Ahead of his Time Read online

  Martin huffed again.

  “Right, as I was saying, we had the crash. What happened to you?”

  “No … you had the crash! I just got a lift, and look what’s happened.”

  I rolled my eyes, exasperated at him. “Okay, if you want to be picky … I had the fucking crash. But what the hell happened to you? What can you remember?” I quelled my rising temper and moved away from the gas fire. The heat it was chucking out was melting the back of my legs, although I could still see my breath in the room.

  Martin sunk his head in his hands, then started to mumble through his fingers. “I was knocked unconscious. I remember coming-to as I was being whizzed through the hospital corridor on a bed-type thing. All around me were doctors, nurses and paramedics … whatever you call them.”

  “What then?”

  “Then I woke up when that bloke pulled open the car door this morning.”

  “What bloke? I need to know who you’ve spoken to.”

  Martin huffed. “I was in that car.” He pointed out of the window in the vague direction of the Cortina. “Some bloke opened the door and asked if I was alright. I’ve no idea what he was on about as he reckoned I’d been there all night. I mean, what was he on about? There was a woman with him and some other bloke, I think … we only spoke for a minute or so.” With his head still in his hands, he nudged his glasses up his forehead.

  “Okay, who else?” I crouched down near him. As he lowered his hands, his glasses plopped back into position.

  “I spoke to some bloke and his wife at my home. That’s it until I knocked on your front door.”

  I stood up and moved to the window and yanked the curtains across. How on earth had he ended up in my old car? I’d have to zip up to Coreys Mill Motors and find out who they sold it to. However, what the hell I was going to say to Jen was my immediate problem. When I’d got Martin settled, I would ring George. I desperately hoped he’d have some pearls of wisdom to offer.

  “Who’s the woman and those kids at your old house?”

  “Jenny, my wife. We’ve just adopted two children,” realising as I said it that was going to be a lot for Martin to soak up.

  “Your wife, your wife! Jesus, you reckon you’ve been here for five months, and you’ve already got married with a ready-made family. Bloody hell! And she knows nothing?”

  “No, Martin, she knows nothing, and it must always stay that way. Do you understand?”

  Martin sat back on the sofa but offered no reply.

  “I’m guessing you’re totally exhausted, so I suggest you get up to bed. I’ll have to get going now, but I’ll come back tomorrow.” I waved the house key in his face and then placed it on the coffee table.

  Martin nodded.

  “Over the next twelve hours, you sleep, you talk to no one and you don’t answer the front door … do you understand?”

  Martin nodded. So far, he hadn’t burst into tears. When I’d time-travelled, all I seemed to do was cry, but he looked to be coping far better than I had. Scooting back to Don’s, I made an excuse about needing to make a private call and sat on the stairs dialling George’s number.

  I relayed the afternoon’s events to George. He listened, only interjecting with a few ‘ohs’ liberally scattered throughout the conversation. However, as I concluded my wild tale, I became quite concerned as he seemed very excited at the prospect of meeting another time-traveller. We agreed to meet at number eight tomorrow evening when I’d show him the second strangest thing he’d ever seen – Martin.

  5

  Ten years in the future … 15th August 1987

  Summer Ball

  “What a bitch,” he muttered to himself. Who the hell did she think she was? He’d brought her a slap-up meal, and then she reckoned she could leave the pub car park without him having his way. Bitch.

  Trudging down Coldhams Lane with a cigarette stuck in his lip, he hadn’t lit it yet, so now the filter had turned soggy. He’d just put one out so wasn’t quite ready to light another. God, she’d pissed him off. Alright, he thought, the Beehive Pub wasn’t the best, and it wasn’t exactly a restaurant. Besides, she was just a bit of scrag, so what did she expect? And bloody hell, she’d come on to him yesterday in the post office; all lipstick and hair, batting her eyelids and pouting like Madonna. She had take me written all over her face, and then she’d shoved him away – driven off – after a free meal whilst he got nothing.

