Cross Stitch

by Amanda James

  Sarah all of a sudden realised it didn’t matter that her mum knew about the time-travelling, in fact she was quite pleased. ‘Oh, Mum. I do hope so.’

  Gwen gave a little nod. ‘Right, you’d better get back home and unpack before John comes back. Chop, chop.’

  Sarah planted a sloppy kiss on her mum’s cheek, grabbed her suitcase and ran to the door – just as it burst open.

  ‘Sarah! Oh, thank goodness,’ Harry gasped, his hair dishevelled, his face flushed. ‘Our John’s been going crazy wondering where you are.’

  John appeared over his dad’s left shoulder looking in similar anxious state. ‘Sarah, thank God! I was convinced you’d been whisked back in time again!’ He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her so tightly that Sarah thought he’d cut off her air supply. Then John glanced down – held her away from him. ‘What’s the little suitcase for?’

  The wounded look in his lovely green eyes was too much for Sarah to bear. What on earth was she going to say to him? Moments ago her situation had looked much brighter with her mum on her side and in the know. Now it looked infinitely much worse.

  ‘Er …’ she began and then found she couldn’t get the words past the lump in her throat.

  ‘Not to worry, John,’ Gwen said, stepping forward and guiding them both towards the sofa. ‘Our Sarah just got a bit upset about everything and thought a couple of nights away might calm it all down. We talked it through, and in the end she thought that the best idea was in fact to go back and see if she could work things out with you. She was just going home when you came in, weren’t you, love?’

  Sarah nodded. Thank the lord for her mum.

  ‘But we rang and rang. Why didn’t you answer, love?’ Harry said, plopping down on a chair.

  ‘Busy putting the world to rights and drinking tea.’ Gwen chuckled. ‘Talking of which, who wants a cup?’ Everyone nodded and Gwen went off to make it.

  John pulled Sarah to him and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Please don’t think being apart will ever solve things, hon. I know you have every right to want distance between us. I was a right pain in the arse and I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I. You had every right to be angry after my superhero antics. I just need to learn to follow my head more … especially where the children are concerned.’ She snuggled down further, comforted by his familiar smell and light kisses along her hairline.

  ‘Dad put me right.’ John tipped a wink at Harry. ‘I was working off my mood digging the bottom field and he popped over for a visit. Said he had a feeling that I needed someone to talk to – must be telepathic.’

  ‘Aye, well someone has to set you straight from time to time. Just like my Gwen did for you I’ll warrant, eh?’ He smiled at Sarah.

  A knowing look passed between Sarah and John. My Gwen, eh? Before Sarah could stop herself she sat forward and said, ‘So, you and my mum are an item then, as the phrase has it these days?’

  Harry flushed redder than he had earlier and coughed. ‘Um, aye … aye we are. You two okay with that?’

  A giggle threatened to caper up from her tummy as she looked at this man in his mid-sixties nervous as a child, but she kept it down. Despite her earlier misgivings Sarah realised that she was okay with it. If her mum had to find another man, she couldn’t have picked a better or more perfect one for her than Harry. Fighting with another giggle she said in her best teacher’s voice, ‘That would depend what your intentions are, Mr Needler. Are they honourable?’

  Harry cocked his head on one side and shot her a wicked smile. ‘Most of the time, love, aye.’

  Gwen came in with another pot of tea and home-made Victoria sponge cake. Sarah put her feet up and nestled back against John. Harry had told him that Gwen was in the know about their time-travelling roles and though John had been as shocked as Sarah, he was okay with it. He had said that he shouldn’t have been surprised that Gwen would cope with it all given that she was Sarah’s mother … Gutsy and nosy in equal measure. Sarah kissed her husband on the cheek. Things seemed to be looking up at last. A beep from John’s jeans pocket interrupted her thoughts and he stood to check his text message.

  ‘Your laptop around, Gwen? The Spindlies have some information for me that will be better read on a larger screen apparently.’

  ‘What now? Hope it’s not more bad news,’ Sarah muttered as John went off to the study.

  Two pieces of cake and a cup of tea later John reappeared. His expression did nothing to raise Sarah’s hopes of good news.

