by Jason Ayres
“So there are others that have gone missing? Is that what you’re saying? How many? And what’s happened to them? Have there been more bodies?”
“We haven’t found any more bodies,” she reassured him. “And the elderly man we found in the river wasn’t murdered – we believe he fell in and drowned.”
“So what is there to connect Tracy to this man, then?” asked Simon.
“I’m just trying to look at every possible angle,” she replied. “Now could you tell me please, was she in the habit of going down to Christ Church Meadow?”
“Yes, she was,” replied Simon. “I mean, she is,” correcting himself. “Look what you made me do there. They say that once you start talking in the past sense it means you’re admitting to yourself that you think they might be dead.”
He paused, trying to compose himself.
“We often go down there with the kids,” he continued. “They like to feed the ducks.”
“But she didn’t have the kids with her on Christmas Eve.”
“No, you already know that,” he replied in frustration. The longer this conversation went on, the more he began to believe that she really was dead.
But that ended up being as far as it went because at that moment, something happened that neither of them could possibly have anticipated.
From the hall came the sound of a key turning in the Yale lock, followed by the front door bursting open and the sound of heavy bags being dumped onto the wooden floorboards in the hall.
Simon looked up, momentarily lost for words.
“Were you expecting anyone?” began Rebecca, before the living room door was flung open, and a familiar figure walked in.
Familiar in every way to Simon, that was, but Rebecca had only seen the slim, blonde woman in photographs before.
It was Tracy Ellis.
.
Chapter Nine
“Oh my God, you’re alive!” exclaimed Simon, jumping up and flinging his arms around her slender frame.
“What’s going on?” replied Tracy, pushing him away, surprised at this over-the-top display of emotion. She was also highly concerned with why there was a policewoman in the room.
“Where are the kids?” she said, fearfully. The presence of the officer and absence of the kids made her mother’s instinctive fears kick in and a feeling of dread coursed through her body.
“They’re at school,” said Simon.
“No, they’re not,” replied Tracy. “Since when did children go to school on Christmas Eve?”
“What?” asked Simon, perplexed by her remark. Why did she still think it was Christmas Eve?
“Perhaps I ought to try and explain,” interrupted Rebecca, fascinated by the conversation unfolding in front of her. It all fitted with a theory she was starting to form in her mind.
“Just tell me first, are the children alright?” asked Tracy.
“I can assure you, they are fine and as your husband says, they are at school,” replied Rebecca. “Now before we get into the realms of explanations can I just confirm that you are definitely Mrs Tracy Ellis and you do reside at this address?”
“This is ridiculous,” replied Tracy. “Of course I am. Now what’s this all about?”
“Mrs Ellis, your husband reported you as a missing person. I’m here as a result of the investigation into your disappearance.”
“What do you mean my disappearance? I’ve been out to the shops.”
“How long exactly do you think you’ve been gone?” asked Rebecca.
“About four hours, at a guess,” replied Tracy, looking up at the clock above the fireplace. “Hang on, that can’t be right. The battery must have gone in that clock.”
The hands pointing to the Roman numerals on the cream-coloured clock were showing that it was late morning, not after lunch as she had expected.
“You’ve been gone a lot longer than four hours, babe,” said Simon gently, wrapping his arms around her once again. “It’s January 6th and you’ve been missing for nearly two weeks. I feared you were dead.”
He buried his head in her shoulder, and began to weep for the second time that morning, but this time they were tears of sheer relief.
“Look, this isn’t possible,” said Tracy, pulling away again. “I left you here with the kids this morning to go into town. I did my shopping, grabbed a bite to eat and then came home. It’s mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve, it must be. Is this one of your crazy pranks?”
It wasn’t unknown for Simon to play light-hearted practical jokes on her.
“Look, babe, I can prove that it isn’t.” He grabbed a chunky remote control from the coffee table, pointed it at the square, black television in the corner by the window and pressed the red button to turn it on.
The familiar figure of Robert Kilroy-Silk appeared on the screen, a staple of the BBC’s morning schedule. Simon pressed the text button and Kilroy’s slick persona was replaced by the front page of the CEEFAX service.
“Look at the date,” insisted Simon.
The date at the top of the screen read Mon 6 Jan.
Presented with this evidence, Tracy seemed doubtful.
“But it can’t be,” she said. “This doesn’t make any sense. Did you video this or something?”
“Perhaps your wife would like to discuss this further over a cup of tea or coffee?” suggested Rebecca, who wanted to speak to Tracy on her own without Simon’s interruptions.
“Ooh, yes, a cup of tea would be lovely,” said Tracy. “And a mince pie.”
“I think they’re all gone,” said Simon.
“As luck would have it, I’ve just bought some,” she replied.
“Simon, why don’t you go and put the kettle on while Tracy and I have a little chat?” suggested Rebecca.
He seemed reluctant, as if he was scared to let her out of his sight unless she disappeared again.
“Go and stick the kettle on, Simon,” insisted Tracy. “I think I need to sit down a minute and try and figure all this out. Are you sure the kids are OK?”
“Yes, I promise you, they are at school,” he replied, making his way to the door.
