The Accidental Time Traveller

by Janis Mackay

  “What is it, Saul?” she asked, pressing her nose two inches away from the screen. “You have gone pale.”

  “Nothing,” I said, snapping it shut. I felt my pulse race. I shoved the phone in my pocket, the text message blazing in my brain.

  I’M AFTER YOU. CROW

  My mind raced. How did he get my number? I felt well spooked at the idea of getting home alone in the dark. Mind-reader Agatha must have picked it up.

  “Give no care to the horrid Dicks of this world,” she said. “You are good and brave.” Then she squeezed her hand over my arm. I shrugged her off and busied myself rummaging in my bag, trying to forget Crow and the text message.

  I didn’t have much to leave for her. I was sure I’d lost weight since meeting Agatha: I was giving her half my food. There were a couple of ham sandwiches and two packets of crisps, then I handed her the Christmas card. “It’s for you and Pug,” I said, a bit embarrassed after seeing what a good drawer she was.

  “Mercy!” She held the picture close to the light of the fire and studied it. “I shall treasure this picture always,” she said, then peered more closely. “It is a strange matter indeed to have a tree in a house.”

  “My teacher said the same about the monkey.”

  Agatha laughed and kissed the monkey on the card. From the distance I heard Robbie and Will shout, “Come on, Saul!” I felt relieved that they were nearby.

  “Go!” she said, “pray, hasten to your friends. I am perfectly well.”

  “Tomorrow,” I said, backing out of the den, “we could do something fun. Like, sledging or something? You know, going down a hill on the snow.”

  Agatha smiled at me. “I know of sledging,” she said. “Now go!” Then she ran to the door of the den to wave to me. “Saul,” she called just before I darted into the hole in the hedge. I turned back and looked at her. “Worry not,” she said, smiling.

  I grinned at her and disappeared into the hedge. Halfway through, I stopped and turned my phone off, promising myself not to turn it back on. I felt better then. I took a couple of deep breaths and reminded myself that I was the gang leader. And that I had been chosen to help Agatha Black and that was enough to worry about. And that I was going to write a history essay. Then, feeling much better, I ran like mad to catch up with Will and Robbie.

  I reached them in the narrow lane that wound down to the launderette. It was a gloomy afternoon. That kind of winter afternoon gloom where all you want to do is get home. We started to run and nobody said anything. Near the bottom of the lane we passed a window where coloured Christmas-tree lights suddenly flickered on and in an instant everything looked cheery. We slowed down. “Well,” Robbie said, “like, what was that about?”

  “Search me,” I said.

  “Kind of impressive though,” Will said, “for a girl. I mean, who would have thought Nobody Nessa could climb a tree?”

  We elbowed each other as we slithered down the twisty lane. “I’ve been thinking, Saul,” Robbie said, “you should tell the police. I mean, that’s been four days now. He can’t stay in the den forever.”

  “Robbie’s right,” Will said. “And now Agnes knows, and she’ll tell her weirdo dad, and he’ll tell the police about him, and you’ll be for it.”

  I stopped, took a deep breath and said, “Randolph is a girl.”

  “What?” they said at the same time, swinging round to look at me.

  I glanced over my shoulder. We had the lane to ourselves. It was now or never. “I’m not mad, ok? I know this sounds off the wall, but she almost got knocked over. She grabbed hold of me so now I’m bound to her. It’s me that has to get her back. Her dad is a failure in everything. He really needs to succeed. Make the big time. So he does a bit of time travel. But, like, obviously, he’s not very good at it. I mean, he got her lost. In the future, I mean. And she can’t get back and I’ve got to help her.”

  “Back where?” they both asked.

  “1812.”

  We were under a streetlight. Robbie and Will’s faces were lit up ghostly orange. They looked at me like I was a raving lunatic.

  “Is this for real?” Will said.

  I nodded fiercely. “You saw her hair on the floor. It was me. I cut it off. I made her into a boy. I thought it would make things easier.”

  Will nodded. “I wondered what that was about.”

  “Yeah, and those are my old clothes she’s got on. Her own clothes were really old fashioned.”

