Class of '92 (The Time Bubble Book 5)

by Jason Ayres

  “He’ll be OK,” replied Rebecca. “We just need to follow him and make sure he gets home safely. After that, we’ll keep out of the way.”

  “We need to,” said Josh. “Once the media get hold of this they’ll be all over it.”

  Kevin continued across the park, still unaware that he was in the future. He was wrapped up in his thoughts about what he was going to do when he got home. It had been Monday when he had left 1972 which meant he would be allowed to watch Z Cars on the family’s recently acquired television set, provided he finished his homework first.

  Had he been paying attention he might have noticed that all the elm trees in the park had disappeared, struck down by the deadly Dutch elm disease which had wiped them all out while he had been away. It was only when he got to St Aldates he noticed something strange.

  The cars looked wrong. Kevin loved cars and longed to be a racing driver when he grew up like his hero, Jackie Stewart. But the cars he was seeing now were unfamiliar. Most of the Ford Cortinas, Morris Minors and other cars that normally trundled up and down the street were gone. A few remained but most had been replaced by unfamiliar models in brighter, shinier colours.

  He had no time to dwell on this because there was a big red bus marked for Abingdon waiting at the bus stop. The bus looked reassuringly familiar, though oddly the number had changed.

  Keen to catch the bus before it pulled away, he dashed for the stop. As he did so, he noticed that it wasn’t just the cars that looked different today.

  The people he was passing looked different. Most had shorter hair which exposed that many seemed to be wearing some sort of headphones on their ears. He also noticed that people seemed must more casually dressed and that many women were wearing jeans instead of skirts. It was all very odd.

  Reaching the bus before the doors closed, he climbed aboard, keen to get home, but he was about to run into a problem.

  “Half to Abingdon please,” he said to the driver.

  “That’ll be one pound please,” replied the driver, a surly and humourless-looking middle-aged man with a long nose and chin.

  “A pound!” exclaimed Kevin. “You must be joking! It’s normally 8p.”

  “8p for a bus to Abingdon? What decade are you living in? Now either give me a pound or piss off.”

  “It’s alright, driver, I’ll pay,” said Christina, who had got onto the bus behind Kevin.

  She and the others had anticipated this problem and agreed that one of them would also catch the bus to ensure Kevin got home and pay his fare since he wouldn’t have the right currency, a problem Josh was used to having to deal with.

  “And can I just say that swearing at a kid isn’t big or clever,” she added.

  “What’s it got to do with you?” said the driver, looking at her in disgust.

  “Here you go, son,” said Christina, handing Kevin a pound coin.

  “What’s this?” asked Kevin with bemusement. They only had pound notes where he came from.

  “Just pay the man and worry about it later,” she added.

  Kevin paid and went to sit down. Christina did the same and made sure she sat right at the back of the bus, where she could watch him unobserved and as far away as possible from the most unpleasant bus driver she had ever encountered.

  The doors swished shut, making a harsh, squeaking noise as they did that suggested a drop of oil wouldn’t go amiss, and the bus pulled away.

  Kevin had been extremely perturbed by the confrontation over the fare and the bus ride home did nothing to alleviate his concerns. It was clear now that something was very wrong with his world.

  The more he saw from the bus window, the more his concerns grew. At the outskirts to Oxford, new buildings were everywhere, including a glittering car showroom where once it had all been just fields.

  The sun was in the wrong place, too. It should be setting in the west by now, but it was much higher in the sky and to the south-east.

  Abingdon, too, was much changed, but thankfully the bus still stopped at the top of his old street. He had only a couple of hundred yards to go and he hurried home as fast as he could, running down the street in his black and red blazer, brown satchel bouncing off his right side.

  As he did so, Christina followed at a discreet distance, keen to ensure that he reached his home safely. After that, he was on his own.

  Kevin barely registered that the front garden was much altered, with far more growth and a cherry tree where once there had been lawn. He just wanted to get safely inside. He ran to the front door and opened the door.

  “Mum, I’m home,” he called, noticing that it barely seemed like the same house inside. The wallpaper was all gone, replaced by plain white walls, and there was a new carpet, far less garish than the old one.

  But the biggest change, the one that was to confirm the theory already forming in his mind that he had somehow travelled forward in time was still to come. A moment later, the kitchen door opened in front of him and a familiar figure stood there looking unbelievingly at him.

  Although he recognised her right away as his mother he could see that she was much changed. Her curly blonde locks were now much shorter and flecked with grey. He thought she seemed smaller and frailer than she had before.

  He didn’t know how far he had travelled in time but his mother had been forty-two when he had left. He guessed now she must be at least sixty. Before he could say anything else, she ran towards him, arms outstretched.

  “Kevin! Oh my God, it’s a miracle. You’ve come home. I always knew you would.”

  Reaching him, she flung her arms around him and hugged him tighter than she had ever hugged him before. She may have looked frail but her hug was still strong.

  “They said you were dead,” she said, eyes welling up. “But I never gave up hope. What happened to you? And why are you still young?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “I think I may have somehow been transported forward in time.”

