by Amanda James
‘Mind you, atishoooo!, I did get the sneezes when I went back to 1912,’ Veronica said, blowing her nose on her tear dampened hanky. ‘It turned out that was my clue to who I had to save. I’d rather have hiccups any day like we had in 1979, wouldn’t you?’
Sarah managed to stop mid-sneeze. ‘Well, even though this has never been one of my clue signs, I would bet my bottom dollar that your Edward is in the immediate vicinity.’
No sooner the words were out of Sarah’s mouth than the tickle went out of her nose. Judging by the look of relief on Veronica’s face the same had happened to her. Then they heard a reedy little voice nearby say, ‘It’s all right, mister, I can see a couple of ladies through this hole here, we’ll be out in a jiffy! Help! Help, ladies, over here!’
Sarah and Veronica scrambled over the ruined wall and into the garden of a bombed out house. The roof and entire first floor had gone, but the downstairs remained pretty much intact save a huge hole where the door used to be. Peering through this the two women could see a ruin of a kitchen and an old iron bedstead, through the bars of which was stuck the leg of a girl around about seven years old, and a man in a similar predicament but stuck in a crater in the concrete floor and pinned under bits of ceiling and fallen struts.
‘Edward!’ Veronica yelled and ran inside the house.
‘Be careful, Veronica, it’s not safe in here!’ Edward yelled back, raising his hand in a stop signal.
Sarah’s nose told her immediately why it wasn’t safe as she stepped through the door. The unmistakable whiff of gas was coming from somewhere under the rubble. The slightest spark from scraping metal or an ember floating in could send them sky-high. Edward’s warning fell on deaf ears as Veronica knelt by his side and showered his dusty cherub-like face with kisses.
The little girl smiled at Sarah and said, ‘Can you help us? We have been stuck here for ages. I came looking for my cat, Bobby, and then some of the ceiling came down – the bed head along with it.’ She nodded across at Edward. ‘The mister here heard me yell and came in, but then a bit more of the ceiling landed on him.’
Edward nodded. ‘She came back home unbeknownst to her parents. They’re getting minor cuts and bruises sorted out at a First Aid station down the road it seems. Barbara here slipped out without their knowledge and came back home. I would have easily got her out if the ceiling hadn’t decided to fall just at the wrong damned moment.’
The fact that neither of them seemed to be seriously injured was the only saving grace in the whole episode, Sarah realised. But if they didn’t get them out soon they could all be seriously hurt or worse. ‘Right, time is of the essence. Veronica, help me with this bedstead.’ Obviously worried about her fiancé, Veronica gave him one final peck on the cheek and scuttled over to where Sarah was pulling at the mangled brass construction.
It wasn’t that heavy, but Barbara’s leg was twisted through it at a strange angle and therefore it had been impossible for the seven-year-old to extract herself. In a matter of moments she was free, however, and apart from a few abrasions and a nasty looking bruise she was unhurt. ‘Thanks, ladies. You want me to help you with Mr Edward?’ Barbara grinned and pulled up her socks.
‘No, Barbara. Run along back to your mum and dad, they must be worried sick about you,’ Sarah said.
Veronica assumed her haughty teacher’s persona. ‘Yes, go straight back now, no more looking for silly cats, young lady!’
Right on cue a long-haired tabby poked a head around the hole in the wall and gave a pitiful yowl. ‘Bobby!’ Barbara scooped up the cat and smothered him with kisses, though the cat looked less than pleased at this and tried to wriggle free. ‘Stop that right now. I’m taking you with me and there’s nothing you can do about it!’ She raised a hand to them all. ‘Thank you everyone, toodle-oo!’ Barbara turned and hurried away down the street.
‘Now for you, my darling.’ Veronica and Sarah went back over to Edward and pulled at a wooden strut but it only moved a few inches. The length of the struts were across the crater leaving Edward just enough room to get his head through the hole. Once it was free it would be easy for him to climb out.
‘What you need is a lever. There are lots of bits of wood around.’ Gas wafted across the room again and a look of panic flitted across his kind brown eyes. ‘But be quick, lasses, or better still, go and find help.’
