Telegram Home

by Kirsten McKenzie

  Grey grabbed for the necklace the same way a man dying of thirst would grab a water bottle.

  ‘What a beauty,’ Grey remarked, holding the necklace up to the lights. ‘But you’re right, it’s not a key because otherwise I wouldn’t still be standing here?’

  Albert backed up, motioning to Sarah to follow him, and the father and daughter duo moved closer to the cluttered front door.

  ‘This isn’t over. Between the two of you, you know which piece of tat is the next key. And I want it. You’ve never dealt with someone like me before, have you, Lester?’

  ‘I’ve dealt with a plethora of your kind,’ Albert responded.

  ‘Dad, no.’

  ‘Men who think their wealth protects them, that it makes them better than the rest of us. Men who act as if the world owes them even more. Yes, I’ve known plenty of men like you. But I know them later, when it’s come crashing down and they can’t afford the payments on the sports car; when the wife has to sell her diamonds on the sly to stump up for the school fees. Men like you come grovelling to me to bail you out, Mr Grey.’

  ‘What a pretty speech but sadly no prizes for public speaking today. The only prize will be the clothes on your backs after I’ve finished crushing your little enterprise, if you don’t tell me how you’ve been able to travel through time, smuggling in such exquisite pieces. They’ve wasted this on you both. A two-bit pawn broker and his daughter, gifted the magic of time travel, and you’ve achieved what with it?’ Grey screwed up his face as if he’d just sucked on a lemon. ‘Nothing. You’ve achieved nothing.’

  Grey stopped and frowned, looking around and noticing Albert and Sarah’s flight through the shop. ‘Why are you down there? What is it you are trying to draw my attention away from? There’s something back here, on the shelf?’

  Albert’s face didn’t change. It was his shop but given the time he’d been away, nothing was familiar and the place looked like Marie Kondo herself had tidied the place. He had no idea if there was anything behind the counter.

  Grey must have seen something in Sarah’s face though, because he stuffed the necklace in his jacket pocket and began rifling through the shelves.

  ‘There’s something here isn’t there? But you don’t want me to have it. You’re as conniving as the old woman. She was as batty as hell, giving stuff away for the war effort, selling valuable antiques to raise funds for the local dog club, donating our family money to some piss pot Roman archaeological dig up north. It was my inheritance. She’ll get the fright of her life when I go back in time. I’m no longer the timid little boy she once shunned, slamming the door in my face.’

  ‘Did you say Roman archaeological dig?’ Sarah asked, her hand tightening on her father’s arm.

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Nothing, but there’s a statue behind the counter.’

  ‘Sarah—’ Albert started.

  ‘A Roman statue. From the Williams’ estate. I didn’t unpack it, Nicole did, but…’

  ‘Roman antiquities? Yes, I’ll have myself a piece of that,’ Grey muttered as he searched the shelves, greed sinking any rational decision he might have made.

  ‘In the middle, next to the old shoe box,’ Sarah suggested.

  Grey straightened after he flung the pink shoebox onto the floor, the mother-of-pearl fragments inside shattering into nothing more than dust.

  ‘This statue?’ he asked, turning to look at Sarah, before returning his gaze to the small Roman bust. ‘Wait for me here,’ Grey instructed.

  Albert started to speak, but Sarah increased her grip on his arm, the pressure enough to silence him. They both knew that if Grey disappeared into the past, it could be aeons before he returned. If he returned.

  ‘I will restore the family name, Grandmama. I promise,’ Grey announced reaching for the Roman statue.

  Albert and Sarah flinched, ready for the inevitable. Neither of them knew whether their disappearances and reappearances occurred with flashes of light or rolling thunder, but nothing happened. Grey stood in the exact spot as he had before lifting the statue. The only change was the expression on Grey’s face.

  ‘Do you think this a joke?’ Grey screamed, hurling the statue towards Sarah and her father. ‘A damn joke?’

  Albert yanked Sarah from harms way, propelling her towards the front door, as Grey abandoned his search to pursue the Lesters.

