The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue

by Heneghan, Lou

  ‘It’s just like Ambrose said,’ Leo breathed. ‘Like the cloud of spray at the bottom of a waterfall!’

  ‘It felt like going over freakin’ Niagra Falls!’ said Alfie. ‘And we didn’t even have a poxy barrel!’

  ‘That’s it!’ Valen yelled. ‘The Fall! We have to get back! Quick!’ She grabbed Seth’s arm and yanked him towards the opening.

  Ralf took a faltering step, squinting at the hazy patch. It was like staring through a shower curtain or a steamed up window. Alfie, spurred on by Valen’s shout, rushed to join them. Only Leo remained still and watched as the misty patch flooded with colour from the outside in, disappearing like smoke being sucked into a bottle. Valen stretched for the spot with desperate fingers but they jarred against the all too solid plank of the fence. She winced and snatched her hand away.

  ‘It’s too late,’ said Leo, flatly. ‘I don’t think we can get back that way.’

  The others stood there, still and white faced. They were stunned, frozen by the enormity of what had befallen them.

  Then there was a sharp cry and Valen, her face livid with fury, grabbed Alfie by the collar and slammed him into the fence. It swayed dangerously and one of the planks split with a crack.

  ‘The one thing we were warned about!’ Valen shouted. ‘The one thing he told you not to do! And how long did it take you to go and put your stupid hand through a Time Fall? Two minutes? Three?’ She gave him a vigorous shake.

  ‘Watch the threads, cuz,’ Alfie whined, but then his eyes bulged. ‘Hey my jacket! My clothes!’

  Valen dropped Alfie abruptly and he fell in a heap. ‘Look at us!’ she gasped.

  Ralf’s shock at everything he saw had distracted him from a niggling feeling of discomfort but now he saw what had been bothering him. His jeans and t-shirt had been replaced with cord shorts and a loose shirt, his Nessie slippers by a pair of battered boots with soles at least an inch thick. A small moan escaped his lips but the others were far too distracted by their own appearances to worry about any sounds he might be making. The boys were all dressed quite similarly, though the colour and style of their clothes seemed to reflect how they’d been dressed before. (Leo was in a bright red knitted jumper, his braidless hair now an Afro halo. Seth wore round, wire-framed spectacles and a small bow tie.) Alfie was examining his shiny black boots and whimpering like a lost dog until he realised he was holding the hat that had pulled them through the Time Door. It was a tartan tam o’ shanter with a crimson bobble and he unfolded it and put it on his head. This seemed to cheer him up a bit.

  Of all of them Valen was the worst off. She wore a printed summer dress, matching lemon coloured cardigan and patent leather shoes. She reached up to tug at her hair in frustration only to find it was no longer short and spiky, but arranged in two neat plaits on either side of her very red face.

  She glared at them all, fists clenched. ‘If any of you say one word!’

  ‘What are these?’ Leo asked tugging at the string of a buff coloured box he wore over his shoulder.

  ‘Gas masks,’ said Seth shortly. ‘It’s these I’m more worried about, though,’ he stepped forward to tug at a brown parcel tag pinned to Valen’s cardigan.

  Name: Valentine Cadwallader, School: East Sheen County, Age: 12, Height: 4’ 7”.

  Address: 14, Marchpain Rd., Richmond, London.

  ‘My name’s changed,’ frowned Valen. ‘One letter different. Valentine.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Seth, reading his own label. ‘I’m Goldberg now…’

  ‘But why the labels?’ asked Leo. ‘You don’t think we’re –we're –?’

  ‘Evacuees?’ said Seth, nodding towards four labelled cardboard suitcases that stood by the fence. ‘That’s exactly what I think.’

  ‘Where’s mine then?’ Ralf asked.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Leo shortly. ‘Look!’ He nodded towards the tracks where the second train was now pulling away. As the sea breeze cleared the smoke and Ralf saw what lay on the other side of the tracks, he felt like shouting for joy. It took only a second of staring at the green and white Big Top, the fluttering bunting and the huge sign for ‘Swann’s’ before they were moving.

  ‘Ambrose!’ Alfie’s shrill cry voiced all their thoughts.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ said Seth.

  ‘We’ll add it to the list!’ laughed Valen.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ called Leo excitedly as they ran. ‘We’ll just find Ambrose and ask him to send us straight back.’