  ‘Sit down, lad, have a cuppa,’ Gwen soothed, pushing a cup towards him.

  John nodded and sat next to Sarah. ‘You’ve got sugar on your lip.’ He smiled raising his fingers to brush it off.

  ‘Never mind prevaricating, John. What’s the story?’ Sarah felt a little dark shadow of anxiety sweep in.

  John took a sip of tea and sighed. ‘Well, they have apparently found out what the problem with your erratic travelling is, Sarah. They eventually had to consult a higher power,’ he paused, and everyone looked at each other agog. ‘And they have concluded that it is because of twins.’ He turned to Sarah and took her hand. ‘We are lucky enough, my darling, to be expecting one of each – a boy and a girl!’

  The shadow of anxiety was banished by a warm glow of sunlight. ‘But that’s fantastic! Why the long face?’ Sarah said.

  ‘Because one is destined to be a Stitch and one a Needle. This means they are pulling in opposite directions, even at this early stage and that’s what’s causing your crazy trips.’

  Sarah scratched her head. She kind of liked the idea, expected it really, that her kids would carry on the tradition at the same time as being worried for them, it wasn’t a straightforward life after all. But why this pulling apart?

  ‘I don’t get it. We work in harmony to achieve our goals, well, when we can.’ She said rolling her eyes. ‘So why is there a problem with the littlies?’

  ‘As far as I can glean it’s the hormones, intuition, susceptibilities, feelings and attributes that a Stitch and Needle have that makes them good at their job. The thing is, they are equal but opposite skills. Needles find and direct, Stitches save and complete. The twins are developing all this mentally as well as developing physically … and so, unfortunately, they have sent the whole thing off the scale.’

  ‘But hasn’t this happened before in all their time dealing stuff? And what higher power did they consult?’ Gwen asked.

  ‘No to the first question and no idea to the second,’ John said, picking up a bit of cake. ‘As we know it happened to a woman who Mum and Dad knew years ago, and that was because there were in essence two people travelling through time and space. It was nowhere as bad as Sarah’s experience though and now we know why.’

  ‘Have they said that there will be more trips?’ Harry asked quietly.

  John munched his cake. ‘This is your best cake yet, Gwen.’ He attempted cheerily.

  ‘Answer your dad, John.’ Sarah folded her arms and prepared for the worst. The expression he was wearing was his best ENF yet.

  John swallowed his cake as if it were made of lead. ‘No. In fact they said there would probably be one more … they aren’t too sure.’

  Sarah jumped up so fast it made her head spin and the coffee table shake. ‘Damn them! If they aren’t sure, what chance do we mere mortals have?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  With November in its last week and the first snow dusting the peaks around the cottage, Sarah figured it was perhaps safe to breathe a tentative sigh of relief. Since the day John had discovered the reason for her impromptu trips, she had stayed thankfully in the present. The powers had further divulged that, although they couldn’t be absolutely certain because the future wasn’t always clear even to them – yes, really, and the old thing about not telling them too much about their personal future as they had said more than they should already – there didn’t seem to be any trips in the offing. Moreover that if by some huge misfortune there was to be another
mission, it was likely to be in the few weeks following her return from 1955. And that was … Sarah ran her finger down the calendar on the kitchen wall … exactly seventeen days ago.

  The very best news of all, however, had come in the email John had received just last night. The powers had said that after much deliberation, once the babies had been born they had decided to release Sarah from the promise she made to them after the 1928 debacle. That promise bound her to take missions for the rest of her life. Now there would be no more, unless she wanted them. Apparently she had gone above and beyond, what with all the unpredictability, not to say danger, lately, and it was thought that she had earned her freedom. Just perfect. Now she had the choice of if and when. Of course, technically, she had always had the choice, as John was fond of telling her, but to pick and choose more, or not to take any at all was everything she could have hoped for.

