Ahead of his Time

by Adrian Cousins

  “Martin, I know we aren’t exactly bestie buddies, but the only way forward is complete honesty between us.”

  Martin looked at me, huffed again and shrugged his shoulders. “Alright, I went up to the school and sat and watched as the kids came out. I wanted to see if I could spot Mum.”

  “Oh hell. Did you see her?”

  “No, well, I don’t think so. I don’t really know what she looked like at sixteen. I've seen old photos, but that didn’t help much.”

  “Martin, you know you can’t talk to her, don’t you?”

  “Of course! I’m not going to say hello, Mum, am I!”

  “You can’t talk to her at all. You have to keep away from her … there can be no altering with her timeline.”

  “I may have to—”

  “No! You don’t,” I quickly interrupted him.

  Martin scraped his chair back, sighed as he stood up and walked to the window. “Jason, what the hell am I going to do here in this world? I want to go back. My life was in 2019 … I can’t believe I’m actually saying it. It’s ridiculous. Time-travel, I mean, it’s madness.”

  “I know you do. And no offence, I’d prefer it if you were back in 2019. But for the moment, you’re stuck here, and we’re going to have to get on with it.”

  “Do you think that Cortina is a time machine? Perhaps there’s a way I can go back in that car?”

  “Ha, as you pointed out, it hasn’t got a Flux-Capacitor! I’ve no idea why we both ended up in that car. Look, anyway, to get you doing something, I’ve secured you a job as a stand-in caretaker at the school. Clive, our caretaker, has had to go in for an operation and will be laid up for six months, so you can drop into that position for now.”

  “A caretaker! Jesus Christ, is that what my life will be? Emptying bins and sweeping the bloody sports hall!”

  “No, much more technical than that. You’ll be changing light bulbs, and you may even get to wield a screwdriver if you're lucky.” I grinned at him as he swivelled around and leant back against the sink.

  “Oh, yeah, very funny.”

  “Well, for the moment it’ll give you something to do until we can work out if we can get you back. We need to get you a national insurance number. George has talked me through the process, and it’s a lot easier than in our day. We can use this address as your permanent residence. If we struggle, you’ll just have to sit on emergency tax. But you’ll get paid in cash, so no need to worry about a bank account at the moment.”

  Martin raised his eyebrows, shook his head and re-joined me at the table.

  “You’re going to have to get your head around this era, and quickly. I suggest. You’ll get forty-five quid a week, and it’s a forty-two-hour working week, not the thirty-five hours you’re used to, plus income tax is at thirty-five per-cent.”

  “Bloody hell, it’s like the fricking dark ages. Do they send kids up chimneys as well?” Martin raised his hands and crossed his eyes, giving him the look of Nookie Bear, who was a guest on The Morecambe and Wise Show over Christmas. Jenny found it hilarious, but some comedy just gets stuck in an era. However, I did love the ‘Breakfast Scene’ to the ‘Stripper’ music. I really enjoyed some of the old TV programmes, occasionally cocking up, with comments like ‘Oh, Jen, you got to see this, I remember it’s hilarious.’

  “Martin, please be sensible. My concern with you working at the school is your mum. You can’t talk to her. I need you to promise that you’ll just keep your head down and avoid all contact.”

  He looked down to his lap and pursed his lips, I guess contemplating his new job role. When I’d travelled back, apart from Beth, I’d left nothing behind. Martin had left his mother, a plethora of friends, his wife, and probably a gaggle of extramarital relationships – now he had nothing. In his shoes, I would be in the same situation – everything lost.

  “Jason, can I have one of your cigarettes?”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “Do occasionally, usually when out on the piss. But I think I need one.” I shoved the packet and zippo lighter across to him. He lit up and coughed.

  “Jason, I think I know why I’m here.” He held my stare, coughed again but persevered with his cigarette. Although I’d just stubbed one out, I leant across the table, plucked up the packet and joined him.

  “Go on,” I said, my cigarette bouncing up and down in my mouth.