  Stumbling in their eagerness to get there, they dashed down the platform and out of the station. Once outside, it was clear where they needed to go. A steady stream of people, many hanging on to excitable young children, were heading into a large field from which laughter, music and the scent of horses was drifting on the breeze. Ralf’s heart thumped as they dodged round a queue of uniformed servicemen and through the gate where a ragged man in a spotted neckerchief was playing the ukulele. The intricate tune echoed Ralf’s nervous excitement. What would Ambrose say when he saw them? There was only one way to find out. He jogged on.

  Once they were inside the field it became too crowded to run. They hurried forward in a group, eyes everywhere, searching for Ambrose’s red tent. They weren’t the only ones staring, though. Everywhere they went eyes seemed to follow them. Most people just looked curious. But some faces were shocked, some hostile. One mother actually pulled her small son close and watched them fearfully as they passed.

  ‘Is it the clothes?’ Alfie asked, confused.

  ‘We look like everyone else,’ said Seth. ‘Even our hair…’

  Ralf reached up to touch his own head and felt only soft bristles at the nape of his neck instead of the tangled mess he’d been expecting.

  Leo stopped walking. ‘It’s not the hair,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look around you. The faces,’ said Leo. There was a strange look on his face, a half smile failing to hide the defiance in his eyes. Still walking, the others glanced about, not really sure what they were supposed to be seeing. ‘Now look at me,’ said Leo. Ralf did and when he saw Leo’s expression, he suddenly understood. Leo’s was the only black face in the field.

  ‘What you looking at?’ Alfie growled at a boy twice his size whose eyes were glued to Leo’s face. Valen and Seth took a step closer to Leo and added their glares to Alfie’s.

  ‘Leave it, all of you,’ said Leo, taking a deep breath. ‘It’s not their fault. It’s the time. Anyway, I’m not going to be staying long enough to have to worry about it. Let’s find Ambrose.’

  Leaving the boy still staring, they hurried on toward the far edge of the field where they thought the tent would be. It took longer than they expected because the circus, it seemed, had been bigger in 1939. The Big Top was a lighter green and boasted a small, red and white porch. There were vintage vans and trailers parked to one side and a number of smaller tents dotted about in a rough circle around the edge of the field. The Shetland ponies were still there and the acrobat, but there was much more too.

  There was a booth selling cherry red, buttery smelling toffee apples. The man working it had slicked back hair and an arrow straight parting. ‘Only tuppence and cheap at twice the price!’ His black eyes twinkled at Ralf merrily. ‘No? Saving your wad for the Big Top itself, are you? What about you sir?’ he turned to a couple who were walking arm in arm, trying not to stare at Leo. ‘Mouth-watering toffee apple for your sweetheart?’

  Ralf tore his eyes away from the apple stand and immediately wished he hadn’t because at the edge of the field was someone he was sure he recognised and it wasn’t Ambrose. A grubby little man, thin as a pin, emerged from behind one of the vans with a smart army officer whose arm was in a sling. Ralf’s neck prickled and he stopped walking, transfixed. As he watched, the two men parted and the officer strode off but it was the thin man Ralf was interested in and he racked his brain trying to remember where he’d seen him before.

  Valen jogged ba
ck to him. ‘What?’ she asked.

  Ralf shook himself. What was he doing, wasting time like this? ‘Sorry. Thought I saw something. Look, there are some smaller tents right at the back of the Big Top. Ambrose might be there.’

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ said Valen.

  They went on but Ralf couldn’t resist a look back at the thin man who was now lounging against one of the vans, alternately chewing a match and spitting. Who was he? And why did seeing him make Ralf feel much more nervous than before?

  He turned to say as much to the Valen but she’d moved further on and was standing, with the others, mesmerised by three clowns in thick make-up and ridiculous wigs, comedy juggling with vegetables and plates.

  ‘What do you think?’ Seth asked as Ralf joined them.

  ‘They’re great, aren’t they?’ said Leo. He grinned hugely as the clowns threw cabbages to each other and then added somersaults and plate swapping leapfrog into the routine.

  ‘They’re brilliant,’ said Ralf testily, ‘but we’re here to find Ambrose and get home. That is unless you all want to stay and do some research for your next school history project!’ The others turned with dazed looks on their faces, for a second they had felt as if they belonged there.

