On really cold, wet nights, or one of the many smog filled ones we just stayed home, which we both enjoyed; even though there was no telly. We did things the old fashioned way. We updated our notes, or we read books out loud to each other. We didn’t have an instrument, but we still did duets. I did the mending and we talked a lot. It was never boring.
One evening he spent hours fiddling with the watch. He assured me that he wasn’t planning a jaunt, he was just trying to get some information out of it. Every now and then he’d read out an address and some dates and make me write them down carefully, exactly as he read them out. He managed to get seven or eight before the system locked him out or something, then once he’d stopped swearing, he explained what they were.
“Safe houses Grace; scattered through the times we are likely to visit. Keep that list safe, so that if anything happens to me, you’ll still have them. I can’t bear the thought of you being alone and destitute.”
He was so sad as he said this. I went over to him and sat on his lap.
“Best make sure that nothing happens to you then.” I told him sternly, but I memorised the list, just to make him feel better.
Bath night was once a week. We had to drag the tin bath in from the back yard, clean it and then heat the water. The kitchen was always the warmest room, so it doubled as the bathroom on those nights and of course it was easier to fill the thing when it was next to the range. As soon as one of us was scrubbed with the right soap and hair was washed and squeaky clean, it had to be emptied and the whole process started all over again. Then when we were finished, it had to be dragged outside again. Such a palaver!
Our life in Napier Street had a sense of tranquillity about it. We fitted well together and life had a nice rhythm to it. We made promises to each other in whispers and laughter, we made our own entertainment and we sang a lot. They were happy times and I miss them, despite the sheer bloody hard work of just getting through a day!
I’d never had a best friend. It was one of those luxuries I’d read about of course, even wondered about, but never got close to having; so it was really nice to have Winnie in my life. Most days either I found myself in her shop, or she popped in for a cuppa. She gave me recipes to try and told me where the best meat, fish or veg was to be found or encouraged me to try different things that she had in the shop. She even helped me find the right sort of oil for my hair. Personal hygiene was a minefield in those days. So many products were just plain dangerous and I was lost without the tried and trusted range of stuff that I’d grown up with.
After I’d been shopping I’d always show Jack the new stuff that I’d bought to try. So much was coming onto the market that was either new, or a new type of process was used to produce it. I’d never cook with it or use it without getting the all clear from him first. Sometimes he just looked aghast and threw it away unopened, shaking his head. Sometimes he’d just laugh and with a shrug, say it was safe enough. And other times, he’d get quite serious and say that it would make a difference to many people’s way of life. He meant of course that it could help people live a healthier life.
Jack always said that I learnt more about living in the late nineteenth century by doing the housework, than he ever could just by watching. Some of what I learnt was shocking. For obvious reasons I recognised alcoholism a mile off and it was rarely that far away. Men, women, even children, drank too much; often starting in the morning. As a normal day drink, beer was as common as tea for far too many people and I could understand why there were all those groups, ‘temperance societies’ they were called, trying to get people to leave the stuff alone and get the laws changed, so it cost more and wasn’t so easily available. Sadly they had their work cut out for them, as lots of people just laughed at them or called them spoilsports.
Domestic violence was just a fact of life in way too many households and the women were just as likely to launch into a fight as the men. Too much of the hard earned wages were frittered away on Friday nights in gin palaces and pubs, often leaving too little for food for the following week. Many people were hungry all the time, tired and often bruised.
So many children were malnourished and had to bring themselves up, while both mum and dad went out to work, or lay in a drunken stupor. The kids worked too, many in very dangerous jobs. In some houses, no bigger than ours, there were often two or three families and ‘family', more often than not, meant at least six children. People came and went, so very few had a network of people around them that cared. In a way, Jack and I were no different. We were also passing through, hoping to find some peace and quiet along the line somewhere. But we were better off than most.
There’s no denying it, life was different then. I don’t mean that people were more heartless or less able to love and care for each other, but life worked against most of them. Despite this though, people were happy. Mothers did love their kids, but it was harsh and few of the people we met had any real say over their destiny, or even felt that they had any real choices to make in the way they lived or died. And die they did, with alarming regularity.
Of course there were doctors, but not many. Hospitals were a place to die in and nothing was free, except a slap. The main roads were really dangerous, more so than in my time. There were more illnesses and injuries than I’d ever thought possible and even in our little street, hardly a week went by without someone departing from this life.
One afternoon Winnie and I were sitting in my kitchen drinking tea, talking about the death of a woman at number thirty-two, who’d died giving birth. The baby hadn’t survived the night either and we were agreeing that it was just as well. As it was, she left eight children between two and twelve years old. Her husband was a sweet man, but she’d been the strength in that family and nobody knew what was going to become of them all.
I was shocked at my heartless response to the news of the baby’s death. What was happening to me? Before I could come up with a satisfactory answer, I became aware that Winnie was still speaking.