  “I’m thinking I’m here to prevent my birth in 1988—”

  “Why would you be here to do that?” I replied, confused that he thought his mission was to prevent his own future existence. “And if you did, you couldn’t go back even if you wanted to because you wouldn’t be born!”

  “As I said, my father wasn’t my real dad, and I didn't know that until after he’d died. When I was about twenty-one, I was helping Mum with clearing out the loft. In one of the boxes that were full of crap which I took up the tip for her, I noticed a folder with some paperwork. It looked like it needed shredding and not just throwing away, so before I returned it back to Mum, I read through some of it. One of those letters was the official documents when my father adopted me. So inevitably, the questions came flowing. At first, she wouldn’t tell me anything, but my relentless questioning broke her down in the end. Although I regret pushing her on it now I know the truth.”

  Martin took another drag on his cigarette, eyes focused on the burning end which gave him that Nookie Bear look again. Intrigued about where this was going, I kept schtum and waited for him to continue.

  “Mum was raped. So basically, my father is the rapist. She never reported the rape because she was worried about her parents’ reaction. Apparently, my grandfather was hurt in the ’70s when he tried to deal with a sexual assault which my mum suffered when still at school. She said she knew the rapist, so she couldn’t risk her father getting hurt if she’d said anything.”

  He had a look of sincerity about him that I’d never seen before. What he knew about his biological father was a lot to cope with. Thinking about Sarah, it was horrific to know what that girl would go through ten years from now.

  “Oh, Martin, I’m so sorry … that’s awful. As you well know, I'm crap in these situations so I'm not really sure what to say. I'm so sorry.”

  “No, Jason, don’t worry. It was a lot to take in at the time, but I just got used to living with it over the years. It was hard thinking that my mum must have hated me as the product of the rape, but she never showed it. She loves me … I know she does.”

  “And you say that your mum knew her attacker? Did she ever say who it was?”

  He shook his head. “No. I asked, but I knew I was just causing her more pain. She admitted once it was a brother of the boy who assaulted her when she was at school. I decided not to push it any further as my mum wanted to forget it, so I thought I should as well, but sitting here for the last few days it’s consumed me. I don’t know when she was attacked as a schoolgirl, but she’s school-age now, so it could have already happened … or going to happen.”

  Martin looked at me and pointed his cigarette in my direction. “I fully intend to find out who assaulted her at school. When I do, I’ll know who my father is, as he will be the brother of that bastard. Once I know that, then I have to stop him, so Mum never gets raped.”

  Struck dumb, I gawped at him with my cigarette hanging loose in my mouth, causing the end to droop down. I had a pretty good idea who his real father was.

  “What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Err … no … nothing.” I needed to process this information. I couldn’t tell him what I knew, not at the moment, as that could lead him off on all sorts of tangents. For now, I needed this bloke controlled and not going off like a hand grenade at any point.

  “Look, Martin, that may be why you are here, although we don’t know for certain. Of course I will help you, but I can’t risk you going around questioning all the pupils at school and asking your mum if she’s been assaulted yet. We have to tread carefully. Do yo
u understand?”

  “Yeah, I get it, but this is why I’m here. So we’re going to have to move quickly on this one, in case that assault is soon.”

  “Okay, look, for the moment, let's get you into that job and take it from there. But you’re going to have to trust me. Anyone finding out who we are or a sniff that we claim to know the future will end badly for both of us.”

  “Alright, alright, I get it! You don’t have to go on and on.” He stubbed out the cigarette on the plate, which afforded the table a look of my old Uni bedsit: unwashed dishes, fag butts and beer cans everywhere.

  I thumbed out some cash from my wallet. “Right mate, you need to get set up with some clothes. I know I dropped off some of mine on Monday, but we need to get you your own. Here’s two-hundred quid. Get into town tomorrow and do some shopping, but remember the clothes are different. You’re not going to find Nike t-shirts and trainers. Also, you need some shirts and trousers for school on Monday. Can you do that without causing a calamity that ends up putting you on the front page of the Chronicle or getting arrested?”