  “Funny,” Will went on, “I wondered about that, too.”

  I was ready to hug Will when Robbie cut in. “Saul. My mum says it’s hard work when you’ve got one baby. When you’ve got two at once it can drive you bananas.” He gave me his pity look. “I bet you don’t eat enough. I bet you don’t sleep enough. I bet you don’t get any peace. And I bet you don’t get any attention.”

  “What are you saying, Robbie?” I glared at him. “You think I’m making this up? I’m not. It’s true, I swear it. There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing! And we made a pact. Down by the yew tree. We swore on it, remember?”

  Robbie gave a snort, shook his head and marched off. Will looked like he didn’t know what to do. “Come on, Will,” Robbie shouted. Will turned on his heels and scurried off.

  I tore after them and grabbed at them both. “I’m not making this up. I know it’s hard to believe.” I was practically shouting. “Her name’s Agatha Black. That’s her initials in the tree and she’s for real.”

  Robbie pushed my arm away. “If you don’t tell your parents about Randolph tomorrow, I’m going to tell mine. Ok?”

  “I’m the gang leader,” I shouted at them both. “And I don’t tell lies.”

  They both looked at me. “Liar,” Robbie said, and they walked away.

  “But this is true,” I yelled and ran after them.

  “Prove it,” Robbie yelled back.

  “Alright, I will.” My heart was racing. I felt cornered. By this time we were out on the street and a few folk turned and stared at us. “But don’t tell your parents,” I begged. “Give me a bit more time, ok? Please. We swore on it. We’re a gang.”

  I must have seemed really desperate. They gave me the weirdest look. I think they were a bit scared of me. “Maybe it is true?” Will said, glancing at Robbie. “I mean, it might be? Like, my gran saw a ghost once. Weird stuff can happen.”

  Robbie looked at me, all confused like he didn’t know what was going on. “Ok. Three days, you sort it out, Saul, or we tell.”

  “Yeah,” Will piped up, “cause it could be for real. I mean, I saw that red hair on the floor.”

  I could feel this smile of relief spreading across my face. I gave them both friendly punches on their arms then counted the dates. “December 21st, and the last day of school before the holidays,” I said. “Ok, trust me on this one.” And I twirled my Rasta hat in the air. “You’re looking at an apprentice time traveller,” I joked, catching the hat and sounding way more confident than I felt.

  In the distance people were singing Christmas carols, “…Field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star…” And it was starting to snow again. Then I ran off, joining in with the carol singers, singing to myself, “Oh, star of wonder, star of light…”

  20

  Running home through the dark white streets, I kicked up snow and whooped. I wanted Crow to show up. I was so buzzing I would have punched him on the nose, and demanded my 50p back. Then I would have told him never ever to text me again, or I would report him to the police.

  When I got home, I was so fired up I could have run a marathon. Up in my room I danced around a bit then gazed out at the moon. It was nearly full. Plans whizzed round my head. I decided I would do the time travel experiment the next day. Agatha already had some of the stuff ready. I could easily get candles and matches. I had a gold star in my art jotter for a drawing I had done of the twins. I knew it wasn’t real gold, but it was definitely gold coloured. And I had Macrimmon’s plan. Maybe it was the full moon. Mayb
e it was midwinter. Or being almost the Christmas holidays. Or maybe it was because I was through with lying to Will and Robbie, but I felt like I could do anything.

  And – there was something else that needed to be done. I grabbed the history prize entry form. I had almost forgotten about it. I looked at the due date. Tomorrow. I scrambled around looking for a pen and paper. I grabbed an Oor Wullie annual to lean on, plumped back in my beanbag seat, then twirled the pen in the air. I chewed the top of it, racking my brains trying to remember all the things Agatha had told me.

  Then, I began.

  This essay is by Saul Martin and it is an essay about how life really was for people in Peebles, which is a town in the Scottish borders, in the year of 1812.

  I counted my words. 32. Only 468 to go. I took a deep breath, and kept writing.

