A Stitch in Time

by Amanda James

  ‘I don’t like that word “probably”,’ Fred grumbled, trotting up another flight of stairs. ‘I’ve heard it too many times, an’ it always turns out to be wrong for me.’

  Fred stopped outside a room in a long corridor. He looked at her and rolled his eyes towards the door. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked repeatedly from left to right along the corridor so fast that Sarah thought his head would come loose.

  ‘You trying to say this is the lab?’ she asked, smiling at his attempts at non-verbal communication.

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, just stick your head in and see if the coast’s clear. If Mr Flemin’s already in there then we’ll have to think again.’ What she really meant was if Fleming was in there, then he’d probably be on the verge of discovering the mould on the uncovered dishes, and all would be well. She was almost sure he wouldn’t be inside though, because if he were, there would have been no need for her mission in the first place.

  ‘No, he ain’t in there,’ Fred said in a soft voice a few seconds later. He looked pale normally, but now he would be hard to find in the snow. Sarah hoped he wouldn’t bottle it under the pressure of what she’d asked of him.

  Pushing the door to the lab open, she shoved Fred in and then she slipped in quickly behind him. It was smaller than she had expected for the lab of such a grand discovery, but it was brighter and more personal, too. The walls were lined with shelves containing hundreds of glass bottles, test tubes and chemicals, but there was a window at the far end letting in sunlight. The light fell across a long, deep workbench under the window, and on that bench sat hundreds of Petri dishes, copper boilers, a few microscopes and Bunsen burners.

  Hurrying to the bench, Sarah looked in the large tray and saw dozens of Petri dishes standing in disinfectant. There were indeed a few dishes not submerged under it. Her heart hammered in her chest, and adrenaline raced though her veins when she realised she was actually standing in the spot that would shortly hold a crucial place in the ranks of human discovery and progress.

  Fred came up and stood by her side. He peered into the tray and then up at Sarah. ‘What you lookin’ so excited about? Hadn’t we better do what you said before someone comes in?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, we better had, Fred.’ Sarah patted him on the shoulder and pointed under the workbench to the left.

  A few minutes later, Fred was safely ensconced under the bench behind a stool and a few empty boxes. Sarah removed the white apron, crouched and slid behind a stool at the opposite end. She backed into the corner and on her knees, making herself as small as possible. She grabbed a box and placed that in front of her for good measure. Trembling with relief and anticipation, she felt as ready as she’d ever be. It wasn’t a minute too soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The door opened. Two pairs of legs entered. One was Danny’s, the other was unknown. The unknown legs wore smart black trousers and shoes with a lab coat just visible above that.

  ‘Thank you, Danny. Can you put the disinfectant on the floor at the side, and lift a bottle on to my workbench. I need to top up that tray. I haven’t got round to cleaning the dishes in there. I’ll be back shortly,’ said the man in a cultured Scottish accent.

  Sarah stared at the legs open-mouthed. Did they belong to whom she thought they belonged to? Danny answered her question.

  ‘Right you are, Mr Flemin’, sir, I’ll do that right this minute. Is there anything else you’d like me to do while I’m here?’

  ‘No, lad, that will be all, and don’t touch anything, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand.’

  ‘Can’t think why Fred didn’t bring it; he’s normally such a good boy.’

  ‘He’s run off apparently, sir. You never know what he’s goin’ to do next my dad always says. Ee’s always skivin’ off any chance he gets, you know.’

  Sarah glanced at Fred in the gloom under the bench and could see the glow of fury in his eyes and the murderous look on his face. Sarah caught his attention, held a finger of warning to her lips and shook her head. If Fred lost his temper and jumped out shouting the odds, the whole plan would sink.

  ‘Really? He always seemed like a conscientious lad. Oh, well …’ Fleming sighed and left the lab.

  They watched Danny’s legs walk to the side of the room and set the crate down. They could see there were two large glass bottles of disinfectant in it. Danny removed one and crouched down next to it. Sarah tried to flatten herself even further back into the shadows. Please don’t let him look over here under the bench!

  She needn’t have worried; Danny was oblivious to anything but the task at hand. What was he doing? A squeaking, popping sound gave her the answer. He had just removed the stopper. Sarah guessed he was about to ‘help’ Mr Fleming by not just setting the bottle on the bench as he’d been asked, but by pouring some into the tray. He had expressly been told to not touch anything but, being Danny, was of course about to ignore that. She had suspected something like this and got ready to give Fred the signal. If they failed now, the Danny Jakes lookalike was set to deprive the world of penicillin.

