  ‘Barack Obama, he was re-elected for a second term.’

  ‘The prime minister of the UK?’

  ‘David Cameron.’

  She pulls a face, but nods. Then she thinks for a moment. ‘Who are the judges on The X Factor that year?’

  I stare at Lucy. ‘Are you kidding me?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘I don’t know; it hadn’t started when I left. But you can bet Louis Walsh is one – they can’t get rid of him.’

  Lucy grins. ‘You really are from 2013, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, and so are you by the sound of it. What happened?’

  ‘Hit and run,’ Lucy says, grimacing. ‘I’d got a job in Liverpool city centre for the day, easy money it was too, all I had to do was walk about with a stupid sandwich board strapped to my chest.’ She laughs bitterly. ‘Ticket to Ride bus tours they were called. Turns out it was my ticket to ride out of there that day, because when I stepped out to cross the road a car just came from nowhere and hit me.’

  I swallow hard. ‘That’s what happened to me.’

  ‘Really?’ Lucy asks, looking surprised. ‘Maybe that’s how we all go.’

  ‘No,’ I shake my head, ‘it varies.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Lucy asks ‘What makes you an expert?’

  ‘I’m no expert, believe me I wish I was, but in every decade I’ve visited I’ve met someone just like us, stuck in a time they don’t want to be in.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Lucy rolls her eyes. ‘The eighties is retro back in 2013, as you probably remember. It’s cool to like the music, watch the films and wear the clothes, but it’s not so much fun actually living it for real. And you say there’s lots of us doing it?’

  ‘Yes, it would appear so. I haven’t quite figured out how it all works myself yet. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Not long, a few months, so I guess I’m quite new to it all. Took me a few days to realise it wasn’t some bad dream I was going to wake up from, and I was going to have to start earning some sort of living. Luckily, that’s when Ringo found me and offered me the job at the club. I know you don’t like him, Jo-Jo,’ she says when I pull a face. ‘But he saved my bacon, I was virtually living in the gutter and now at least I have a room of my own in the house that Ringo rents out to the girls at his club when they first start working for him. When I was back on my feet and I got the job here as well, I moved out into my own flat.’

  I’m still not convinced by this description of Ringo as some knight in shining armour, saving damsels in distress.

  ‘What else goes on in this house he rents out?’ I ask sceptically. ‘Are there many visitors to it? Male visitors?’

  ‘Nah, it’s not like that at all. Ringo looks after his girls, and I mean genuinely looks after them. I may be young, but I’m not stupid, Jo-Jo, and I wondered that myself when I took him up on his offer of a room and a job at the club. But I can 100 per cent guarantee you that no funny business goes on at that house or at the club.’

  ‘So you’re telling me he helps these young girls out of the goodness of his heart? I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Obviously Ringo makes money out of the club, and having pretty girls working for him is a bonus. And I’m not saying that a few shady deals haven’t taken place there on occasion – Ringo isn’t exactly Mother Teresa – but he’s no pimp, Jo-Jo. You’ve got that completely wrong. He helps girls out by giving them a safe home when they’re in need. In return, they work for him at the club. It’s a simple arrangement that suits both parties u
ntil the former is back on their feet again and can move on. Ringo has a lot of contacts, that’s how most of the girls get their new jobs, through people they meet at the club.’

  I must still look sceptical, because Lucy adds, ‘It’s the truth, Jo-Jo – I should know, I was one of the girls on the streets. Ringo gave me a safe place to stay, and for that I’ll always be grateful to him.’

  ‘So when he offers the chance for his clients to come backstage and meet the girls – that’s it? He simply introduces them to prospective employers?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sure a lot of them think it’s for something else, but Ringo makes it quite clear from the start what’s what.’

  I think about this for a moment. ‘It’s an unorthodox approach, I guess, but if it works…’

  Lucy nods. ‘It does.’

  ‘Perhaps I did add two and two together and get five on this occasion.’

  ‘Maths obviously not your strong point, eh?’ Lucy smiles.

  ‘Not any more, it would seem.’