“Do you think your feller’s family will come round when you produce a grandchild?” she asked out of the blue, her inquisitive eyes fixed on me.
The question startled me and she noticed.
“You know me Grace, I speak as I find. You two are different and you don’t seem to have much. Everything here is pretty much part of the house, apart from your clothes and you’ve got more than enough of them; all new and bought recent like. You arrive one day, not knowing nobody and bringing nothing, yet you’ve both clearly got education; it stands out a mile. You’ve never worked before, your hands give you away and you’ve got lovely hands Grace. So I put two and two together. He’s got money. Maybe not much, but enough, so he doesn’t need to work and you don’t go without. Stands to reason his family have taken against you and yours against him. They’ve turned their backs on the both of you. It happens all the time, in all walks of life. You seem happy enough with what you’ve got and it’s more than most around here. But are you hoping they’ll forgive you if you produce a grandchild?”
She sat back, not in the least bit worried if she’d offended me or not, which is why I liked her so much.
“There’s no hiding much from you, is there?” I said, chuckling a bit.
It was a good story and one I was sure we could use in the future.
“No...” I said slowly, deciding on a version of the truth. “His people will not forgive us, no matter how many children we produce and mine don’t care. What’s done is done. We’ll get by just fine.”
She nodded. She’d seen it all before.
Later, I talked about her question with Jack. Not about our being forgiven, but about how lucky we’d been. We’d not been taking any precautions and so far, every month we’d got away with it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about having a family with Jack just at that time and while I didn’t want to rule it out, I didn’t want it to be an accident either. If it was going to happen, I wanted it to be planned, with both of us going into it with eyes wide open. Our l
ife together still had too many unknowns for it to be a stable home. Never having had one myself, I was absolutely certain that any child of mine was going to have something different.
“It’s ok Grace, I’ve not been cleared for procreation.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I understood each of the words individually; it was the sentence that didn’t make sense.
He saw my confusion and explained as best as he could without going into the exact details.
“Medical science is dramatically more advanced in my time than in yours. Sperm production and ovulation are inhibited until we have been cleared for procreation. Then we can either ‘donate’ for want of a better term, or do it the old fashioned way. Most people donate. Because I travel so much I’ve not been cleared yet, that’s why I’m not able to father children with you.”
We both thought about what he’d said and what it really meant, then spoke at the same time.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Does it matter?”
“No Jack, it doesn’t matter. The life we have to lead in order to be together, is perfect for the two of us; it wouldn’t be fair to put a child or children through it.”
I kissed him, to make sure he understood that I meant it. I knew that later I’d have to think about what it really meant; us never having children, ever. But right then, what we had was more than enough and there was no reason to suppose that it wouldn’t always be.
In those first few months together, we had nothing to regret. We’d gained more than we’d lost and while I could share my life story with him, I understood that there was so much he couldn’t share with me.
“It’s the future for you Grace, or if not for you personally, for humankind in general. If I say too much it would be wrong; it’s knowledge that shouldn’t be part of today. Not in 1889 or in 2001. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, it does. I have to remember not to tell Winnie or the others at the wash house too much. Either they wouldn’t understand, or it could change their lives and we’re not supposed to do that.”
“You’re really getting the hang of this.” he said, clearly pleased.
“Not really, I’ve always been good at being selective with what I say and speaking without saying much.
“It’s only when I’m with you that I don’t think first.” I added happily.
I asked him once or twice if there was anyone he missed from his old life. He told me that there was just one person; his boss and mentor Javier. He’d worked for him for four years, since the age of twenty-three, when he’d passed all his qualifications several years earlier than expected.
From the way he spoke about this man I knew he admired and respected him, so maybe this Javier could respect Jack’s choices in return.
“Wouldn’t he understand our situation?” I asked.
He thought about it for a while before answering.
“He might understand, although I’m not altogether sure about it. Javier is well... different. Brilliant, but different. Anyway, given his position he wouldn’t be able to help. My desertion from the team will reflect badly enough on him as it is, so I don’t want to make it worse for him by putting him in an impossible situation. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“It’s ok, I understand.” I said, but to be honest, I felt saddened that someone Jack held in such high esteem wouldn’t want to put himself out for his protégée. That’s how it sounded to me, but as I didn’t know him or the rules, I didn’t push it.
It was in April 1889, as winter gave way to spring, that the first real down of our life happened. As I had made friends, so had Jack and one weekend he didn’t come home. I was frantic with worry; it was exactly the sort of thing my Mum did. Winnie came with me to the local pubs to see if he was there, but it would have been unlike him, because he was never a drinker. We asked everyone we knew, but no one had seen him or could tell us anything and we didn’t find him. I was convinced he’d been found and taken back to his own time. By Monday afternoon I was sure I’d never see him again and my heart was breaking at the very thought of it.
