The '86 Fix: A 1980s Time Travel Novel

by Keith A Pearson

  I reach the end of the room and take a right turn, back down the parallel aisle. More games, more names: Joust, Tron, Paperboy, Track & Field, Spy Hunter, and Cosmic Guerrilla. I’m gutted that I hadn’t had the foresight to bring any money with me, so all I can do is peer over the shoulders of kids playing the games, an action that irritated me when I was the one playing. I watch for a few minutes before the player notices my presence and shoots me an angry glance. After thirty minutes of video game voyeurism, I’m on the verge of being asked to leave by the management, or being attacked by a gang of pre-pubescent teenagers. Neither appeals so I reluctantly leave Astro Arcade.

  I squint at the bright daylight bathing the street and take a glance at my watch. 12.40pm. Tessa’s house is only a ten-minute walk away, but if I drag my heels a little, I should only be a few minutes early. I swerve down a side street past a row of Victorian terraced houses, the noise of the main road ebbing away behind me. I turn left at the end of the street and duck down an alleyway which leads out behind the railway station. I plod up the steps of the footbridge which crosses the line and stand at the top for a few minutes to kill time. The platform is about fifty yards beyond the bridge and I watch as a man in a dark suit appears from the ticket office. He hurries across the platform to one of the blue and white British Rail carriages, pulls open the door and slams it behind him with a loud clunk. A whistle sounds and the train pulls away. Seconds tick by as the train disappears into the distance and the station is silent once more.

  I’m not sure why, but I’ve always had a fascination with trains. I’ve never had to commute to work by rail, so most of the journeys I embarked upon were for pleasure. Some of my earliest memories were of Mum and I taking trips to visit relatives, or an occasional day out to the coast. As I hit my teens, I became a little more independent, and together with my small band of friends, we’d make a monthly foray into a neighbouring town by train. It was never really about the destination, the excitement was always in the journey.

  My reminiscing is brought to an abrupt halt as a chill wind whips across the bridge. I check my watch and realise five minutes have passed. Time to move on. I pad down the steps and cross the road. I pass a red phone box and I’m tempted to inspect it further, but time is against me. I stroll down anonymous streets, lined with equally anonymous houses. If it were not for the cars parked along the kerb, there wouldn’t be any obvious signs I’m anywhere but the present day. Although when I look closer, it’s not the things that are present which suggest a difference, it’s the things that are missing. There are no satellite dishes bolted to the walls of the houses. There’s no collection of coloured wheelie bins stood outside each house, and despite the impending World Cup in Mexico, there are no England flags draped out of bedroom windows.

  I eventually turn the corner into Tessa’s street and glance at my watch. 12.57pm. Close enough. I approach the gravel driveway and compose myself. Unlike the last time I visited this house, I don’t feel nervous, just a little apprehensive maybe. This should be perfectly straightforward — get in, sort out Kevin’s computer, exchange a few pleasantries and leave. How difficult can that be? I’m forty-six years of age and Tessa is a sixteen year-old schoolgirl for gods-sake. I’m in control this time and I need to keep reminding myself of that fact. Stick to the plan and within twenty minutes, I’ll be back outside with my virginity and emotional faculties both fully preserved. Easy.

  I crunch across the driveway and rap the brass knocker on the front door. Seconds pass, the door swings open, and there stands Tessa in her white jeans and cropped yellow t-shirt.

  “You’re the early bird aren’t you? Come on in.”

  She looks every bit as delicious as I remember. Maybe this won't be as easy as I’d envisaged.

  6

  One common thread that ran through all my school reports was the phrase, “quiet and polite nature”. Beyond my small group of friends, I was a solitary, shy teenager. I was the type of kid that would pass under the radar, anonymous. At the time I always considered it to be a curse, but as I stand in the grand hallway of Tessa’s house, I can now see how it might be an advantage. Tessa has no idea what I’m really like, what personality lurks beneath my bland facade. The only words I think she’s ever heard me say, beyond our brief conversation in the newsagents, is my name in registration. I don’t have to worry about her thinking I’m acting out of character, because she doesn’t even know I have a character.