‘Leave you now? I should cocoa,’ Veronica said, and shoved a table leg under a strut. A few heaves and it rolled away, allowing Edward to wriggle his shoulders free. Sarah followed Veronica’s example and within minutes Edward pulled himself out and dusted himself down.
Veronica threw her arms around him and began the kiss shower again. Sarah grabbed her arm. ‘Time for that later, miss. Let’s get out of here.’
They ran as fast as they could but when they reached the end of the street an explosion brought them all to their knees. Edward was the first to recover and he stood up and looked back the way they’d come. His voice was tremulous as he said, ‘You got me out not a moment too soon.’
Sarah helped Veronica up and followed Edward’s gaze. The two women leaned against each other for support when they realised that the new pile of rubble at the end of the street was the house they had recently run from.
Sarah opened her eyes and looked at the unfamiliar surroundings of Veronica Ratchet’s no nonsense, no frills bedroom. A cup of fresh tea sat on the bedside table, obviously placed there by a thoughtful Veronica. She thumped the pillow. So she was still here then, damn it. No amount of begging, pleading or cajoling to the powers that be had made any difference last night when Sarah and Veronica had arrived back in her cold little cottage by the sea.
Josiah Needler, Veronica’s Time Needle, hadn’t made an appearance and, of course, there was no email facility in 1941. Even if there had been, it was John who did the contacting, Sarah wasn’t privy to that sort of information. Well, she had been just the once when she begged the powers to spare John after the 1928 debacle. Josiah normally contacted the Spindlies by telegram, but Veronica had no idea where he lived or how to get in touch with him. In the end Sarah had resorted to pleading out loud and shouting at the ceiling, but to no avail.
Once Edward had been fussed over, fed and settled to bed in his house next door – Sarah had been passed off as a colleague of Veronica’s from a previous school who’d just been in the shelter by chance – both women had talked until late about the whole unusual episode of that day and generally had a good catch up. ‘I wonder if little Barbara was the key in all this? Like you, I can’t see the powers allowing you to request my help just to save Edward, lovely as he is,’ Sarah mused and sipped her cocoa.
‘It’s possible. But I expect that’s something we might never know. Just don’t ask too many questions, Sarah, you might get squashed flat!’ Veronica laughed and helped herself to a biscuit. Noting Sarah’s glum expression she added, ‘Oh, my dear, I know you wanted to go home back to your John, and you’re concerned about being in the war with your babies, but if you’re still here tomorrow you can come to my wedding!’
‘Lovely. I spent most of mine with you, so let’s not break a tradition, eh?’ Sarah immediately regretted her grumpy response when she saw the excitement die in Veronica’s eyes.
‘Ah, yes. I am being selfish and have been a bit of a nuisance, haven’t I?’ A flush crept along Veronica’s neck and she put the half-eaten biscuit to one side.
Sarah took her hand across the table and treated Veronica to a dazzling smile. ‘It wasn’t your fault and forgive me for being so grumpy. If I’m here I’d be honoured to come to your wedding.’
Sarah got out of bed and found Veronica in her dressing gown downstairs looking dejectedly into the hall mirror.
‘What’s up? I thought you’d be full of the joys of spring this morning.’
‘Oh, Sarah, I’m so plain. I always knew it as my mother told me I was often enough. But just for once I’d like to look if not pretty, then a bit attractive at least.’
> ‘Your mother was a liar and a selfish old bat. You have a good honest face.’ Sarah crossed her fingers behind her back before she added, ‘And when I have finished with you, you will look like a film star!’ Though that might be a bit of an exaggeration. The pale blue wedding outfit, a typical 1940s two-piece, that Veronica had showed her last night was lovely and with a bit of work on her hair and make-up, Edward would be drooling.
Two hours, a head full of rollers and a straightening iron borrowed from Edward’s sister, later and Veronica Ratchet stood in front of the mirror again transformed. Her hair smooth for the first time ever was set into a passable Bette Davis Dark Victory style as requested by Veronica, her eyebrows were carefully plucked and pencilled, a touch of blue eyeshadow accentuated the colour of her outfit, and a peach lipstick plumped out her lips and finished the look.