  With the door open, Sarah and Albert raced outside, straight into Nicole Pilcher and Major Warren Brooke. It took only seconds for Brooke to assess the situation, taking stock of the small pistol still in Albert’s hand and the look on Sarah’s face, before Grey appeared in the doorway, all but frothing at the mouth.

  What a curious sight the group made, Brooke still wearing the remnants of his 1860s uniform, whilst Albert’s fine suit dated him to the same period. Sarah and Nicole both sported jeans and comfortable shoes, against Grey’s dishevelled trousers and shirt.

  ‘Give me the gun,’ Brooke ordered, and Albert obeyed without question.

  The gun exploded.

  Nicole screamed.

  Grey stopped dead.

  And pandemonium broke out amongst the shoppers on the street.

  A small Indian man detached himself from the morbid onlookers and approached Grey’s unmoving body.

  ‘Call for an ambulance,’ someone cried.

  ‘He can’t be dead, I only winged him,’ Brooke said, his marksmanship unquestionable.

  ‘We don’t require an ambulance,’ the good samaritan said checking Grey.

  Brooke paled, and Nicole stifled another scream.

  ‘He’s dead?’ Albert asked, his arm around Sarah’s shaking shoulders.

  ‘No, not dead. But you don’t need an ambulance. Get him inside, no good having all these people watching.’

  Albert and Brooke lifted the unconscious man, dragging him back into The Old Curiosity Shop, leaving a trail of blood behind. Sarah and Nicole followed behind, with the small Indian man in tow, locking the door after them. The wail of far off sirens almost audible.

  ‘First, the question of the pistol,’ the stranger said to Brooke. ‘It was a prop which malfunctioned, if they ask, and they will.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Sarah asked, holding up her palm to stop Brooke from speaking.

  Before answering, the Indian man stroked a prominent scar running down the side of his face, hiding the pinched skin at his jawline with his hand, the gesture one of contemplation. He appeared to be in no hurry to answer, unaware of the approaching sirens.

  ‘My name is Sanjay. I’m of no importance, but the man on the floor cannot be let loose in time, his motives would destroy us.’

  ‘I know you,’ Albert said stepping forward.

  The man nodded. ‘You’re where you’re meant to be now. I’m only sorry it took so long to right the wrong.’

  ‘Right the wrong?’ Sarah yelped. ‘You knew my father was in India, and you did nothing about it?’

  He shrugged, ignoring Sarah’s concerns. ‘We can’t be everywhere.’

  ‘We?’ Albert asked incredulously. ‘Who’s we and where were you when my wife vanished? Where were you when I disappeared, twiddling your thumbs?’

  ‘History complicates things. Time even more so. But now I must go,’ he said, rummaging in his shoulder bag.

  ‘You can’t go,’ Sarah said, ‘until you’ve told us what’s going on.’

  ‘The ironic thing is, Miss Lester, I don’t have time to explain. The police are coming. They’ll want to interview your father and question you about the gun shot. Mr Grey won’t be here for them to interrogate. He’ll be in a place where he can cause no further damage to the present, or to the future.’

  ‘I’m confused,’ Nicole muttered, her eyes fixated on the man bleeding on the tattered carpet.

  The peculiar man withdrew a small wooden carving from his bag, that of a coiled snake. At first glance, it appeared to be a cobra, but on closer inspection it had the face of an animal and a head full of human hair.

/>   ‘That’s Glycon,’ Nicole said, her voice infused with knowledge. She had no idea what else was going on, but she knew her ancient Roman gods, including the snake god they thought even the great emperor Marcus Aurelius worshipped.

  ‘Very good, Miss Pilcher,’ the man smiled, the smile only moving one side of his face because of the hideous scarring on the other side. ‘Glycon will take our friend on a journey, from which he cannot return. He will not come to any harm, I can assure you. Time is a perfect leveller. As you walk through it you appreciate the goodness in people, and you find it easier to identify the evil.’

  With those final words, he leant towards Grey who was now stirring on the ground.

  ‘I have the key you wanted,’ the Indian man whispered as Grey struggled to sit.

