Touchstone Season One- Complete Box Set

by Andy Conway

  “How did you do that?” she said. “It’s day.”

  “We’re not in 1980,” Rachel said, almost apologetic.

  Lorna ran from her, over the frost-hard lawn of the back garden, ducking by the crumbling outhouse, into the side yard. She was running home, running to safety. To the back door, scrambling for her key. She would get inside and lock the door behind her. Lock crazy Rachel out. And then maybe wake up from this dream. This dream which felt so real. It was cold. She shivered.

  Before she could slide her key into the lock, she noticed the white snow on the dining room window.

  No. Not snow. Or ice. A white spray forming the outline of a Christmas tree. Inside, tinsel glittered from the cornice.

  This wasn’t right. It was August.

  It was a high window, her head only just peeking over the sill. She peered through the Christmas tree outline.

  In the corner of the room was a Christmas tree, swathed in tinsel, its fairy lights winking. A shower of gaudily wrapped presents lay beneath it, and a little girl in pyjamas, and a woman on her knees, watching her, smiling.

  Rachel inched to Lorna’s side and peered in on the scene with her. Lorna heard her gasp.

  The girl unwrapping a present must have been about four years’ old.

  On the sofa, watching her, in pyjamas, was Martyn. A young Martyn. Older than the Martyn Lorna knew; a little chunkier, beaming a contented smile, a mug of tea in one hand.

  On her knees, by the brown-haired girl, the young woman was helping the girl unwrap her present. They couldn’t see her face until she turned to say something to Martyn.

  Lorna gasped to see herself.

  “Oh God,” said Rachel. “This is my only—”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. Lorna didn’t know why, only stared in wonder at her future self, with her future child.

  She watched for an age, which might have been only the time it took her to breathe again, then she felt Rachel’s arm around her shoulder.

  Something wrenched them backwards, like a bungee rope yanking them away, and they landed on the floor outside the Register Office at 10p.m. on the 15th of August, 1980.

  — 37 —

  RACHEL SENSED THAT Lorna wasn’t going to run off, despite her mother’s silence. Their jaunt had kicked all the doubt out of her.

  With her arm around her shoulder, she guided her back to the Rendezvous. Their teas were still sitting at their table. Dexys Midnight Runners glanced up from their game of snooker, but no one paid them much attention.

  Lorna cupped her fingers around her mug, warming her hands. She was far away.

  Eventually she came back to the room and looked at Rachel, really looked at her: the daughter she would one day bring into the world.

  Rachel shrugged and nodded, as if to say Yeah, I know. It’s crazy, but what can you do?

  She felt something surge through her and wondered what it was, and realized it was relief. The relief of telling someone her secret at last. Only Charlie knew it. She had been pretending to everyone for three years.

  “Yes,” said Lorna. “It was the look you gave me. That first night in the Hare. And again the next morning.”

  She was going over it all again, matching it up with this new reality.

  “I never wanted to lie to you,” Rachel said. “Or trick you. Honestly. I just couldn’t tell you.”

  Lorna nodded. “I’d have run a mile.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  Lorna sipped at her tea, grimaced and pushed it away. Looked around her.

  “Excuse me,” she said and got up, approaching one of the Dexys band playing snooker. He took out a pack of cigarettes and gave her one, lighting it for her. The cigarette quivered over the flame he offered — she was shaking — till it sucked in the flame and she breathed a cloud of smoke between them.

  She thanked him and came back.

  Rachel thought about warning her not to smoke. She was going to die of cancer. She should tell her. But would that set in motion another chain of events that would disrupt the world? She was so close to reassembling everything back to what it was. Could she risk it?

  Lorna froze. “What?”

  Rachel shook her head.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Lorna held out the cigarette. “We can share it.”

  “I don’t smoke.”

  Lorna shrugged, took in a deep drag, held it, eyes closed in ecstasy, blew out blue smoke. “So... Martyn, then,” she said.

  Rachel nodded. “My dad.”

