by Amanda James
Sarah’s mouth gaped open. ‘But … but who was Brace then?’
‘Just a goddamned bus driver.’ John threw his hands up. ‘The guy you whacked, Gary, was the one to save. He was a former lawyer, couldn’t cope after his wife had left him and became a bum. The whack on his head seemed to have brought him to his senses. That of course was helped along the way by Sarah. He changed his life, wrote a book about social injustice and became a brilliant Civil Rights lawyer.’
Sarah threw her hands up too. ‘So I did good then. Saved the guy who I was supposed to save! What’s the problem?’
God how damned big-headed was she? John folded his arms and tried to keep a lid on his temper. ‘You are missing the point. You had no clue he was the one – just launched in. Sarah Super Stitch, cape flying, all based on gut instinct and saved him by accident. What would have happened if Gary had spun round and stabbed you in the belly?’
Sarah lowered her head and picked at her nails, her hair curtaining her face. ‘I … I don’t know.’
John noticed a tear appear on the end of her chin but felt no remorse. ‘No? Well, I bet you can hazard a very good guess.’
She tossed her head up and glared at him through shimmering eyes. ‘Would I have been actually hurt? I mean, I know I am me when I travel, but people see the other Sarah, so perhaps it is her body that would have been wounded—’
She was taking the piss now. ‘Are you mad? You know there is both a physical and cerebral link – you both would have been hurt, and didn’t you give a thought to the poor 1950s Sarah?’
‘Yes, no, I don’t know!’ Sarah stood and began to pace the carpet. ‘I told you that I didn’t really have time to think. And besides, everything is muddled – my gut instinct was messed up because everything has gone haywire lately with my travelling, as you well know! But it was all good in the end.’ Sarah lowered her voice and sat down again. ‘You said that Sarah helped Gary back on his feet … she must have been okay, then?’
Her hunched and thoroughly miserable posture poked a sliver of conscience and pity into his heart. ‘Yeah she was grand.’ He sighed. ‘She never went back to the diner, worked at a car wash instead. Then she bumped into Gary a while later in town and confessed that she’d clonked him on the head to save him from prison. He’d already started to climb out of his pit and had moved towns to avoid JB and his hench mob. He’d only come back to collect his things, so it was lucky they met. They got talking and he discovered that she was more than just a pretty face, so they started courting. He helped her through college, and after she went to work for him. They made a formidable team and married in 1958.’
A bright little smile curled her mouth as Sarah blinked back tears. ‘So that’s great, no? As I said, the whole think was mixed up because of the pregnancy and stuff—’
‘Yes, Sarah, but that’s only part of it. No matter how you dress it up, in the end you chose to do it.’ John jabbed a finger at her across the room. ‘I explained to you a while ago that no Stitch can be totally coerced into a job. Even though you promised them you would be a life-longer. What you do during a mission to a large extent depends on free will, you have to allow it.’
‘But I was so worried about what might happen and—’
John was heartily sick to the stomach now of her denial and her wilful disregard for herself, their babies, and yes, if he was honest, for him too. ‘Well, I’m up to here with it!’ He chopped the side of his hand at the air above his head. ‘Sick of it. You ignored all the warnings that last time in 1928 and so I had to come to bloody rescue you, nearly getting permanently disabled as a result. But I did it because you needed me and I would die for you – still would! So how many more times will I be required to?’ He thumped his hand down on the coffee table.
Sarah flinched and silent tears began to course down her face.
John swallowed a lump and felt his own eyes moisten, but his anger was too great to relent. His voice was almost a whisper. ‘This time, Sarah, this time you have gone too far. Our babies …’ John felt his throat close over and he couldn’t bear to look at his wife’s tortured face any longer. He turned, stormed through the door and slammed it shut against her anguished wail.
Chapter Eighteen
The roar of an engine and screeching of tyres some time later were the only things loud enough to break through the volume of Sarah’s sobs. Then the shock that John had gone without trying to resolve the situation, or even comfort her in some way, brought her to her knees on the sitting room floor. There she rocked to and fro hugging herself tightly, the sobs now stuck in her chest and her whole body shuddering with despair. He had always been the one to calm things, said that an argument left as a molehill grew into a mountain. Well, this one was already a mountain – the summit invisible above the clouds.