‘Oh, Sarah.’ Veronica’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t believe what you have done with me. Thank you, thank you so much.’
‘Edward will be counting the minutes until the wedding night when he claps eyes on you, that’s for sure.’ Sarah grinned and handed Veronica a tissue.
To her surprise Veronica blushed scarlet and raised a shaking hand to her lips. ‘Would you believe it, I am terrified about that part of it all. Before Edward I … have never even thought about a man in that way. Mother said that apart from necessary procreation, the sex act was disgusting and evil. She only endured it for the sake of my father and afterwards told me she scrubbed herself down there.’ She leaned against the wall and ran her fingers over the sparkly conch brooch that Edward had given her. ‘The trouble is, when I realised I loved Edward, I have been thinking that I might want to do it. He makes me feel so divine, especially when I let him kiss me on the mouth. Is that wicked?’
If bloody Hettie Ratchet wasn’t burning in hell then she damned well ought to be. Poor Veronica, almost forty-one and never had sex. Sarah shook her head. ‘It’s not wicked, and it’s not an “act”, it’s natural. Making love with the man you love is the best thing in the world. You have nothing to be ashamed of. When he takes you in his arms tonight relax and enjoy it. Just put everything your mother ever told you out of your head and don’t allow it back, okay? You look beautiful, Veronica, beautiful and very much in love.’
Sarah didn’t have to cross her fingers that time but she did had to swallow a lump of emotion as big as a planet blocking her airways when a tearful Veronica gave her a huge hug. ‘I am so please you’re here with me, Sarah. I so wish we lived in the same time period because I’ll miss you when you’re gone.’
The small group of friends and family threw confetti at the happy couple posed for photographs on the registry office steps. Edward looked the perfect partner to Veronica as he stood beside her in his charcoal-grey suit and slicked back sandy hair. His green eyes gazed adoringly into his wife’s dark ones and when they kissed for the photographer Sarah was pleased to see not a hint of a blush on Veronica’s face.
A few minutes later as folk gathered to go to the local pub for a sandwich and a sherry, a tingle in Sarah’s fingertips and a roll of nausea in her tummy had never felt so welcome. Please let this mean I’m out of here. She caught Veronica’s eye and beckoned her round the corner of the registry office. ‘I think I’m off home in a few moments, at last, but I want you to know that I wished we lived in the same time too.’ Sarah gave Veronica a fierce hug. ‘I have become very fond of you and I have reason to believe that you have a great stitching career ahead.’
‘Oh, Sarah, do you think we’ll ever meet again?’ Veronica dabbed a corner of her hanky delicately against her eyes so not to smudge her make-up.
‘Who knows? One day, perhaps.’ She gave Veronica’s hand a quick squeeze and then dropped it just in case Veronica hitched a ride back with her again. ‘Now, goodbye and good luck – go to that lovely husband of yours.’
Veronica gave her the sweetest smile and turned away. It wasn’t a moment too soon as Sarah felt herself floating up towards the rooftops and prayed that she would be delivered safely home this time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Damn it, his head hurt. John leaned against the wall of what looked through his blurred vision to be a tunnel or underpass or something and tried to clear it. There had of course been a huge barrier to his jaunt back in time. He’d felt as if he were running at a gigantic rubber band stretched across his forehead. It was like that last time he’d gone back in time without permission, but the headache seemed worse now. John hoped it wouldn’t last long. If it did, he wouldn’t be able to function. And then God knows what might happen to Sarah and the babies.
A few moments later, miraculously, the pain drained away and he could look around at his surroundings. Yep, a tunnel. Hope leapt into his heart as he realised what kind of tunnel. It was the entrance which led from the players’ changing rooms at football stadiums to the pitch beyond.
John ran a few steps to the top of the slope and looked at the gigantic pitch and the twin towers just visible beyond. Wembley Stadium. Unexpectedly a pang of sadness surfaced as this old design had been consigned to history in John’s time. But then a pang of excitement replaced it as he imagined what the players must have felt walking up here to the roar of the crowd and into the bright sunshine of World Cup Final day.