  She’d pay for this, well some bird would as no one refused him. No one. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and shoved it back into the packet. With midnight approaching, little traffic trundled up and down the usually busy road. Perhaps if his luck was in, some stupid cow would be tottering her way home on her own, and that lucky girl was going to get some. Well, he’d done it before and never got caught. He’d mastered the art. It was easy. Yes, he was going to take someone tonight.

  He stepped into the cut-through lane entrance that led down to the City School playing fields. With only a few street lamps working, the lane had taken on a dark and menacing appearance. Perfect. At least half the street lamp covers appeared broken, probably where kids had pelted stones at the glass covers, which now hung as they swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze.

  Yes, he thought, this was perfect.

  He squeezed into the centre of the laurel hedge, thus concealing himself from sight. All he required was a bit of patience and see who came along – if she was young and hot – he’d take her. That post-office-bitch had got him worked up. Now he needed to have a release – yes, he’d go to bed satisfied tonight.

  ~

  Sarah Moore sat seething in the passenger seat of her boyfriend’s car and, although she’d tried to calm herself after leaving the party, she knew she was going to explode. Never – never, had she been so pissed-off with Scott.

  “Stop the car,” bellowed Sarah. She wasn’t going to stay in the car with him a moment longer. How could he have done this? She was furious as the rage bubbled up – she wanted to scream.

  “Don’t be so dramatic! I’m not stopping the car. Just shut up, for Christ’s sake. You’ve bloody-well ruined the evening,” Scott retorted.

  “Don’t, Scott. Don’t you dare say that! You were the one with your hand on that trollop’s knee, not me! It’s not me who’s bloody-well ruined the evening. It’s because your bloody brains are in your sodding trousers!”

  “Oh, shut up, Sarah. You really are so stupid. For Christ’s sake, woman, I was just comforting her! You talk as if I was shagging her on the table!” Why were women always so dramatic? Scott now wished he had shagged Paula. At least if he had, Sarah would actually have something to moan about.

  “Scott, she wants you! She put that act on to get you to come on to her, and you fell for it. I bet you can’t wait to shag her! In fact, drop me off now, and you can go back and screw her brains out because I don’t care anymore! I just don’t care!”

  “Sarah, for Christ’s sake. I don’t want Paula. I touched her knee … her fucking knee! I didn’t have my hand up her bloody skirt, did I? This is ridiculous!”

  “You might as well have.” Jesus, what’s the matter with men? Why do they always think with their dicks?

  “I’m not talking about it anymore.” Scott had had enough of this pointless conversation. Paula was nowhere near as hot as Sarah, but well screwable. Perhaps he should drop Sarah off and then get back to the party as Paula might still be there.

  “Oh, you’ve decided, have you? The conversation is over because you’ve had enough. Scott says the conversation is over, and that’s it, is it?” She leant across and screamed in his ear. “Well, I want to talk about it, tosser! You don’t decide.”

  “Bloody hell, I’ll have a crash! You’ve lost it, woman, stop screaming.”

  “Stop the car and let me out. Let me out, Scott … NOW!”

  Scott slammed on the brakes and veered to the side of the road. The car behind which had been up his arse for the last mile blasted its horn and swerved around
him. He spotted the passenger giving him the finger out of the window.

  “Fuck you too, mate!” Scott yelled. But it was too late to be heard – the car was long gone.

  “Really immature! You’re such a dick-head, Scott. Don’t come around tomorrow as I don’t want to see you.” Sarah flung the door open and jumped out of the passenger seat. The car rocked as she slammed the car door, surprising herself with the force she’d applied. He revved the engine and pulled away, screeching the tyres and snaking across the road as he disappeared into the night. Sarah stood halfway up Coldhams Lane, a couple of miles from home, wearing a short cocktail dress and regretting the four-inch heels.

  Sarah glanced at her Gucci watch Scott had bought her two months ago for her birthday. They were just starting to go steady, and she’d thought it might be the real thing this time. But she was wrong, and she should’ve known dating a bloke from the office was never a good idea. She must have been stupid to think it could have ever worked as he had a reputation of being unable to keep it in his trousers. But Scott was a real hunk, and he’d charmed the knickers off her – literally.

