by Alexia James
Her parents had helped set up her business and were obviously trying to make an effort with her now, but Freya was no longer sure how much she wanted to relate to them. Eleven years living in her brother’s shadow, a further six after his death, and they had finally recognised that she existed. It was nowhere near enough. She was not sure if things could ever be completely right between them. She straightened her shoulders. She would not dwell on the past. She would not.
She studied the house again. The paint around the windows was peeling and the grass in the yard was long and choked with weeds. How could that lot have grown up in a week? It had not even rained.
She had an uncanny ‘through the looking glass’ feeling and wondered if she had taken a wrong turning. Maybe she had simply dreamed the whole thing, a subconscious escape from her humdrum existence.
Freya turned slowly, her mind curiously blank as she scanned the field with its flashing car roofs at the far end. Quite by accident, her gaze came to rest on the woods again, and she remembered the strange heat haze she had discovered there.
She walked absently into the wood and found it again. It was rippling gently, inexplicably, under a sprawling tree a short distant into the wood, barely three hundred metres from the farmhouse.
The dappled light under the canopy made it almost invisible. She looked at the low boundary fence just outside. It was broken and mostly lying on the ground and a weird possibility crept into her mind to arrest her thoughts. She looked up again, and stared at the strange shifting of air.
Common sense told her that her imagination was getting away from her again and that she watched too much TV, but it didn’t make any difference. The idea was an irritating taunt that refused to be silent. After all the weird things that had happened to her around here, didn’t she owe it to herself to at least test her little theory?
She walked up to the rippling air and stepped boldly through. A cool breeze rushed away from her, there was a strange alteration in her vision as if things had gone out of focus slightly and then everything snapped back into place.
She was prepared this time for the weird feelings it caused, and stood still for a moment to realign her balance. Next, she carefully circled the rippling area noting the absence of traffic on the road and the suddenly upright boundary fence.
There were no windows on this side of the house. She inhaled, tiptoed alongside and peeked around the corner. It took a few moments for Freya to realize she was holding her breath. The house was as she remembered it, shiny new paint around the windows and clean leaded glass with no boarding in sight. The depth of her feelings took her by surprise. The rush of hope she felt, of happiness, seemed out of proportion.
She wandered back through the shifting air, noted the car roofs flashing by on the road, and then turning round went through once more, and back again, until she finally let go of her common sense and accepted she was not dreaming or losing her mind. She sat on the grass in front of the house in its boarded up state, and let her mind wander over her visit of the week before.
All the small strange incidences she had shrugged off previously began to look very different. The clothes, the way no one seemed to have a car or mobile, the absence of the M4, the old-fashioned kitchens; Jeremy’s offer to put Shorter in the harness for her. The way Joe asked if she had tied the horse up properly, his casual sexism and reluctance to let her visit Jeremy on her own, and finally, the complete absence of tractor ruts in the road.
She had not lost her van or her way. She’d stumbled on a doorway into the past.
Having admitted to herself what was going on, she allowed the rush of exhilaration to consume her. Jeremy was okay. She had not lost him. Her potential accountant, she corrected herself. Then quickly shook free of the rush of emotional truths before they could discomfort her. She didn’t believe in love at first sight anyway. It was a daft idea peddled by filmmakers. Lust maybe, but not love.
She would work under the assumption that she was going back in time and would do her best to fit in so no one would think she was crazy. She would also try to find out what date she was going back to so she could research it a bit. It would not do to be talking of something that had not yet happened.
She stood up, trying to tamp down her excitement. Were her clothes okay? She hoped so because she was going to see Jeremy and maybe flirt a bit. If he mentioned it, she might let him look at her accounting. With all this in mind she stepped once more through the time doorway, as she now thought of it, and walked round the house to the kitchen.
The door was propped open and Jeremy was sitting at the table, a mug in one hand. Freya knocked on the frame and watched his dark eyes smile a welcome.
“Hi,” she said, feeling a rush of emotion at the sight of him alive and well.
Jeremy glanced up at her soft knock on the frame and smiled automatically in welcome. Then he really looked at her and genuine warmth widened his smile. She was radiating happiness. Looking at him as if he were a long lost friend. He stood up, leaving the mug on the table, and crossed the room to her side.
“Freya. How do you do? It’s good to see you again. Please come in.”
Jeremy had not expected to see her again despite the fact he had told her she was welcome to return. He blinked as she reached up, placed one hand on his shoulder and ran it half way down his arm, almost as if checking he was real.
Her touch went through him like a premonition and his eyes widened. She caught his look, seemed to realize what she was doing, and stepped back, blue eyes uncertain.
Jeremy viewed her in silence for the second it took him to make up his mind. She looked like she wanted to bolt out the door again and he wasn’t having that.
He was sure she hadn’t intended to touch him. It had been an involuntary movement, which gave him pause for thought. As a rule, he did not date girls as shy as Freya appeared to be, but he accepted he would probably have to get used to it if he was to have any fun in this era. Freya had made her move, had come back to him, now how to lure her further without tipping his hand and frightening her off.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked, “I am afraid I don’t have any tea in the house.”