  Martin took the cash, folding it and ramming it in his trouser pockets. “I’ll try,” he smirked. The normal Martin had returned after the grim conversation regarding his mother.

  “I’ll keep the denim jacket you gave me. It’s kind of retro, but you can have your pants back!”

  20

  22nd January 1977

  Ginger Beer

  George and I took a trip to Upton Park on Saturday. Although Jenny loved going to the football, she attended less and less now we had the kids. I supplied George with a rundown of the events from Wednesday night and the call I’d made to the Bell Pub. He was shocked but agreed that, although a dreadful event, it would surely nudge Jenny in the right direction to join the group and form a quartet of time travel believers.

  Jenny and I had come to a stalemate over my time-travel story, almost avoiding the subject as if it didn’t exist. However, I was pleased to be no longer relegated to the sofa. Although the Hammers wouldn’t end up on the sofa, the way they were playing, I wondered if they’d be relegated this year.

  Jenny was still having that head and heart tug of war going on. As devastating as it was, the bombing had delivered clear evidence I was who I said I was. However, Jesus, asking anyone to believe my past was such a huge stretch, even for Jenny, who I knew loved me unconditionally.

  The Hammers lost again, and after watching their woeful performance George and I consoled ourselves in the Three Horse Shoes with a pint each.

  “Do they get relegated, lad? If they carry on playing like this, I'm sure they will. Bloody depressing.”

  “Don't know, George. Remembering all the league positions from the ’70s is a bit of a stretch. Liverpool win the league, and Man-United win the cup, but I wouldn't have a clue of any other results. Actually, while I think of it, I need you to put a bet on for me. As I said, most bookies in the town groan when I walk in, and it’s getting noticed that I seem to have a crystal ball.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they do. You’ll have to be careful,” he chuckled. “I can’t get into town until next Saturday. Will that be alright?”

  I slipped twenty-quid across the table. “Oh, yeah, that’s fine. The bet is for Nott’s Forest to win the league next year. The odds should be huge.”

  George slipped the note in his wallet. “Will do, lad, but I’ll be surprised if they don’t win the second division this year. Brian Clough has got his team playing well. Although he is such a big mouth, he gets on my ruddy nerves.

  “Ha, no, I don’t mean the second division. They win the first division next year, straight after being promoted.”

  George raised his eyebrows, “Good grief that Cloughy bloke may be excused for the size of his head if that happens!”

  “It does.”

  “Right, well, I’ll stick that bet on next week. I think I’ll make it forty-quid, and we can split the winnings.”

  “Good idea, you can’t lose. Anyway, enough of that. I need to bring you up to speed with Martin.”

  “Oh yes, lad. You said there was a significant update on that front. What’s happened?”

  I filled George in on my conversation with Martin on Thursday evening regarding his real father being the rapist who’d attacked his mother, plus the fact that she never reported the rape for fear of what would happen. I left out the bit about Martin and Lisa, his love of page three, and his disappointment of not being able to enjoy ‘Pornhub’ any more. I didn’t think George needed to know about internet porn, and I didn’t fancy explaining it.

  “So George, you remember back in September when I told you David Colney had assaulted a girl at school? She’s the young girl who works part-time in the Maypole Jewellers shop.

  “Yes, lad, good job that evil bloke had that accident on the roof of those flats.”

  If only he knew, I thought. However, I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be to discover I’d been involved in David’s death. Although George knew David was evil, he wouldn’t be too thrilled with that news.

  “Yes, quite, lucky that. Anyway, that was Sarah Moore, Martin’s mother. Martin said her mother told him she was raped by the brother of the boy who assaulted her. That means that Sarah was raped in the late ’80s by one of David Colney’s brothers!”

  “Good grief!” George shifted forward and leant across the table. We were now talking in hushed voices as the story started to unfold. “Which brother do you think it was?”

  “George, I’ve no idea. David Colney has three brothers. Paul and Patrick are older than him, and I’m confident they are the two who supplied me with my nose realignment last year. Although I don't know his name, there’s a younger brother who’s about eleven years old.