  ‘You shot me,’ Grey hissed, holding his hand to the wound where it was obviously only a minor graze and not a life threatening injury.

  ‘The means to time travel, Mr Grey. I have it here,’ the stranger said, offering the small wooden statue of the snake god Glycon to Richard Grey. Grey’s eyes widened with greed and he reached for the sculpture.

  A hammering on the door interrupted the strange tableau.

  ‘The key to my future,’ Grey whispered as he took the hold of the snake, unperturbed by the noise outside.

  It wasn’t the key to his future, but a ticket to a past he’d never lived.

  Richard Grey vanished.

  There were no bells or whistles, or puffs of magic smoke. With the thump of one heart beat, he’d disappeared, leaving only a smear of blood and a void on the floor.

  ‘New beginnings, Mr Lester, with your daughter. But not with your wife, that is something I cannot change. Time is a great healer, and I think now your grief has already passed. I’m only sorry we didn’t know in time.’

  As Albert went to reply, the man rummaged once more inside his bag, but whatever he used would remain unseen, as he also vanished, leaving not one shred of evidence that he’d ever existed outside of their collective imaginations.

  ‘I’ll get the door then,’ Nicole offered, shock etched on her face.

  When no one answered, she unlocked the front door, and armed police swarmed the tiny shop.

  The Aftermath

  Let off with a warning for discharging a firearm in a public place, Albert Lester limped upstairs to the apartment above The Old Curiosity Shop. Life would not be the same, and already he pined for the days when others sought his counsel. Here, he was an old man standing in the path of his daughter’s future. Or at least that’s how he felt as he watched Sarah running the sales figures with Nicole.

  Life in the future was benign, utterly predictable with no room for excitement or experimentation. For Brooke, life here would be different. He was experiencing the present as a visitor from the past. Everything for him was new and miraculous, and much less life threatening. But for Albert, the past held everything he needed to complete him.

  After the police seized the unlicensed muff-pistol, they vacated the premises, leaving the remaining adults in a silent huddle.

  As Albert lowered himself onto the couch, Nicole broke the uneasy tension.

  ‘I’ve never lied to a police officer…’

  Sarah started laughing, and before long Albert had joined in. When Nicole laughed with them, Brooke smiled. The scene too surreal for anything other than an attempt at humour.

  ‘I know what I saw, but I’m not sure I saw what I saw…’ Nicole started.

  ‘It’s best not to think too much about how it works, or why. Just accept it. It’s the only way,’ Sarah advised, with Albert nodding his agreement.

  Nicole swallowed. ‘If we ignore that thing that happened downstairs, which I’m still not sure really happened, can you say what will happen to me now? Now that you’re both back?’ Nicole’s voice broke.

  Albert and Sarah looked at each other. Albert not one hundred percent sure who Nicole was or what she did in the shop, but he had taken an educated guess.

  ‘That’s up to Sarah,’ he replied.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘It’s your shop, it’s up to you.’

  ‘But you’re back now?’

  Albert sighed. He was back, but couldn’t live this life. Everything in the shop, the business, this life, reminded him of Annabel and their life together. A life he could never be part of. As he’d walked up the stairs, each footfall had hammered home the only decision which made sense. He had to return to India, to his home. This wasn’t his life to live any more.

  ‘I have to go back,’ he whispered to Sarah. ‘This is your life now, your business. I’ll only get in the way—’

  ‘Never,’ Sarah interrupted.

  ‘I’ve decided.’

  ‘But the Indian man said you were in the right place now, you heard him. We heard him.’

  Albert tipped his head. ‘This may be the right place for you, but it’s the wrong time for me now. I’m sorry, sweetheart.’

  Sarah pouted, the petulant child coming through loud and clear.

  ‘So, you’ll run around the shop touching everything until you find a key to take you back? You could end up anywhere, just like I did,’ Sarah said, shaking off Brooke’s hand as he tried calming her.

  ‘I have one of his sculptures, a tiger which will take me back to India, to the very moment I left.’

  ‘You can’t know that for sure.’