She gave him a sunny smile, “Coffee sounds great, thanks.”
Watching her glance about, Jeremy had a subtle impression she had come to see him for a specific reason. He wondered idly if that impression was true and if so, what the reason might be.
He pulled out a chair. “Have a seat, Freya. I trust you made it home without incident last week?”
Freya glanced up and revised her impressions of him. He was older by a good few years she guessed, and shockingly good looking. She wanted to tell him how happy she was to see him again, and to ask if it was okay that she had just turned up, but the very fact that he was from a different time stopped any inane chatter she might have made and had her thinking carefully about what she should say to him. One thing was certain: she was not going to tell him she had slept in the field.
“Yes, thanks. I hope it’s okay to call in like this. I didn’t have anything on for today and wanted to thank you again for your help.”
“You are welcome. I am happy to be of assistance to you.” He spooned coffee grounds into two mugs and then turned to face her, leaning back against the stove. “Did you speak with Martin in the end? I must confess I’m curious to know how you handled him.” He grinned suddenly and it made him look more approachable.
“Oh. Martin.” She grimaced slightly. How had he remembered Martin’s name? It had been over a week ago. On the other hand, perhaps in this era it had only been yesterday that she had last been here. She hoped not. “I think it went okay. I mean, we spoke on the phone and he asked me to go see Watford play. I said I had too much work on and that was it.”
Jeremy watched her for a moment, a slight smile curving his mouth, “He was easily dissuaded then.”
“Well, he went on about something else, but I didn’t really hear it, and then we said bye. So I guess it’s ok
ay.”
Jeremy glanced down at his feet, trying not to smile; his face was serious when he looked up at her, “Why did you not hear what else it was that he said?”
Freya hesitated, working through his formal way of speaking, “Um, well, I was, uh, distracted, and then he was okay and we said bye before I could ask him again.”
The kettle began to whistle and Jeremy took it off the heat, filling two cups.
“I see,” he said, his tone bland. “Would you like milk in your coffee? Sugar?”
“Milk, please.”
Jeremy placed Freya’s drink on the table and took the seat opposite her. She wrapped both hands around the mug and inhaled, grateful the kettle had prevented further questions over what had distracted her. She had a feeling he wouldn’t have left it there, and was not about to admit to missing part of the conversation through daydreaming.
She had just opened her mouth to enquire how his accounting was going when he leaned back in his chair and asked pleasantly, “What was it that distracted you?”
“Uh, someone was at the door?” She pictured Janet’s visit of the next day, only realising after the words were out that she had phrased it like a question.
He laughed quietly and shook his head. “You will have to forgive my bad manners in pressing you, but the last time we discussed this I had the distinct impression that Martin was proving difficult. ‘Stalker’ was the word I believe you chose. It does, therefore, seem somewhat surprising that you are not suspicious of his sudden amiability, but perhaps I misunderstood the situation.” He took a sip of coffee and looked up with a slight smile.
Freya blinked, taken aback by his direct approach. In less than thirty seconds, he had sliced cleanly through her dialogue to expose the finer detail she had been trying to fudge. “Um…I guess, I think…” She stumbled for words and then the humour of the situation had her snickering, “Wow. Don’t take any prisoners will you. Did I really call him a stalker?”
“That was certainly the impression I received, but my brother, Brett, will tell you that I am an amateur when it comes to perception, and I have to believe him as I have never beaten him on poker night.”
Appreciative of the distraction she said, “My God, if your brother thinks that, I don’t want to meet him any time soon.” She gave him a grin, “I’ve never played poker, is it hard to learn?”
“The rules are simple enough. It takes certain swiftness in mental arithmetic and Brett’s mind reading abilities are undoubtedly a bonus, but enough about my brother. We were talking of Martin. Has he been giving you trouble, Freya? I wish you will tell me.”
“Martin is a right royal pain, but he’s such a geek it’s hard to think of him as a bona fide stalker.” She smiled, but shifted in her chair; caught his flash of amused calculation.
“I’m sorry if I am making you uncomfortable.” Another pause, “What I mean to say is: if you need assistance dealing with Martin, you have only to ask. I am happy to be of service.”
“Um, thanks, um, that’s really nice of you, but I’m sure it will be okay.” Thinking it was a weird thing for him to say, Freya involuntarily pictured the two men facing off with handbags at dawn. She squashed the image before she could laugh. She really should make an effort to find out how far back in time she had come. “So. Um. How’s the accounting going?”
Jeremy sighed a little and took a sip of his coffee.
“It’s going well, thank you. I did have a slight difference of opinion with a London customer over a tax issue, but otherwise it has been uneventful.”
Freya grinned suddenly, “What kind of difference of opinion are we talking about here?” she leaned forwards putting both hands on the table.
Brightening, he said: “Are you offering your assistance?”
