The Space Between Time

by Bruce Macfarlane

“How’ve you still got that?”

  “A lady always carries a handbag.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. I believe we are still wearing our clothes because they are part of us, unless due to some further mystery you are regarding me as nature intended.”

  I felt his hands move over my body. I should have expected that response.

  “You seem to be dressed.” he said as I tried vainly to follow in the dark where his hands were wandering.

  “Are you acquainted with a person called the Octopus?” I said.

  “Nope, why?”

  “Oh. Nothing. Now stop it! Anyway, you know how you often joke about ladies and their handbags?”

  “Yes, and I do know there are things I realise a girl needs to carry with her at all times.”

  “But apart from those, a handbag is also useful for carrying other items which a gentleman might wonder why they were needed.”

  “Like the contents of my garage, I suppose?”

  “Nothing like your garage.”

  Despite the dark I managed to open my reticule and rummage inside. “Oh! It is somewhere in here. Why is it the object you need is always at the bottom? Do not answer that either, James.”

  I eventually found what I was looking for. “Ah! Here it is.”

  “What?”

  I did not mean to nearly blind him with the torch light nor cause him to bang his head on the wall.

  I examined his head to ensure his brain was no more damaged than usual, and after a few moments he recovered. Though not without a rather rude admonishment of my action which I will not record.

  By the aid of the torch we proceeded down the tunnel away from the cavern in the hope of finding a sanctuary. Eventually we arrived at the wooden vestry door. James said, “Shall we open it or shall we carry on?”

  “Open it.” I said. “At least this is familiar. But first see if you can look through that key hole to see what or who might be there. I confess I have still not recovered from that time we ‘borrowed’ those parishioners’ coats. For all we know we have been transported back to that time and they are waiting for us.”

  He peered through the latch hole. “Can’t tell. It’s dark. I’ll have to open it.”

  Before I could stop him, he lifted the latch and pushed the door. It moved without a sound. We waited. Hearing nothing, I shone the torch. To my relief, I found it was the familiar vestry complete with altar and candles.

  We carefully entered on tip-toe, together this time and holding hands.

  “Well, this could be any time. We’ll have to go into the nave and hope we aren’t too out of place.”

  ------------------

  J.

  The nave was full of tourists wearing the normal casual garb of the early 21st century and on the pillars were large screens displaying the services of the day.

  “We’re back home!” I said.

  “Oh, what a relief. But is it our world?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  We both almost ran to the nave exit and out on to the street. The familiar traffic of cars and lorries passed down the road.

  “Looks OK.” I said.

  Just as I was going to decide what to do next, a family who were standing near the entrance with two children came up to us.

  The bloke, whom I presumed was the father, said, “Are you the guides for the Ghost Tour?”

  “Nope.” I said, not really paying attention.

  “So, what you dressed in that gear for?”

  “We have just come back from 1895.” I said half-jokingly to impress the children.

  “Cor! You doing time travellers like Dr Who?” said the oldest child.

  “No, we’re not,” I replied.

  “Where’s your Tardis?” chipped in the youngest.

  “What is a Tardis, James?” said Elizabeth.

  “It’s a fictional….”

  “What?” said the youngest, interrupting and turning to Elizabeth, “You don’t know what the Tardis is? Everyone know the Tardis.”

  “Well, I can assure you, I do not.” said Elizabeth, giving me a blank look.

  “Corr! Listen to her la-di-da accent,” said the oldest to his dad.

  “Shhh!” said the father, “They’re acting, son. She’s pretending she’s a posh Victorian.”

  Elizabeth looked at the father, then at me, then down at the child and said to it rather haughtily, “For your information I am, as you people refer to us, a Victorian. And I should remind you, it is not good manners to refer to a person who is present in the third person.”

  The child looked around a bit bewildered then said, “Where’s the other one then?”

  “Whom do you mean?” she said, looking around as well.

  “The other one. This third person.”

  “Did you not learn grammar at school?” she said.

  And then it kicked off.

  “Oi! Who are you to tell my son how to talk?” joined in the mother.

  “How dare you speak to me like that!” said Elizabeth and turned to me with that expression indicating it was time to show how I defended her honour.

  Luckily the dad got in first, “Hold on! It’s a play, Doreen. They’re doing characters.”

  During this discussion, I noticed several other people had gathered around us in a circle. At this point one came over to me and put a pound in my cap which I was still holding in my hand while in the church, and said, winking at me, “You want to put a few coins in that hat first so it looks like you’re doing well.”

  Before I could reply the youngest child said, “Ask them where’s his time machine, Dad.”

  “We don’t have one.” I said.

  “What? How can you do your show without a time machine?”

  “We’re not doing a show.” I repeated.

  “What you dressed like that for?” said the father.

  I thought quickly on my feet but not as quickly as Elizabeth.

  “We are going to a fancy-dress party, if you must know.” She said looking rather crossly in my general direction.

  “Ooh! ‘if we must know’,” imitated the youngest. I was beginning to wonder whether the laws on corporal punishment needed an exception for small brats.

