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

reconvened for breakfast at Don’s on that Saturday morning, Jess seemed to be physically in much better shape than I was. Mentally the events of the previous evening had taken their toll on her. She appeared very quiet and withdrawn as we all sat around the table mid-morning when George had arrived who’d brought Stephen with him to keep Christopher amused.

Christopher had become quite grumpy as the adventure of the last five days at Don’s had lost its appeal, and he now missed the plethora of toys that filled his bedroom at home. In a few short weeks, by being spoilt by Jenny, me, her parents, Don, George and Ivy, he’d amassed a toy collection that put the boys’ section of Hamleys to shame. He’d very quickly forgotten Lexton House children’s home, with its stark grey walls and the small communal toy box that contained donated outdated and sometimes broken toys.

Jenny persuaded Jess to go up to the hospital with her to get checked out. The story would be she’d tripped and fallen, so a quick check to see if the baby was okay was the sensible thing to do.

George, Don and I discussed the previous evening’s events. Once again, I had to ‘manage the room’ as I had my two closest friends together. Don, knowing my misdemeanours over the last five months, and George had the knowledge of my time-travelling skills.

As we all were, Don was delighted that a twist of fate had removed another Colney from the planet. This one we all were convinced was the ‘Fairfield rapist’ as we’d named him. George and I believed we’d stopped his future career as a serial rapist as he must have carried on right into the late ’80s when he presumably raped Sarah Moore – Martin’s mother – a discussion we had out of Don’s earshot.

I was beside myself that I’d caused Martin’s death. Although it was a complicated conversation as George knew it was the second time I’d been in a car with Martin when he’d lost his life, whereas Don believed it was the first time. Either way, both fully understood my distress and were insistent it wasn’t directly my fault.

Jenny and I planned to decamp back home on Saturday afternoon, safe in the knowledge that Paul Colney no longer posed a threat. Shirley Colney, for the moment, would be consumed by the death of another son to cause us any immediate issues.

Jenny and Jess returned before lunch. As Jess was pregnant, she’d jumped the queue at A&E and had been quickly assessed. The baby was fine, and I thought that baby was a tough little bugger after the last two week’s events. He or she, probably taking after their father – another bloody Colney.

I considered perhaps the Beth I knew from my previous life had acquired her toughness from her father, David, and not the Lexton House experience. Only time would tell when she grew up for the second time. I hoped that steel-like persona was a product of her time in the children’s home and not inherited from her future murderous now-dead father. I had many years to find that out, so I chose to dump that thought back in a ‘keep-closed-pandora’s-style-box’ in a dark recess of my brain.

Don had taken an instant shine to Jess and insisted on helping her get settled into what was Martin’s temporary home. George said he knew a couple of chaps from work he trusted to go back to her flat on Sunday and collect her personal belongings. Jenny said she would ask one of her female colleagues to go with them, as she didn’t feel it was appropriate for George’s friends to rummage through Jess’s knicker drawer. Jess had sobbed with relief in Jenny’s arms when she realised that with the help of a few people, she was never going back to the Broxworth.

Leaving Don to fuss over Jess, George and I chatted as we ferried our belongings out of Don’s house and packed the cars up to go home.

“It’s crossed my mind, lad … about the car you had the crash in.”

I glanced at George as he handed me one of the bags I was about to lob in the fairly uselessly sized boot of the Stag. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

George raised his eyebrows. “Yes … maybe. Although it’s a bit silly, really. Both of you ended up here in that car … and now … well, you know.”

I gently closed the boot, propped my bum up on its edge, and considered what he was suggesting. “So, Martin and Paul could have been teleported to another life because they were in that bloody car?” I shook my head. “It can’t be … Can it?”

“I don’t know, lad. But you both time-travelled back forty-odd years and woke up in that car. May suggest it has some strange cosmic power.”

“George, can you hear yourself!”

“Ha, yes, lad. I know. I can't believe I’m saying it … but you did, didn’t you!”

“Yeah, we did. The thought of Paul Colney now waking up in some other year to carry on where he left off from, though, doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“I’m sure he hasn’t. Anyway, that’s the car you arrived in, not departed in. It’s not the same, is it?”

I gingerly lifted my bum off the boot lid, unable to turn my neck without suffering severe pain. “No, George, it’s not. They’re both dead … I’m sure of that.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. Anyway, that Cortina didn’t have a flux thingy, type thing Martin said about.”

“Flux-Capacitor?”

“Yes, that’s it. What does that do anyway?”

“George, I have no idea.”

48

6th February 1977

Time-Bend

Sunday morning, I stayed in bed. Jenny told me, no, instructed me to rest. She was insistent if my neck hadn’t improved by the time I got up, we were going to the hospital to get me checked out. Not relishing an afternoon sitting on those uncomfortable straight-backed wooden chairs up at Fairfield General, I complied with her directive. Although my neck