  A very important thing to mention is that there were no cars and there were horses and carriages but you had to be rich to have a carriage of your own so basically it meant that in 1812 people walked a lot. They ran too. They could walk and run very fast and keep going for a long time. Unless you were a vagabond because they didn’t get much to eat so they sat about in the gutters spreading disease and being rude and some of them got taken off by the body snatchers who got money for bodies but if they got caught they got hanged. Hanging people for being bad is another very important thing about life in 1812. So far in this essay no cars and getting hanged are the main points.

  To get hanged you get a rope around your neck and it is public so people come and watch. This will put off other robbers and murderers. Food was things like roasted chessnuts and people ate pijons and pork pies and apples and pigs were called swine. Pigs squeal when they got killed and the people killed them and even some people got to have monkeys for pets.

  This is another point in my essay. Children now do not keep monkeys for pets. You might have a pet dog, or cat, or giny pig or hamster or even a goldfish in a bowl but you would never have a pet monkey in your house. But they did then.

  My wrist was sore. I bet I’d never written so many words in my life. I counted them. I couldn’t believe it. I had 250. I had written half the essay and I still had more to say. I felt great. I carried on.

  Back in 1812 rooms in houses had different names, like parlor and drawing room and chamber. Of course they had no technology so they played cards and chess and did dancing and handwriting and men were called bucks and they joined the militia and got a red jacket. The militia is the police or army. Or they owned spinning mills. In the borders they had lots of spinning mills. Girls could not join the militia. They wore long dresses and funny hats and a very important point in my essay is girls could make fire go without matches. They had long hair. They called hair tresses. They would love to climb trees but they were to practise dancing. They were friendly people who did not travel very much. There were bullies then like we have bullies now. Life was a bit dangerous. We might think 1812 is very old fashioned but people were coming up with very modern ideas and in Peebles today some buildings still exist from 1812 and of course the river Tweed still flows now like it did then, but there is not so many fish now. The end.

  I counted the words. 500! I’d done it! Then I glanced at the clock. A whole hour had passed. My stomach was rumbling. While I had been writing my essay it was like time didn’t exist, which, of course, made me think about Agatha. I put the pen down, placed my essay carefully down on the carpet and stared at it. I swear it seemed to glow. “You’re a winner,” I murmured, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

  Mum popped her head round the door. “Esme’s teething,” she said, “and Ellie’s being grouchy, poor thing. Listen honey, I haven’t had a minute to make dinner. I know it’s dark – but you’re a big boy now.” She winked at me. “So could you run along to Mrs Singh and get a couple of pizzas?” She didn’t notice my essay on the floor. I was going to tell her about it when she said, “Please? I’m starving. Bet you are too.”

  So I got ready to go out into the snow, again. I was exhausted. All that energy had gone into the essay. Now all I wanted to do was sleep. “Here’s a pound for you, Saul,” Mum said, pressing the coin into my hand. Then she kissed me on the cheek. “You can be a well-behaved boy when you put your mind to it.” She patted me on the shoulder. “You’re a good brother to Esme and Ellie. They’ll be more fun when they’re older. You understand, don’t you, darling?”

  I nodded, embarrassed. I always felt embarrassed when Mum went all emotional. Then she handed me three pounds. “Buy the cheapest,” she said. “There’s a two-for-one offer on margeritas.”

  Then I was off, trudging through the snow, keeping a lookout for Crow, and wondering what I was going to buy with my pound. I was just getting close to the shop when I heard a tune floating in the air. I looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. The music was just wafting about on its own.

  I walked on, feeling like I was in a dream with the dark and the snow and the music. Then I saw him – the fiddle player. He was a grungy man with a long woolly jumper and raggy beard who sometimes played old-fashioned tunes on Peebles High Street with the fiddle case open in front of him. Now here he was just near our shop, and it was like he was playing just for me. Nobody else was about. I slowed down, not wanting to pass him. The tune floated around with the snowflakes.

  As he played he snapped his boots up and down on the snowy pavement. The boots had holes in them. I wanted to rush past. I took a step or two then felt him staring at me with his glinting eyes. His fiddle case didn’t look very full. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was give him my pound.