  Midnight. Christ, it would take ages to walk home.

  Leaning backwards whilst hopping on the spot, she tugged off her stilettos. She’d have to walk barefoot as there was no way she could walk home in them after downing copious amounts of champagne cocktails. Not without the high probability of keeling over, and undoubtedly, resulting in a compound fracture. Oh, yes, that really would slap the icing on the cake of a shite evening.

  Sarah prayed for a taxi to appear and was now regretting getting out of Scott’s car. As it was a main road, she expected there would be many taxis at this time of night ferrying pissed-up revellers making their way back from town. Clutch bag in one hand, shoes in the other, Sarah marched home, seething and cursing all men.

  Although it was a few minutes into Sunday morning, the air was warm with a refreshing light breeze. She thought the walk might clear her head, avoiding a hangover in the morning, so some good would come from the shite end to the evening.

  This was the first proper event they’d attended as a couple, and she’d been looking forward to this year’s office summer ball. Although it was more of a party in a large tent than a proper ball in a marquee. Scott had revealed his true self – wandering hands self – which had resulted in them arguing for most of the evening. Even though she’d told him to, Sarah was surprised Scott had driven off and left her at this time of night. Not that she’d now get back in his car. No way – it was a matter of principle! Anyway, a taxi would surely be along in a minute – she hoped.

  Up ahead, she spotted the entrance to the cut-through lane leading down to the City School. It would take at least a mile off her walk home. Down the lane, through the school playing field and out on to Eaton estate. She knew this route well as she’d spent her school years there, leaving in the spring of ’79 after the sixth form. However, she was never comfortable taking that route in the dark. No, she’d walk on, play it safe and pray for a taxi.

  In the distance, she noticed headlights approaching. Had Scott come back for her? No, it had a light on top – oh good, she thought – a taxi. As the car drew closer, Sarah felt a wave of relief as indeed it was a taxi. However, its taxi-light wasn’t illuminated and, now she couldn’t remember if that meant it was for hire or it already had a fare. She stopped and waved her shoes in the air and then started jumping up and down to get the driver’s attention. The taxi didn’t slow and just careered on by. “Wanker,” she muttered. She huffed and set about carrying on with her long walk home, wishing she hadn’t got out of Scott's car.

  ~

  He cupped the cigarette in his hand, ensuring the lit end couldn’t be seen if anyone looked into the cut-through lane. Nestled in the laurel hedge a few feet into the lane, he was now bored. Although he’d only been there for five minutes, he knew he needed to be patient. He’d finish his cigarette, have another one, and then if no luck, he’d move on. He wasn’t going to stand there all night and now suspected few idiotic women would be walking about at this time of night. Dropping the butt and stubbing it out under his trainer, he reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket for his cigarettes. Peering through the hedge, he could see at least fifty yards down Coldhams Lane without sticking his head right out in clear view.

  “Perfect, fucking perfect,” he whispered. Some dumb pissed cow was marching barefoot up the road, swinging her high-heeled shoes. Nice, he thought. Slim, little tight dress, and very screwable. He breathed deeply to calm himself, his excitement building as the adrenalin rushed around his body. The anticipation was always better than the act. This was it, the glorious feeling of control and desire – he’d have what he wanted – he licked his lips.

  ~

  Sarah stopped at the lane entrance and peered down what appeared to be a dark funnel, noting at least half the small street lamps were broken. She visualised the route, weighing up her options. It was only about a hundred yards to the gate, then on to the playing fields which she could sprint across, and then she’d be home. Decision time, long way home, or make a dash for it? She peered into the lane entrance again, placing her hand across the top of her eyes to block out the dim light from the streetlamp to her left. Could she see the end of the lane? Was anyone down there?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed sudden movement. Swivelling her head, she spotted Scott’s car edging along the road – he’d come back. Turning to face the bright headlights, she stood with her chin up and the heels of her hands on her hips. Well, he had come back, but no way was she getting in the car! But a moment ago, she wished she hadn’t got out of it. Hmmm, well, if he apologised, she might get back in – it would be sensible – but only if he apologised.