As soon as he was out of the room, Rebecca turned back to Tracy, pulling a notebook and pen out of her pocket as she spoke.
“Tracy, I want you to go over everything that’s happened today, right from when you left the house. In particular, if you noticed anything unusual.”
“There really isn’t a lot to tell,” replied Tracy. “I caught the bus into town. I know it’s only a couple of stops but it was cold and I was keen to get started on my shopping as early as possible. You know what town is like on Christmas Eve.”
“OK so where did you go after you got off the bus?”
“Well, first I went into HMV. I was desperate to get hold of a copy of Sonic the Hedgehog for the kids. Everywhere had sold out last week but I had heard HMV had some in stock – which they did.”
“And after that?” asked Rebecca.
“I went up to the Westgate Centre. First I went into C&A because I wanted to get the girls some new pyjamas. They grow out of them so quickly. Then I went into Athena.”
“I love that place,” said Rebecca, attempting to build a rapport with Tracy. “I used to have that picture of that hunky guy holding a baby on my wall when I was a teenager.”
“Me too,” said Tracy. “I didn’t buy anything in there, though. I just like browsing through the posters.”
“Then where did you go?” asked Rebecca.
“I walked through Allders and then back up Queen Street towards Marks & Spencer. I wanted to get a few last-minute Christmas treats from the food hall.”
“And while you were in there – was it definitely still Christmas Eve?” asked Rebecca.
“Well, yes, of course,” replied Tracy. “I would have noticed if it wasn’t. I’m still finding it hard to believe that it isn’t, to be honest. Are you are sure Simon hasn’t put you up to this?”
“I can assure you he hasn’t. At some point w
hile you were in Oxford you seem to have lost two nearly two weeks and I’m trying to establish where and when that occurred.”
“It was definitely Christmas Eve when I was in M&S,” said Tracy. “People were buying mince pies, Christmas pudding and pigs in blankets like there was no tomorrow – me included.”
A thought struck Rebecca. “You mentioned you had bought some mince pies. Would you mind if I looked in your shopping bags?” she asked. “It might provide some clues.”
“Not at all,” replied Tracy. She jumped up and headed out into the hall, returning moments later with two bags. One was a large, over-the-shoulder, blue fabric bag, and the other was a Marks & Spencer carrier bag.
Rebecca had no reason to doubt what Tracy was saying. She genuinely seemed unaware that somehow she had lost two weeks. It wasn’t impossible she had vanished for two weeks for reasons known only to her, but Rebecca didn’t think so.
She thought back to her earlier conversation with the pathologist and the discrepancy over the timing of the death of Mr Chambers. The thing common to both events was the existence of a passage of time that couldn’t be accounted for.
“May I?” asked Rebecca, lifting up the M&S bag.
“Be my guest,” replied Tracy.
Rebecca pulled out three or four fresh food items from the bag. There were some of the aforementioned mince pies, pigs in blankets, sausage rolls, pork pies and other treats.
Looking at the labels, Rebecca could see they all had use by dates between the 26th and 29th December. Technically all the food was at least a week out of date, but it all still looked fresh and tempting.
“Where did you go after M&S?” she asked.
“I went down to the river,” replied Tracy. “I bought a sandwich from M&S but town was so packed, I wanted somewhere a little quieter to eat it. The sun had come out by then and I wanted to get a bit of fresh air.”
Rebecca was excited at the mention of the river. This was all checking out with her theory.
“Can you describe exactly where you went?” she asked.
“I walked down St Aldates and turned in through the main gates,” said Tracy. “Then I walked down the main path, you know, with the trees on either side.”
“And all still seemed normal?”
“Absolutely,” replied Tracy. “I know it was definitely still Christmas Eve, because there were people around with Santa hats on and you could just sense Christmas was in the air.”
“Did you sit down anywhere to eat your sandwich?” asked Rebecca.
“I thought about it, but the grass was just too wet,” replied Rebecca. “So I walked on towards the other end of the park, near the botanical gardens. There’s a spot up there on the bend of the river where I often take the girls to feed the ducks.”
“Yes, I know it,” said Rebecca, excitedly noting it down. It was the exact spot where Mr Chambers had been found but she kept that to herself. She didn’t want to distract Tracy from telling her story.
“So what happened?”
“Well, I leant against a tree and ate my sandwich. It was delicious – a special turkey and cranberry limited edition, though I guess that’s not relevant.”
“And that was all?”
“More or less, except I thought the ducks looked hungry so I walked down by the bank and threw them a few crusts. The poor things probably don’t get much to eat at this time of year.”
“And that was all?”
“Yes. I turned around and suddenly it started pouring with rain,” said Tracy. “It came on really suddenly. The skies had been clear just a moment before.”
“That’s interesting,” said Rebecca, noting it down. “Go on.”
“That’s about it really. I hurried back to the High Street, keen to get out of the rain, jumped on the bus, and made my way home.”
“I want you to think carefully now,” said Rebecca. “When you went back to the High Street, did it still seem like Christmas Eve?”
As she was asking this question, Simon had come back in carrying a tray with a pot of tea, cups and saucers and a packet of chocolate biscuits.
