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

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