by Jason Ayres
Peter had to admit that Josh sounded convincing. He had decided to humour him a while longer and see what else he had to say. It was a little intriguing to say the least, and it was doing a reasonable job of taking his mind off things.
It was certainly preferable to another riveting evening with Gran watching Noel Edmonds gunging people on his irritating show. Saturday evening telly had really gone downhill in recent years.
“I’ve got to admit, you do sound convincing” said Peter. “But you can’t keep this act up forever. Look, I’d love it if time travel was real. I’m Doctor Who’s biggest fan. Or at least I was until the BBC cancelled it.”
That really rankled with Peter. He knew Sylvester McCoy wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but he felt it had been getting a lot better during the last series.
“Don’t worry, it’ll come back eventually” said Josh. “And when it does it’ll be bigger and better than ever! When I was growing up it was the most popular show on TV. Everyone sat down to watch it on Christmas Day every year.”
“I find that hard to believe” said Josh. “I don’t dare tell people I’m a fan these days. I just get laughed at. The Caves of Androzani is coming out on video next week. I expect I’ll have to smuggle it home in a brown paper bag in case anyone I know sees me.”
“Keep the faith” said Josh. “Now what else can I say to convince you? I can sit here and reel off details of all manner of future events but nothing that’s happening in the next half an hour. What about the football? I told you Oxford would win!”
“In a home game against Tranmere?” said Peter. “We would have been favourites to win anyway.”
“OK, look” said Josh, preparing to reel off a list he had been compiling in his head during the afternoon, no mean feat in the absence of any notes to help him.
“Here are a few things that are going to happen this year. Leeds are going to win the league, the Tories are going to win the election, Nigel Mansell’s going to win the F1 title, Party Politics is going to win the Grand National, Whitney Houston’s going to have the Christmas number one and Bill Clinton’s going to become US President. Is that enough for starters?”
“Anyone could make up a load of facts like that. Come back at the end of the year and maybe I’ll believe you.”
“I don’t have until the end of the year!” exclaimed Josh, becoming frustrated at Peter’s reticence. “I need your help now!”
“Yes, and that’s something else I don’t get” replied Peter. “Why me in particular”?
“Because like I said, I know you in the future” replied Josh. “And you are a lot more agreeable then than you are being now. Your future self would have helped me like a shot.”
“Well, if that’s the case, rather than giving me dubious facts, why don’t you properly explain what all of this is about”?
“I’d like to go into more detail” said Josh. “But there’s an inherent danger attached. If I told you the whole story that would mean giving you too much information about your own future and that could be a dangerous thing.”
“What if I promised not to do anything with it?” asked Peter.
Realising what he just said he added “You know, I can’t believe I actually said that. You’re actually starting to draw me into this little fantasy of yours. It’s not real!”
“But it is real” insisted Josh. “I’m not some sort of madman or conman. You’re a student, right?”
“Yes, but you already knew that” said Peter.
“So, you’re completely skint?” added Josh.
“Yes, like most students.”
“There you go then” said Josh. “If I was a conman why would I target a poverty stricken student with barely two pennies to rub together? I’d go after someone with money”
“That’s a fair point” conceded Peter.
“There you go then. I’m not trying to con anyone. Now I’m going to tell you as much as I can but I’m going to leave out all the personal details about what happens in your own future.”
“Fair enough” replied Peter.
“You’ve also got to promise me you’re not going to act on any of the other information I give you. Even the slightest change could contaminate the timeline of this world and blow my chances of getting home.”
“OK” said Peter, still not taking it particularly seriously. Despite his scepticism, he was fascinated to hear what Josh had to say. Even if it was a load of rubbish, at least it would be a load of rubbish about something he was interested in.
Over the next half hour, which swiftly turned to an hour and three pints, Josh told him a potted history of the story, starting with the initial discovery of the time bubble in 2018.
He told him about the apocalyptic winter that had come later, about exploring alternate timelines and then the accident that had sent him back in time.
He made sure not to give away any personal details about Peter’s own life so there was no mention of his battle with Leukaemia, his divorce and subsequent marriage to Hannah, the policewoman who had been drawn in to the events.
The more he listened, the more fascinated Peter became and he found that he was increasingly suspending his disbelief.
“And that’s how I ended up here” concluded Josh. “So what do you think?”
Peter sorely wanted to believe him.
“It’s an amazing story” he admitted. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it to be true but you still haven’t offered me any real concrete proof.”
“I can’t right now” replied Josh. “You’re just going to have to take it on trust. But you’ve understood everything I’ve said, haven’t you? And you understand why it was you I came to?”
“Yes” admitted Peter. “It does makes sense. I guess I am the obvious choice going by what you’ve said. What you haven’t really said is what sort of help it is you need. You already know I’ve got no money.”
“I just need some help to get through the first few weeks. A place to stay would be a start and I also need someone who knows this era. Travelling this far into the past is like visiting another country. Even figuring out how to use a simple phone dial flummoxed me yesterday and as for finding stuff out, you don’t even have the internet yet so it’s not like I can Google stuff.”
