Cross Stitch

by Amanda James

  ‘Married? Are you nuts?’ Sarah gasped.

  ‘Okay, perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself, but it would be nice if Mum met someone to share her life with, little sis.’ Ella leaned over and kissed Sarah’s cheek. ‘And given the fact that Dad’s gone, I couldn’t think of anyone better than Harry, to be honest.’

  Later that evening in the quiet of their bedroom as Sarah and John lay in each other’s arms, she told John what Ella had said and at first he laughed out loud.

  ‘Dad and Gwen, are you pulling my chain?’

  ‘That’s what I thought when Ella suggested it … but they did look cosy together.’

  He was silent for a moment or two and then cleared his throat. ‘Hmm, well I think your sister might be barking up the wrong matchmaking tree,’ John said, propping himself up on his elbow and pinning a strand of hair from Sarah’s cheek behind her ear. ‘Still, at least you see your sister. I wish Lucy lived a bit nearer. You’ve not even met her yet.’

  ‘You miss her, don’t you?’ She stroked his face. ‘Didn’t Harry say she would be popping over soon?’

  ‘Yeah, but she’s said that for nearly two years although France is hardly the other side of the world. But I’m always so busy with the market garden and Lucy in helping her new husband get the riding stable business up and running that we never have time to visit each other. Time just gets away from you, doesn’t it?’

  The irony of that last remark wasn’t lost on Sarah but she just said, ‘It does.’ Sarah knew John talked to Lucy on the phone every so often but it wasn’t the same. Lucy had even missed the wedding because she was ill with shingles and had to cancel at the last minute. Poor John. Sarah would find it impossible if Ella was away.

  ‘Yep. I just miss her.’ He sighed. ‘And if what your sister says about our parents turns out to be true, I can’t see as it would do any harm, can you?’

  Sarah remembered the way her mum’s eyes had sparkled and her girlish laugh. ‘Um, no, I guess not.’

  The next day dawned, and brought chilly and bright weather with it, much more in keeping with November. It also brought Harry Needler tapping at the kitchen door not long after eight o’clock. Sarah was already up, wide-awake and making coffee, but John sleepy-eyed and yawning opened the door in his dressing gown.

  ‘Dad, what are you doing here so early on a Sunday?’

  Harry ran his hand through his curly grey hair and looked at his watch. ‘Oh, thought it was later.’ He slipped past John and nodded at Sarah who stood just behind him in the hall. ‘Look, I thought I’d better pop over as soon as because I remembered something that might be useful about that other Stitch.’ He paused to take in his son and daughter-in-laws’ bemused expressions. ‘You know, the woman who—’

  ‘Yes, we know, Harry. Come on in and have a coffee,’ Sarah said, leading the way.

  Harry sipped his coffee at the kitchen table, his lively blue eyes staring somewhere over Sarah’s shoulder. John waved a hand in front of his dad’s face. ‘You with us?’

  ‘Eh? Oh yeah, I was miles away wondering if Gwen got back okay … I ordered her a taxi from here last night but it was quite late and she was a bit squiffy.’

  ‘I think we would have heard if she wasn’t, Harry,’ Sarah interrupted, wondering if he was just around here to find out more about her mum. Her protective feathers were definitely ruffled at the thought of Harry trying to elicit personal information about her mum from them.

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ Harry muttered, taking another slice of toast from the rack. ‘Grand woman, your mum.’

  John and Sarah shared a meaningful glance.

  ‘Okay to the point. This other Stitch, as you know, just like you, Sarah, left her body behind on the first trip. But when I was lying awake in the wee-small hours I remembered something.’

  Harry took a bite of toast and a sip of coffee. In her head, Sarah screamed, get on with it!

  As if he had heard her, he said, ‘Apparently that was because she was only in the very early stages of pregnancy and the trip could have damaged the baby. I suppose that was the same with you.’ Harry pointed a crust at Sarah.

  ‘That makes sense, but why was that so important for you to come tearing round here early on a Sunday morning, Dad?’ John yawned again and Sarah remembered he’d had quite a few over the eight the night before.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet.’ Harry frowned at John. ‘Then later on the poor lass was sent on another trip – just one as far as memory serves, but she had no choice in it. And this time she went as normal.’