  I fumbled in my pocket, rubbing the warm coin. I had planned on buying juice and crisps and chewing gum. I’d given so much away I wanted to get something for myself. But the man went on playing, and all the time he fixed his eyes on me. They were the kind of eyes that could put a curse on you. Drat! I was going to feel too bad if I went by and didn’t give him anything. I shuffled up and dropped the pound coin in his case. It landed with a twang, next to a 2p piece.

  The man stopped playing, brought the bow to his head and nodded, like he was saluting me, then he went back to his playing. I looked down at my feet, then hurried past him, feeling the empty place in my pocket where my money used to be.

  Five minutes later, when I came out of the shop with the pizzas, the man and his fiddle case had gone. Off to spend my pound, I thought, miffed, as I ran home.

  That night I fell into bed. I didn’t even take my clothes off. I mean, I was knackered. I couldn’t believe I could do so much in one day. I sunk back onto my bed. Everything whirled in my head: the weird fiddle tune, my lost pound, Agatha and Agnes in the tree, Crow and the scary text, my new Rasta hat, my new BMX, the pizza, the essay. The essay…

  I was half asleep when I got this niggling feeling that I hadn’t written enough. The judges said 500 words was the minimum. And I had done the minimum. Mrs Veitch was always saying that’s all I ever do – the minimum.

  I never felt less like writing. I could hardly open my eyes. But the thought wouldn’t go away. If I could just write two more sentences I’d have a chance. I had to do more than the minimum.

  So I swung my legs onto the floor. What an effort! I slumped onto the carpet. I fished my essay out from under my bed, found a pen, scored out the words the end and tried to remember some more things about life in 1812.

  Children did play games in 1812 like they cut out fish and banged their hand on the ground to make the fish jump so you had fish racing. The other thing they liked was making theatre shows and dressing up. They didn’t have oranges unless they were rich so many children died from the meesles. They didn’t have a cure for it. I hope the people in Peebles had a happy time in the past. They had their problems but basically they loved their home.

  I couldn’t write another word. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I couldn’t even manage to write “the end”.

  21

  Next morning, I lay in bed, remembering weird dreams. In one of them, Albert Black
was getting a rope wound round and round his neck. In another dream a little monkey in a red waistcoat was crying and rubbing his eyes. I lay staring at the ceiling. It was still dark.

  The first thing I heard was screeching. I thought it was the monkey. Then it dawned on me that it was Dad’s taxi. That meant he had an early pick up. Next thing I heard one of the twins crying. I didn’t know which one. I rolled over and something dug into my back. I still had my trousers on, and my belt. When I’d fallen asleep with all my clothes on before, I always woke in the morning with my pyjamas on. Mum had said some little pixie must have come in the night. It was her, of course, or Dad.

  I fell out of bed, suddenly feeling like an idiot about the essay. Like, who did I think I was? Whoever reads it will probably have a right good laugh. I folded the paper and put it into the envelope that I had ready, but all the fizz had gone. I never won anything.

  I fumbled about looking for my shoes. At least I hadn’t slept with them on. My plans had seemed great last night but now in the dark morning they didn’t feel so fantastic. I was ready to rip the envelope up and bin it. But some little voice inside me said: Come on, Saul, give it a try. Trying never hurts. That’s what Dad always says to me. So I stuffed the essay into my rucksack.

  I did a couple of star-jumps then splashed cold water on my face. Through in the kitchen I drank a huge glass of banana milk. While Mum was getting the twins up, I scooted round the living room looking for candles and matches. Usually Mum kept them hidden but now we were coming up for Christmas she had red candles on the table and a box of matches on a shelf. In the bathroom we had this little glass crystal thing. It dangled on a thread and when the sun shone it made the bathroom all rainbows. I dropped it into my rucksack.

  Of course, deep down, I didn’t really want Agatha Black to go. There were still loads of things I hadn’t shown her, loads we hadn’t done. I had told her we would go sledging. But I was starting to feel bad. She’d been in the twenty-first century for five days now. I remembered how she said the longer she stayed away, the harder it I would be to get back. But mostly it was the way she said, “I’ve got my life to live,” that really got to me.