  Lucy thinks for a moment. ‘But even though I’m fairly settled now, I’d do anything to go back again – I miss my family so much. It must be worse for you, though, if you keep moving around all the time. At least I’m stuck here in one decade with the same people. You can’t ever know whether you’re coming or going.’

  ‘It’s not easy, but I manage,’ I reply, thinking about Harry and Ellie, my two constants, and then I remember George. ‘Sometimes I actually prefer it to my old life.’

  ‘Really?’ Lucy asks in disbelief.

  ‘Yes.’ I’m quite surprised myself by this revelation. ‘I’ve made some good friends throughout this journey so far, and had some fun times…’ I shake my head. ‘Anyway, let’s talk about you again, not me. This car that hit you back in 2013, it wasn’t white by any chance, was it?’

  ‘No.’ Lucy vehemently shakes her head. ‘Definitely not, it was black. A shiny black Audi TT.’

  ‘You seem to remember it well.’

  ‘Too right I do, and the driver.’

  ‘Really, what did the driver look like?’

  ‘That’s easy – exactly like my boss.’

  ‘Who, Ringo?’

  ‘No, not that boss, Jo-Jo. My other boss. Harry, Harry Rigby.’

  Thirty-Two

  ‘Harry hit you with a sports car in 2013?’ I exclaim, hardly able to believe my ears.

  Lucy nods. ‘Yep. So you can imagine how I felt when I got here and found him living in 1985 as happy as Larry, without a care in the world, when he’d wrecked mine.’

  My mind rushes with thoughts faster than my brain can sift through them.

  ‘Is that why you tried to ruin Harry’s reputation, to get back at him for hitting you with his car?’ So it wasn’t a love-based revenge after all.

  Lucy nods guiltily.

  ‘I didn’t set out to do it; I didn’t even know he was my boss until a week after I started working here. But when your mate started poking her nose around and asking questions, I couldn’t help myself. The man ruined my life, Jo-Jo!’

  ‘And you could have ruined his, too. Even if the stuff about drugs wasn’t true, if the papers had got hold of that rumour his business name would have been damaged for ever.’

  ‘I know and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done it, I realise that now.’

  Lucy does look genuinely distraught. So I decide to pursue some of the other questions that are now jostling for position in my brain. Which Harry was this in Liverpool? The Harry I’d originally met in 2013? This Harry from 1985, or a different Harry I’d not yet discovered?

  ‘So when Harry hit you with the car, what exactly did he look like – an older version of himself?’

  ‘No, very much like this one, only wearing cooler clothes! Sorry,’ she apologises, ‘I shouldn’t joke about it.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say, still thinking. ‘You have to smile about this whole thing, or you’d just go mad trying to work it out sometimes. So, if it wasn’t this Harry that hit you – that means it must be an another version of him…’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lucy asks. ‘I’ve been wondering about that too: how come he hadn’t aged from 1985? I know plastic surgery is good back in 2013 but it’s not that good and we’re talking twenty-eight years!’

  ‘It’s the only way to explain what’s happening,’ I say, looking at her across the table. ‘There must be many versions of all of us existing at once. Usually our paths would never meet, but when something abnormal happens, like what’s happened to the two of us, where we’ve jumped over from one zone into another, our paths sometimes have to cross with those we’ve known before.’

  ‘I’ve heard of that. Don’t they call it parallel universes?’

  ‘Yes, I think they do. A friend of mine likes to describe it in book terms, though, he says it’s like characters —’

  ‘From one book crossing over into another,’ Lucy chips in. ‘They’re not really supposed to be in that story, but they kind of fit?’

  ‘Yes, it was something similar.’

  ‘You must know George,’ she says, nodding.

  ‘You’ve met?’

  ‘Yeah, briefly. He came into Rocky’s club one day and I served him.’

  ‘George was in Rocky’s club?’

  ‘Never seen him before or since, mind. But Rocky seemed to know him pretty well. Rocky sometimes spouts a similar type of flowery nonsense when he’s trying to make a point, too.’

  That’s something I didn’t expect to hear. George and Rocky being big pals.