  Lorna smiled and blushed a little. “I knew. The first time I saw him. I knew it was him.”

  She searched Rachel’s eyes for something, as if she might find her future life mapped out there. Rachel wondered how much she could hide from her.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Lorna asked.

  Rachel remembered Charlie and nodded.

  “Why aren’t you with him now?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “More than this?”

  “Yeah. A little.”

  Lorna snorted laughter and coughed, waving smoke from her face. Rachel laughed with her. If you didn’t laugh, you’d bawl your eyes out, she thought.

  “What’s it like in the future?” Lorna asked suddenly.

  “Flying cars, moving pavements, jet packs,” Rachel said.

  “Really?”

  “No. I’m not allowed to tell you.”

  “Can you give me some cup final winners? Grand National tips?”

  “I would if I knew anything about sports. Has Red Rum already happened?”

  “Duh. Yeah.”

  “That’s the only horse I know,” Rachel shrugged. “Oh wait. Shergar.”

  “Shergar?”

  “Yeah. That’s quite famous for some reason. If you see it, maybe back it. But don’t put the house on it. I might be wrong.”

  A couple of girls came in and went to the counter. Heavily made-up and outlandishly dressed as a couple of veiled Romanov princesses, they were obviously heading to the Rum Runner.

  “The main thing, though, is to get together with Martyn. That really has to happen. I’m going to stay until it does and Esther bloody Parker is out of the picture.”

  “This is weird,” said Lorna.

  “What?”

  “I’d have been really glad to hear you say that, because I like you. As a friend. But now I know you’re my... daughter...’ She lowered her voice when she said it, barely letting it past her teeth. “It feels weird.”

  “Then let’s just stay friends,” said Rachel. “I’ve enjoyed being your friend.”

  She bit her lip. Don’t tell her how much you needed that. Don’t let her know she dies so young.

  “Don’t you think it’s weird that we keep bumping into Martyn, though?” said Lorna, frowning. “I mean. I know I like him, so I went to his gig the other night. But you arrive and you faint in front of him. That was real, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we buy our tickets exactly when he’s buying his. Then we bump into him on New Street. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  “I think... I don’t know... sometimes I feel that something, somewhere, wants it to happen. Maybe because it did happen and the gods want to make sure it happens.”

  “The gods?”

  She shrugged. “Or Fate. Or Time. I have no idea.”

  “So why is he kissing her tonight?”

  Rachel looked at her cold tea. Should she tell her about Kath? If she was going to make sure Lorna and Martyn got together, she would have to deal with Kath. And with Danny.

  “Maybe not all the gods want it to happen.”

  “Lorna. Hello.”

  The Romanov girls had stopped.

  “Oh. Hi. Caryn. You going to the Rum Runner?”

  “Well, we’re not going to Snobs, are we.”

  They sat at their table, absurdly out of place in their finery, everyone in the greasy caff staring at them.

  Lorna introduced them. “This is C
aryn, from Uni. Caryn, this is my... friend... Rachel.”

  Caryn leaned over to look her up and down: to actually examine her entire wardrobe.

  “Nice coat. What are those?”

  “They’re pixie boots,” said Lorna proudly. “She got them in Paris.”

  “Oh, interesting,” said Caryn.

  “Your dress is...’ Rachel paused, looking for the right word. Outlandish, expensive, extreme all sounded negative. “Amazing.”

  “Yes. Khan and Bell, obviously.”

  Rachel caught Lorna’s look. The place where the rich ones bought their fashions, instead of mixing and matching from charity shops and the Rag Market.

  “We’ve just been to see Ultravox at the Cedar Club,” said Lorna.

  “How was it?” asked Caryn. “Didn’t really fancy it.”

  “They were good. I still prefer John Foxx, though.”

  “I’m just not into the whole live band thing. It’s just so seventies.”

  Caryn pouted when she said it and pronounced it with a fake German accent. They all giggled, except Rachel, who didn’t get the joke.