  Ralf threw up his hands. ‘Will you lot snap out of it and come on?’

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Leo’s eyes widened. Seth and Alfie’s confused expressions turned to ones of panic. Valen planted her feet further apart, finding her centre of gravity despite the dress.

  Before Ralf could do anything other than gasp, he was spun round and pulled forward by the scruff of his neck.

  ‘Well, well, if it ‘ent young Osborne!’ The thin man fixed Ralf with slitted black eyes and smiled to reveal a missing front tooth.

  He lost that in a fight with Clem Atkins, Ralf thought. But before he could wonder how he could possibly know this, his mouth was running away with him.

  ‘What do you want, Gadd?’

  ‘That’s Mister Munton to you,’ the thin man wagged his finger.

  ‘Mister Munton,’ echoed a weasely new voice.

  Gadd was not alone. Oyler Munton was a foot taller than his brother and was all knees, elbows and awkward corners. He looked, with his rosy cheeks and slicked back hair, like an overlarge puppet and Ralf knew who pulled his strings. How he had suddenly remembered about the Munton brothers, he didn’t know. But what he did know was that Oyler would do nothing without his elder brother’s say-so and this was just as well because although Oyler had what meagre looks were to be had in the Munton family, he’d been completely bypassed in the brains department.

  ‘What do you want?’ Ralf repeated, a lot more bravely than he felt.

  ‘A word in your ear, Osborne,’ said Gadd. He let go of Ralf’s shirt and tried to smooth him down in a friendly gesture, ruined only by the coldness of his look and the smear of dirt he left on Ralf’s collar.

  ‘A word…’ said Oyler.

  Ralf took one look at Oyler’s vacant eyes and huge grin and decided to direct his conversation to Gadd. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just to say that with your brother gone an’ all, we’ll be needing the end spot.’

  ‘End spot…’ Oyler leered.

  Brother? End spot? Ralf had no idea what they were talking about. ‘What?’

  ‘The mooring. It’s better for us out on the end there and you won’t be goin’ out as much, likely, so we’ve taken the liberty of moving The Sara Luz over. Best for everyone, as’ll sure you agree.’

  Sara Luz? Who was Sara Luz? ‘Er…’

  ‘And another thing,’ said Gadd leaning forward and lowering his voice. ‘A bit of advice, like. It’d be best to steer clear of Tarzy Wood from now on.’

  ‘Tarzy Wood?’

  Gadd placed his greasy hand back on Ralf’s shoulder and gave a little shake. ‘Chax Forest is out of bounds, but best stay away from the woods too, is my advice. Bullets have a way of straying, don’t they?’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Accidents happen.’

  ‘Accidents…’ Oyler sounded excited at the thought.

  ‘We wouldn’t want you to get hurt, now would we? What with yer brother gone an’ all.’

  Ralf had no idea what to say. He knew this man and Gadd and Oyler appeared to know him, but his brain was such a jumble of thoughts he couldn’t order them. As he was wondering how to respond, Gadd’s dark eyes clouded and he looked guiltily over Ralf’s shoulder.

  ‘Push off Muntons,’ said an imperious voice. ‘We don’t like smugglers round here.’

  Gadd and his brother backed off. ‘Smugglers, Master Julian?’ Gadd gave a nervous laugh. ‘You will have your jokes…’

  Ralf turned and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw who was speaking. Julian Kingston-Hawke, the smug, snide, dark-haired boy who’d pushed him down the school stairs in his own time only the day before gave him a quick nod and then turned back to Gadd.

  ‘I’m not laughing, Munton,’ Julian said, contemptuously. ‘And neither will you be if my father catches you. Now get out of this field, I want to be in it.’

  Gadd nodded at Julian then turned to Ralf. ‘Remember what I said, Osborne,’ he said, in a low voice.

  ‘Remember…’ breathed Oyler and then he tugged his forelock at Julian and skipped after his brother who had stalked towards the exit.

  ‘Awful rabble!’ Julian said and then grinned, taking in Ralf and the others grouped close by. ‘This lot with you are they?’

