by Amanda James
Soon alone on the steps, she sat down, leaned her head on her knees and tried to think calm thoughts. Was there any wonder she felt like this? She was pregnant after all and in the middle of the scariest trip of her life. Placing her hand on her little bump she took a few deep breaths and began to feel much better, but before she could continue her journey, a clatter of feet behind her, and a yell of anguish jerked her head up. A man with a mop of white-blond hair tumbled past her and lay prone on the landing just in front of her.
‘Oh my goodness! Are you okay?’ she said into his ear as she knelt by his side. Nothing. Damn it, what should she do next? There had been a fist aid course a few years back for the staff but she hadn’t paid as much attention as she should have because it was her era of depression after Neil and Karen. They had so much to answer for. If she couldn’t help this poor guy who had a look of … now, who was it? The face of the person just danced out of reach at the back of her memory, and the guy did have his eyes closed, so hard to place.
Never mind who he reminds you of, Sarah, do something. Right. Listen for breathing. Sarah put her ear to the guys nose and yes, deffo breathing. His chest rose and fell gently too. Good. So … what now? The next step came flooding back to her. I know – put him in the recovery position. That was it! Hmm the man was tall, heavy – not fat, but muscular, in his mid-thirties she guessed. So if she didn’t get the technique right he would be hard to shift, and that tornado sounded even closer now.
Gulping down a ball of panic, Sarah shoved her hair behind her ears and put his arm across his chest. Then it was the bendy leg thing, wasn’t it? Sarah bent his knee and then attempted to roll him onto his side. A groan stopped her mid-roll and the guy pushed himself up onto his elbows and regarded her groggily. As soon as she looked into his bright blue eyes she had it. He looked like an older version of Artie, ‘her son’ from 1874 Kansas!
‘Are … are you okay?’ she said a little breathlessly, touching his shoulder briefly and noting that her American accent was back.
‘Yes thanks, ma’am. My leg feels a little painful though,’ he muttered. As he struggled to his knees, his mouth twisted to the side and he sucked air through his teeth when his foot made contact with the floor.
Sarah noticed that his ankle was puffing slightly when he rolled his sock down to examine it.
‘Here lean on me.’ She pulled his arm around her shoulder and leaned into him. ‘Let’s get you down these stairs and into the basement.’ The air of confidence hanging on those words were all for show, however. This guy was heavy and God knew how far this damned basement was.
‘You are so kind, ma’am. It was my own stupid fault that I fell – shouldn’t have been runnin’ so fast.’
‘Hardly surprisin’ in the circumstances. That’s it; you’re makin’ good progress … er?’ She glanced up at him.
‘Arthur, folks call me Artie. And your name is?’
The shock of hearing that name nearly struck her dumb, but she heard herself choke out. ‘Sarah.’ It was impossible. It couldn’t be Artie, he would be in his nineties now.
‘That’s a nice name. My great-grandmother was called Sarah.’ He flashed a grin that took her breath – it was the spit of Artie’s.
‘Just a few more steps now. There’s the basement.’
They entered the large basement where people were settling on the floor, some were chatting some were silent and hugging each other, all wore signs of fear and anxiety on their pale faces.
One particularly pale young man nodded at Artie, beads of nervous sweat stood on his brow. But then he blinked a few times and said, ‘Evening, Professor Johnson. You might not get my homework if this goes badly.’
Artie put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Evening, Dexter. We’ll be safe here, so no excuses on that essay.’
Though neither Dexter nor Artie, nor anyone else could be absolutely sure about their fate, Sarah could tell by the genuine smile on the young man’s face that Artie had given him hope with those few words. She could also tell that Artie must be a damned fine teacher with the respect he commanded in this terrified student.
So was he ‘her Artie’s’ grandson? His great-grandmother had been Sarah, so it was certainly possible. She couldn’t be sure that Johnson had been her Artie’s last name but it did ring a bell. And she had certainly saved him just now, so it had to be more than coincidence didn’t it, so could she go home? Before she had time to order her thoughts, the noise of what she could only describe as an approaching train met her ears and this time there was no mistaking the movement of ground under her. Even the wall seemed to shiver under her touch as she put her hand against it.
