Touchstone Season One- Complete Box Set

by Andy Conway

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  The bus had pulled up. An old lady climbing on board. She ran.

  “Might help him to have it all out in the open. There’s some big people who don’t like his winning streak.” He stood between her and the platform.

  She swiped at his camera, knocking it out of his hands, pushed him away.

  He stumbled back, the camera clattered, opened.

  She jumped on board.

  “Oy! Bloody hell!”

  She gripped the rail as the bus sailed away, the kerb and parked cars flashing past as he shrank in the distance, piecing his camera back together, climbing to his feet and kicking his pork pie hat.

  — 29 —

  RACHEL ALMOST MISSED Olive’s entrance into Druckers, she was so fascinated by the double-retro effect of the surroundings. She was used to the single-retro effect of being in the past by now, but here in Druckers in 1966 it was like the place hadn’t changed since the 1940s: the mahogany and lace, the old ladies taking tea and cakes still wearing their hats.

  The door chimed and she saw the old photograph she had in her pocket come to life: her Nan as a 30-year old glamour queen, elegant, refined, chic. She sashayed over to their table and Charlie stood for her and touched her chair as she sat down.

  “Olive, how lovely to see you. This is...”

  Rachel thrust a hand across the table. “Rachel. Pleased to meet you. I’m Mr Moore’s sister.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” said Olive. She looked her up and down and seemed on the point of remembering her – a woman who gave her a boiled egg one morning during the war when she was a little girl – but the memory eluded her and she dismissed the gnawing ache of familiarity the only way she could.

  “You look like him.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to see us,” said Rachel. “I’m very concerned about Danny, as you might imagine. I think he’s in some sort of trouble.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” said Olive. “My husband had his doubts about him from the start.” She opened her handbag and put a cigarette to her mouth.

  Charlie produced a lighter and Olive puffed on it without looking at him.

  Rachel tried not to laugh. She’d never known her Nan could be so cool, and this was nothing to do with the rift they’d caused – Danny had caused – creating the new future where Olive ended up all alone in her son’s granny flat. This was the woman she’d always been. She wondered if she should warn her: her husband was going to leave her for a tart at work.

  “But you’re not too sure about that,” said Charlie.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think you wouldn’t have come here to talk about it if you thought that was the whole story.”

  Olive frowned and blew out blue smoke and tapped ash into the emerald glass ashtray.

  “Well, I have my doubts,” she said.

  “Anything you could tell us,” said Rachel. “Anything at all. Might help me find him.”

  “What I can’t work out,” said Olive, “is how you two know each other.”

  Rachel looked at Charlie.

  “Rachel is an old friend,” said Charlie. “I’ve known the two of them for a long time.”

  “But he said he wasn’t from here,” said Olive. “He’s from Shrewsbury and he’s spent a lot of time in America.”

  “I think he likes to spin a yarn or two,” said Rachel. “You’re not the first person for whom he’s invented a new life story.”

  She tried to look as sympathetic as possible and it seemed to work.

  Olive looked at her lap and her shoulders slumped a little.

  “You were saying you had your doubts?” said Charlie.

  She nodded and rallied herself to say the unsayable. “I’m not sure my husband’s story was entirely true,” she whispered.

  “He didn’t throw him out because he insulted you?”

  “No, that was nonsense. They went out to see the game and he never came back. Lashford said that Mr Moore had insulted the mayor and wandered off alone to a nightclub, quite drunk. He was surprised he didn’t come back in the morning. But...” She looked around her to see who might be listening in and lowered her voice. “But it doesn’t match what the girl said.”

  “The girl?” said Charlie.

  “There was a girl. Redhead. Kath Bright. That’s the name she gave me on the phone. She hangs out at Gigi’s Café late at night like a common tart. She picked him up after... there was a fight.”

  Rachel tried to concentrate on Olive’s words but she was thinking where do I know that name? Where do I know that name? Where do I know that name?

  “She said Lashford got into a fight with your brother. I don’t know if that’s true.”

  “But you think it might be?” said Charlie.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But there was something about this girl’s story that...”

  “She seemed very sure of herself.”

  “Did she leave her number or an address?” asked Rachel.

  Olive shook her head. “No. But I watched her walk into the Victoria Parade entrance, so I imagine she lives in one of the flats above the shops.”

  “Thank you, Olive,” said Charlie. “That’s very helpful.”

  “I’m sure D.I. Davies will be able to help you too.”

  “D.I. Davies?” said Charlie.

  “You worked together during the war, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Charlie. “He’s looking for Danny?”

  “I told him everything I’ve told you,” said Olive. “He’s probably already tracked him down.”