  “Afternoon Tessa,” I smile confidently.

  She invites me upstairs and I follow her up, averting my eyes from her backside this time. We cross the landing and she raps on Kevin’s door before opening it. I follow Tessa in and she introduces me to Kevin. I say hello and Tessa disappears from the room. So far everything is panning-out as I remember. I consider bypassing the chore of asking Kevin to show me what the problem with his computer is, but I want to keep everything as close to the original timeline as possible. Kevin eventually types his incorrect command and I go through the motions of asking him for the operating manual which I open and stare at blankly for a few moments. I put the manual down, type the correct command, hit the play button on the tape recorder, and then the ‘Enter’ key.

  As the loading graphic appears, Kevin’s face breaks into a grin as he launches into his clapping and whooping routine. I stand back and watch him for a few moments. I never knew it at the time, but clearly Kevin is autistic. I’ve seen a few TV programmes about kids with the condition, but my knowledge doesn’t stretch much further than a layman’s understanding. I consider raising the subject with Tessa, but it could attract some difficult questions to which I have no answers. At least I’ve helped him sort out his computer, and that’s as much as I can do for him.

  On cue, Tessa returns to the bedroom and suddenly she’s got me in an embrace, hugging me tightly. There wasn’t much I could do to evade the hug so I go with it. Then something more troubling becomes apparent. The mind itself might be forty-six years old, but the physiology of everything else in my head is most definitely that of a teenage male. Hormones rush and messages are received; prepare for engagement. I feel a stirring in my groin and break from Tessa’s embrace. She looks at me oddly, but quickly turns her attention to Kevin. Words are exchanged and I allay his concerns about loading other games. He leaps from his chair and throws his arms around me.

  “Thank you friend,” he grins.

  I smile back at him. The unrecognisable feeling returns but I now know what it is. Empathy. Kevin might well have siblings, but whatever world he’s locked into, I can imagine it’s a lonely place. He breaks from our hug and darts off, leaving me alone with Tessa.

  “Got any plans for the rest of the afternoon?” she asks.

  I take an exaggerated glance at my watch, without actually looking at the time.

  “Yeah sorry, I’ve got to be somewhere at two o’clock,” I reply with mock reluctance.

  “Great. You can spare half-an-hour then. Let’s go to my room.”

  Bugger. Why did I say two o’clock? Still, it’s nowhere near enough time for a repeat of our first liaison.

  “Sure, but I really have to shoot in half-an-hour.”

  Tessa smiles and leads me across the landing to her bedroom. I hear the front door slam in the hallway as her mum and Kevin leave the house.

  We enter Tessa’s pink lair, and she takes a seat on the bed. She pats the duvet with her hand to suggest I join her. I’m letting this get out of control and I need to stand my ground.

  “Actually Tessa, I should get going. I don’t want to be late.”

  She looks up at me with steely determination in her eyes. She stands back up and positions herself less than two feet away from me.

  “Don’t be such a square, Craig. Sit down, I’ll be back in a minute with a little surprise that might change your mind.”

  Before I can say a word, she gives me a knowing smile, turns and leaves the room. I hear another door open and close on the landing. I assume she’s gone into the bath
room. Time for subtlety is over, I’ve got to get out of here. I sneak across the landing and tip-toe down the stairs, the squeaky floorboards signalling my escape. I cross the hallway and twist the knob on the front door, but it doesn’t budge. I twist it again with more force, but there is absolutely no give. Panic rises as I squat down to inspect it and immediately spot the keyhole in the centre. It’s locked. Fuck.