“Tea’s up,” he said and there was a brief pause while they went through the traditional routine of enquiring about milk and sugar and pouring out the tea into the elegant white cups, embroidered with blue and white flowers.
“I’ve got a box of mince pies, here too,” said Tracy, handing Simon the box.
“There are out of date,” said Simon, looking at the label.
“I’m pretty sure they’ll be fine. I know I’m willing to risk it,” said Rebecca.
Simon opened the box and handed her one of the ‘out-of-date’ pies. As Rebecca bit into it, she could tell it was absolutely fine, all fresh and buttery.
“Now then, back to what I was saying,” she said through a mouthful of pie. “Did it still seem like Christmas Eve? These are fine, by the way.”
“You know I really didn’t think about it,” said Tracy, also taking a mince pie from the box and munching on it. “I just wanted to get home by that stage.”
“Think, Tracy!” insisted Rebecca. “You must have noticed something.”
“I really can’t remember that much about it,” she said. “As soon as I got on the bus I put my Walkman on and started listening to my Simply Red tape.”
“So you didn’t notice that it didn’t seem as Christmassy as it did before?” asked Rebecca.
“No, but, like I say, I was daydreaming listening to Mick Hucknall and I was tired from all the shopping. I almost dozed off, to be honest. Buses have a tendency to do that to me.”
“And you’re sure absolutely nothing else happened in the park? You don’t remember passing out, or anyone strange approaching you? Say, someone who could have knocked you unconscious and kidnapped you?”
Rebecca didn’t think this was likely but she wanted to make sure.
“No, there was nothing like that,” said Tracy.
“Well, I am just glad to have you home,” said Simon. “But I am very worried about what’s happened to you. Could it be some sort of amnesia?”
“I don’t feel like confused or anything,” said Tracy. “I can remember everything quite clearly.”
“What do you think, officer?” asked Simon.
“Well, there’s a mystery here, there’s no denying that. But it’s not one I can explain. And since it seems that no crime has been committed, there is not much more I can do.”
With that, Rebecca drained the last of her tea, got up from the sofa, and made her way towards the door. Turning back, she added:
“If you remember anything else, Tracy, please call me.”
“I will,” said the slightly bemused young woman.
Heading back to the station, Rebecca felt pleased that Simon and Tracy’s story had come to a happy ending. But as far as the bigger picture went, this was far from the end of the story. This morning’s events had convinced her more than ever that something very strange was going on.
There was no doubt in her mind that there was a connection between Tracy and Mr Chambers. Both had gone missing for some period of time and had been in more or less the same place, by the river, when it had happened.
Then there were the other people who had gone missing lately. Was there a connection to them, too? To her, it all pointed to one thing. These people were all somehow travelling forward in time. It was fantastic, she knew, but she couldn’t come up with any other explanation.
Was it worth her talking to Adam again? She decided against it. He hadn’t been interested before and probably still wouldn’t be now. He would probably berate her for going round to Tracy’s house without his permission.
But that wasn’t going to stop her getting to the bottom of this.
Eager to continue her detective work, she hurried back to the station.
Chapter Ten
After just over a week, Josh was beginning to adjust to life in 1992. He had now been staying at his new lodgings with the youthful Peter and his gran for t
hree nights.
Bereft of cash, having stumped up a massive chunk of his bankroll on rent for Peter’s grandmother, he now had little choice but to spend his evenings in attempting to watch TV on Gran’s ailing cathode ray set.
With Peter being an eternally skint student, going out was a luxury neither of them could afford very often, and so it was that the three of them found themselves sitting around Coronation Street on a January night.
It wasn’t turning out to be the most riveting evening of Josh’s life, but he consoled himself with the thought that a few boring evenings wouldn’t do him any harm after all he had recently been through.
Peter and Josh were sharing the sofa, while Gran creaked back and forth in her ancient rocking chair, doing her knitting and looking up and commenting from time to time.
Watching Coronation Street was like a social history lesson for Josh. He had seen the show while he was growing up because his mum used to watch it, but he had never seen an episode from this long ago. Even so, there were one or two long-running characters he recognised.
“Blimey. Look how young Steve McDonald looks there!” he exclaimed at one scene.
This didn’t raise an eyebrow with Peter who was started to get used to Josh dropping these anachronistic comments into their conversations, but Gran, who was unaware of Josh’s time-travelling adventures, quickly picked up on it.
“He always looks like that,” remarked Gran. “He’s only meant to be about eighteen, I think. Oh, curses, I’ve dropped my stitch now.” She turned her attention back to the knitting.
One of Josh’s rules while journeying into the past was not to keep dropping into conversations these little hints that he was from the future, but somehow he could never quite resist it. One of his favourites expressions was “how quaint” when dismissing some new piece of technology in past eras that belonged in a museum in 2055.
When it came to using that expression about Gran’s TV set he knew he was on safe ground because it was ancient, even by 1992 standards.
Josh was used to the huge, holographic displays of the mid-twenty-first century so peering at this tiny screen was quite an adjustment. Even the flat-screen TVs he had grown up with a decade or so later had been a serious advance over this antique.