  From the corner of her eye she noticed her reflection in the hall mirror just outside the kitchen door. The black and white stripy jumper she wore over black leggings did accentuate the round, and sideways on, the bump looked definitely bumpish. But at four months, it would do wouldn’t it, being twins and all. Twins. And one of each too! Sarah hugged herself and sighed with contentment. Even now she had to metaphorically pinch herself. Little had she known last year back in 1874 Kansas, when she was looking at her ‘son’ Artie and wondering if she would ever be lucky enough to have a child, that in a short while she would have two! It still hurt so much when she thought of Artie, but heartache came with the job she realised.

  Now, to use her day off shopping for more things for the little guys, or to just put her feet up, read a good book and then make a hearty stew for when John came home? That was the question. As she finished the washing-up, a flurry of snow lace-patterning the window made up her mind. Feet up time … and perhaps a choccie or two with a nice cup of tea.

  A knock at the door chucked a house brick into her flat-calm peaceful mood. She groaned. Please don’t let this be a visitor … let it be a cold caller, at least I can tell them to bugger off.

  In her mind a surreal picture of a cold caller was presented as she made her way to the front door. A block of ice with a clipboard and name badge stuck to it and a man’s frosty head perched on top. She grinned. Well – it was cold and snowing. The grin froze on her face as she opened the door on a vast empty plain as far as the eye could see. Gone was the driveway and the road a little way off, gone were the rolling snow covered hills of Yorkshire.

  Sarah, heart thumping like a sledgehammer, tried to shut the door, but found she couldn’t move. A gust of wind took her breath away, and in the distance, but moving closer as if on huge rollers, was a series of town dwellings cowering under the huge black whip of a tornado towering into the greeny-yellow sky. Then the wind dragged Sarah from her home and forced her to the dirt floor. She closed her eyes and curled into a ball. Oh no! Please, not again!

  John stuck his head out of the greenhouse, surveyed the darkening sky and shivered. That wind had got up, and with the snow behind it, the day felt positively Icelandic. He glanced at his watch – nearly four o’clock. Time for a nice cuppa and perhaps a bit of late-afternoon delight with his darling wife. To hell with the accounts he’d got pencilled in for later, they would be there in the morning.

  Crunching up the driveway he tossed his wellies into the porch and then another shiver ran through him and this time it had nothing to do with the weather. Why was the door wide open on such a bitter day? And why was Sarah’s slipper upside down just inside the entrance? He took a small step inside and picked up the slipper. ‘Sarah? Sarah!’ John raced to the kitchen, the living room, upstairs, everywhere, all the while calling her name but nothing. Sarah wasn’t there. What the hell had happened to her?

  In the kitchen John gripped the back of a chair and tried to quell the panic in his belly and calm his ragged breathing. The coffee pot felt lukewarm under his hands and a winter recipe book was open on the table. Perhaps she’d just popped out to the shops for something, no need to get beside yourself. He shook his head and balled his hands into fists. So why was the door wide open, her slipper just abandoned like that and where was the other? A beep, beep from the phone in his jeans startled him. A quick scan of the text message left his heart racing and his legs weak. Collapsing into a chair he let out a roar of anger. Damn it all to hell! With shaking fingers he punched the keys on his phone.

  ‘Dad? Guess what’s happened now. They’ve only sent Sarah on another bloody trip!’

  ‘Oh, no lad … where?’

  John raked his hands though his hair and thumped his fist on the table. ‘That’s the best bit. They said they hadn’t foreseen it, and it is not clear where Sarah has gone – just that the year is 1966!’

  ‘Eh? How can they not know? I don’t unders—’

  ‘You’re not the only one! I think they should be called the powers that “have been”. Totally bleedin’ incompetent! Apparently it’s because of the twins making things impossible – typical of them to pass the buck! Anyway, they are trying to find out where she is and will let me know.’

  ‘Blimey! They have lost the plot big time!’ Harry said excitedly, and then did a fake cough and came back with, ‘But don’t worry, they will find her. Don’t you panic, lad.’

  ‘Yeah, right. I’ll try to remember that, Dad. Now, let’s put our thinking caps on … any memorable things happening in 1966? Knowing the bloody powers lately they might mean 1066 for all we know. They might have sent her to the middle of the Battle of Hastings!’

  Harry sighed and then said, ‘Oh, wait, there is one obvious one!’