  This wasn’t news to Sarah and she was getting fed up of Harry’s melodrama. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I have already been on another trip, Harry, and I had no choice in it either.’

  ‘Yeah, but this lass was just a three-tripper, like most Stitches, not a committed life-longer like you … she’d already done three, Sarah. She’d had a memory wipe and everything, so finding herself back in time just like that was a huge shock. The powers sorted it quick smart though, and she had a normal life after, but if that happened to her—’

  ‘Dad, I don’t really see how her story is helpful to our—’

  Sarah noticed the warning look her husband shot his dad. ‘No need to protect me, John. I understand what Harry’s saying.’

  Sarah’s heart was thumping up the scale. If pregnancy had sent her time travel trips haywire, plus the Cross Stitch thing chucked into the mix, perhaps her experience was set to get much worse than the other woman’s.

  ‘You need to get on to the powers pronto, John.’ Sarah wasn’t surprised to hear a tremor in her voice. ‘Get a guarantee that they’ll leave me and our babies the hell alone.’

  An hour later John came back into the kitchen with no trace of the ENF. Sarah knew that was a worry in itself. He studied her face, his beautiful eyes full of concern, and he rubbed the stubble on his chin which looked even darker now against his wan face.

  ‘Well?’ Harry said.

  Sarah was thankful he’d said something as she was struggling for words.

  John lifted both arms in a heavy shrug and released a long sigh. ‘They remembered the Stitch that Dad was on about and confirmed what he said. As usual they only gave me bits, even though I kept my temper and tried to wheedle more out of them. But the gist is, they can’t confirm nor deny that you will be sent on another trip.’

  A flare of anger brought Sarah to her feet. ‘What! But they must know what happens in the bloody future!’

  ‘Try not to get upset, love, sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ Harry soothed.

  ‘Tea? Tea! I need more than bleedin’ tea!’ She looked at John. ‘What else did they say, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Basically what we talked about before. They don’t have total control and can only direct, so—’

  ‘Direct? What are they, time cops? Do they stand in space wearing white gloves and blowing a damned whistle?’ Sarah knew she was getting beside herself with anger but she couldn’t help it.

  ‘Calm down, Sarah. I won’t tell you any more until you sit down and take a few deep breaths,’ John said in his no nonsense ‘that’s it and that’s all’ voice.

  ‘And want it or not, I’m making you that tea.’ Harry smiled.

  Sarah sat and gripped the edge of the table until her finger ends went white. That was preferable to screaming at the top of her lungs. ‘Just tell me, John.’

  ‘Okay, but there’s not much more … they said that they would endeavour to—’

  ‘Endeavour?’ Sarah said, feeling a giggle of hysteria caper up from some dark place labelled ‘I’m out of control now’. ‘Really? Who uses words like that any more?’

  John narrowed his eyes and continued in his no nonsense voice, ‘They would endeavour to keep you off missions until at least a year after the twins are born, but they can’t promise and they can’t reveal what happens because that would be personal information about—’

  ‘The future? Yes, now where have we heard that before?’ Sarah s
pat out, the hysteria replaced by a stab of anguish.

  John drew up a chair and slipped his arm around her. ‘Look, I know you’re upset, I’m upset, but—’

  ‘Well, you seem to be pretty calm about it!’

  ‘You want a biscuit with that tea?’ Harry called, his head in a cupboard.

  ‘NO!’ They yelled in unison.

  That brought the ghost of a smile to Sarah’s lips and she felt a little better.

  John smiled too, his emerald eyes twinkling reassurance. ‘I’m not calm inside, my love, but I have to be strong for you. If we both lost it, the whole thing would get blown out of proportion.’ John kissed her cheek.

  ‘I don’t think it needs much blowing,’ Sarah muttered.

  ‘But nothing has happened yet. Might never happen.’ John kissed her shoulder.

  Sarah turned and looked him square in the eye. ‘It might not, John, but it’s more than clear that the powers don’t know why the hell all this is happening. Yes, I’m pregnant, but so was the other woman and they sorted her out quickly. Why can’t they do the same for me?’