  “That’s why we decided on the Rum Runner, instead of the party at Vince’s. I mean Tango Decade are playing, and they’re so dull.”

  “What party?” asked Lorna.

  “You know Vince? Has that flat on the corner above Moseley village. Above the chemist’s. There’s a party tonight. Everyone’s going.”

  “And Tango Decade are playing?”

  “That’s what Vince said.” Caryn waved it away, like a bad smell.

  Lorna looked at Rachel. They both broke into a giant grin.

  “That’ll be the gods again,” said Rachel.

  — 38 —

  THEY RAN OUT ONTO BROAD Street. Lorna was going to head back into town and get the bus but Rachel suggested a cab. It was clear Lorna had no more considered that than she would a jet-pack.

  There were no black cabs lined up all along the street. It took ages for one to sail down the road, its yellow Cyclops eye blazing.

  They climbed in and, as it rattled to Moseley, Lorna asked her all about her time travel. Rachel told her the whole story: Danny saving Amy Parker’s life in 1912 and how that had wiped out Rachel’s life; trying to correct that in 1940 and 1966, the recurring nightmare UnTime episode of 1959, and the strange powers she’d developed in 1939. She included her bad dreams of village girls on the Great Plain and volcanoes that might burst with fire.

  “So when you said the gods were helping, you meant...’ Lorna didn’t finish.

  The taxi pulled up on the slope of Salisbury Road and Rachel paid. They stepped out. The battlements of St. Mary’s church standing guard over the village. Music boomed against the windows of the flat above the chemists on the corner, opposite Charlie’s flat.

  Rachel gazed up at his windows, wondering if he was there, wanting to run over and tell him, “Charlie, this might be the night I finally sort it all out. That task I told you about in 1934. Fifty-six years ago. I’m going to finally do it, tonight, right across the street from you.”

  She thought he’d be pleased for her. But it made her sad. She was doing it all without him now.

  They found the door on the side. Some other people turned up and lined up behind them.

  “Do we know the host?” asked Rachel.

  Lorna laughed. “It’s Moseley. You just turn up.”

  The door opened and whoever it was didn’t even check who they were, just let them in.

  They filed upstairs and found a warren of dark rooms heaving with shouting people.

  In one of the back rooms, the band were setting up, but Martyn wasn’t with them.

  “He might not have got here from the concert yet,” said Lorna.

  “Okay. We’ll wait.”

  “I’m going to need some courage,” said Lorna. “We didn’t bring any booze.”

  They walked back down to the village and bought a bottle of cheap wine at Pickmere’s off-licence below Rachel’s flat, a few doors along from Mrs Hudson’s costume hire shop. Lorna suggested Lambrusco because she’d heard it was the new quality wine that everyone was drinking.

  Back at the party, Lorna wouldn’t put it down, warning Rachel it would be gone if they did, so they swigged from it and both laughed at the same self-conscious moment they realized they were mother and daughter getting drunk together.

  Rachel reminded herself to take it easy. Her recent bouts of drinking had taken her to a very bad place. She no longer needed it. She just felt nervous.

  A couple of times she jumped, thinking she’d seen Kath or Danny, but she told herself they wouldn’t be here. They would think their job was done, having bewitched Martyn into Esther’s arms.

  Within an hour, more people arrived and she recognized faces from the gig. It seemed like half of Moseley had gone to see Ultravox and were now returning for the party.

  A DJ had set up in one of the rooms and was blasting out Roxy Music’s Both Ends Burning. Without even suggesting it, Lorna started dancing, and Rachel joined her. They were both on edge, standing around waiting for Martyn and Esther to arrive. They might as well distract themselves.

  For four minutes, every care melted away. Rachel felt herself giddy, euphoric as she moved to the beat, losing herself, lost on a wave of shimmering joy. She felt again that overwhelming desire to forget ever going back to her old life, to just stay here and live out her youth as Lorna’s best friend, but she knew that this was it: this four-minute pop song was all the youth they would share together, all the bliss she would feel. After it, she would force Lorna into Martyn’s arms and disappear from her life forever. Leave her and be born.