  ‘So what do you reckon, Jo-Jo?’ Lucy asks. ‘Do you reckon you’re gonna hang around here long enough for us to be friends? It would be good to know someone who actually knew who Brad Pitt was, or the joy of a skinny vanilla latte?’

  ‘Oh,’ I sigh, ‘don’t talk to me about the lack of decent coffee shops. I’m desperate for a Starbucks or a Costa.’

  Lucy smiles. ‘There’s a few Costas about in London if you search them out already. Not much choice, mind. But I tell you what,’ she continues eagerly, ‘when our first local Starbucks opens, we’ll be its first two customers. We time travellers have to stick together, you know.’

  ‘Not too long to wait for that skinny vanilla latte then,’ I smile.

  ‘So does that mean we’re friends now?’ she asks hopefully.

  ‘Friends,’ I reply taking Lucy’s hand and squeezing it. ‘Whatever universe or coffee shop we’re in.’

  Later, as I lie on the settee in my flat above the record shop, with the kids from Fame dancing away to themselves on the television in front of me, I try and fit a few more pieces of the puzzle into place.

  Every decade I’ve been in so far has been strange in some way, but this one feels different. There are too many weird things going on this time, too many coincidences.

  Like Lucy coming back from 2013 after being knocked down by a car driven by Harry. Stu being here again when I already met him in 1977, and then him and Ellie getting together too. I spoke to Lucy about paths crossing, but this is like some great big tapestry where all the threads are beginning to weave into one another – except the picture it’s creating isn’t a very clear one. The threads aren’t making any sense. I need to untangle them and stitch them into something I can understand. But what is it?

  The phone rings in the hall, so I roll up off the settee to answer it.

  ‘Jo-Jo, guess what?’ It’s Ellie’s excited voice, flowing at full speed down the line.

  ‘What?’ I ask, my mind still on my needlework issues.

  ‘Stuart says he can get us all into Live Aid at the weekend. Me and you, as well as George!’

  ‘That’s great,’ I reply half-heartedly, not really absorbing what Ellie is saying.

  ‘Are you kidding me? It’s gonna be mega, the music event of the decade, if not the century! And all you can say is that’s great.’

  ‘Sorry, of course that’s absolutely fantastic! And very generous of him. But how come he can do that for so many
of us?’

  ‘The band he roadies for is playing a set, so he’s gonna be backstage with them; apparently there’s tickets floating about for all those who’re involved. Ooh, I can’t wait! Stuart says it’ll be a once-in-a-lifetime event.’

  ‘I’m sure it will. Tell Stuart thanks, I’d love to come.’

  As I put the phone back on the receiver, the phrase Ellie uttered still rings in my ears. A once-in-a-lifetime…

  Of course it’s once in a lifetime for Stu. It’s going to be the end of one lifetime for him.

  Unless…

  Thirty-Three

  It’s the morning of Saturday 13 July 1985 and the whole country seems to be in the grip of Live Aid fever.

  Stu, as promised, has got us all passes to get into the concert at Wembley Arena, and, at my request, has even managed to swing an extra one for Harry, too. It’s my thank you to him for letting me see Lucy the other day, and also because I still feel guilty for ever doubting him in the first place.

  But even though this is my way of making it up to him, his unresolved issues with George still bother me, so I’ve formulated a plan to try and get them together to ‘talk it out’. Unfortunately, this also ties in heavily with my plan to try and help Stu, so there’s an awful lot riding on this concert this afternoon, other than simply raising a lot of much-needed money for Africa. If only those bands knew…

  I’ve figured out, from what Stu told me back in 1977, that this must be the concert he got electrocuted at. He said it was a huge outdoor gig, and he hadn’t been able to set the equipment up himself. So this must be the one – at least, I hope it is.

  All I have to do is stop him from getting to the concert and plugging in the equipment, and I’ll prevent him from being electrocuted. It’s as simple as that. At least, it sounds that simple!

  ‘Jo-Jo, are you nearly ready?’ I hear called up the stairs. It’s George. ‘Public transport will be jam-packed today with all this going on.’

  I look towards my TV where I’ve been watching the concert preparations taking place all morning, then I glance at my watch and I take a deep breath. Here goes…