Ahead of his Time, Adrian Cousins [short story to read .txt] 📗

wearing his tartan slippers which seemed never to be removed from the end of his feet.

“I need to borrow a bit of food from you … just to get Martin through tonight, and then I’ll set him up properly tomorrow. Will that be okay?”

“Yes, son, ’elp yourself. Sit yourself down, Martin, we don’t stand on ceremony round ’ere. I’ll stick the kettle on if you wanna drink?”

“Okay, we’ll have a quick coffee, then we need to get on.” I rummaged through the pantry and plucked out some essentials which would get Martin through the next day. Don and I chatted about football and my new car whilst Martin sipped his tea which he held like a tramp at a soup kitchen, all the time staring at the tabletop.

“Son, I see you sold your old car to this chap.”

“Err … yes,” I replied.

Martin just shook his head and tutted.

“Don, we’d better go. I’ll be back in a few minutes when I’ve got Martin settled in.”

I nudged Martin as he looked to be sitting in a trance. Lifting his head sideways, he peered at me with one eye. I gestured with my head, giving an instruction it was time to go.

“The fire will heat the place up in no time. Keep the lounge door open so the heat goes through the house. You know how to work a gas fire, don’t you?” Martin plonked himself down on the new orange sofa, offering no reply.

“Right mate, we need to talk. But I haven’t got long as Jen will be wondering what’s going on. When we had the crash, for some reason I was moved back to 1976. So tell me, what happened to you?”

“What the hell d’you mean you got moved back? You say it as if it’s some normal everyday event. Either you or I’ve gone around the bloody bend. Can you hear yourself?”

“Martin, look around you. You’ve been here, what … six hours or so? This is January 16th 1977, and you’re going to have to get your head around it … and quickly. I know that’s tough. But I had to, and I did.” He just stared and shook his head again. “Look out the fucking window. There’s snow everywhere, and you don’t get that in August, do you? I know this is tough to grasp, but you’re going to have to come around to this, and bloody quickly I might suggest.” I leant forward as if chastising one of my pupils at school, but hell, he was starting to annoy me.

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.