  ‘Er – Yes, I …’

  The boy clapped Ralf on the back and nodded to each of the others in turn, his eyes widening slightly as they passed over Leo. He put his arm around Ralf’s shoulder and drew him to one side.

  ‘Showing evacuees round, eh?’ he asked. ‘How did you get lumbered with that?’

  ‘Well –’

  ‘Never mind. I’m not that interested. How soon can you get rid of them?’

  ‘Wh – what?’ Ralf could hardly talk he was so confused. He knew Julian in his own time but how could he have got here? And why was he talking as if meeting up was perfectly normal? He looked at the others but they just stared back hopelessly. Could it be that somehow he belonged in this time too? Was he actually friends with this boy?

  It came in a sickening sort of rush. Yes, it could. In this time, not only were he and Julian Kingston-Hawke friends, they were best friends. They’d grown up together, went to school together and were practically inseparable. The idea made him queasy. ‘What did you say?’

  Julian looked crestfallen. ‘I say, you aren’t still cheesed off about yesterday, are you? I didn’t mean to push you that hard. You gave me an awful fright when you knocked yourself out like that!’

  So he’d done the same thing in this time had he? Ralf wasn’t surprised. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered and was immediately annoyed. Why was he apologising? And what kind of idiot mucked around pushing people on stairs anyway?

  ‘You’re all right then?’

  ‘Fine.’ Ralf looked at Julian critically. He was dressed very differently from Ralf in a white shirt, crisply ironed shorts and proper leather lace up shoes. He liked to be called ‘King’, Ralf remembered and instantly liked him even less because of it.

  Leo and the others watched incredulously as King gave Ralf a playful punch on the shoulder and got back to the business at hand. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a scorcher,’ he said, the warm breeze ruffling his dark hair. ‘Tank’s coming over later. No, don’t look like that. I know you’re not wild about him, but he’s got these amazing wooden rifles; painted up perfectly, look as real as anything. We could have a wizard war game in the woods.’

  Ralf grimaced. Even if he hadn’t got to find Ambrose and go back to his own time, he couldn’t imagine a worse activity than hanging round with this stuck up idiot and his friend. He had a strong suspicion that Tank Tatchell would turn out to be the same Gormless George crony that King had in the present. In this time too, he feared Tank would be a thuggish idiot wh
o ate his own bogies. Before Ralf could think of an excuse, though, King’s face changed. ‘Oh no!’ he groaned. ‘Sister alert!’

  A tall girl of about eighteen appeared beside them. She had porcelain skin, a refined nose and striking auburn hair.

  ‘Hullo all!’ she said cheerfully. Then she caught sight of Ralf’s face. ‘What ever’s the matter, Ralf? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘You look – beautiful!’ Ralf blurted, before his brain could tell his mouth that this might not be such a good idea.

  King doubled over with laughter. ‘I say, Ralf,’ he choked. ‘Are you sure your head is really all right? Beth? Beautiful? That’s a bit steep. It really is!’

  The girl’s amber eyes flashed at her brother. ‘I’ve told you once, Jules, and I shan’t tell you again. You’re not to call me that anymore. I’m not answering to anything other than –’

  ‘Gloria.’ Ralf finished her sentence in a whisper. It was her. He didn’t know how it could be and, of course, she looked phenomenally different but it was unmistakably her. It was as if several hundred layers of wrinkled skin had been peeled away from her, like earth stripped off to reveal a buried gem. He thought again of the photograph he’d found in the library back at home. She had been here. And it wasn’t her in a previous life it was actually her. He couldn’t stop himself. ‘It’s you, Gloria!’

  Her eyes turned from ice to warmth in an instant. ‘Yes it does suit me doesn’t it? Did he tell you?’

  King’s laughter died. ‘No, I certainly did not,’ he said, his voice hard. ‘You can’t really be serious about making us all use that ghastly name. It really is too horrid. You’ll never stick with it.’

  Gloria raised one finely plucked eyebrow. ‘Watch me.’

  ‘Ignore her. She’s been impossible ever since she came home from Switzerland.’ He gave his sister a sour look then turned back to Ralf. ‘Say goodbye and let’s go.’

  ‘Not likely, I’m afraid,’ said Gloria smiling sweetly. ‘Father wants you. You’re to meet the Captain at the station at ten and take him back to the house, show him his room, be hospitable and all that.’