  “I must ring your father,” she added. “And Katherine. You remember Katherine, don’t you?”

  “I only saw her this morning, mum,” he said. Katherine was his sister.

  “She’s thirty now, you know, and married to an accountant. She’s got a baby boy and she named him Kevin after you. She’s never going to believe this. Oh God, thank-you. I prayed every night for you to come home and He’s answered my prayers.”

  His father and sister were there within the hour and the reunion continued, long into the evening. Even if there was no logical explanation for what had happened, none of them cared. They were all too overjoyed at having him home. They didn’t think about the implications of not keeping it quiet and before long the media got hold of it. Within a couple of days it was all over the papers.

  Miracle as missing boy returns home was the headline on one of the tabloids.

  Oxfordshire boy rumoured to be missing schoolboy, Kevin Austin was the more cautious approach of the leading broadsheet.

  Peter and Josh were poring over these papers in the café in the Covered Market. Rebecca was at work and Christina was in a meeting with her tutor, begging to be let back onto her course.

  “What do you think, then?” asked Peter, as the two of them read through the articles.

  “I think we’re in the clear,” said Josh. “The tabloids are sensationalising it whilst the more respectable papers aren’t taking it seriously. Most of them are suggesting it is some sort of hoax.”

  “I thought that might happen,” said Peter. “Most of the readers, even of the tabloids, won’t take it seriously either. I mean, they are used to seeing things like Freddie Starr Ate My Hamster on the front page.”

  “No one’s going to believe it because he hasn’t aged. As far as everyone is concerned, it’s a biological impossibility, so they conclude it must be a fake story. If Kevin had turned up physically aged thirty-two, then it might have been credible. It’s probably all for the best. It will soon blow over and then the family can get on with their
lives.”

  “What about the authorities? How are they going to deal with it? Will he be able to go back to school?”

  “I’m sure they’ll figure it all out. Rebecca is going to see if she can find anything else out at work today and let us know how she got on when we meet at the Brewhouse tonight.”

  As they spoke, Rebecca was doing just that, discussing the case in Adam’s office. She had gone in on the pretext of discussing an unrelated matter, but was now steering the conversation around to the case of the missing boy.

  “Have you seen all this stuff in the papers about this missing boy turning up?” she said. “I took the liberty of looking through the files and it’s all documented in there. The force spent a lot of time searching for him twenty years ago.”

  “Before our time,” said Adam, dismissively. “Nobody working at this station was here then and the case was closed years ago.”

  “So you’ve no intention of investigating further?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” replied Adam. “It’s clearly not him. He’d be a grown man by now. If we spend any resources investigating this, then the public will have us up by our knackers. You know what they’re like. It’ll be all why aren’t we out catching criminals and all that stuff?”

  “That’s a good point, sir. I think you’re right: opening up an old case like this is only going to make more work for ourselves.”

  Rebecca’s stance on all this had changed since the first few disappearances a week ago. Then she was desperate to get the police to indulge her into looking into the mystery. Now she knew the truth, her agenda was to keep them as far away from what was going on as possible.

  “Spot on,” he replied. “I’m glad we’re seeing eye-to-eye on this one. You know a while back I thought you were letting your imagination run wild, seeing things that aren’t there, but I’m glad you can see this for what it really is.”

  “Some sort of clever hoax?” suggested Rebecca.

  “Precisely,” replied Adam. “I’m not sure where this kid came from exactly but there’s probably some perfectly logical explanation. As far as I can see no crime has been committed so it’s not our concern. No kid that age has been kidnapped or reported missing so it’s more a matter for social services than us. And to be honest, as long as the kid’s housed and schooled, I can’t see a problem.”

  “Thank-you sir,” she replied.

  “Good, now I’ve got a job for you,” he said. “There’s a young student in the cells who was brought in last night caught with a shedload of cocaine. I need someone to interview him. And go easy on him because we’ve had him in before. His father’s a friend of the police commissioner, so give him a ticking-off and get rid of him.”

  “What’s his name?” she asked, with an inkling she already knew what the answer was going to be.

  “Jonty Barrington-Smythe,” he replied. “You’ve met him before. He was one of your mysterious missing persons the other week, wasn’t he? Bloody students, they are always causing trouble. If they’re not doing drugs they’re getting their bicycles stolen. Do you know how much time we waste filling in forms about them? Bloody waste of space they are.”

  Not Jonty again, thought Rebecca. Talk about a bad penny. But then an idea struck her. Jonty could be just the person she and the rest of the time bubble team needed.

  Thirty minutes later, having established the facts, which he freely admitted, expecting to get off scot-free, it was time to broach her suggestion.

  “So I got caught doing Charlie. Big deal,” he said. “As soon as Daddy finds out, I’ll be off the hook.”

  “And how exactly is Daddy going to find out?” asked Rebecca. “If I recall from our last conversation, he’s sailing around the Bahamas somewhere on a cruise ship.”

  “He’s got a mobile,” said Jonty. “I’m entitled to one phone call, aren’t I?”