  “Sarah, get in the car. Come on,” Scott yelled, as he leant across the passenger seat. He nudged the car forward a few feet and was now level to where Sarah was standing. A few minutes up the road, a guilty feeling had made him complete a U-turn and return for her. Although Paula was well screwable, tonight’s argument with Sarah had drained away any desire he had.

  “Piss off, Scott, I don’t need you,” Sarah spat back at him. She was still fuming with him but unsure why she’d said that as she didn’t relish the long walk home.

  “Oh, Sarah, come on! I know you didn’t mean what you said. I forgive you.” He leant across the passenger seat with his hand outstretched as if offering her a lifeline.

  Sarah glared through the open window. Who the fuck did he think he was! “Forgive me! You’re joking, right? I’ve nothing to apologise for! You’re the one who should apologise, not me. You’re unbelievable! Piss off, you arrogant prick.” She spun around and stuck her nose in the air, whacking her arm up and giving him the finger.

  Scott threw himself back into his seat and shook his head. “Fuck her,” he muttered. Ramming the car in first gear, he pulled away from the kerb. Glancing in the rear-view mirror he could see she’d turned around, watching him drive off. She stood with her shoes swinging on their straps twisted around her thumb, with her middle finger stuck in the air – he offered the same gesture back. When he glanced in the mirror again, she’d disappeared.

  What a wanker! Apologise to him, no way! She peered down the lane again, then back up Coldhams Lane, chewed her lip and tried to decide which way to go. Sweet Jesus, if she stood here much longer, it would take all night to get home. It would be alright, wouldn’t it? Anyway, by the time she got to the bottom of the lane it would only take a few minutes to cross the playing fields and, she could be tucked up in bed by half-past midnight. “Come on, get on with it,” she muttered, huffed, and stepped into the lane, picking her way down on tiptoes. Although it was paved, all she needed now was dog poo between her toes.

  “Good girl, good girl,” he whispered and licked his lips. He placed the packet of cigarettes back in his pocket. He’d remained perfectly still for those few seconds when she was only six feet from him whilst she debated whether to take the l
ane route or not. Hidden in the thick laurel bush, he silently breathed in the sweet floral scent of her perfume. From what he could see through the leaves, she was stunning. He was lucky tonight. She wasn’t some rough-looking dog from the estate, she was hot, and he was ready.

  Releasing his breath when she was twenty feet ahead, he gently pushed away the laurel hedge branches. He had to be quiet as the next minute was critical to success. In another thirty yards she’d be close to the playing fields, and there he could get her on the soft grass. No one would hear. Perfect.

  Sarah stopped short of the five-bar gate at the entrance to the school playing fields, turned and peered back up the cut-through. Had she heard something? Was anyone there? A shiver shot up her body and, although the night was warm, she’d developed goosebumps. Rubbing her arms, she peered back up the lane.

  The few illuminated street lamps produced long, strangely-shaped shadows from the trees and hedges, which danced together across the narrow lane in the warm breeze. Was one of those shadows a figure standing near the hedge? Shit, should she have come through here so late? She stopped still and stared at the silent shadow. All she could hear was the gentle breeze through the trees and the thumping of her heart. No, she couldn’t see anyone, but she’d run now. In only a couple of minutes, she’d be out the other side of the fields and close to home – safe. Still standing on tiptoes, the arches of her feet had started to ache, so she turned and began to run.

  He nudged himself gently into the laurel bush as she stopped and turned around. She wouldn’t be able to see him, but she was spooked. He’d have to make his move soon – it was now – yes now.

  “Come on, Sarah, get a grip,” she muttered, her shoes banging into her thighs as she picked up her pace. She moved her arm out away from her body, causing the stilettos to swing wildly on her thumb. At the end of the cut-through, she grabbed the gate latch and yanked it back, letting the gate swing open. Now she could see the school straight ahead and, without looking back, she bolted across the grass. She’d lost count of how many glasses of those champagne cocktails she’d swallowed tonight and now regretting it as her head started to thump. Could she hear footsteps? Just run, Christ’s sake, run—