  — 30 —

  KATH JUMPED OFF THE bus at Brighton Road, opposite the old tram depot, and decided to walk down Cromer Road till she came out at the foot of Salisbury Road and began the long trudge up the hill back to Moseley village. She cursed herself all the way. She was supposed to come here, find him and encourage him to return to the present before he caused any damage, but she had failed. She’d convinced herself it was best to keep him close to her, so she could spy on him; find out something that might be useful to them, but she had failed. Then she had come up with the genius left field idea of exposing him to public scrutiny, to scare him into retreating, maybe protect him, and it had blown up in her face. She had pretty much fouled it up at every step of the way; and fallen for him too, because that series of screw-ups wasn’t quite humiliating enough.

  Just before she reached the crossroads where the photographer might be still waiting, she ducked left into the entrance to her courtyard and ran to the iron steps.

  “Hello there.”

  She froze. A man standing there at the top of the steps. Not the photographer: older, in a shabby suit that barely held his beer belly, balding, moustache, sweating.

  He saw the fear in her eyes and smiled, pulling out a warrant card and holding it up for her.

  “Detective Inspector Davies, ma’am. Nothing to be alarmed about; just some routine enquiries’.

  He must have already tried ringing the doorbell. Danny would be cowering inside, waiting for him to leave, afraid to answer the door to anyone but her. How long had he been here?

  She climbed the steps reluctantly and he pulled a rolled up newspaper from his raincoat pocket. She was four steps below him when he pointed to Danny’s face.

  “I’m looking for this man,” he said. “A woman answering your description was said to have been with him.”

  She shook her head and made a show of squinting at the picture as she took the final step to join him on the landing.

  “Your description and name. It is Kath Bright, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Is he here?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not arresting him. He’s not done anything illegal. I just want to talk to him.”

  She had been dying to swallow all the way up the steps and did so now and felt that it
made her look guilty.

  “He’s left,” she croaked. “He stayed a night and then moved on.”

  The inspector stared at her for a long time, as if weighing up the evidence of her eyes, her stance, the blush of her cheeks, the timbre of her voice, and deciding that every one of them condemned her.

  “You won’t mind me coming in and taking a look, will you, ma’am?”

  “Do you have a warrant?” It came out of her mouth much bolder and braver than she’d intended.

  “Now, now, there’s no need for that, young lady.”

  She saw uncertainty in his eyes for the first time. Something inside him shifted. There was something fishy about him and she knew instantly that he was not a detective inspector making an official enquiry.

  “A young lady can’t be too careful these days,” she said. “A young lady would be very silly to let a strange man into her flat, just taking his word for it that he’s a policeman. I think she’d be quite sensible to ask him to come back with a warrant and a uniformed policeman for company, just so she could be on the safe side. And a Detective Inspector might understand that.”

  He smiled again and nodded.

  “Certainly, madam.” He dug into his raincoat pocket and pulled out a business card. “If he gets in touch again, perhaps you’d give me a call?”

  She took the card and watched him climb down the steps holding the railing all the way down. Once he was gone, she slid her key in the door and slipped inside. She thought Danny would be there, pressed against the wall, listening, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t anywhere in the flat. He’d gone.

  She hoped wildly that he’d returned to 2012 and her mission could be deemed an unexpected success. But then she hoped desperately that he hadn’t.

  — 31 —

  THE ROAD HAD LOOKED nothing like he remembered it until he was within sight of the HP Sauce tower.

  In his present, 2012, it was almost a motorway intersection; a nightmare in traffic, but this was a long suburban road, busy but still quaint and homely.

  The cab driver sang along to the tune on the radio, Baby, baby, baby, you’re out of tiiiiiime... as he pulled up.

  “Here you are, mate. It’s that place over there. Used to be a cinema. The Astoria. Saw some great films there.”

  “Can you wait here for me and take me back to Moseley?”

  “I’d have to keep the meter running,” he said. “And you’d have to pay me now.”

  Danny pulled out a crisp note and saw the man’s eyes widen. “Wait here for me. And I’ll give you another one for taking me back to Moseley.”

  The cabbie took the note. “Mate, I’ll drive you round all day for that kind of money.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  He stepped out and a stench he’d never encountered before assaulted him. He looked all around. It was sweet and sour and maltish and it hit the back of your throat. Was it the HP Sauce factory? He wasn’t sure. Maybe the Ansells brewery beyond it. It didn’t smell exactly like brown sauce or beer but some tangy by-product of either was possible. The entire neighbourhood reeked of it.

  He turned and looked up at the sign above the modest building that said ATV Studios and headed for the entrance.

  — 32 —

  CHARLIE AND RACHEL paused at the black mouth of the alley with the terracotta Victoria Parade sign above it. She couldn’t help peering in the window of Mitchell’s butchers and delighting at its quaintness.

  “Perhaps it provides entry to the flats above the shops,” said Charlie. He seemed uncertain, as if he might be intruding on someone’s private land if he ventured into the alley.

  “Shall we go and find out?”

  She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, to encourage as much as to comfort herself.

  Charlie was about to step forward when a shadow walked out of the wall. They shuffled and stepped aside, pretending to be looking in the butcher’s shop window and she pressed closer to him.

