by Andy Conway
She halted again. “No.”
“What is it?”
She shook her head, staring ahead in fear, as if a ghost blocked the path ahead. It was quite empty, but he wondered in an instant of panic if his dead wife had risen from the grave to block their way.
Arabella pointed to the gravestone. “It’s happening again.”
He couldn’t see what was happening at all, and then arcs of blue lightning struck and tore the day open.
— 47 —
RACHEL WONDERED IF she should really stop him from saving a girl’s life. Was that the right thing to do? He was already far ahead, in his Edwardian clothes, though he’d forgotten his hat. She thought wildly of running home to change into her tweed walking suit.
She ran full pelt down the parade of shops. Danny was on the other side running past the Fighting Cocks. Traffic blared through the village, cars and vans and buses. She ran till it thinned out and she could dart across to the green.
A quick glance up the alleyway.
Danny wasn’t there. The gates were locked. He’d have gone round the long way. She stood frozen for a moment, wondering if she could climb the gates and beat him to the touchstone.
No, she crossed the sliproad and sprinted past the Bull’s Head up St Mary’s Row, her heart burning.
She ducked into the lychgate, knowing she was too late, tearing into the churchyard, over the buckled paving stone with the name Arabella Palmer and round the back of the church and down the path, breathless.
He wasn’t there.
He’d gone through.
— 48 —
BEADLE FELL TO HIS knee. It was as if a vengeful god had rent the curtain of day open. Arabella silent screamed, her fist to her mouth.
But it was not his dead wife come to exact revenge for his infidelity. It was Daniel Pearce. He appeared out of nowhere and then, as soon as he had appeared, he was running for the lower gate. He was through it before Beadle could stand.
“What on earth? Where did he come from?”
Arabella stared in wonder, frozen, like him.
It had been the man in the photograph, the Daniel Pearce that had haunted him for twenty-four years; the great white whale that had escaped. He had appeared in a flash of light and run without even seeing them.
“Come. We must give chase,” he shouted.
But it was his own legs that held them back, not Arabella’s. What was it today? Something pressed on his soul, as if vice were slowly squeezing him to death.
Arabella moaned, and the air gathered in the same way it had just before Pearce had appeared, thickening like a swarm of wasps. It shimmered and burst like a blue balloon and a girl appeared.
— 49 —
DANNY RAN THROUGH THE village, not noticing the wonders of a Saturday morning in 1912. He was thinking of how to get Amy away from her father. He glanced at the clock on the Fighting Cocks pub as he ran past.
11.35. Only ten minutes. No. Nine.
Could he persuade her to leave with him? What could he say? And where would they go?
He checked the wedge of 1912 money in his inside pocket. He could run away with her, get a train at New Street Station. Was it built already or would it be the old Curzon Street Station? No, New Street was a Victorian station; he’d seen photos of the old one with its amazing roof which had been damaged during the Blitz and then bulldozed in the sixties to make way for the new concrete monstrosity.
Sprinting past the Prince of Wales pub, he skirted a beggar who called out to him. He’d given him the coin, that first time. Calling out to him like an old friend.
They could run to New Street Station and buy a ticket to anywhere in the country, the coast, or maybe London, where they could disappear more easily.
He felt a thrill of expectation for all the things they might see, and then remembered the research he’d done into what happened in 1912. The world was still reeling from the sinking of the Titanic and a series of wars in the Balkans would explode into the First World War within a couple of years. It was like the entire world was sleepwalking into the abyss.
It was just about the worst time he could pick to be a young, able-bodied male.
No, he’d bring her back to the present with him.
Get her out of the house, walk to St Mary’s, touch the stone, and disappear back to 2011.
Would it freak her out, like Rachel had said? Would she go insane at the sight of the modern world? Would it unhinge her as much as her father was unhinged?
He had no more time to think about it.
Six minutes.
He’d reached her house.
— 50 —
RACHEL REACHED OUT to the touchstone and with an electric shock that buzzed in her teeth, she was back in the churchyard in an instant.
The rotting smell of the place gagged her as she gasped a deep breath and ran over soft grass to the wrought-iron gates at the back of the graveyard.
Stumbling down the slate slope, she heaved the gates open with all her strength.
Men loading barrels shouted as she ran past, heading for the chink of blazing light at the end of the alley that led to 1912.
“STOP!” BEADLE CRIED.
The girl flinched, a criminal caught in the act, but she did not acknowledge his shout. She ran for the gate just like Pearce had. It creaked and groaned as she wrenched it open and fled.
“We have to stop them!” he said, though he had no idea what he was stopping.
They stumbled down the path and past his wife’s grave. Pain shot through his ankle and he realized he was almost hopping, Arabella holding him up.
She heaved open the gate and they pushed through the wide-open space, dark behind the advertising hoardings, and stumbled for the slit of light at the end of the dark alley.
Bursting out onto the village green, he saw Joe locking his cabin and rushing to meet them.