  Beyond the fact I’m now locked in the house with a predatory teenage girl, the other concern is that this doesn’t fit with the original timeline — I was able to leave the house unhindered the first time. What’s changed? I glance at my watch. 1.17pm. I think back over the last twenty minutes, trying to determine what I might have done differently that would result in the door now being locked. For all my social inadequacies, one thing I'm blessed with is an acutely analytical mind. The reason I was so good at writing computer code is that I can look at a page of data and instinctively spot an anomaly. This skill is also useful in other situations and my mind quickly determines the anomaly between the two timelines — I arrived three minutes earlier this time. Maybe last time Tessa’s mum was in a hurry and forgot to lock the door. Maybe those three extra minutes were just enough for her not to feel rushed. Whatever theories I consider, the fact remains I can’t leave the house without a key.

  I sneak back up the stairs and sit down on Tessa’s bed. This is the sort of situation it's easy to excuse yourself from in the future. You say you’ve received a text or an email and have to be somewhere urgently. Sadly, not an option open to me in 1986. My mind contemplates other escape routes including the big window across the room. I’m about to check the viability of that option when Tessa saunters back into the room and closes the door behind her. The white jeans and yellow cropped t-shirt are gone, and she’s now wearing her silky pink dressing gown. This isn't going to plan. Maybe fate is predetermined, and no matter what I do, some things in life are simply inevitable. Has fate decreed that I absolutely must suffer forty seconds of unsatisfactory sex with Tessa? I shake that thought from my head. Just because there is a very attractive, near-naked, and sexually charged young woman stood before me, I don’t have to do anything about it. Do I?

  As Tessa edges towards me I curse myself. Why did I put myself in this position? All I had to do was sort out the bloody computer and leave. Coming into this room was a huge mistake and all that has changed is that we’ve lost the twenty minutes of small talk and some clumsy dancing. The actual part of the afternoon that destroyed my life looks set to take place just like it did before. To emphasise my lack of control, Tessa steps forward, so she's only a few feet in front of me. I know what happens next. Right on cue, she teases the cord undone and the dressing gown falls open. As much as I want to look, it feels so wrong. I raise my eyes to meet the sultry expression on Tessa’s face. With a glint in her eye, she sweeps the dressing gown from her shoulder and it falls to the floor. Apart from the odd visit to a strip joint, the only naked female body I’ve come this close to in the last few decades is Megan’s. The pert, nubile body in front of me is slightly more enticing than that of my middle-aged wife. My penis agrees.

  At this point, any self-respecting man of my years would kindly, but firmly, tell the young woman that this should stop. He would pick up the dressing gown and cover her modesty. He would reassuringly say that while she is beautiful, it would be morally wrong for a man of his years to take advantage of an impressionable girl. I’m ashamed to say that my thoughts are heading off on a different tangent. It’s a feeble defence, but when you’re starving, it doesn’t matter how forbidden the fruit might be. I haven’t had so much as a grape in months.

  I’m not proud to admit it, but I’m actually trying to justify other ways I could work this situation. While my mind is that of a middle-aged man, I am physically and legally a sixteen year old boy. We are both over the age of consent so I wouldn’t really be doing anything wrong, would I? It’s tempting, and that temptation is being fuelled by one egotistical justification — I’m not a virgin now, at least not mentally. There will not be a repeat of my original woeful performance because this time I can call upon all that sexual experience gained from my years of marriage.

  Like most couples, Megan and I went through the three traditional phases of sexual congress. There were those awkward first months where you’re conscious of being naked in front of a virtual stranger or acting like a deviant. You tend to be fairly conservative but the sex is exciting because it’s with somebody new. During the second phase, you overcome any shyness and start to be a little more adventurous. You learn from your mistakes and while the frequency of sex might decline from phase one, the quality and variety is usually better. The third phase is the golden years. This is the period when you perfect the skills learnt in phase two. Boundaries are pushed, inhibitions are lost and you become finely attuned to the needs of your partner. The frequency is down to just once or twice a month but when it happens, it’s usually exceptional. Unfortunately, I have discovered there is a fourth phase — angry, resentful wanking in the bathroom.