  ‘I do, Love. I do. We’ve already said our goodbyes so many times before. But this time I have something to say before I go, about business I’m afraid. There’s an old garage, or shed, out by what I guess is now Heathrow, on Harlington High Street. Next to a stately home, but on its own title. There’s some stuff there for you. God knows what condition it’s in now, if it’s still there, but it should be. Paid more than an arm and a leg for it back in the day. Sell it. Don’t keep any of it for a rainy day, not any more. I want you to live your life. Promise me that?’

  Sarah nodded, tears streaming down her face.

  Albert knew all she wanted was her dad, but he couldn’t give her that. Not now. Sarah was an adult, a big girl on her own in the world. All children lost their parents at some stage. Most of them never got a second chance at saying goodbye, of settling scores or healing old wounds. But he had. And as he pulled Sarah into a giant bear hug, crushing her head to his chest, he couldn’t help crying himself at the joy she’d given him and at the second chances they’d had.

  ‘I love you, Dad.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  Then Albert Lester slipped his hand into his pocket, curling his tobacco-stained fingers around a tiny wooden carving of a recumbent tiger, and disappeared.

  Review

  Dear Reader,

  If you enjoyed Telegram Home, could you please leave a review on your favourite digital platform?

  Reviews are invaluable to authors, and only need to be a couple of lines, or more if you like.

  Thank you.

  Kirsten McKenzie

  Author’s Note

  The Viceregal Lodge in Simla (Shimla) was not built until 1888. For the purposes of this narrative I had it constructed twenty or so years earlier. In 1863, the Viceroy of India, John Lawrence, shifted the summer capital of the British Raj to Shimla. He lived in a rented house, which didn’t really suit the story, hence my poetic licence.

  The Indian Rebellion took place in 1857. The casualties across both fronts were huge, and appalling atrocities were committed by all those involved. This isn’t a book on military history, it’s a book which sits firmly in the time slip genre. I tried not to delve too deeply into the how’s and why’s of the Rebellion, but it sits behind the story as a volcanic backdrop. If there are errors or injustices in the story, they are mine. This is fiction, loosely based around fact.

  Imam William Henry "Abdullah" Quilliam was a real person and founded the first mosque in England after embracing Islam in 1887, aged 31 years old. On Christmas Day in 1888, Quilliam’s mosque opened its doors t
o feed the poor in the morning and again in the evening. The premises at 8 Brougham Terrace in Liverpool have been restored and turned into a museum. You can also book accomodation there through the Abdullah Quilliam Society. I hope that I have depicted Abdullah Quilliam as respectfully as possible.

  Governor Grey persuaded the Colonial Office in London to send more than 10,000 Imperial troops to New Zealand and General Sir Duncan Cameron was appointed to lead the campaign. Cameron used soldiers to build the 18 km-long Great South Road to the border of Kīngitanga territory and on 9 July 1863 Grey ordered all Māori living between Auckland and the Waikato take an oath of allegiance to Queen Victoria or be expelled south of the Waikato River; when his ultimatum was rejected the vanguard of the army crossed the frontier into Kīngitanga territory and established a forward camp. A long series of bush raids on his supply lines forced Cameron to build an extensive network of forts and redoubts through the area. In a continual buildup of force, Cameron eventually had 14,000 British and colonial soldiers at his disposal as well as steamers and armoured vessels for use on the Waikato River. They fought a combined Māori contingent of about 4,000.

  Cast Of Players

  The Old Curiosity Shop Series

  Sarah Lester/Grace Williams/Sarah Bell/Betsy

  Art Loss Register

  Gemma Dance

  Ryan Francis

  Auckland, New Zealand

  Aroha Kepa, wife of Wiremu Kepa

  Henry Neumegen, a pawnbroker

  Jimmy Jowl, a publican

  Joe Jowl, a publican

  Moses Robley, collector of artefacts

  Sophia Kepa, daughter of Wiremu

  Wiremu Kepa, a miller

  Clarence Whittaker, a surveyor

  Bruce Bay, New Zealand

  Bryce Sinclair, ferryman