“He just come again!”
“We know,” said Beadle. “The girl too.”
“They’ve run that way.” Joe pointed north.
They could see the girl dashing up the street, already crossing the road at Shufflebotham’s.
“They run too fast,” said Arabella.
“We know where they’re going.”
“The Parker house,” said Joe.
DANNY PULLED UP, BENT over, chest burning, legs leaden. Should he just go to the front door and knock? There was no time to mess around. It could be happening right now.
A policeman walking towards him from Brighton Road. Could he tell him? Report the murder?
Or say he’d heard screams from inside so that he would knock the door? That alone might disrupt what was supposed to happen.
No. The police were after him. They had his name, knew he was after Amy Parker. This cop might be on watch, waiting for him to show. He’d be arrested and carted back to that cell. He couldn’t help Amy from a police cell. She would be dead in the next five minutes.
He nipped down the side street, away from the policeman’s gaze, and scooted round to the rear of the house.
He’d stopped thinking now and was all action: vaulting the fence, padding down the garden and climbing up to Amy’s window, hoping no one from the houses all around would see him and alert the police. He didn’t even know if they had telephones yet.
He raised himself slowly and peered into her bedroom through the open window.
He looked all around. It didn’t matter if a neighbour saw him; he had to stop Parker killing his daughter.
He climbed into Amy’s bedroom, his boot letting out an ear-splitting creak as he lowered it to the floor.
Suddenly, the door opened and he was caught.
— 51 —
THEY COULD NEVER CATCH them. Beadle looked around wildly. The cabman’s shelter sat behind them. “There are no cabs!”
“Why don’t we get the tram?” said Arabella. “We can overtake them.”
They looked south to the dovecote. A tram sliding down the hill to the village.
“Yes, quickly!”
They ran across the green to the other side of the street, where Boots the chemist stood on the corner. A line of people already waiting.
The tram stopped at the crossroads and then slid slowly, gently to them. They piled on. The driver rang a bell and the tram pushed off, whirring and groaning as it climbed the hill.
They stood at the front, with a view of the entire street ahead.
“Move to the back,” the driver said. “Take a seat.”
Beadle pulled his police identification from his pocket. “Make lively. We’re following a suspect.”
The driver’s eyes bugged out of his head. “I can’t make it go any faster, officer.”
“Just get a move on!”
He gasped for air.
Arabella squeezed his hand on the steel railing.
He was too old for chasing criminals. He needed to retire on his pension and tend a garden with this beautiful woman.
They climbed the hill and stopped opposite the Prince of Wales to let a passenger on. Such agonising delay.
“Get a move on!” Joe shouted. “This is police business!”
The tram whirred on, turning at the bend and began its descent down the gentle slope to Balsall Heath.
— 52 —
DANNY STEPPED FORWARD into the room, ready to fight Mr Parker.
But it was Amy.
She clamped her palm to her mouth, closed the door behind her and rushed to him.
He took her in his arms. She was trembling with fear.
“We can’t talk today,” she whispered. “My father’s in a terrible mood. You have to go. If he catches you here...”
“Amy, you have to come with me, right now.”
“The police came for you. What have you done, Danny Pearce?”
“I told them your father was insane. That you were in great danger. But they wouldn’t believe me.”
“My father wouldn’t hurt me,” she said.
But he could see it in her face. It was the lie she desperately wanted to believe.
“He’s hurt you already, hasn’t he?”
She looked away, shaking her head from side to side, desperate not to see the truth.
“You know it,” he said. “I’m here to save you.”
She sobbed, nodding and her face fell on his chest.
“We have to go. Now.”
She broke away, nodded and started to look around for things to take with her, her hands shaking violently.
“We haven’t time,” he said, glancing at a carriage clock on a shelf.
11.42.
“I’ll need some things, though,” she pleaded.
“No, we need to go now, before he...”
Too late. Heavy footsteps clumping rapidly up the stairs. Her father’s voice boomed out, “Amy!”
She froze in terror.
Danny pulled her to the window, their only escape route. “Come on!”
She couldn’t move, staring at the door in terror. It flew open and Mr Parker was there.
“What’s this?” he cried. “Under my roof?”
Before either of them could move, he smacked Amy across the face with the back of his hand. She flew across the room and hit the wall, crumpling in terror. Danny stepped between them, arms out to protect. Mr Parker punched him square on the jaw. He reeled back, surprised. He hadn’t felt it, but it had knocked him against the window.
“You whore! You vile whore! Abomination!”
“Father! Please! No! Stop!”
He loomed down over Amy and slapped her again across the face, her squeal of pain flaming inside Danny’s head.
He dived at the old man. They crashed against the wardrobe.
Mr Parker slumped, dazed.
Danny grabbed Amy’s hand and ran out of the door with her.
— 53 —
BEADLE CRANED TO SEE.
There. The girl, running desperately, one fist holding up her long skirt, dashing like a sprinter in a manner befitting no woman.