  Danny stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. The smell of disinfectant was strong in the air. Danny bent, hoisted the bottle and walked towards them. Sarah thrust her thumb at Fred and he launched himself at Danny’s legs like a Rottweiler. Danny hit the deck, cracking his head heavily against a stool. He rolled in agony, eyes closed, hands reaching up to his head. ‘Aaargh … what the f—?’

  Sarah shot out from her hiding place and wound her apron twice round his face and head. She pulled the material tight, stifling obscenities and his cries of surprise and anguish. Meanwhile, Fred smashed both disinfectant bottles to smithereens, ran to the door and held it open for Sarah. She unwound the apron at lightning speed, letting Danny’s head bounce to the floor once more, and then sprinted over to Fred. Fred quickly checked the coast was clear, then they took off like greyhounds along the corridor.

  At the far end, they turned a corner, stopped, and Fred peeped back around. He flapped his hand at Sarah, signalling her to keep behind him. ‘Mr Flemin’s just come along and gone in his lab,’ he whispered.

  Next they heard a yell and then Danny shouting, ‘I’m not clumsy, Mr Flemin’, really I’m not! Somebody attacked me and smashed the disinfectant; they must have been big and strong, ’cos they overpowered me so quick!’

  Sarah and Fred giggled at that.

  ‘No, sir, I’m not lying … yes, sir, I know how it sounds … no there’s no more disinfectant … but … well, can I help you pick up all this …’

  ‘GET OUT!’

  Danny flew out of the lab into the corridor as if he’d been forcibly ejected on the toe of Fleming’s shoe.

  ‘Come on, Sarah, before he clocks us,’ Fred said, taking her hand and running to the main stairwell.

  Just before they arrived back at the main kitchen, Sarah stopped Fred and panted, ‘We did it, Fred. Thanks so much for your help. We got our own back, didn’t we? I reckon your job’s a good ’un now.’

  Fred beamed at her, his face flushed with triumph. ‘We did. I just hope Mr Flemin’ didn’t believe all that about me skivin’ and that.’

  Sarah tied her apron strings behind her and smoothed out the wrinkles. ‘He won’t; he’s just seen what a clown Danny is. Now just calm down and remember what we tell Doris and Chef when we go in there.’

  ‘Where the bleedin ’ell have you two been?’ Chef looked up from a soup pot, his face sour enough to curdle milk.

  ‘I had a dizzy spell, Chef, and I asked Fred to help me out for some fresh air,’ Sarah said, leaning heavily on Fred’s arm.

  ‘Dizzy spell? It would be nice if you were to have a “busy spell” for five minutes,’ Chef snarled and continued stirring the soup. ‘I’ve been chattin’ to Mr Ames and we have come to the conclusion that you might not be required around here much longer. He said you told him some nonsense about a train, and now you’ve been missing for twen
ty minutes havin’ a dizzy spell.’

  ‘She did have one, Chef, she turned green like,’ Fred chipped in.

  ‘I was talkin’ to the organ grinder, not her monkey; get on with washin’ that floor!’

  Just then Danny stumbled through the door, holding his head and swaying from side to side. ‘Dad … I’ve been … done over,’ he whined.

  Chef left his stirring and yelled to Fred, ‘Quick, get a chair before he faints!’ He ran over and flung his arm under Danny, just as his knees gave way.

  Sarah couldn’t help it; she strolled over and said, ‘Oh dear, Chef, looks like he’s having a dizzy spell.’

  Chef looked at her and bared his tombstone teeth. ‘If I weren’t supporting the weight of my injured son, so help me I’d swing for you.’ He grabbed the chair from Fred and lowered Danny carefully on to it. ‘Now get back to work, you heartless bitch. There’s twenty pound of peas on that table want shellin’.’

  Sarah went to the pea table, picked up a pod, but didn’t begin work. Her work here was done. She giggled. That sounded like something a superhero would say. But as far as she was concerned she was a superhero; unless more disinfectant was miraculously found and poured over the penicillin mould before Fleming could come to his earth-shattering conclusion. Unlikely. She’d succeeded in her task again, and felt very proud of herself, elated even.