Right, no messing, she’d ask him outright and then try and get back. ‘Artie, was your grandfather the famous senator?’
He looked a bit startled, then grinned. ‘He was indeed, Sarah. The finest. And the finest grandfather, too. I miss him every day. Glad that you remember his name.’
‘Oh, I will never forget it, Artie.’ Sarah’s voice trembled and she lightly touched her hand to Artie’s cheek. He frowned, puzzled, but before he could say any more, Sarah walked away and hissed to the ceiling, ‘Okay you spindly sons of bitches. Get me and my babies out of here and to safety right now!’
A floating sensation enveloped her, and the ceiling she’d hissed at turned into wisps of fog as she passed through. Sarah closed her eyes, smiled and relaxed into the transition. Thank goodness, the Spindlies had listened; she’d soon be at home safe with John. A thump, a rattle and an ear-splitting crash said different however. Immediately she felt a jolt in her shins as solid ground once more met her feet. Sarah opened her eyes but couldn’t see very much, as thick brown dust hung heavy in the air and irritated her lungs. She coughed and leaned against a smooth hard surface which felt like a wall, and as the dust began to settle, a ruin of a cellar was partially revealed.
What on earth had happened? Had the tornado struck before she could escape? But where were the rest of the people in the shelter? And this place was smaller than she remembered. The wail of a siren started up a little way off and once the dust had completely settled and sunlight filtered through a huge hole in the ceiling, Sarah could see she was no longer in 1960s Kansas, she could also see she wasn’t alone. A hunched figure in the corner got shakily to its feet, a figure whose haystack mop was rusty with brick dust, a figure that was unmistakably … Veronica flippin’ Ratchet!
Chapter Twenty
‘Sarah Needler! Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!’ Veronica shot her a horsey whiter than white smile enhanced by an orange brick dust ‘fake tan’ and her dark eyes shone with emotion. Sarah was just about to say that the sentiment was definitely not reciprocated, punctuated by a half a dozen expletives as Veronica stepped forward, but then another explosion outside and nearby took the poor woman’s legs from under her and she ended up flat on her face.
Luckily Sarah was still leaning against the supporting wall which still lived up to its name or she’d have followed suit. Deafened and shaken by the blast, she scrambled over the rubble as quick as her trembling limbs would carry her to where Veronica lay prone and unmoving. The thump of her galloping heartbeat pushed the silence from her ears as she put her hand on Veronica’s shoulder, and curses that had been lined up on her tongue just moments ago gave way to prayers. Oh please God, let her be all right!
Was she just out cold … or worse? Putting her ear to Veronica’s back she listened for a breath as she held her own. Yes! Yes, thank goodness, she was breathing. A perfunctory glance at her limbs confirmed they were all there and didn’t appear to be broken or bleeding, and then for the second time in a few hours, Sarah prepared to put someone in the recovery position.
Just as she rolled Veronica onto her side, her eyes opened and she began to cough and take big gulps of dusty air which then made her cough some more. ‘Sarah, it really is you … I thought I was …’ she coughed again, ‘… hallucinating.’
‘No, it is me,’ Sarah said, placing
Veronica’s arm over her shoulder and slipping an arm around her waist. ‘But as fond of you as I have become, I wish you were hallucinating because to be honest, I really don’t want to be here in this damned war again. What are we, 1940?’
‘1941 … May.’ Veronica grunted spitting a globule of spit and dust onto the rubble.
‘Marvellous.’ Sarah sighed and tightened her grip around Veronica’s waist. ‘Here let
me take the weight, do you think you can stand … walk?’
‘Just about.’ Veronica puffed air from her cheeks, heaved herself upright and dusted down her very un-Veronica-like blue trousers. ‘I’m okay now, just a bit shaken.’
Sarah took Veronica’s hand and the two women took a few clumsy steps towards a mountain of rubble above which a blue sky played chase with clouds. Thankfully all now seemed quiet on the western front. ‘Where are we?’
