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

I met the other candidate on the day of the interviews when we shook hands before going in to my assessment. I’d met him before in my previous life, and the memory flooded back of him marching Beth and me into the Headmaster’s office when we were both sixteen in the early nineties. Keith Jones still appeared to have the grace and humility of Hermann Göring. Although on our brief meeting this time, he didn’t seem to be the sort of chap that might have your fingernails pulled out with a pair of pliers.

Now Martin had vacated, Jess moved into the house next to Don. I now had both houses rented out and received meagre rent. But that didn’t matter as it felt bloody fantastic to be able to help these two people who’d entered my life. Jess was very much Don’s surrogate grandchild, and he doted on her.

Don, as always, had his ear to the ground, and a few old acquaintances liked to keep him up to date on the events up at the Broxworth. Shirley Colney, as expected, was devastated that she’d lost a second son within the space of six months. She’d apparently skedaddled and was living it up in the Costa Del Sol, so no longer the controlling factor in Fairfield she once was.

The Gower family had apparently become frustrated with the Colneys and their lack of control, now considering them to be a liability. You didn’t need to move in those low-life circles to know if the Gowers were no longer supporting the Colneys – they were finished.

Shirley had dumped Andy, her youngest son, on her sister. Both Don and I agreed he’d probably grow up to be a low-life as well. Unlike his older brothers, Andy Colney wouldn’t have the backing of the all-controlling and powerful Gower clan.

Clive Trosh had left the hospital and was recovering well. I had one hell of a battle on my hands persuading him to take one of my diamonds. In the end, I introduced him to Don and, he worked his magic which resulted in Clive accepting my offer. So, I took another one of my diamonds from my safety deposit box and visited Maypole Jewellers. Terry Maypole was disappointed I didn’t need the ring made in an hour, as he said it was one of his best pieces of work when he’d made Jenny’s ring. Mr Maypole got to work on producing another masterpiece which I couldn’t wait to give to Clive.

The ever-efficient Miss Colman, although still efficient, seemed to have taken on an air-head persona. I think she’d copied the stance of Mr Humphries, as she continuously held her left hand slightly raised in the air to ensure everyone could see the engagement ring.

Roy was disappointed that Martin had urgently returned to South Africa as he had received a job offer that he couldn’t refuse. It was the best story I could come up with to cover up his disappearance. We agreed that we would just get by until Clive returned, so decided not to look for another temporary replacement.

Following that promise I made in the Cortina that I would somehow stop Ayrton Senna from dying in 1994, Jenny and I thought we should firstly try and save Tom Pryce and the marshal, who would die in a few weeks.

We constructed two letters this time. Using an ancient typewriter once owned by Frances, we were super careful to ensure we left no fingerprints on either paper or envelope. The first letter we sent to The British Racing Drivers Club, informing them that Tom Pryce would die on March 5th. The second was an airmail letter sent to the Midrand race track in South Africa, stating that track safety could be significantly improved if marshals were placed at both sides of the track. This added measure would improve track safety and, if an incident occurred, there would be no requirement for a marshal to cross the track mid-race.

I took a trip out to London one Saturday morning and, with a gloved hand, slotted the two letters in an unremarkable red post box near Marble Arch.

I was living in that era when motor racing was not the hyped-up sport it was in my day. The lack of TV channels was a big part of that reason, and so limited air time resulted in limited programmes. I knew I was only a few years away from enjoying live races on the BBC, with the one and only Murray Walker commentating. However, I did enjoy the highlights he presented at this time with his comical blunders or ‘Murrayisms’ as they were later called. I always looked forward to the highlights and now realised back in 2019, I hadn’t appreciated the fantastic coverage which was on offer.

Sunday 6th March, I didn’t watch the BBC2 highlights. I stood in the back garden, smoking a cigarette as Jenny tried to console me. My tears weren’t for Tom Pryce specifically, who had died as he had the first time. Nor were they for the marshal, a teenager called Jansen Van Vuuren, although before the news reports today, I hadn’t known his name. No, my tears were for the fact that I couldn’t stop these events. I knew women who were going to die over the next few years at the hands of Peter Sutcliffe. I also knew more motor racing drivers would die doing what they loved. I had future knowledge of world events that would cost thousands of lives, but I was fully aware I was powerless to change that history.

I felt utterly helpless.

As Jenny said, I’d changed some history for the better. Beth and Christopher now had a real chance of a better life. I’d stopped two evil men from carrying out their future rapes and murders, and I should be proud of what I’d achieved. She was right, but my frustration was unless these events were intrinsically linked to my life, I could do bugger all about it.

I would