  It was a woman. She must have emerged from a door or a gap in the wall. As she walked out of the blackness and the sun kissed her bronze hair, Rachel froze with shock.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Charlie turned and faced her, as if to embrace her.

  She looked up into his questioning eyes and peered over his shoulder at the woman, who was looking both ways, up and down the village, hoping to see someone.

  “What is it?” murmured Charlie.

  “I know her,” whispered Rachel. “She’s from the present – my present. She works in the library. She’s from 2012!”

  Charlie frowned down at her, gripping her arms, trying to work it out.

  “Do you think she’s found your touchstone too?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know,” Rachel stammered. “Kath Bright. Of course.”

  Charlie put an arm round her and turned her away so they were facing the window.

  She tried to struggle against him, wanting to turn and watch her, but he pointed at the window and she saw what he saw: the reflection of the street behind them.

  The girl was still standing there, looking up and down, deciding where to go. She waited for a car to pass then crossed over and walked into Charlie’s betting shop.

  “You don’t think she’s...?”

  “She’s looking for Danny,” said Charlie. “She must be.”

  That was it. Danny had flirted with her, the first time they’d been at the library together. Then the girl had gone out of her way to track down the photo of Amy Parker for him. In the past few months, they must have started seeing each other. He’d shown her the touchstone and invited her back into this secret – this thing they’d promised never to show anyone else. Anger and betrayal soured her soul and she wanted to scream.

  She shrugged Charlie off and was rushing across the road before he could stop her.

  “Rachel? No!”

  A car skimmed past her and honked a horn that sounded more like it should be on a bicycle. She edged around its wake, breathing in exhaust fumes that made her think of old ice cream vans, and rushed to the door of Charlie’s shop just as Kath Bright walked out and pushed past her, rushing up the road, shouting an apology without looking back.

  She hadn’t seen her. Charlie rushed to Rachel’s side.

  “Come on, Charlie. We should follow her. She’ll lead us to Danny!”

  Charlie gripped her hand and was about to run with her, when the door flew open and Jonathan burst out.

  “Mr Eckersley, sir. I tried to call you. I even knocked on your door. I had to close the shop, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “What is it?”

  They both groaned as Kath Bright ran around the corner into Woodbridge Road.

  “It’s Maddy, sir. I’ve been running the shop all morning by myself. Emergency, sir. Her mother.”

  “What about her mother?”

  “She’s, er... well, she’s... dying, sir.”

  — 33 —

  KATH BRIGHT TRIED EVERY pub in Moseley, all the time wondering if Danny had chosen to go back to 2012. But she held onto the thought of his greed. The need to see his bet play out would keep him here. And there was something in his haughty arrogance that made her think it was less about the money now than the principle.

  She’d seen it happen before. There had been other people, other time-breachers, who had become drunk on the possibilities and begun to rationalize their own greed. This was what they worked to prevent, this was their purpose, but she had gone and messed this one up by falling for the subject.

  If she found him, should she force him to go back? It seemed the only way. She wasn’t supposed to do that, of course; it wasn’t regarded as the politically correct thing to do, but it had all slipped so far out of her control that she now saw it as the only option.

  The sun was beginning to set as she drifted back to the Prince of Wales pub, checking it for the third time, and couldn’t help pausing with shock. The front bar was thick with swearing and smoke and populated almost exclusively by Irish men
who turned to look at her. This was how it must have been: not female friendly, not clean, no selection of wines and top-of-the-range rums and whiskies as it was in the present. No Guardian reading teachers, social workers, students and failed poets; they hadn’t yet discovered the place and slowly taken it over. It was a pub full of hard drinking navvies and not the place she belonged. She thanked the stars for her red hair.

  She had always laughed when her mother had said she could never walk into a pub on her own – it wasn’t the done thing for a woman – but now she understood: this had been what they were like in her day: they weren’t friendly places for single women.

  Could he be here? It seemed unlikely. She stepped forward and tiptoed to see over the wall of bodies. Irish folk music blasted out from the back room, over the heads of the crush of bodies at the rear corridor flap clamouring to be served. There was a folk band in there belting out a jig.

  A cheer went up in the corner where the bar curved and a hand waved at the barman with a wad of money.

  “Another round for all my friends!”

  Danny. She pushed through muttering excuse mes and sorrys till she reached him and yanked him to face her.

  “What the hell are you doing, Danny?”

  “Kath! How are you, darling?”

  The men around him cheered and some booed and they all laughed at her, the nagging girlfriend who’d caught up with the fellah on a bender.

  “Have a drink!” he cried. “I’m getting them in!”

  “We need to go,” she hissed. “It’s not safe.”

  “Of course it’s safe. Everyone’s having a great time. A safe time!”

  He was laughing and swaying and acting the big shot. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was safer here in a crowd instead of somewhere quiet where they could get you without anyone seeing. She couldn’t leave him, not now. Her entire mission would be a shambles if she gave it up now.

  “Come on, Kath. What are you having?”