Sarah rubbed her eyes and prepared to get off her knees but then a little sparkly object under the settee caught her eye. Flicking it out with her fingers she found it to be a silver horseshoe from their wedding cake. How had it got there? Was it a sign that her luck was going to change … or had it just fallen off someone’s plate at the impromptu reception they held here? Sarah feared it was probably the latter. Her luck seemed well and truly on vacation at the moment. Right, if in doubt, make tea.
Tea normally helped her think but today her brain and thought process resembled a bowl of cold spaghetti. One train of thought curled around another and then got lost under the heavy weight of the whole. The whole being that she had royally buggered up this time. At least that much was clear. John was right. Everything he said was true. How could she have risked her babies? Obviously she hadn’t consciously chosen to put them at risk, and it was true that everything had happened so quickly it made her head spin, but in her haste to do the right thing, she of course had done just that – risked the babies.
Another sip of tea and still she’d found no real defence for her actions save the genuine belief that she was saving the Civil Rights movement. That should have been enough in normal circumstances, but there was more than just her at stake nowadays. The superhero complex … perhaps he was right about that too. For so long in her life she’d been the under- confident mouse, worried about upsetting anyone, dragging her life behind her ex Neil’s, like it was a errant bit of loo roll tucked down her pants. Then John had appeared with a new life, a new love, and everything had changed beyond all recognition. John’s belief in her had given her confidence and, it wasn’t too dramatic to say, a reason for living.
But oh my lord, he must have been furious to bring 1928 up again. That was the last time she’d stuck her neck out for glory and alongside John’s awful punishment, it had been touch and go if the powers were going to give her a memory wipe and allow her relationship to continue with John. They had though, on condition that she would take missions for the rest of her life.
Through the window the sun and wind played chase with clouds over the hills, turning the landscape alternately light and dark green. The clouds and wind looked like they were winning a few moments later as they brought dark reinforcements from the north and the sun eventually gave up and played elsewhere.
A long sigh of resignation escaped Sarah’s mouth. Perhaps she should play elsewhere for a bit – go back to her mum’s for a few days, let John calm down. A twist of sadness in her gut propelled yet another lump into her throat. Perhaps she should go back permanently. If she stuck around John and this crazy pattern of time travel continued for her, who’s to say that she wouldn’t find herself in dire straights again? Even though next time they definitely wouldn’t be of her own making, no matter what was at stake, he would be tempted to come to the rescue, in fact the babies would mean that he definitely would and this time there would be no forgiveness. The Spindly Ones had made that pretty clear last time.
Sarah stood, wandered back into the sitting room and picked up a large framed wedding photo of her and John from the sideboard. Because the actual day had been a shambles they had dressed in their finery and had
a few shots taken on the Monday. John was carrying her over the threshold, his head on one side, dark curls messy in the wind looking down with eyes full of love for her and hers were a mirror to his. The love she’d felt for him on that day was as big as the sky was now, as big as the universe, but what good was that if she would ultimately destroy him?
In her heart of hearts she new damned well that John loved her too much – would never let her leave, especially now she was carrying his babies, so it might be just as well to ask for a memory wipe for both of them. That way neither would be hurt, she would still have the babies and perhaps a fake memory of who the father had been could be planted. She and they would be happy, John would be happy because he wouldn’t remember anything, and that would be that. Even though her heart felt as if it was being lacerated with metal barbs, she ran upstairs and packed a bag before she could change her mind.
Gwen’s face was a picture. On second thought, no, it was more like a version of Ratchet’s Munchian visage when Sarah had spilled her beans over coffee later that day in her mum’s chintz palace – her and Ella’s name for Gwen’s conservatory. And Sarah had to admit, as only a few of her beans had been spilled because of the inability to share the time-travelling experience, it was quite a reasonable response.