Veronica peered down at Sarah in disbelief. ‘In a bombed out cellar.’
‘Yeah, I did realise that. No, I mean where in England?’
‘Oh, right. Southampton, not far from the centre.’
‘Fantastic. My day is just getting better and better. Washburn in the middle of a tornado and now instead of going home I’m catapulted to one of the most heavily bombed cities in Britain during the Second World War!’
Veronica’s face beamed with pride. ‘Well, that’s because of the important docks we have here and, of course, the Spitfire factory. You should have been here last year, it was an absolute nightmare. Bombing us morning noon and night they were.’
Sarah’s mouth dropped open. Had the woman gone mad? ‘I should have been here last year? Oh, yes, that would have been fabulous, what a shame I missed the chance of getting flattened nearly every day!’
‘No need to get on your high horse. I’m just glad you agreed to help me today.’
‘Help you? I didn’t agree to help you.’
Veronica wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and looked decidedly shifty. ‘Oh dear … I see. I thought it was a bit odd that you didn’t know where you were and so forth.’
Sarah folded her arms and gave Veronica a hard stare. ‘Okay, out with it. Just what exactly is happening?’
A huge sigh escaped Veronica’s lips and she sat down on a boulder. ‘Well, I’m looking for my Edward, you see.’ She pulled a hanky out of her jacket pocket. ‘We were in town shopping when the sirens started; they’ve not come for a while and certainly not in daylight for ages. You remember that your John told us that my Edward would be invalided out of the Home Guard and have that shard of glass through his foot?’ Sarah nodded. ‘Well, that was last year. Hell of a mess his foot was in and he’s still in a bit of pain with his limp and all …’ Veronica’s voice tailed off and she gazed into space.
Sarah was beginning to get impatient and it was all she could do to stop herself from yelling at Veronica to get on with it. She also had an awful feeling in her gut that she wouldn’t be back home in the few moments she’d originally thought she would be when she’d left Washburn. ‘So what happened next?’
‘Oh, well, being the hero he insisted on leaving the public shelter and going to see if anyone needed help. I begged him to stay but he wouldn’t listen. They had sounded the “all clear” but then about twenty minutes after he’d gone the sirens went off again.’ Her voice wavered and she dabbed at her eyes with the hanky.
‘I’m really sorry about that, Veronica, but can you explain about me agreeing to help?’
‘Yes, sorry. I was sitting there thinking about how I’d changed over this past year or so since I’d become a Stitch. I’m much more confident in my stitching abilities and less of a cowardly custard.’ Veronica smoothed out the material on her trousers. ‘I even wear slacks now, very unladylike my mother would have said. My proudest moment came just a few months ago. I saved a really important person by preventing him from getting on the Titanic just before it sailed. Would you believe how smelly some people were back in 1912? I bet they hardly ever washed.’
‘Yes, I know, Veronica. I have been back to that time period before, and will you please get to the bloody point!’ Sarah sat down on a pile of rubble opposite and shoved her fingers through her dusty hair in frustration.
‘Hmm, not sure I like your tone, Sarah.’ Veronica saw the look of fury in Sarah’s eyes and hurriedly continued. ‘Anyway, I was also thinking about how much I admired you and what you’ve achieved as a Stitch so far. I was wondering what you’d do in my situation, sit in the shelter worrying, or get up and find Edward.’ She smiled at Sarah. ‘So I got up and left the shelter.’
Though Sarah still hadn’t got to hear why she’d ended up here, she did feel glad to know that she’d inspired the old trout. John had told her she’d admired her and gone on to do a great job, but to hear it from Veronica herself warmed Sarah’s heart. She felt a genuine respect and admiration for old Ratchet-face. Such a far cry from the early days. ‘And then …?’
‘Then the oddest thing happened. Well, two things happened. Firstly, as I was poking about the rubble and asking anyone if they’d seen Edward, I got an image in my head of you floating up to a ceiling with a smile on your face, and I just said out loud, “Oh, Sarah, I could do with you here to help me”. Secondly I heard an explosion as I was walking down a street and must have fallen into this cellar.’ She shrugged. ‘You know the rest.’