“What’s Google?” asked Peter.
“I rest my case” said Josh. “Look, it’s not going to be for long. By the end of next month I’ll be able to make some money with the information in the notes I managed to rescue after my bag caught fire.”
Peter looked him up and down carefully, trying to come to a decision. He seemed earnest and genuine enough.
“Alright” he said. “I can’t believe I’m saying this and I hope I don’t live to regret it but as it happens, my gran is looking to take in a lodger. As long as you can come up with enough money to pay the first month in advance then you can come and stay with us. But I want to see these notes of yours first and see what I make of them.”
“You won’t regret it, I promise” replied Josh. “This could be a lot of fun.”
“That’s settled then” added Peter. “You already know the address. Come round tomorrow afternoon and I’ll introduce you to Gran. It’s up to her, though. If she doesn’t like the look of you then it’s out of my hands.”
Josh nodded his agreement as Peter wondered what on Earth he was letting himself in for.
Chapter Eight
Monday 6th January 1992
Ignoring Adam’s advice about dropping her investigations, Rebecca had spent the last few days poring over records from the past few years looking for more unexplained disappearances.
She had found one or two interesting leads but nothing obviously linked to the cases she already had. Changing tack, she decided to look further into the three cases she already had.
The previous evening she had stayed late at work, going over the post-mortem report on Mr Chambers to see if she could uncover any more clues. The cause of death had been listed as drowning which ha
dn’t come as any surprise. He had been found floating head down in the Cherwell after all. Bearing in mind his age, the death wasn’t being treated as suspicious.
But when she looked at the estimated time of death, she uncovered something that didn’t tally. Consequently, her first priority of the day was to seek out the police pathologist to query the anomaly.
As she walked into the mortuary she was relieved to see that there wasn’t a body currently on the slab. It wasn’t her favourite place to visit. Although she didn’t have a problem with dead bodies, as she accepted that was part of the job, she didn’t like to see them being dissected.
This was something that had always made her squeamish, ever since she had been refused permission to be excused the biology lesson when they had cut up mice at school.
“Hi, Becky, what can I do for you?” asked Janet, the pathologist, a middle-aged blonde woman with hair tied up in a bun, and large, red-rimmed glasses. She was wearing a traditional white doctor’s coat.
Rebecca shivered. It wasn’t just that this room made her uncomfortable; she had also forgotten how cold it was and not put her jacket on before coming down here.
“It’s about the post-mortem report on Mr Chambers,” she said. “You’ve stated on the report that you estimated he had been dead for two to three hours when he was brought in.”
“Yes,” replied Janet. “Definitely no more than that – there was no sign of rigor mortis for a start.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” replied Rebecca. “He disappeared on New Year’s Eve and the body wasn’t found until two days later.”
“Then he can’t have died on the day he disappeared,” replied Janet.
“So where was he for two days?” asked Rebecca.
“I wouldn’t like to speculate,” replied Janet. “That’s your job. I can only report the facts.”
Rebecca had heard all she needed. She had no reason to doubt Janet who had been doing her job a long time and had an impeccable reputation. So where had Mr Chambers been for two days?
The mystery was deepening and now it was time to pursue her next line of enquiry.
A mile or so away, Simon Ellis closed the white front door of his house on Hill View Road behind him, relieved to be back indoors. It was bitingly cold outside and he welcomed the warmth from the radiators, but it wasn’t enough to take away the cold feeling in his heart.
The relief he felt was more at being alone rather than from getting out of the cold. He had just dropped his two young children off at school for the first day of the new term, followed by a trip to Sainsbury’s for some much-needed food shopping.
Alone in the house at last, no longer having to put a brave face on for them, he put down his carrier bags and sat down on the stairs. Putting his head in his hands, he ran his fingers through his long, black hair, and promptly burst into tears.
He had held his emotions in so long, trying to shelter Katie and Emma from the ever-increasing likelihood that their mother may never be coming home again, that the sobs came thick and hard.
Just one question kept coming into his head over and over again:
Why?
But he couldn’t come up with an answer that made any sense.
Trying to get it together, he took off his trainers and padded along the wooden floor in his thick, grey, woollen socks. He was heading for the kitchen and the comfort of the coffee pot. He had just about managed to resist drowning his sorrows in alcohol this past week or two, but he didn’t know how he would have managed without caffeine.
He needed to pull himself together. The policewoman who had been investigating his wife’s disappearance had arranged to call on him this morning to discuss the case further. He had been surprised to get her call the previous evening because Tracy had been missing now since Christmas Eve.
He couldn’t imagine what else the police could possibly do after all this time but he was grateful for their time, nonetheless. Unless she was coming to arrest him, that was.
If so, that would just about finish him off. It wouldn’t surprise him if that’s what did happen, even if there had been no suggestion of this on the telephone last night. He had seen enough television dramas to know that when wives went missing in mysterious circumstances, suspicion always fell on the husband.