  When the song ended, they hugged, and she knew Lorna realized it too. She breathed in her mother’s fragrance for the last time, held onto the moment. Don’t forget this. This is the last of her.

  Then she pulled away and said, “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Lorna nodded. “I feel so silly.”

  “You’re meant to be together. Just remember that. Esther’s an imposter and she’s taking your future from you. From us.”

  Lorna looked suddenly scared. Rachel turned.

  Esther Parker was on the other side of the room and Martyn was there with his arm around her waist.

  — 39 —

  MARTYN FOUND THE ROOM where the band were setting up. Mark waved to him, grinning, with a thumbs up. Paul nodded but was sucking in his cheeks, trying to look cool and remote in front of anyone who might observe him, putting on his Important Band Member face. Glen glanced up from plugging in his Wasp synth and sneered.

  Martyn wanted to kill him right then, but he gave Esther’s shoulder a squeeze and said, “Go and get a drink or something. I’ve got to help the band set up.”

  She said, “Sure,” and left him.

  Glen’s sneer had been the sneer of the jealous band member seeing his bass player — his bass player — with a girlfriend. He was going to play the Yoko card.

  If he makes a crack about Esther, I’m going to punch him.

  Glen was going to make fun of him going to see a band play when he should have been preparing for his own gig.

  If he makes a crack about the gig, I’m going to punch him.

  He was probably going to belittle Ultravox as a pop band as well.

  If he makes a crack about Ultravox, I’m going to punch him.

  Martyn could see it all about to play out. He’d seen it so many times he knew exactly how Glen worked. So why hadn’t he seen that Glen had been lying to him about the money all this time?

  Because he was stupid and he trusted people. He’d been the same at school: always believing anything anyone told him, never understanding why someone would lie or make up a fantasy as easily as breathing. But there were kids at school who’d done it all the time: Walter Mittys concocting fairytales every day. Even at that age. And there had been guys at Smiths Forgings who did it too. He’d been surrounded by liars his whole life. Why hadn’t he seen that Glen was
a liar?

  Because he’d thought he was a friend. Because he’d trusted him. Because he’d thought he was a human being. It had been a mistake.

  He walked over, the blood pounding in his face.

  Glen sneered and called out, “Aw, did you enjoy your teeny bopper synthpop night with Countess Dracula?”

  Martyn threw all his weight into the right hook.

  It flashed from nowhere but Glen had an instant of realization before it connected. He saw the murder in Martyn’s eyes and he knew why it was there. But there was no time to do anything about it. Martyn’s fist connected, not punching his jaw, but punching right through it. Glen’s head snapped back, his peroxide fringe flapping as he flew back, his feet leaving the ground, and clattered all over Mark’s drum kit.

  Cymbals crashed as he slid to the floor and became a puddle.

  Martyn swore he heard Mark do a rimshot, but he thought he might have imagined it, because both Mark and Paul were on him in an instant, shouting dismay, pushing him back.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Martyn! What the—”

  “I saw Wegs tonight,” he said with a calmness that surprised him. “The money I’m owed. The money he’s been leading me on about for months. Wegs gave it to him ages ago.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “Glen took the money. He spent it.”

  They both looked down at their singer, cross-eyed, head rocking from side to side, his legs twitching.

  “He spent it?” said Mark.

  “Are you sure?” asked Paul. “You sure Wegs wasn’t stringing you along?”

  He wanted to believe the best of his mate Glen, just like Martyn had.

  “Why don’t you ask him when he wakes up,” said Martyn. “Look him in the eye and ask him and see what you think.”

  Paul gulped. He knew already.

  Martyn shrugged them both off, straightened his shirt, took a breath, tried to calm himself.

  Mark looked down at Glen and said, “I think the giiiiig is caaaaancelllllllled.”

  — 40 —

  WHEN ESTHER CAME BACK to the main dance room without Martyn, Rachel saw her chance. She nudged Lorna. “Go and get him now.”