  ‘I don’t know, hon.’ John took her face in both his hands and kissed her lips. ‘But the most important thing they said was that whatever happens, the babies won’t be harmed.’

  ‘They had bloody better not be,’ Sarah growled. ‘Or I will rip the power’s spindly little bodies limb from limb!’

  The great thing about maternity clothes was that you always knew they would fit. Sarah picked a piccalilli coloured top from the rail and screwed up her nose. Perhaps not. There was bright and breezy and bright and queasy. This was deffo the latter. Since the news about the twins, the last week had sailed by on the S.S. Ecstatic, the initials standing for Sarah Stupidly.

  John walked around with a permanent smile on his face and Sarah pulled her top up, stuck her belly out and gawped at herself side-on in the mirror umpteen times as day. Her perpetual question of ‘has it grown, do you think?’ was becoming redundant. She had only now to look at John and he would say, ‘same as it was a few hours ago’. He never seemed to get bored with it though, and he was just as soppy as she was about looking in the shops or online for anything to do with their forthcoming arrivals.

  It was at John’s suggestion that she get a ‘few bits’ for herself on one of her days off that she was here in the maternity section of Dorothy Perkins, rifling through the sales rails. Sarah loved a bargain and amused John with her, ‘the original price was X and I got it for Y’. He always said there was no need for her to get stuff in the sales, but she liked to hunt about – made her feel like she was getting one over on the fat cats. Spying a rather fetching pair of green maternity trousers at the other end of the section she decided to throw caution to the wind and have a look at the non-sales items. I will only be doing this once after all. She smiled to herself.

  Three or four steps towards the rail her legs turned into concrete blocks and butterflies in her tummy sent a flutter of wooziness into her head. Sarah stopped and swallowed hard, this felt only too familiar and it wasn’t morning sickness. Sweat beaded her brow and fears about what might be about to happen crowded her brain like the heavy mob, but with a herculean effort she took a few steps further and … the rail got further away.

  A bone shaking roll of nausea sent her senses reeling and please, please, nooo, screamed inside her head. What she was experiencing was so similar to the time she’d gone back to 1913 it was untrue. But now she had thrown in nausea too. Sarah tried to calm her galloping heart with the reasoned thought that nowadays, thankfully, the process of time travel was relatively painless and stress free … it had been just in the early days that she’d had a variety of experiences. She figured it could be the fact that she was expecting which was making the difference. She shook her head and took a deep breath. Perhaps all this was just a symptom of pregnancy and she was letting her imagination get the better of her.

  Steadying herself with the nearest rail she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself, but unfortunately no matter how much she tried to deny it, the movement of the shop floor under foot forced the terrible truth and Sarah’s eyes open. She looked down at the disintegrating floor swirling and breaking up beneath her and oh my God, yep, there was no doubt about it now – she was deffo being sent on a mission. Sarah began to sink, and with her, any hopes of she and their babies being left the hell alone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Just as in the 1913 trip, Sarah descended in some weird time vortex. She looked up. The sale rail and the trousers she’d wanted to buy grew smaller and then faded, along with the light, shoppers and annoyingly cheerful music designed to make folk spend, spend, spend. Soon all that was left of her world was a tiny pinprick of light and then nothing. Darkness was all … darkness and … Sarah sniffed … fried chicken?

  Aware of solid ground under her feet, heat and a weight in her right hand, the darkness gradually brightened until Sarah could see a scene slowly appearing as if someone had switched on the demister to clear a car windscreen. At last she could see in glorious Technicolor, a 1950s American diner full to bursting with 1950s diners, all busily eating, gesticulating and making their way to and from red leather seats in booths. A few harassed looking waitresses in green dress uniforms, white scalloped edged aprons complete with white pin on hats, tended their flocks like demented Bo Peeps, and a grumpy looking mountain of a man in a ketchup-stained apron wiped down the counter.