When Rebecca and Dan had interviewed him after Tracy’s initial disappearance they had asked plenty of questions skirting around that possibility, clearly trying to see if there were any cracks in the marriage.
The truth was that they did have a happy marriage and that was what made this all the worse. If they had been having problems and she’d run off with someone else, he could have understood that. At least she would still be alive and the kids would still have a mother.
But vanishing without warning and without trace was completely out of character and pointed to the unpleasant possibility that she had been abducted and very possibly killed.
Grabbing a piece of kitchen roll from the pine table that was the centrepiece of the large kitchen, he dabbed at his eyes, trying to make himself presentable. He glanced up at the clock above the door that led to the rear garden. It was 10.30am. Right on time, he heard the front door bell ring.
He opened the door to find the young policewoman, PC Osakwe, standing outside. She was on her own which to his relief he realised meant she almost certainly hadn’t come to arrest him. Hoping he had dried his eyes sufficiently that she wouldn’t notice he had been crying, he ushered her through to the kitchen where she accepted his offer of coffee.
“How are you coping?” asked Rebecca, as he poured her a cup from the pot of filter coffee he had brewed before. It wasn’t much of a question to ask because she would not expect anyone to cope well in his situation. But she could hardly ask him if he’d had a nice Christmas, could she?
“Not too well, if I’m being brutally honest,” replied Simon.
“How about the children?”
“They don’t really understand what’s been going on,” said Simon. “I told them Mummy had to go away for a while for work, but they know something’s amiss. They started back at school today. My mum said I should keep them off but I’m trying to keep things as normal for them as possible.”
“And you’ve still heard nothing whatsoever? Or thought of any possible reason why she might have left the way she did?”
“There is no explanation,” insisted Simon. “We were perfectly happy and looking forward to a family Christmas. There was no sign of her wanting to leave. She didn’t take anything with her, not even a toothbrush.”
He paused before asking, “What about you? Have you found anything? You said you were going to monitor her bank account.”
“We have and there’s been no activity, other than a couple of cheques that she wrote on the day she disappeared that didn’t show up until after Christmas,” confirmed Rebecca.
“So, with all respect, why have you come here today if you’ve nothing to tell me?” he asked.
Rebecca paused. She couldn’t tell him about her Bermuda Triangle theory. By rights she shouldn’t be here at all. She had arranged this meeting without telling Adam because she knew he wouldn’t allow it.
“I just want to go over everything that happened that day, one last time. Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
“There’s not a lot I can tell that I haven’t already told you,” he replied, handing her a cup of coffee. “Shall we go through to the living room? It’s warmer in there.”
She followed him through into the lounge, a large, open room festooned with Christmas decorations and an open fireplace full of ash from a recent fire. A large, real Christmas tree stood in the corner and Rebecca couldn’t help noticing the pile of presents still beneath. Looking closely, she could see the writing on the top label which read “To Tracy x.”
The untouched presents were covered in pine needles which had fallen from the tree which was starting to look bare in patches after being up for so long.
“Tonight
is Twelfth Night,” remarked Rebecca. She stopped short of saying anything about bad luck. This poor man had already had more than his fair share of that this Christmas.
“I know but I can’t bring myself to take any of this down,” said Simon. “While it’s all still here I can pretend it’s still Christmas Eve and she’s on her way home.”
Rebecca sat down on the black, leather sofa directly opposite the fireplace and put her mug down on the black ash coffee table. The room was comfortable and welcoming but she felt quite uncomfortable when she noticed the writing on the side of the mug she was drinking from. It read I love you, Mummy and was covered in little red hearts.
“So let’s go over this again,” she said. “What time did she leave here on Christmas Eve?”
“About 9.30am,” replied Simon. “She had some last-minute things she wanted to get in town. The girls wanted to go with her, but she said town would be packed and they would be better off staying here with me.”
“Did she say anything about what time she would be back?”
“All she said was not to expect her back for lunch and that she would grab a sandwich in town.”
“And that was the last you heard from her?” asked Rebecca.
“Yes,” replied Simon.
“That pretty much tallies with everything we’ve been able to find out at our end. We know she made it into Oxford because she wrote a cheque in HMV that morning. When we asked the store to let us check their CCTV we found footage of her buying a game for the Sega Megadrive at 11.45am.”
“That would have been Sonic the Hedgehog,” replied Simon. “The girls had been going on and on about how much they wanted it, but all of the shops had been out of stock. She had heard from a friend that HMV had got some more in and she was going to try and pick up a copy.”
“That’s the last place we know that she definitely was. Do you have any idea where she might have gone after that? Was there anywhere she liked to go for lunch, for example?”
“Usually she just bought a sandwich when she was out,” replied Simon. “I was cooking a big ham and we were going to have it at teatime with a few other bits of party food. She wouldn’t have wanted much at lunchtime. She’s been on a diet and was worried about putting on weight over Christmas.”