Gwen sat opposite Sarah in a white rattan backed chair, wringing her handkerchief –now soggy in places – and shaking her head in disbelief. ‘I still don’t understand you. What do you mean it’s not working? You have everything you have ever dreamed of and now the twins! How can it not be working?’
Sarah sighed and hugged a cushion to her chest – an explosion of flowers emblazoned on its cover. ‘As I said … I just don’t feel like I am right for him. He deserves better.’
‘Well, right at this minute, I agree with you.’ Gwen flapped the hanky. ‘How can you just up and leave him like that?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Let me remind you, he left me.’
‘But only because you argued about something, which you still refuse to explain to me, I might add. He’s not taken any of his clothes or belongings, has he?’ Gwen narrowed her eyes and inclined her head to Sarah’s holdall by the chair. ‘Unlike you, missy.’
‘No, but it’s for the best.’ Sarah knew it all sounded pretty lame and just wanted to go up to her old room and be quiet for a while. Somewhere in the house the phone began to ring but Gwen shook her head when Sarah rose to answer it.
‘How can it be for the bloody best? I bet the twins wouldn’t think so!’ Gwen stood and pointed a finger at the slight swell of Sarah’s tummy.
Okay that’s it and that’s all. If she stayed there being talked at like a five-year-old she’d say something she’d regret. ‘Mum, I know you are upset and have a right to be. But for now I need to go upstairs and just get my head sorted for a few hours.’ Sarah stood and moved to the door.
‘No. You will sit down and tell me the real story, my girl.’
Sarah ignored her and stepped forward.
‘So what’s it like time-travelling then?’
The ground shifted under her feet and Sarah clutched at the edge of the sofa. What the … Turning slowly to face her mum she managed to squeak, ‘Pardon?’
Gwen’s face set in a scowl and she pointed to the chair. ‘You heard me. Sit down and spill it.’
On legs that felt like they belonged to somebody else, Sarah shuffled back to the pink and yellow floral sofa and sank down feeling her bottom become enveloped in its over- puffed cushions. This cannot be happening. She lifted her eyes and found her mum’s sapphire-blue ones fixed onto hers like two probing searchlights. Where to start? There was no use trying to blag her way out of it. Her mum was too clever for that. So, if in doubt, ask a question and Sarah had a few hundred forming an orderly queue on her tongue.
‘How …’ Sarah cleared her throat of treacle and tried again. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Oh, I’m pleased you didn’t try to wriggle out of it, that’s something I suppose.’ Gwen picked up the teapot, refilled her cup and raised her eyebrows at Sarah. Sarah nodded, not because she wanted more tea, but just to give her hands something to do. Currently they were gripping the edge of the seat so hard she was afraid the cushion would pop, shooting little balls of kapok across the room to land in her mother’s lap.
‘No point is there. Just tell me, Mum.’
Gwen settled back in her own seat and sipped her tea, a faraway look in her eye. The phone rang again. Both women ignored it. Then Gwen said, ‘Okay, I had dinner at Harry’s the other night and the next morning when I got in the car I realised that I’d left my watch on the sink in the bathroom. I ran back in, but Harry was on the phone so—’
‘Whoa, whoa, hold on a little minute there, Mum,’ Sarah gasped, holding her hands palm up at Gwen. She could hardly believe her ears. ‘You had dinner and then you were still there in the morning?’
Gwen clucked her tongue and folded her arms. ‘Oh, please, we are both well over eighteen and responsible adults. And I think your news is a little more earth shattering to be honest, don’t you?’
‘Er …’ Sarah began and then clammed up. She did have a point.
Gwen nodded in satisfaction. ‘So, as I said, Harry was on the phone in the kitchen and I went to go upstairs to get the watch, but being a nosy old cow I stopped to listen because he was washing-up and had the thing on speakerphone. He was talking to John. Evidently John was worried about you being stuck in 1955 … well, you can imagine what went through my head.’
Sarah couldn’t. ‘I … Blimey, Mum, what happened then?’