  ‘There is?’

  ‘Think about it.’

  ‘I can only think of the World Cup?’

  ‘Yup. England beat Germany 4-2!’

  John thought his dad had been at the beer early. ‘The World Cup? Why would anyone need saving there, apart from the German side, of course?’

  ‘No idea, but it’s the only thing that sprang to mind. You could scan the Internet for important events and—’

  ‘No time, Dad. I’m going back to Wembley 1966, right now.’

  ‘You can’t, John! You know you’ll be punished. Besides there might be lots of other places she could have gone. My world history of 1966 isn’t great.’ The anxiety in Harry’s voice came across loud and clear.

  ‘Don’t care. I can’t just sit here and wait to hear that Sarah is hurt, trapped or worse.’

  ‘But it might not be an important event, even. You know that. And thinking about it more clearly now – why on earth would Sarah be there?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dad, but what choice do I have? I am not hanging about risking the twins and Sarah. I nearly went mad when she went off to 1955. The powers can’t help it seems. They don’t even know what’s going on any more and it might be too late if I stick to their stupid rules. Speak to you when I get back. No doubt the powers “that were” will be in touch with you before then!’

  The strains of choral music drifted and halted abruptly. Then a banshee wail crashed through her stupor, assaulted Sarah’s ears and roused her rudely from unconsciousness. Sirens? Was she back in 1940 for some reason? But that music had been real … perhaps she had died and gone to heaven.

  She opened her eyes, lifted her head and looked up at the weird olive sky and the grand building in front of her. The town she had seen earlier had gone, somehow it had moved … but the tornado hadn’t. In the far distance she could see its towering column wide, black and angry tearing up the ground and buildings like matchwood.

  That sight twisted her gut and sent the ‘fight or flight’ adrenaline pumping through her veins. Being no worthy opponent of such a force of nature, in a split second she chose flight. But where? A sign just in front of her told her that the grand building was Washburn University – that would have to do.

  She pulled herself to her knees as a knot of people ran towards the entrance of the building, some carrying musical instruments. They glanc
ed briefly at her as they passed and one woman yelled, ‘Don’t you hear the storm siren, woman? Seek shelter, get to the basement!’

  Another voice yelled, ‘It’s on the ground and coming fast!’

  Once on her feet, the ground trembled under her, or was it just her knees? Fat raindrops came out of nowhere and spattered painfully on her arms as she set off after the others, her heart thudding, her mind racing. Why did this have to happen now? Hadn’t she suffered enough … and the twins. God, if John had thought 1955 was dangerous he must be doing his nut by now!

  The mystery of the choral music, and indeed where she was, became clear as she hurried along next to a tall man and woman who she thought resembled the farmers from that painting. What was the painting called? American something … Gothic, she thought. Whatever it was called, the farmer man carrying the pitchfork was a dead ringer for the guy prattling on next to her. Perhaps they had jumped out of it; anything was possible in this nightmare.

  ‘Good job we heard that siren over the sound of the choral recital, me bein’ a bit hard of hearin’ an’ all.’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ the woman said absently. Sarah could tell she wasn’t really paying attention, just concentrating on hurtling down the steps to get to safety.

  ‘Time Topeka gotta better warnin’ system. There gotta be summin’ better, ain’t there? Men goin’ into space, an’ all? There’s even talk of a man walkin’ on the moon in a few years, so there’s gotta be summin’, ain’t there?’

  ‘Probably, dear.’

  So, Kansas again … must be some kind of spiritual link with this bloody place. Perhaps I should change my name to Dorothy. Sarah shook her head and continued down the flight of stairs. Just then she got a twinge in her belly – almost like a stitch and a wooziness washed over her like a lazy wave on the shore. Panic sprang into her heart and she had to stop for a moment to catch her breath. She noticed the black and white striped jumper and black leggings had been replaced by dark green slacks, a floral long-sleeved smock and a pair of red kitten heels. Pity they weren’t covered in glitter and then she could click her heels together and ask to be delivered straight back home. Everyone rushed past, either not noticing that she was in trouble, or too worried about their own safety.