  “Well, it can't be the younger one, can it? He’s only a lad, so it must be one of the older brothers.”

  “Keep up, George. The rape took place in 1987, which is in ten years from now. The younger brother will be twenty-one!”

  “Oh, yes, of course, poor girl. Dreadful business. That whole family needs stringing up!”

  “You two boys look like Julian and Dick from the Famous-Five, all huddled up whispering. What’s the next adventure, five on a pub crawl?” sniggered Dawn, as she swivelled around on her stool.

  George and I both pulled back and looked up at Dawn and Dennis, both of us now sporting a silly grin. It was lovely to see them both, drinks in hand, and I suspected a few more inside them even at this early hour. We often enjoyed their company, but this evening we needed some privacy.

  “Yes, Dawn, something like that,” I offered back, although it was more akin to ‘Two in a bit of a fix’ rather than the ‘Five enjoying lashings of ginger beer.’

  We both leant across the table again, retaking our positions. “When I came around to see Martin the night after he arrived he was sitting on the bed. He looked a bit rough, and his glasses were on the bedside table. It was uncanny how much he looked like the Colney twins. At the time, I just put it down to the fact I was tired after arguing with Jenny for most of the previous evening. Also, that day I’d seen Patrick and Paul Colney at court, so I just thought it was my mind playing tricks. But it wasn’t. One of those three is Martin’s real father.”

  “Right, lad. From what Martin has said, you’re certain it has to be one of them?”

  “Yes, it must be. Also, the likeness, as Martin looks like a Colney. Even Don-Hawkeye-Nears spotted it last Monday when we all sat in the kitchen at number eight.”

  “Bloody hell lad, we’re back to square one. This is the same situation we had last year with David Colney. This time we don’t know which of the three committed the crime. By the sound of things and what some of the chaps at work say, that whole Colney family are a really rough lot.”

  “Yes, they are. Don knows all about them from his time living on the Broxworth. The question is, what can I do about it?”

  “Lad, we won't be lucky this time with all three of them having an unfortunate acciden
t.”

  “No. Not this time,” I huffed.

  “Complicated ain’t it, lad? Presumably, if the one who’s a rapist had an unfortunate accident, Martin wouldn’t be born. I can’t quite work out what that would mean. Would he just disappear in a puff of smoke?”

  “It will be the same as my situation when Mum and Dad died.”

  “No, lad. You took the place of that other Jason. Martin has just arrived and hasn’t taken anyone’s place, has he? It’s completely different.”

  “George! That’s it, he has! Martin said that his father would’ve been his age now. They have the same name, just the other Martin Trevor Bretton lives in America. My guess he miraculously disappeared last Sunday when Martin arrived!”

  “Gordon-Bennett! You’re right, lad. What we going to do?”

  “Well, as before, we have plenty of time. This grim event is ten years in the future. My immediate concern is what will Martin do at school when he starts his caretaker role on Monday.”

  “Lad, you say we have a lot of time, but I don’t think we do.”

  “Oh, come on, George. Ten years is a lot, don’t you think? If we can’t sort it out by then we want shooting!”

  “No. Whoever raped that poor girl didn’t just do it once, did he? Evil men like that do it many, many times. He could be raping women right now.”

  “Oh, Jesus, George, you’re right. If it’s one of the twins, they could be up to it right now. We need DNA evidence that would stop him.”

  “What’s DNA?”

  “It’s what’s called Genetic Fingerprinting. It’s really complicated, but it’s a science that can identify anyone from the tiniest amount of body fluid or skin. It was probably the primary tool the police had to catch murderers and rapists in my old world.”

  “That sounds impressive. But the crime would have to be reported in the first place, and I think you said this Sarah lass didn’t report it.”

  “No, because of what happened to her father. As you said, if it’s one of the twins, they could be raping women now. Patrick is up for sentencing on Monday. Depending on how long he gets, that could rule him out as he’ll still be inside in ten years.”