Of course we’d talked about the possibility of me being stranded. If he was found, they would just take him back. He wouldn’t be able to come and tell me, nor would there be any message, because they wouldn’t know about me and that was the way he wanted it. But to be honest, I’d never really taken it seriously, despite him giving me the list of safe houses. We’d always made sure we didn’t spend more than we needed to, so there was still a good stash of money left. I wasn’t feeling panicky, because compared to most people I knew, I was financially secure.
That was the first time I really thought about it. Deep down I knew I’d get by just fine; I’d do what I’d always done and just get on with things as best I could. But I didn’t want to contemplate a whole lifetime without ever seeing him again, knowing that he wasn’t dead and that he hadn’t left me willingly. Even at my lowest point I didn’t regret a thing, except that it seemed to be over. I just hoped that somehow he’d be able to come back for me. I knew he would if he could and that was a comfort. A small one mind...
That evening a Hansom cab stopped outside the house and Jack tumbled out from it. I found him crawling along the street on all fours, raving incoherently. He wasn’t drunk, but he was in a terrible state. Eventually, although it wasn’t easy, I got him inside, undressed and into bed. I couldn’t work out what was wrong with him and Winnie didn’t recognise any of the symptoms either. He was delirious, but he didn’t seem to have a fever, so after a bit of a discussion, we sent for the doctor.
He arrived about an hour later and after a quick look at Jack, told me that he’d been smoking opium, but probably too much and that it obviously disagreed with his constitution. The way he was talking, we might just as well have been discussing a sprained ankle and he was quite dismissive of my concern. He told me to give him plenty of water to drink, keep him warm and just let him sleep it off. Before he left, he told me that Jack would be alright in a day or two, which made me feel much better. I handed over five shillings and kept my temper in check. I wanted Jack to remember every word of what I had to say to him.
For the next twenty-four hours he was either unconscious or raving and spoke in so many different languages, I couldn’t follow what he was going on about. Sometimes, whatever he could see was clearly terrifying and other times he’d be sitting up in bed chattering away to imaginary people. He had periods when he would be violently sick, followed by terrible bouts of shivering and I was afraid to leave him for more than a few minutes. I snatched a bit of sleep now and then, but most of the time I just watched him.
This man that I loved so much had become a child; something I had never bargained for. Him being like that brought back so many bad memories of my childhood, like the nights I’d spent sitting with Mum as she cried and wailed about some injustice or other, or the times when I’d try to hide from her as she ranted and raved or threw things. I never, not once, expected that being with Jack would ever make me feel like that and I didn’t know what to do, any more than I’d known what to do with Mum.
By Wednesday however, he was pretty much recovered and very sorry. Originally, he went just to see what it was all about, but one thing had led to another and well, then he couldn’t remember anything, except what it had felt like. When I told him what he’d been like since he got home he was shocked and thought that maybe there had been some kind of reaction between the drug and his inoculations. It was not something I wanted us to get fixated on, but nevertheless it made me angry that he’d been playing with something he didn’t understand.
“How long has this been going on for and where is it going to end?” I demanded.
“That was the first time, you have to trust me on that. Honestly, I’ve never been there before and I have no intention of ever going back.”
He picked up my hand as he spoke. His eyes held mine and I knew he was telling me the truth. But for reasons of my own, I couldn’t quite believe him. Mum
had made so many promises like that over the years; promises that I don’t think she’d ever had any intention of keeping.
“But why?” I asked softly. “I just don’t understand.”
“I don’t really know to be honest. I only went out of curiosity and without really thinking, just took the pipe when it was offered. It was incredible Grace. The dreams or visions were like nothing I could ever have imagined; they were so vivid, so real. I never knew anything could make you feel like that. When they started to fade I just asked for another pipe, it was quite amazing...”
I cut him off mid sentence, it sounded like he was getting wistful and that worried me more.
“It’s not real, Jack. It’s a seriously powerful drug and you’ll always be trying to get back to that first experience, but it will always be just out of your reach. Then your life will become futile; you’ll constantly be chasing that feeling and nothing else will matter.”
I was crying and confused. What was happening to us?
I’d been there before. For the whole of my life I’d never been enough; always coming second or third, way behind whatever it was the bottle offered my Mum. But now, I was out of my time, out of my place and I didn’t want to be out of my depth. I fought hard to remain calm and not panic. Hard as it would be, I would walk away rather than live through all that again with him. I also knew I couldn’t make the choice for him; he had to make it and he had to make it right there and then. I knew I was putting him on the spot and maybe it was the wrong moment. After all, hadn’t he already said he wasn’t going back? Nevertheless, I had to do it; my own sanity required it.
“What about us Jack? Have you thought about it properly, because if you haven’t, you need to do so right now. You need to understand that I’m not going to sit back and watch everything you are and everything you could still become, slip away and our life and love turn to dust in the process. You can’t have me and the opium. It’s one or the other, Jack. It’s a simple choice and you have to choose now.”
What about us? Page 9