  My eyes fall from Tessa’s face and I savour the sight of her naked body. The temptation to pull her onto the bed and demonstrate all those years of experience is now overwhelming. There would be no humiliating re-run of the first time, nor the crushing emotional turmoil afterwards. Maybe this is an opportunity to create a different path where I have a future with Tessa. Surely if we have mind-blowing sex, the last thing she’ll want to do on Monday morning is chuck me? Perhaps we’ll start dating and I’ll pass my exams with flying colours. Perhaps I’ll go on to university and have the career I yearned for, with Tessa stood by my side. And if I’m dating her, she won’t have that awkward afternoon with Marcus in a few weeks’ time. It does seem a viable alternative to the scenario where I run away.

  Of course, this alternative plan is formulated in a split second and I haven’t thought it through. This amazing, improbable, inexplicable opportunity to rewrite my history is too precious to treat with such reckless flippancy. But with hormones raging through my body and an erect penis desperate to escape my jeans, all sense of logic and reasoning are quickly quashed. I need clear thinking but my mind is stifled by Tessa’s sweet, fruity perfume filling my nostrils and her perfect naked body filling my vision. I can’t help myself.

  I get up from the bed and stand directly in front of Tessa. Our eyes lock and I give her a confident smile. I place my index finger on her shoulder and slowly draw it across her smooth skin, delicately meandering the tip over her breasts and along her stomach, dropping further and skirting the top of her abdominal area. She closes her eyes and purrs. I trace my finger towards her taut buttocks as I shift a step to my right, then forwards, deftly turning around so I’m stood behind her. The entire manoeuvre happens in a split second, and before Tessa knows it, I’m gently kissing the nape of her neck. I return a hand to her stomach and tease my finger up and down. Her purr becomes louder and I can’t help feeling just a little smug. I am a love god.

  I am totally in the zone as I run the tip of my tongue from her neck to the top of her back. My hands move in unison to cup her pert breasts, fingertips teasing her nipples. Tessa’s purr becomes a gentle groan as I bend my knees slightly and run my tongue down her spine. I drop lower until I’m kissing the sensitive spot just between the lower back and buttocks. This used to drive Megan crazy and I assume it has the same effect on Tessa as her legs tremble, her approval becoming increasingly vocal.

  I give it a few moments and then fall to my knees, my hands dropping from her breasts to her hips. I run my tongue further south, passing over her buttocks and down the back of her thighs. Slow, deliberate strokes of my wet tongue gliding over her delicate skin. She shuffles her feet a few inches further apart, an invitation for my tongue to move towards her inner thighs, getting closer to where she wants me. All in good time Tessa.

  My seduction is working like a dream, unlike the nightmare of embarrassed fumbling the first time round. I plan my next move — to get h
er lying on the bed so I can ratchet things up a notch. I want to deploy every weapon in my sexual armoury. I want to do more than merely satisfy Tessa, I want to blow her mind, to leave her lying on the bed, drenched in sweat and quivering with orgasmic exhaustion. I want her to feel like she’s never felt before, or ever likely to again.

  But as I move my tongue back up her body, something on Tessa’s bed catches my eye, causing me to freeze.

  7

  Propped up against the wall at the end of the bed is a pink teddy bear, about ten inches tall with a sparkly red bow around its neck. I don’t recall noticing it the first time I was here, but why would I? It’s just a teddy bear, although in this instance it isn’t just a teddy bear — it’s a harbinger of shame, staring at me through judgemental beady eyes. A muffled voice in my head tries to speak, but I really don’t want to hear what it has to say. Whether it’s the teddy bear, or just my conscience talking, I’ve had enough craziness for one day and a schizophrenic episode is the last thing I need. I try to stifle the voice and return my attention to Tessa’s naked body, but an inevitable question breaks through.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Craig?”

  My tongue is still hanging from my mouth and pressed against Tessa’s shoulder. I regain my composure. I’m not going to stop just because a pink teddy bear has the temerity to question my motives. I continue to move my tongue across Tessa’s shoulder as I fire an answer back across my mind.