  I could see by Elizabeth’s expression that she concurred but unfortunately, she did not keep her thoughts to herself.

  “I think, child,” she said bending down so she was only about a foot from its face, “you need a box on the ears from your mother to help learn some manners.”

  “Who do you think you are, telling us to hit Billy?” said the father.

  “She’s my wife.” I interceded, eyeing him at the same time and reaching the conclusion he looked like he worked out at the gym every day.

  “Your wife?” he said, looking a bit incredulous. She’s not that much out of my league.

  “Yeah. She’s from a different world.”

  “Really? I can believe it. Looks like you’ve got a handful there.”

  I decided not to answer that question. Though unfortunately I think Elizabeth noticed that I involuntarily nodded in agreement.

  And so, the conversation continued in the predictable downward spiral, interrupted by occasional cheers from the gathering audience who obviously thought this was all part of the ‘act’ until Elizabeth took my arm and said., “I am not staying here to be insulted any more, James! Take me away from here to somewhere where people have manners and treat a lady with respect.”

  “Ooh! She thinks she’s a lady,” said the oldest child to everyone in the now quite considerable crowd who burst into laughter and applause.

  We took our cue and left rather red-faced, and walked quickly into town without looking back. On the way, I am sure we were asked at least a dozen times if we were doing the Ghost Tour. By the time we reached the town centre the language of my replies to this question, to use Elizabeth’s vernacular, was in need of some considerable moderation.

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>
  E.

  It must have been the stress of the Tesla Coil which caused me to react the way I did with that child. Though even James admitted he was near to the point of beating it himself. I can normally cope with the manners of James’ world though I confess I often confuse direct questions and banter with rudeness but I have learnt to hold my tongue until I have ascertained the direction and temper of the conversation. I wonder if or when we have children whether I will be able to balance kindness with sufficient discipline. I would hate to be referred to in my old age as the terrible old crone whom children should avoid.

  We decided that we needed to find a route back to our cottage as quickly as possible. Not least because, just before we reached Midhurst’s town centre we were met, or should I say accosted, by four persons dressed in an assortment of Victorian clothes who wished to know why we were impersonating their ghost tour. When we denied this accusation, one of them pointed at James’ cap and demanded to know where all that money had come from. We both immediately looked and noticed to our surprise and embarrassment we had accumulated over £10! Up to that point I must admit I thought I had had enough arguments for one day. However, during the altercation that ensued, I was quite surprised how much venom James and I still had stored in reserve.

  Eventually a truce was reached when they accepted that we were going to a fancy-dress party and more importantly when we agreed to offer our hard-earned monies to their charity. Unfortunately, just as we were about to take their leave, to our amazement Flory appeared.

  “Oh, Lizzy, it is you! I thought you were all ghosts from our time.”

  “If I hear the word ghost one more time...” said James.

  “I thought you were lost, Flory!” I exclaimed, ignoring his remark and embracing her warmly, “How did you get here? And where are Mr and Mrs Wells?”

  “After the flash, we ran into the tunnel and by aid of Mr Wells’ matches we arrived at the vestry. However, when I turned to wait for them, they had disappeared!”

  “Not surprising,” said James, “he only lives in 1895.”

  “So pray tell me what year are we in, Lizzy? It looks like James’ world.”

  “We think it’s 2015. Is that right?” said James, turning to the party with us.

  It was then we noticed the four people next to us were staring at us with their mouths open.

  The older gentleman came to his senses first. “I do not quite follow your conversation but I take it this lady,” pointing at Flory, “is going to your fancy-dress party as well.”

  My sister takes some pride in arranging her appearance and of consequence is often late for engagements and soirees. His comment, therefore, was not well received.

  “Fancy dress? How dare you be so impertinent! This outfit, I assure you, is the latest in travel fashion and unlike your apparel, was not obtained from a charity jumble!”

  Rather than respond in like fashion they regarded each other with some amusement followed by some whispering which I was convinced was at our expense. The gentleman then apologised for causing us any offence and wished us a pleasant day. The reason for this change of heart did not become apparent until later when James told me that he had overheard part of their conversation and on the promise that I would not become angry with him said that they had come to the conclusion that my sister and I were out on licence from a sanatorium and as a consequence we should be treated with kid gloves.

  And to think I was only worried about my modesty when I arrived here!

  As we watched the group walk off James reminded me that we had still not ascertained when we were.

  Let’s get a paper,” he said, “And then I’ll try and draw some money from the bank. That should be a good test of what timeline we are in.”

  We crossed the road to a newsagent and bought a local paper.

  The date on the local newspaper was the 24th of March, 2015, the same day we had arrived at Stedham for our picnic.

  -------------------

  Chapter Thirteen

  J.

  We were back where we had started. For some reason I didn’t feel we’d done what the Martians and Wells wanted us to do. But first I wanted to find my car.

  I said, “If the date’s right on that paper, that means my car should still be at Stedham. Let’s go and pick it up and go back home and change our clothes. Are you alright with that, Flory?”