Gwen sighed and dabbed at her nose with the soggy hanky. ‘I listened to the whole conversation thinking that the pair of them were unhinged, or had taken some mind-bending drugs that John had grown in the hothouse or something.’ She took another fortifying gulp of tea. ‘Boy was Harry surprised when he’d finished the call and saw me standing in the doorway. He tried to concoct some daft story about them rehearsing for a play, but though I’ve not known my Harry for that long, I know when he’s spinning a yarn.’
The words, my Harry and the way her mum had said them left Sarah in no doubt that the relationship was serious. But for now she shelved that realisation – there was a more pressing matter at hand. ‘Did Harry tell you … about me, about John, then?’
‘Yes, he had no choice. And the truth seemed even more bloody crackers than the fib if you want to know. Mind you, he said you had reacted in a similar way last year when John dropped the whole time bombshell on you.’ Gwen sat forward in her seat and whispered, ‘But when Harry disappeared right in front of me to prove he was telling the truth I nearly wet me pants.’
Open-mouthed, Sarah took a moment to process that last bit. The powers would do their nuts! Harry should have known better and would likely suffer a punishment. ‘I can’t get my head around all this, Mum. Harry could be in real trouble because—’
Gwen flapped a hand in dismissal. ‘Oh, I know all about the powers or Spindly Ones as you call ’em. They were a bit narky, but I promised to keep quiet about it all. To be honest, I didn’t have much choice as they threatened a memory wipe if I didn’t.’
A bit narky … I bet they bloody were. ‘Hmm, well I had no idea Harry could be so reckless. He’s always been so cool and rational.’
Gwen twinkled and flushed. ‘Yes, well he says I bring out the devil in him.’
‘Okay, too much information, Mum.’
‘And talking of information, missy, have you thought how you would explain to John why you have decided to break his world apart and take his babies? Let’s have the real story, now that you know that I know … that was a song, wasn’t it?’ Gwen attempted a watery smile.
Sarah sighed and spilled the whole thing including her idea about memory wipes.
A thunderous look appeared on Gwen’s face and she slammed her cup down on the tray. ‘Well, my God! When did you turn into the most selfish woman on the planet, not to say the stupidest?’
Sarah really did feel like a five-year-old now. An angry five-year-old to boot. ‘What do you mean, selfish and stupid? I’m doing it to protect John, or haven’t you been listening?’
‘That’s the stupid bit, well one of them. If you think taking a father from his children and depriving him of all that goes with it is the right thing to do, then you must be potty. Of course, as you say he wouldn’t know about this, so what’s the harm? Well, duh!’ Gwen waggled her head from side to side. ‘I would remember everything. Ella would, Harry would, the whole set of family and friends would, colleagues at work would, or were you going to ask for a memory wipe for half of bloody Sheffield?’
A tide of crimson burned its way across Sarah’s face and neck. In her befuddled and sorry for herself state she’d not considered any of that. Perhaps she really was stupid after all. Tears of humiliation and sadness welled and she still felt like a five-year-old. A lost and troubled one.
‘I … I have absolutely no idea,’ she managed and stared at the flower patterned rug under her feet.
‘Oh, my poor love,’ Gwen muttered and hurried across to sit beside her. ‘You’re hormones are raging, you’ve had morning sickness, you’re worried about the birth I expect, and that’s enough for any new mum to contend with.’ Gwen enveloped Sarah in her arms. ‘But you, my poor baby, on top of all that have had to cope with being dropped back in time, here, there and every bloody where to save folk’s lives. No wonder you can’t think straight!’
Being held like that, her head on her mum’s chest, feeling her steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, its comforting thump in her ears, Sarah began to feel that things weren’t so bad, or could be sorted at least. Her mum had that affect. Always had … when she was five, and now. ‘Thanks for being so understanding, Mum.’
‘You don’t have to thank me for that, my girl. That’s what being a mum is all about, something which you are soon to discover.’ Gwen took her daughter’s face in both her hands and looked into her eyes. ‘And we’ll have no more talk about leaving John. Now that I know about your adventures it will be a lot easier for you to cope … we’ll work through this somehow.’