  “Good luck with that!” said Rebecca, who didn’t have a very high opinion of mobile phones. “Those things are a joke. You can barely hold a conversation with someone who’s got one in the same city, yet alone halfway round the world. They’re just a status symbol for the rich.”

  In 1992 that was true, though the technology advanced dramatically as the decade went on.

  It was time for Rebecca to move things on. There was a constable in the room, as was standard procedure during these interviews and she needed to get rid of him.

  “We’ll take a break there. Interview concluded at 12.35pm.” She pressed stop on the tape recorder.

  “Could you go and grab us some lunch?” she said to the young officer on the door. He complied, leaving Rebecca and Jonty alone.

  “Right, it’s off the record time, Jonty,” she said. “I’ll get you out of here and the charges dropped, but I want a favour. You remember how you disappeared and travelled forwards in time? Well, you weren’t the only one and we’ve got more people coming forward from the past every few days.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?” he said, obnoxiously.

  “I may need somewhere safe for them to go for a few days to help them come to terms with what’s happened, and your house is ideal while your parents are away. Now are you going to help me?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I’ll have you charged with possession and dealing if you don’t,” she replied.

  She knew that she wouldn’t actually be able to do this because Adam wouldn’t allow it, but that wasn’t going to stop her trying her bluff.

  Jonty shrugged his shoulders and gave in. He didn’t know Adam had told her to let him go and besides, it was no big deal what she was asking.

  “OK, I’ll do it,” he said, not quite sure what he was letting himself in for.

  Then again, neither did she.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sunday 26th January 1992

  Rebecca was unable to be present for the next emergence from the time bubble due to a work shift, leaving Josh, Peter and Christina to deal with whoever emerged.

  Josh was also cutting it fine. He needed to get to his high-powered job, washing up in the pub, so wouldn’t be able to hang about. The plan was to try and take whoever came out to Jonty’s house, and then figure out what to do with him or her next.

  What they hadn’t factored into their plans was finding someone else down by the riverbank, very close to the exact location of the time bubble. When they arrived they discovered a well-dressed man in his late-twenties dressed somewhat eccentrically in a waistcoat and bow tie. He had strikingly bright, straight, ginger hair and was wandering around carrying some sort of electronic device.

  As they got closer, Josh recognised the familiar clicking noises of a Geiger counter. There was also something vaguely familiar about the man.

  “Who’s he?” asked Christina.

  “Do you think someone else might have figured all this out?” asked Peter.

  “It’s possible,” said Josh. “There’s been enough media coverage. I guess there’s only one way to find out.” With that, he strode confidently towards the man.

  “Morning!” he said cheerfully. The man turned to look at him, and Josh realised why he had seemed familiar before. The face was younger, the body slimmer, and the hair brighter, but there was no doubting it. He had already had the experience of meeting one future teacher and now he was looking at his future college tutor and mentor.

  “Good morning,” said the man enthusiastically, extending his hand and giving Josh an enthusiastic handshake. “Professor Antony Hamilton, Oxford University.”

  “I’m Josh,” was the reply. “And these are my friends, Peter and Christina.” Josh had deliberately omitted his surname, already thinking of the future implications.

  “Delighted to meet you,” said the Professor, also shaking Peter’s hand and then, in an old-fashioned gesture, taking Christina’s hand and kissing it.

  This youthful version was far more friendly and lively than the middle-aged Professor that Josh had first encountered in the early 2020s. He had b
een obsessed with time travel then and had been a great help to Josh in his research into time travel, even if the Professor’s own attempts had been dismal failures.

  “So what brings you down here, Professor?” asked Josh. “And what’s the radiation detector for?”

  “Well, it’s the strangest thing,” replied the Professor. “You’ve read about all these people going missing recently, no doubt?”

  “Yes,” replied Josh, keen to hear how much the Professor had worked out. “Go on.”

  “Well, it all seems to be centred on this park, and specifically in this area. I have a theory that there’s some sort of time travel involved. It’s a subject I’m particularly interested in. Do you know anything about the science of tachyonics?”

  “I do,” said Josh, having listened to countless hours of the Professor talking about it in the future.

  “Well, that’s what I’m trying to do. Detect tachyon particles.”

  “With a Geiger counter?” asked Josh, something he knew to be impossible. Perhaps he ought to make allowances for the Professor’s youth and inexperience at this point in his personal timeline.

  “Yes, well, admittedly it probably can’t pick up tachyon particles but it might pick up any associated background radiation.”

  “And what have you found?” asked Josh.

  “Well, nothing yet,” he admitted. “But it’s worth hanging around anyway. I’ve got a theory that someone might show up here this morning. They turn up every four days by my calculations.”

  So he had worked out some of it, thought Josh.

  “Josh, can I have a word?” said Peter, pulling him away.

  When they were out of earshot of the Professor he added, “What are you doing? We’re not involving this person, as well now, are we? I thought you didn’t want anyone else getting in on the act.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Josh. “This is Professor Hamilton. Thirty years from now I’m going to start working with him on my first time-travel experiments. By that time he’s a world-renowned expert on time travel. He can help us.”