  Sarah ran a thumb down the pod in her hand, picked out a few peas and popped them into her mouth. De-li-cious. It had been years since she’d had fresh peas … Must have been at her grandfather’s allotment when she’d been about eight. Thoughts of fresh vegetables and allotments took her straight back to John … and returning home.

  Sarah watched Chef fussing over the miserable Danny and popped more peas. Home: where was that? Home was a place where she wasn’t a superhero, where she was alone, where she had a job that she wasn’t sure was for her anymore (apart from teaching her adorable Year 10) and, most gut wrenching, it was a place where the love of her life was now lost to the lovely Josephina. Elation gave way to emptiness. Did she even want to return home?

  Fred looked up from his mopping, inclined his head towards Danny and winked at her. Doris and a few others were on the scene now, so Danny, pale faced and sipping water, made a Broadway production out of his unfortunate visit to the lab.

  ‘There were three big strong men, Dad. I didn’t get a good look at ’em ’cos they put a bag over me head.’

  ‘Oh gawd, what did they do to you?’ Katherine gasped, seemingly thrilled by the prospect of three big strong men wandering around the hospital.

  ‘One bashed me on the head, the other stamped on me foot, and the last one punched me in the belly.’

  Sarah raised her eyebrows at Fred and shook her head.

  ‘But what were they after, I wonder?’ Doris asked.

  ‘Money I suppose,’ Danny sniffed.

  ‘Money, in a lab?’ Doris frowned.

  ‘Well, he don’t know, does he? Why else would they attack him?’ Chef snapped.

  ‘Did they do any damage, Danny?’ Jock asked.

  ‘Yeah, they smashed those two new big bottles of disinfectant that I took up; went everywhere it did.’

  Sarah opened another pod of peas and called over, ‘Oh dear, I bet Mr Flemin’ wasn’t pleased about that, was he? I bet Mr Flemin’ thought you were just clumsy and dropped it, and I bet Mr Flemin thought you were a liar for sayin’ you were attacked.’ Sarah smiled and winked. ‘And I bet he don’t want you near his lab no more, eh?’

  Danny’s mouth fell open. Perhaps he thought Sarah was a clairvoyant. Chef’s face turned puce; he clenched his fists and started over to Sarah, but then a young girl, probably a cleaner, arrived at the door.

  ‘’Scuse me, but Mr Flemin’ says I have to fetch Fred to go and help clean his lab. He don’t want nobody else, he was very particular about that.’

  Fred stopped mopping and beamed. Sarah popped more peas and gave him the thumbs up; she hoped this was the start of Fred’s step back up the ladder.

  Doris said, ‘Well don’t stand there like a simpleton, go and do as she asks, and take fresh water in that bucket; he won’t want chicken feathers on his floor on top of everything else that’s happened.’

  Fred scuttled off and Chef stomped over to Sarah. His eyebrows knitted together in a crazy dog-leg furrow, beads of sweat, oozing from open pores, rolled down his face. He leaned in close, bared his teeth and hissed, ‘Why you think you can talk to my boy like that I don’t know, but you’re out now, gel, and no mistake; there’s no more last chances for you.’

  Sarah took a step back, munched peas and shook her head. ‘No, you’ll never make it on to the stage, with that acting, Chef. We’re not quite the Ray Winston villain type are we, sweetie?’

  Chef’s mouth worked but no sound was forthcoming. He obviously knew he’d been insulted but didn’t really understand how. His hand shot out and grabbed Sarah’s shoulder. Doris looked over, saw what was happening and flew over to stand between them.

  ‘Now, Chef, you’re a bit upset because of Danny, which is understandable …’

  Chef dropped his hand. ‘A bit upset! She stands ’ere sayin’ allsorts to our Danny and scoffing peas, she comes late and lies to Mr Ames, and then goes AWOL with Fred; of course I’m upset!’

  Sarah was enjoying seeing him so angry. She was strangely unafraid and couldn’t care less about what might happen to her anymore. She didn’t belong here, but she didn’t want to go home, either. It was about time the 1928 Sarah stood up for herself more, too. It should stand her in good stead for the future, because in her experience those who let sleeping dogs lie normally got bitten in the end. May as well go for the jackpot … she leaned in, smirked and winked to everyone gathered, ‘Oh, and don’t forget to tell everyone the real reason why you’re so upset with me, Chef.’