“Maybe.”
His smile widened. “We had a misunderstanding about the type of bookkeeping I do for companies. A small point regarding income tax.”
“Oh.” She paused, head on one side, “What happened?”
“We had a little chat about tax and the law and then he went on his way.”
“Rubbish.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What did you do to him? I bet you dangled him off a bridge by his ankles until he promised to mend his ways.”
“Not that it wouldn’t have been entertaining, but sadly nothing so interesting happened. Matt, a friend of mine, tells me I have an unfortunate turn of phrase at times. It can make people uncomfortable, but I find they are often glad to comply with my wishes.”
Freya glanced away, unable to hold back her grin, “Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you. I had a teacher at school that could do that. In fact, he could stop us getting up to no good simply by quietly drinking tea in the staff room. We were all terrified of him.”
“I can well imagine, but I would not be at all surprised to find he was driven to being the terrifying soul he was.”
“Well, certainly not by me. I was good as gold.”
“Of course you were.” His voice was warm with laughter.
“So. Um,” Freya hesitated and then bit her lip a little, “You like the bookkeeping then? I guess you have to be pretty sharp at maths for that kind of stuff. I bet you were top of the class in school and made all the other kids look bad.”
Jeremy considered her. What was she after now? Comprehension came with a smile. “Ah, the dreaded tax returns, and I thought you wanted to see me for the pleasure of my company. Let’s see those figures then.”
Freya felt her eyes widen. How the hell did he get that so fast? She had prided herself on finding a subtle way of getting around to talking of the accounts but, apparently, it was not that subtle.
“I did. I mean I do and anyway, I don’t have any tax returns at the moment,” she stammered, suddenly unsure.
He inclined his head towards her bag where it lay on the table with the top edge of the paperwork just showing. “Prove it,” he said, and sent her a fast grin.
“Nuh uh. That’s just other stuff.”
“What other stuff might that be?”
“Stuff about, uh…”
“Freya, you are a poor liar.” Placing one finger on the top sheet of paper, he drew it swiftly out of the bag and across the table. Her messy scrawl of pencilled figures covered every inch.
“Well maybe a little accounting, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“In that case, you won’t object if I take a look?” He turned the sheet around, and taking another sip of coffee, began to read.
Freya felt heat sting her face. She had been struggling with percentage interest between this month and the last, and knew her efforts were bad.
He put the page down with a smile, took one look at her face, and sighed. “It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. If you did not wish me to help you with this, then why did you bring it to me?”
“Um, I guess I did want to ask you to help.”
“Then I am more than happy to do so.” He reached across the table and took her hand.
She looked at their twined fingers. She had come here with the intention of getting a high similar to seeing a favoured pop star at a gig, but the reality of the situation was unexpectedly intimidating.
It was one thing to boast to Janet about casually coming here to flirt with Jeremy over her accounts, but it was quite another to actually do so and have him reciprocate.
He was obviously intelligent; had read her accurately and with astonishing speed. That time travel was supposedly impossible should prevent him guessing the truth of where she had come from, but would it be enough? It was a bit of a huge secret to keep around someone so apparently sharp.
She had the feeling it might be unwise to allow things to progress beyond simple friendship between them, but would she be able to keep that distance if he began to pursue her in earnest? It was not as though she was having much luck convincing Martin of her disinterest, and she didn’t even like Martin.
Jeremy watched emotions chase
across her face and wondered if she might be thinking to keep him at arms length. It was unlikely to work. Freya might take a while to trust him, but he could read her clear interest in him and did not doubt that he could reel her in if he chose.
He smiled and released her hand to take another sip of coffee. “Are you interested in learning the figures, or would you prefer me to just take it off your hands?”
Freya took a breath and leaned back. She wanted to treat him as she would anyone else. “I don’t think you’ll get far with teaching me. I’ve been trying to learn for years.”
It suddenly occurred to her that she could not simply hand over money to pay him as she would to an accountant in 2008. Even in the relatively short time she had lived, some of the currency had changed. If there were no cars here then it was likely that money would consist of shillings and farthings and stuff.
Her mind gave a small glimpse of her cheque bouncing, as her account could not exist in this era, of handing across money that was not yet in circulation. Yet Joe had spoken of trading services rather than cash, so perhaps there was another way.
“Maybe I can do something for you in return.” As soon as the words were out, she bit her lip. It was a dumb thing to say, and Janet’s laughter echoed in her mind along with all the glib responses to such an open invitation. She mentally winced.
It didn’t help that she could hear the smile in Jeremy’s voice as he replied, “All right, we will think of something mutually agreeable. Let me have the rest of the accounts now.”
Freya slowly pulled her papers and the ledger book from her bag and passed them across to him. Jeremy smiled at her reluctance. He put the papers with the book on top neatly in front of him.
“I’ll look at these later on today. When will you next be down this way?”
“I’m only in Reading and it’s fairly flexible.”
“Can I expect to see you at the same time tomorrow?”