by C J M Naylor
"Tinned sausage, cooked, some wheat toast with a dash of cinnamon, and we have some browned potatoes," Mrs. Baxter announced. She placed each dish on the kitchen table and put her hands on her hips. "It isn't much, but it's my birthday treats for Miss Abigail, here."
"Mrs. Baxter, I'm sure it will be delicious," I assured her, "thank you very much."
Mrs. Baxter planted a kiss on my cheek and then began cleaning the pots and pans she had used.
"Did you tell the guest five o'clock?" my mum asked after she had swallowed some of her potatoes.
I nodded as I chewed on some sausage. The taste was salty and delicious, but there was still a hint that it had been tinned and not fresh.
"Will my wife be there?"
My heart skipped a beat and I turned my attention toward my father. His expression was sad, and he looked like he was about to cry.
"Dean." My mum placed her hand on his. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I'm right here."
It wasn't fair for my mum. It just wasn't fair.
I was combing my hair when it happened. One moment, I was in front of my bedroom mirror, my hand combing through my hair, and then I had fallen out of my chair. My breath had left me.
The waves rattled against the seashore. I was looking out on the ocean. Seagulls flew through the air. The whiteness of their feathers caught my eye. Suddenly, a light mist of sea waves sprayed me and I smiled as it touched my cheeks. I wondered what was happening, how was I here? I could hear the waves. I could feel the mist. How did I get here?
"Abby."
A man came up from behind and placed his hand on the small of my back. It wasn't Phillip. I knew that. But this man, I felt like I knew him. I felt like I loved him. What was going on? What was going on? I began to panic and—
My lungs cried for breath and finally it came. The ceiling was above me. I was looking up at it. I was probably convulsing on the floor, judging from the amount of gasping I was doing, trying to catch my breath. What had just happened? Something different had happened, that was for sure. I had felt the ocean. I had felt the man's hand on me.
The door to my bedroom opened and closed and then there were footsteps.
"Abby." I heard Phillip's voice and then his arms were around me, pulling me into his chest.
"Honey," he said, "are you okay? Talk to me."
I opened my eyes just a bit and looked into his blue eyes. We held each other's gaze and then I curled into him. He stood up, lifting me in his arms and carried me to my bed. He carefully placed me in the bed and then knelt down by the side of the it.
"Something happened," I whispered, "I think I went away."
"What do you mean?"
Phillip meant everything to me. I trusted him with my life and I knew I could trust him with this; therefore, I told him.
I told him how I was standing by the ocean and felt the sea spray against my face. I told him how another man, someone I loved, placed his hand on my back and had called my Abby. I told him how it wasn't like a dream; I had been there. I had felt it. I had seen it.
"I feel like I've betrayed you," I said, and I did. Why was there a different man in whatever this had been? Was it a vision? But I had felt it. It had felt real.
"Abby," he said, "you haven't done anything. Please do not think you've betrayed me. Never think that."
The door to my bedroom opened again and my mum was in the doorway.
"Are you okay?" She looked concerned. I assumed she had come in to tell me to come downstairs, but I could see the concern in her face.
I nodded.
"Well, let's go," she said. "Ian, is that right? Well, he's here."
"Lovely," Phillip said, "let's go talk about some Dickens. Shall we?"
He stood up and held out his hand. I took it, feeling comfort and warmth. Today was my birthday; it was a time of celebration. I wasn't going to let these things in my head get to me tonight. Tonight, I would celebrate. Tomorrow, I could worry.
CHAPTER THREE
Phillip insisted that I hold his hand as we walked downstairs. I refused, knowing that he only wanted to make it obvious that we were together, but he grabbed it anyway. I could hear my father talking to Ian from the landing and felt peace knowing he could still talk to others.
"Abby," Ian announced as I walked into the sitting room. I felt Phillip tense up at my side, but he quickly relaxed again. Ian held out his hand and I dropped Phillips and shook it.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Ian!"
"Abby." I heard Phillip's voice and then his arms were around me, pulling me into his chest.
"Honey," he said, "are you okay? Talk to me." My eyes popped open and Phillip was leaning over me. The whole thing had been another dream? Maybe I would worry today after all.
"Honey," Phillip said, "please talk to me."
And then I was telling Phillip about the sea spray on my face and how I could feel it. After that, I was telling him about the man. I did not normally curse, but what the hell was going on? Had I not already said these things to Phillip?
I realized that Phillip had lifted me up and carried me to my bed. My mum should be coming through the door by now and sure enough...
The door to my bedroom opened again and my mum was in the doorway.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded.
"Well, let's go," she said. "Ian, is that right? Well, he's here."
"Lovely," Phillip said, "let's go talk about some Dickens. Shall we?"
He stood up and held out his hand. I didn't feel stable enough to go and join the party. The safer bet was to stay in bed, but I knew I couldn't. The next several moments passed by like they had before and then I was shaking Ian's hand. My mum announced that we would begin when Bridget arrived. I took the opportunity to pull Phillip to the side and talk to him. I needed to figure this out now.