  It was Chef’s turn to step back. He avoided her eye, mopped his brow and coughed uncertainly. ‘I don’t know what you mean, and when Mr Ames gets here …’

  ‘Don’t know what I mean? I think you do. It’s ’cos I turned you down when you asked me to the pictures last week, ain’t it?’

  There was a collective gasp from the rest of the kitchen staff and Chef turned on them. ‘Don’t take no notice of her, she’s a lyin’ cow, and get back to work this minute!’

  Ames drifted in like a bad smell. ‘Is there a problem here, Chef?’

  ‘There is, Mr Ames, and she’s standin’ right there,’ Chef raged, pointing a chubby finger at Sarah. ‘I know you persuaded me to keep her on a little longer earlier on, but now I want her sacked and out of here right now!’

  Ah, so Ames had persuaded Chef to keep her on, had he? Perhaps she could do a little persuasion of her own. If it paid off, Doris, Fred and everyone else on the staff would have a happier life.

  ‘Mr Ames,’ Sarah said sweetly, ‘may I have a word with you privately about this matter?’ Sarah fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.

  Ames flushed. ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Don’t let her talk her way out of it, Mr—’

  ‘Thank you, Chef. If I need your advice I’ll ask for it.’

  Ames beckoned Sarah with a bony finger and turned on his heel. She followed him out and into the storeroom she’d first seen him come out of when she’d arrived earlier. It was much bigger than the offshoot kitchen. It was piled high with dried and canned goods and Ames seated himself at the end behind a large oak desk.

  ‘Well, come up here and sit on that stool, I won’t bite,’ he said, arranging his thin lips into a lemon-slice smile.

  Sarah walked down and perched on the stool. She pulled her dress up more than was necessary as she crossed her legs. Ames was afforded a full view of her stocking-clad knees. He ran a finger under his starched collar and cleared his throat. ‘So, tell me your version of the story,’ he breathed, not taking his eyes off her legs.

  She shot him a warm smile. ‘Well, you see, Mr Ames, I think Chef’s got it in for me, all because I turned h
im down last week.’

  ‘I see … So you haven’t done anything wrong?’

  ‘No, I had a dizzy spell and he went potty when I got back,’ she said, uncrossing and crossing her legs again. The hem of her dress slipped a few inches past her knee and further up her thigh.

  Ames licked his lips and gaped at her stockings. He was almost incapable of speech. ‘I know he can … um … act a little rashly … at times.’

  Sarah nodded and opened her eyes wide. ‘Ain’t that the truth. He says awful things about you behind your back, Mr Ames. Says you couldn’t run a piss-up in a brewery and things like that, ’scuse my language.’

  ‘Eh? Did he indeed?’ Ames dragged his eyes from Sarah’s legs for a second. He pursed his lips – lemon slice to cat’s bottom in two seconds flat.

  Sarah nodded and undid a few buttons on her dress. She fanned her hand over her chest. ‘Yes he did. Don’t you find it hot in here, Mr Ames?’

  Ames swallowed and stared at her cleavage. ‘Hot … um … yes … I …’

  ‘Anyway,’ she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs again in Basic Instinct fashion, ‘I think you should go in there, sack him and his brat, Danny, too. That’ll show ’em who’s boss.’

  Ames had a glazed look in his eyes; he seemed to be barely functioning above the neck. He leaned forward to get a better look down her dress. ‘Yes, sack him … hmm.’

  Sarah stood up, clasped his hand and slowly leaned forward, her chest inches from his nose. ‘Oh, you will? That’s marvellous, Mr Ames.’

  Ames squeezed her hand and then ran his trembling fingers along her neck. ‘But how will the kitchen,’ he swallowed hard again, ‘run without Chef?’

  Sarah tried to control her revulsion as his clammy fingers moved on to trace the contours of her mouth. ‘Doris runs the show anyway; she can cook just as well as him, I bet. You can get another chef tomorrow if you need to.’

  ‘Really … though, Sarah, it’s a big thing to ask, you know,’ he whispered, running his fingers back down her neck and quick as a flash he undid another button. The top half of Sarah’s bra was completely in view. He feasted his eyes on her ample breasts rising and falling inches from his face and she thought he might just collapse of a heart attack.