‘But that makes no sense! I know that my stitching life has become ridiculously crazy because of the twins, but you “seeing” me and needing my help just as I was returning home is just so … so random.’
‘Twins? What twins?’ Veronica frowned.
Sarah had forgotten that Veronica didn’t know about her pregnancy so decided to show rather than tell. She undid the buttons of a blue gabardine Mac she found herself to be wearing and smoothed her hands over her bump under a floral dress.
‘Oh my goodness, you’re pregnant!’ Veronica clapped her hands and leapt up, her face beaming with happiness.
‘Yep, and it’s twins – a boy and a girl!’ Sarah laughed as she received a spiky all elbows hug from Veronica.
Veronica drew back, her face a picture of bamboozlement. ‘Eh? How can you possibly know that before they are born?’
‘We can do those things in my time. Pretty amazing, huh?’
‘My giddy aunt!’ A hand fluttered to Veronica’s mouth. ‘It’s more than amazing, it’s a bloomin’ miracle.’
This happy moment between them was lovely but Sarah really had to get to the point of why she was here. ‘Right, so you think Edward is around here somewhere?’
‘Yes. This is the direction he was headed. A member of the Home Guard told me he’d seen a man with a limp pass down this street.’
‘And what? I’m supposed to save him? Because that’s the only conclusion I can come to.’
Veronica shook her mop-head and a little puff of brick dust haloed briefly in the air giving her the appearance of a very puzzled lion. ‘I have absolutely no idea. It seems odd that you would be allowed to do a personal saving just to help an old friend … even though …’ Veronica’s face crumpled and she blew hard into the hanky. ‘Even though it is to be my wedding day tomorrow.’ Then she gave a strangled sob, sat down again and buried her face in her hands.
Blimey! No wonder the old trout was upset. Sarah knew how stressful weddings were even though, partly because of Veronica, she’d spent most of hers in 1939. But at least in Sarah’s case she’d known exactly where John was the day before the wedding. It must be torture for Veronica to have lost Edward in the middle of a war zone, just as she’d looked forward to a happy ending. And if anyone deserved a happy ending it was Veronica, after all those years she’d suffered at the hands of her mother.
Veronica looked up at Sarah, white tear streaks cutting through the orange of her face. ‘I’m sorry for getting emotional, but I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him. And though I’m so grateful that you came, I fear that because you were sent to me, it must
indicate that he is in some awful danger!’ She shrieked and hid her face again.
It was no good; Sarah would have to do the right thing. And given that she was just put here, it was debatable that she’d have much choice anyway. The Spindlies must know where she was … mustn’t they? A heavy sigh built in her chest and she blew it out with a long breath. ‘It will all be okay, Veronica. Come on, dry those tears and let’s go and find your Edward.’
Memories of last year’s trip to the Sheffield Blitz of 1940 played in Sarah’s mind as she and Veronica walked through the decimated streets of Southampton. Not for the first time, Sarah wondered how people had lived through this war and carried on with their lives without counselling, or any real recognition of the trauma they’d suffered. Huge craters and rubble piled high everywhere made walking in a straight line impossible, and jagged remains of houses lined the streets like the teeth of some giant monster hidden below the surface.
The thing that touched Sarah the most was the way that the insides of some houses were revealed to all when only the outer wall had collapsed. On general display were a lifetime’s personal knick-knacks, clothes strewn across floors, family portraits smashed and blackened by smoke, and, in one case, a table still laid for breakfast complete with toast in its rack.
After about ten minutes Sarah began to get an intense tickle in her nose and shot off a round of ridiculously loud sneezes. Veronica echoed them within seconds. ‘Gosh, must be the dust still in our lungs from that cellar, a–tishoo!’
‘Bit of a delayed reaction though isn’t atishooo! it?’ In fact Sarah couldn’t remember ever sneezing so violently in her life. She sat on a half-ruined garden wall and dug around in her pocket for a hanky. Luckily she found one just as the loudest sneeze yet shot from her nose. ‘Shooooo!’