It was lucky he’d arrived in Wembley Stadium itself and not somewhere outside it. He wouldn’t have to faff about trying to find a way in and wasting more time. Yeah, John, but now what? a cynical little voice piped up in his head. He had no answer. And the more he thought about it, the more unlikely it was that Sarah would be here in the stadium on World Cup Final day, or any day. Back in the sixties women would have played an even lesser role in such proceedings than they did in the present. Perhaps she was a tea lady or something and had to save a fellow colleague – a cleaner perhaps? Did they even have tea ladies for the footballers?
A gruff voice halted his ponderings. ‘Oi, what you doin’ ’ere? ’Ow did you get past security?’
John turned to see a small stocky man in a tracksuit marching up the slope towards him. He wore a frown across a low forehead that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Neanderthal and close-set beady eyes fixed a glare on John’s.
What on earth would he say to that? He was buggered if he knew but he’d have to think of something quick – the little man was rolling up his sleeves and snorting down his nose like an escaped bull.
‘Well, who are ya? You’ve got one second before I call the police and ’ave you booted out.’
That was the straw John needed to clutch at and he felt inside his jacket pocket. Good job he’d had the foresight to get changed into smart trousers, a shirt and jacket before he left.
If he’d been standing there in grubby overalls he’d have had no chance. Pulling his wallet out, he flicked it open in front of the little man’s eyes. There was a picture of John on his driving licence in the clear wallet pocket which he flashed too quickly for the man to read and then put it away.
He leaned down to the man and whispered, ‘Keep yer voice down, buddy. I’m undercover, okay. Making sure all is as it should be. This is a match where you might get a terrorist trying to ruin it, it being old rivals so to speak.’ John tapped the side of his nose.
Amazingly the little man’s frown disappeared and he patted John on the arm. ‘I see, glad to ’ear it. And, my goodness that identity card looks newfangled, glad our taxes are being used wisely.’ He gave a chortle which sounded a bit like a rusty gate and then turned to go.
‘So, who are you then?’ John folded his arms and peered down his nose at the little man.
‘Oh, no need to worry about me. I’m the kit man.’ He preened and puffed out his chest. ‘I just got this promotion a few months ago and today’s the proudest in me career. I done loads o’ matches afore but ’ave never done a World Cup.’
‘Congratulations on getting such a responsible job. But tell me,’ John cringed at how odd his next question would sound but there was no oth
er way to broach it, ‘Is there someone who works here, or might be here for some reason, called Sarah?’
‘A Sarah who works ’ere? No. I don’t know no Sarah. Is she the terrorist?’ Kit man’s eyes lit up with excitement.
‘No, don’t worry.’ John gave a dismissive nod. ‘Right then, kit man, you’d better get about your business. I’ll have a snoop around and see what I can see.’
The man raised a finger to his temple in a salute. ‘Give me a shout if you need anythin’. I’ll just be in the changin’ room down yonder.’
John blew out a long slow breath as he watched him jog down the slope and disappear through some doors at the end. No Sarah, but at least the kit man believed the cop story. That was expertly done, Mr Needler, if I do say so myself. He allowed himself a chuckle and then set off in search of Sarah.
Half an hour later he felt far from happy. There was no Sarah in sight. In fact he’d seen no women at all. The only people he’d found were police which he’d managed to dodge and other official looking folk in tracksuits. The crowds hadn’t started trickling in yet, but he’d overheard an official saying that it wouldn’t be long now.
Outside the changing room John ran his hands through his hair and turned in a tight circle. Where in the world was she? A little roll of his stomach told him what he’d suspected for a while. Like his Dad had warned him – she probably wasn’t here at all. Just then, kit man popped his head out the door, waved his hand and then beckoned him in.
‘Want a cuppa?’ He held a flask up to John.
But John was lost in the moment, gave a low whistle and gazed around the room. ‘Wow, so here is where it all began, eh?’ Very shortly eleven men would walk out of here and make football history.
‘Where what began?’ Kit man poured a cup of milky tea into a plastic cup and offered it to John.