  Into her ears, hitherto blocked of sound, the familiar Rock Around the Clock blasted from the jukebox in the corner, and then upon seeing Sarah staring open-mouthed, the grumpy looking man yelled at her in similar volume, ‘What in the world are you doing standing there with the frying pan in your hand? Can’t you see we’re waiting on orders here, Sarah?’ He knitted his bushy black eyebrows together and then ran his hands through a shock of grey hair.

  Sarah looked at the frying pan in which half a dozen partially cooked fat sausages reclined and then brought her eyes back to the man. ‘Um … orders?’ Sarah noted her accent was identical to the man’s deep southern states one.

  ‘Jeez, girl, what’s a matter with you? Git yourself back in that kitchen and ask Larry to help you.’ The man shook his jowls and dabbed at his forehead with the cloth. ‘You ain’t been the same since you came back from yo’ aunt’s in New York … with high-falutin’ ideas about changing the world.’ He jabbed a stubby finger. ‘I tell you, daughter of my best buddy or not, if you carry on like this, yo’ out, git it?’ The man’s brown eyes shone with quiet anger.

  Sarah nodded and fled, her nose and ears leading her in the direction of the kitchen via the smell of fried chicken and the clatter of pans.

  On autopilot Sarah watched her hands push open the half-saloon doors until they swung inwards allowing access to a small but frantically busy kitchen. Two black women sporting Kitchen Assistant badges bustled to and fro washing up a huge pile of dishes and preparing vegetables, and a tall skinny red-haired man with his back to her – presumably Larry – flipped burgers on a hot griddle.

  Numbness of feeling and screaming desperate despair jostled each other for prominence in Sarah’s mind. For the moment, thankfully, numbness guided her actions and she walked forward to put the heavy pan on the hob. Looking down she saw she was wearing a long white, stain spattered apron, brown tight trousers and sneakers. Sarah wiped her greasy hands down the apron, glanced across at Larry and found him regarding her with keen hazel eyes.

  ‘So did you find the pepper for the sausages?’ His accent was the same as grumpy man’s and her own.

  ‘Um … no … I …’ Sarah trailed off and looked at the sausages starting to sizzle gently around the edges. What was it about her and kitchens? She’d ended up in them in three of her trips now.

  ‘You need to shape up. When I said get some pepper I expected you to leave the damned sausages on the stove, not wander off with the fry pan like some loony tune.’

  ‘Yeah, my mind is full of stuff at the moment, I guess.’ Sar
ah hoped that sounded plausible given the stuff that grumpy man was saying about her. The heavy blanket of numbness was still managing to smother the fevered yelps of despair, and she told herself to imagine that she was improvising in a play or something. Sarah clocked the look of disdain on Larry’s youthful but pockmarked face … hmm that could be quite a challenge.

  ‘Did Big Josh see you?’ Larry flipped a burger onto a bun and handed it to one of the women.

  Sarah presumed that was grumpy man. ‘Yeah, he said I had high-falutin’ ideas and I’d better get on with the job or I’m out.’ She reached for a spatula and turned the sausages.

  ‘Can’t say as I blame him.’ Larry waggled his head sagely. ‘You know we’re short-staffed in here with Joe away. And he don’t like the talk of this equal rights for negroes you come back with. Nobody does in these parts. Not me so much as I had a negro friend when I wuz a kid ’til my pa put a stop to it.’ He nodded briefly at one of the assistants and chucked a piece of steak on the griddle. ‘But others are talkin’ ’bout you. This is Alabama not New York.’ Larry sidled up to her and lowered his voice. ‘You don’t wanna go git you a burnin’ cross on your lawn, or worse like old Willie Boomsnart.’

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. Boomsnart? Really? Any other time she would have laughed or made a joke about such a comical name, but now her blood ran cold despite the heat in the room. Alabama – check, 1950s – check, burning crosses outside your house – check … she must be slap bang in the middle of one of the worst periods of American history. A neon sign flashed in her head – Segregation alive and well and living in this town, yes siree. Instinctively both her hands flew to her belly as if to protect her unborn children. My God, she had to get out of this hellhole.

  ‘Hey, don’t look so scairt. I’m just warnin’ you, is all. And don’t mind Big Josh, his bark’s worse than his bite. There’s no way he’d fire you after how yo’ pa rescued him in the war an’ all.’