  “Yes, please. I will be glad not to be an object of attention.”

  Elizabeth said, “But how shall we get to it? It must be three miles from here at least. Shall we take a bus?”

  “No point. In my world country buses only run if there is an ‘r’ in the month and on a Tuesday. We’ll have to take a taxi.”

  The taxi driver was quite friendly and actually believed our story about the fancy-dress party which was quite a relief to all of us. Thankfully my car was still there by the gate and we all piled in.

  “So,” I said, “now that some semblance of normality has returned, home we go. But first I’m going to phone my sister to meet us there.”

  The journey was uneventful which after the last few days was quite a surprise to us all. The sun was shining. The countryside looked like normal Sussex. In fact, by the time we arrived back in Chichester we were all quite relaxed and feeling that the adventure was behind us by some distance.

  I parked the car. Jill was already standing at the door.

  “Hello, you lot. Oh hi, Flory, lovely outfit. Come and have some tea and tell me what’ve you all been caught up in this time?”

  -----------------

  E.

  There is nothing like a full meal after an adventure to relax the mind. This feeling was much aided by Jill, whom I love very much, being her normal self.

  “So, Jim. I understand you saved the world by losing your rag and throwing a chair at Mr Tesla.”

  “I did NOT lose it! And I threw it at the apparatus. Isn’t that right, Elizabeth?”

  There are times when a wife must be dutiful and support her husband. I must endeavour to find one such time but for now...

  “You did give the impression,” I said, gently putting my hand on his knee, “that you were a little miffed and were looking in the general direction of Mr Tesla when you threw it.”

  “It was a calculated scientific gamble! I thought the chair being metal I might somehow short, or earth, the machine.”

  “And I understand you gave up the chance for the world to have free electricity just so you could get back home with my sister.” said Flory, having a dig as well. “Such gallantry and devotion. They will write stories and poems about it.”

  “And in return when I need support from my dutiful wife in supporting my story,” he said, wagging a finger at me, quite humorously I was glad to see, “she shops me!”

  Seeing that the only response was laughter, he said, “OK. You’re right. I admit I lost it. But it worked though, didn’t it? We’re all back safely home. And that’s all I care about.”

  Noticing poor James had become rather red in the face, Jill quickly changed the subject.

  “So, where do you think your lovebirds Mr and Mr Wells are now? Do you think they’re shacked up together somewhere and making up for twenty years of abstinence?”

  “The last time I saw them,” said Flory, doing very well with only a slight blush whilst ignoring the second question, “was by the vestry door in the tunnel.”

  “Perhaps they went on to the Coaching Inn or the Angel.” I said.

  “Or back into the cavern.” said James.

  “I don’t think so,” said Flory, “They were as scared as I was. We ran like the wind down that tunnel.”

  “Then let’s assume they went to the Inn. Do you think they then went back to Isabel’s house?” I said.

  “Wouldn’t be my choice, if I was Isabel.” said Jill, “I’d be worried about the other Wells turning up. Can you imagine? There’s your husband waiting for you and you turn up with his doppelganger. Boom! Bad enough when you’re with
one boyfriend and you bump into another one that you’re seeing. Same with your girlfriends, isn’t it, James?”

  “Couldn’t possibly comment.” James replied, with an enigmatic smile that left me wondering whether I had been part of one of those ménages de trois. But before I could comment he rather unfairly goaded my sister, who had only recently turned twenty, with the same question.

  “You haven’t got two on the go at the moment, have you, Flory?”

  “I could not comment either, James, as I have lost count of the number of suitors who are currently competing for my affections.”

  “Excellent, Flory. You tell him,” laughed Jill and we all joined in.

  Sensing the mood could be exploited further, I said, “Would you like to see James in the knickerbockers that Flory obtained for him?”

  “Oh yes, please!” they both said.

  “Well you can’t. I got rid of them.” he said hotly.

  “Give me your phone, James,” I said.

  “Why?” he said removing it from his pocket, “Oh No! Don’t tell me you took a photo!”

  I snatched it from him and threw it to Jill. “Here you are, Jill. I think you will find it easier to find them than me.”

  Jill took the phone before poor James could get to it and quickly found the photographs. “Oh yes! That’s going on TwitFace.” And then touched her phone to his. “Got it! And… off it goes to the great party in the sky. Ooh! I’ve got five likes already and one… two….three comments! Would you like to hear them, Jim?”

  “NO!” said James, covering his face with his hands.

  “One’s from Jane. Remember her?”

  “Who?” he said.

  “You know. My school friend you forgot to give a lift home to, from that party.”

  I am not quite sure what sound he made but a vision of a cornered fox who knew it was about to meet its end came to mind.

  Eventually he recovered and stood up. “OK, you’ve had your fun now,” he said, retrieving his phone from his sister. “I’m going to get changed. This linen is chafing in all the wrong places. And I suggest you two do as well otherwise I’ll have to upgrade the air conditioning in my car to stop it smelling like my old granny.”