We walked into the hallway and then I began to whisper to him.
"Something is wrong," I said. "It isn't just the whispers anymore, I had some sort of vision. I saw everything that just happened, before it even happened. I saw you come into my room and help me off the floor, after I had had the first vision and then we went downstairs and Ian had said hello to me. And then I woke up and everything happened as I had seen it."
Before Phillip could respond, there was a knock at the door.
"We'll talk about this later," he said, "okay?"
I nodded. I turned and was about to walk over to the door when a picture on the wall caught my eye. It was a picture of me out in my mother's garden. I was not looking at the camera, but playing in a flowerbed. I remembered the day because it was the day that I had fallen out of the big willow tree in our backyard. My thoughts drifted for a moment to who I was becoming—because who I was becoming was starting to scare me.
I realized my hand was shaking from fear as I undid the chain on the door and turned the lock. Bridget stood before me in the cold London air. Snow had begun to fall and the ground was already blanketed with some of it.
"Come in."
Bridget did not wait in the cold a second longer; she stepped through the doorway and I shut the door to the cold.
"Happy birthday!" she said. A smile appeared on her face as she took off her jacket and gloves. She pulled me in for a birthday hug and I returned it graciously.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Who do you trust, Abigail?"
My bones rattled; my body froze. Why were the voices talking to me? I felt like I was unraveling at the core.
"Are you alright?"
Snapping back to reality, I realized Bridget was speaking to me. I nodded and made my way back to the sitting room before she asked another question.
"Happy eighteenth birthday, my love!"
My mum placed a round cake, frosted with white icing in front of me. The words 'Happy Birthday' were written on top in red. It was simple, but at the same time I felt gratitude. My mum went to great lengths to find enough ingredients to make a cake. With the war, they were more expensive ev
ery day.
"Thank you, mum," I said.
She planted a kiss on my forehead and then she cut the cake. The party was small and quiet, made of my parents, Mrs. Baxter, Phillip, Ian, and Bridget. It was simple, but it meant the world to me.
Music erupted from the sitting room and I realized Mrs. Baxter must have turned on a radio station.
"Let's dance, Ian!"
I couldn't help but let out a laugh at Mrs. Baxter's youthfulness. She was always trying to be young again. Phillip held out his hand and I took it. He led me to the living room to see the horrors of Mrs. Baxter's dancing. She had Ian glued to her body and they were dancing. Ian looked a tad bit uncomfortable.
"Diane," I heard my father say, "would you like to dance?"
Diane. He just wouldn't stop calling her that. I heard my mum say yes and then Phillip pulled me behind him and we were dancing, too. I realized Bridget was standing by the wall, smiling, but she still looked alone.
"Bridget," I said, "come dance with Ian."
Mrs. Baxter gave me the look of death, but I ignored her. Ian stepped aside and held out his hand for Bridget; such a gentleman he was.
"Well, if that's how it is going to be," Mrs. Baxter said, hands on hips. She walked forward and held out her hand for Phillip and he took it. "I'll be stealing your man, youngin'. Watch and learn how us old ladies get jiggly with it."
"Mrs. Baxter!" My mum attempted to sound stern, but it ended up coming out as a laugh. I laughed too; it was all in good fun. I stepped to the side and watched Phillip and Mrs. Baxter get "jiggly with it". My heart melted a bit when I saw Bridget; she truly looked like she enjoyed Ian's company. I wondered.
"Are you ready?"
Phillip and I were standing in the kitchen, alone. We had been talking about the night. The rest of the party was still in the sitting room, chatting and dancing. Bridget had left a little early to do some studying.
"Ready for what?" I asked. I was still eating some cake; I played with it with my fork.
"My proposal to you."
The fork fell to the plate. I had forgotten that Phillip was going to "propose again" on my birthday when he had a ring, as he had said. He had asked me a few weeks ago simply because he couldn't wait any longer, but now this was it! My mind couldn't come up with words to say, and therefore I only nodded my head.
Phillip stood up and then bent down on one knee. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black ring box.
"Abigail Jordan," he said, "I love you. I will always love you. Will you be my wife?"
He clicked the box open, and I stopped breathing. Literally.
The snow was falling around me. I didn't feel it, though. I didn't feel cold; I wasn't freezing. The blackout rules were still being enforced and thus all the windows of homes were dark, shuttered up or covered by dark curtains. One house still had a light emanating from it and I saw an Air Raid Protection (ARP) Warden bang on the door of a house.
"Please, put the light out!"
Immediately, the light went out. The moonlight shown on the street though and I could still see figures walking down the street. The street. I realized then I was on Barton Street—my street.
A double-decker bus was making its way down one end of the street and because of the blackout rules, the bus was emanating the smallest amount of light possible.
"I don't understand why you have to go!"
A woman's shrill, upset voice from behind me caught my attention. I turned around and saw a man and woman arguing at the steps of a terraced house down the road. I walked toward them, slowly, casually.
"Margaret," a man replied, "it is an honor to go and serve my country. Please understand."