Ahead was the Parker house to the right, the tram depot beyond it, the tram stop opposite that on the left.
They caught up with the running girl and for a moment, Beadle’s eyes met hers as she looked over her shoulder, flailing in wild panic.
“Oh God!” Arabella screamed.
Another girl, running into the road ahead. The Parker girl. She ran and stopped and looked behind her.
RACHEL JUMPED AS THE tram let out a wail. She was so close now. It rattled alongside her, hissing, grumbling, taunting as it overtook, startled passengers watching her frantic sprint. She saw the house up ahead. Nearly there. And suddenly a bizarre scene erupted from it.
A girl ran out into the street. A young man came flying out of the house after her, as if fired from a cannon.
The tram’s brakes screeched. Sparks flew up from the silver rails. The ring-ring of the tram bell split their ears.
DANNY AND AMY TORE down the stairs, two at a time, stumbling, falling, flying, Mr Parker chasing them, Amy screaming hysterically.
On the lower landing, Parker jumped on Danny’s back and they fell in a flailing, kicking heap.
Amy ran on down the stairs.
Danny booted Parker in the face, heard the sickening crack of his jaw as the old man flew back.
He jumped to his feet to follow Amy, saw Parker’s face all red, flecks of spittle foaming at his mouth as he struggled back to his feet and stumbled after them.
He heard the whirr of the electric tram in the distance as he clattered across the tiles in the hall and bolted through the open front door behind Amy, who was rushing blindly down the garden path into the street.
And, as in a dream, he saw the tram looming and Amy running into its path.
She couldn’t hear his disembodied cry.
Amy stood petrified in the street, staring in panic at her father, a monster spat from the house’s mouth. She heard the tram’s bell too late, twisted to see it almost upon her.
The brakes screeched, the bell rang, someone screamed.
The driver slammed the brakes. Hit the bell.
They lurched forward. Arabella fell against him.
Beadle was pinned to the window, watching helpless as Amy Parker turned, frozen in horror.
AN OLDER MAN IN A WAISTCOAT dashed out of the house after the couple, waving a cane.
The girl stopped, wheeled around and saw the tram bearing down on her.
The young man careened across the street to catch her.
Rachel ran towards them, panic on her face, arm outstretched, too late, and shouted, “Don’t!”
DANNY LUNGED AND TACKLED Amy out of the tram’s path.
It clattered by and hissed to a stop as Danny held her tight on the floor. He had a moment to realize they were alive, where he could feel her soft body under his, her breasts rising against him, panting, alive.
RACHEL HAD A MOMENT, before Parker slammed into her and pushed her to the floor, marauding across the street, waving a cane.
She fell and felt her knee scrape on the hard gravel road.
He’d saved her. Danny had been a blur, crashing in from the right to push Amy Parker out of the tram’s path. There had been no crushing of bone, or the expected smash of steel on flesh.
THE TRAM ROLLED ON, brakes screeching, screams and cries of terror from the passengers. Beadle hammered at the door as the tram rolled to a slow stop, to hiss and splutter almost outside the tram depot.
“Open the bloody doors, man!”
“All right, all right,” the driver wheedled.
The door clattered open and Beadle jumped to the pavement. Arabella was beside him and they were running back up the street.
DANNY JUMPED TO HIS feet as Parker came screaming at them brandishing a cane.
“You whore! You vile whore! Abomination!”
Thwock!
He took the cane right across his face, stumbling to one side, blood spurting from his cheek.
Parker raised the cane again t
o strike Amy, then stuttered, confused, as the cane was snatched from his grasp and a crowd of passersby jumped on him and pinned him down.
A woman pulled Amy to the far kerb, wrapping her arms around her.
A CROWD OF PEOPLE AT the scene. More passersby running to them.
“Come on,” he cried. “We have him.”
But Arabella was running faster than him. It was Beadle who was slowing them down. Such a terrible throbbing pain all down his left arm.
They ran up the street, along the tram tracks. A hansom cab clattered by and Arabella pulled him back. They might have died under the horse’s hooves.
“Be careful, dearest,” she said.
For a moment, her tenderness took him by surprise and he wanted to stop and kiss her right there in broad daylight in the middle of the Alcester Road.
But he ran on, limping. Joe was behind, panting like an old dog.
SOMEONE PULLED DANNY to his feet and dragged him away. He stared after Amy, dizzy, groggy, face bleeding, but triumphant, seeing Amy safe and her father still screaming biblical abuse at her from under a scrum of burly men.
“I did it,” he said. “I stopped it.”
Amy stared back as he was dragged away from her. She understood it now. He caught her eyes for the last time and found himself yanked up into a pony trap.
Rachel was by his side and shouting at the driver, “St Mary’s church, please!”
The cabman whipped the horse off and they pulled away from the scene, speeding off up the hill to the village. Danny looked back in panic. Policemen were running to the scene.