The woman's face—I could tell now—was streaked with tears. It looked like they were a couple and had been out for the night, for a date, perhaps. But the night was being ruined now as the man broke the news.
"You are my husband," Margaret replied, "I will not understand. Please, don't leave me. Don't."
She was in hysterics now. She wasn't thinking clearly. Margaret stepped out into the street and turned. The bus! I had forgotten about it. It came out of nowhere in the darkness. She was facing the other way; she wouldn't have known. The man screamed for his wife, but she was hit.
"Bloody hell." I heard the ARP warden yelling and then curtains were being pulled open and what was supposed to be a blacked-out neighborhood was now lit up by the lights. The bus had stopped, but too late; it had hit her. Margaret lay in the ditch, where she had rolled after being hit. She was dead.
My eyes fluttered open and directly in front of them were Phillip's eyes. He was leaning over me when I came to. I gasped for air and coughed violently. My body was shaking.
"The street." It was all I could say. And then finally, I came back completely to reality. I pushed myself up, much to Phillip's surprise, and walked out of the kitchen, and down the hallway.
"Abigail?" I heard my mum say, but I was too focused to respond. I threw open the door. I couldn't see anyone.
My mum and Phillip walked up behind me, followed by Ian.
"What's wrong?" my mum said.
"A woman is going to be hit by a double-decker bus."
But just as I said it, the bus rolled by and there was a scream. My mum, being a nurse, pushed past me and ran out into the dark street. Lights began to pour forth from within the other terraced houses.
"Bloody hell."
My eyes followed the voice. The ARP warden was running to the scene. My mum was already there. She was on the ground, leaning over the woman. Margaret's husband was kneeling next to his wife, crying. They were trying to do something, anything. But I knew. I knew she was already dead. Because I had seen it before it had happened.
In the midst of the chaos, I ran back up to my room and closed the door behind me. I was still shaking. I knew my reaction to the whole event was probably strange, but the only thing that kept running through my head was the fact that I had seen an event before it actually happened.
I slipped into my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.
I wasn't sure if hours or minutes had passed when my bedroom door opened and light seeped in. The door shut again and I could smell the scent of his mint lotion.
Phillip crawled into the bed next to me, pulling the covers up and over him. I felt his arm around my waist, pulling me into him. I felt him turning me to face his eyes in the dark.
"What are you doing?"
If my mum came in and saw us like this, she would have a heart attack.
"I came to protect you."
Protect me.
"Your mum," Phillip said, "is at the hospital with the husband. He was in hysterics; I can't blame him."
Phillip's hand came up and brushed my cheek. He caressed my cheek for a moment, gazing into my eyes.
"If anything like that ever happened to you," Phillip whispered, "I don't know what I would do with myself. You are my everything."
My eyes watered. I realized I was crying. He pulled me into his chest and his scent engulfed me. It smelled so soothing, calming.
"Don't cry, love."
"Phillip," I said, "I saw it. I saw it happen, before it happened. You heard me predict it. Please don't tell people; don't tell Bridget."
"I know, and I won't. But you should tell her at some point. There is something special about you. There always has been."
I wasn't sure if I wanted there to be anything special about me. It scared me. I told Phillip that and he shushed me. We laid like that. I in his arms. Him in mine. Together, we fell asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning, after Phillip had left, the snow had stopped falling. It had left a soft, white blanket over the city. I heard the crunching of the snow beneath my feet as I walked down Barton Street. My mind was toiling over the events of the previous evening—the fact that my mother, and even Ian, now knew I wasn't exactly a normal person. I had not seen my mother since the previous evening—she was already gone when I woke up tha
t morning. I was walking in the direction of the tube, to head to class, when a hand touched my shoulder.
"Abigail."
A little shriek came from me and I turned around. I put my hand to my chest to calm myself when I saw it was only Ian. He had his long, brown walking coat buttoned up around him.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he told me. "I was about to stop at your house when I saw you leaving. I wanted to see if you were okay."
I nodded. "I'm fine. But I need to go. I have class, sorry."
I turned, but he spoke up again.
"I know what you are. I know you hear voices. And I think I know where you come from, if you will let me explain."
My whole body froze. He knew about the incident the night before and he knew where I came from. But how?
I turned around again. Ian was closer to me. If I reached out, I could touch him. His eyes—there was recognition there, as if he'd finally achieved something he'd been working toward for a long while.
"You think you know where I come from?"
Ian nodded. "If I'm correct, I work with your father—your biological father. When I found you at the library, I felt like it was you. I've seen pictures of your biological mother and you look exactly like her, except for your hair color. But I still didn't know for sure until last night. That confirmed it for me."
The cold of the weather and the surprise of his words were causing me to shiver.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I don't understand any of this. How do you know about all of this?"
I realized that my eyes were tearing up and I quickly turned my face and wiped them away. Ian put a comforting hand on my shoulder and I looked back at him.
"I really need to go to class," I said.
"I know, but I thought I could—I thought I could take you to your father. What happened to you yesterday, what's been happening, I can't imagine how it all must feel. But I feel that seeing him would be better for you."
