Step Back in Time

by Ali McNamara

  ‘Just coming, George!’ I call. Now don’t you be late, Harry, I think as I go slowly down the stairs. I can’t imagine you’re ever late and today is not the time to try it out for the first time.

  ‘Nice outfit,’ George says as I walk through the side door into the shop. I’m wearing black leather trousers, black boots, and a black and white blouse with a large pussy bow at the neck. ‘Very Princess Di.’

  ‘Am I?’ I say, looking at my reflection in the window of the shop. ‘I hardly think so.’

  ‘Fine-looking woman,’ George says.

  ‘Yes, I suppose she was.’

  ‘Was?’ George questions.

  I look at George. Just when I think I might have it all figured out and I know what George’s part in all this is, he says something like that.

  ‘Oh!’ I say, looking out of the window at the bright red Ferrari that’s just drawn up on the opposite side of the road. ‘Isn’t that Harry?’

  Harry sits tightly in his seat, waiting for me. He doesn’t look like he’s going to be persuaded to move from it easily either.

  ‘What’s Harry doing here?’ George asks, looking through the window. ‘Is he coming too?’

  ‘Just hold on one moment, George,’ I say, opening the shop door and rushing outside.

  ‘Why don’t you come in?’ I call to Harry. ‘I’m not quite ready.’

  ‘I’m fine just here, thanks,’ Harry says, looking straight ahead.

  Damn! This calls for drastic measures.

  ‘Well, I’ll just be a minute.’

  I head back inside the shop, but no sooner have I set foot inside than I’m back out on the pavement again.

  ‘Harry, quick, I need your help, it’s George! I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s laid out on the floor and I don’t think he’s breathing!’

  Harry’s head snaps around, he casts his blue eyes quickly over me, then looks with alarm to the shop.

  ‘Do you think it might be a heart attack?’ I add, in case he needs further encouragement.

  But I needn’t have worried. Without bothering to open the door, Harry has already leapt from his car, and is running over the road straight past me into the shop.

  ‘Where is he?’ he demands, looking at the deserted interior.

  ‘Where’s who?’ George asks, appearing from the back.

  ‘But Jo-Jo s-said…’ Harry stutters, looking confused.

  ‘Sorry!’ I call apologetically from the door. ‘But I had to get you two talking. Now I’m even sorrier for what I’m about to do next!’

  I grab the key to the shop door where George has just put it in readiness to lock up, then I pull the door shut and lock it securely from the outside.

  ‘Jo-Jo!’ Harry shouts, banging on the glass panel window. ‘Open this door at once!’

  ‘No, not until the two of you sort out your differences, or at least try and talk about them.’

  Through the glass I see George shrug as Harry now rattles on the interior door that leads to the stairs up to my flat. I hold up that key in front of the glass and wave it at him.

  I turn away from the shop knowing there’s nothing more I can do for the moment except hope, and move my thoughts on to my other problem – Stu.

  My original idea had been to do something similar to what I was doing to George and Harry right now. But I knew Stu was likely to break the door down if I tried. Live Aid was the event to be at today, whether you worked in the music industry or not. And there was no way Stu would miss out for the sake of a piece of plywood and some glass.

  So I’d called in my favour – from Rocky.

  And like the true gangster he was, he hadn’t asked any questions.

  So right at this minute I was praying that Stu was detained somewhere at Rocky’s pleasure. I’d insisted to Rocky that ‘his boys’ were not to lay a finger on him, just to keep him away from the concert until it was all over, and Rocky, somewhat grudgingly to begin with, had agreed.

  I sigh, and rest my head back against the cool brick wall behind me for a moment. So far so good. Everything seems to be going to plan for once.

  ‘You are still here!’ Ellie calls as a motorbike zooms up next to me with two people riding on it. She lifts her helmet and shakes out her blonde hair. ‘We were ringing and ringing before we left a few minutes ago, but no one answered.’

  ‘Yeah, there’s some stuff going on in the shop, and we’ve been kinda tied up.’

  ‘You’ve been tied up!’ Ellie exclaims. ‘What about poor Stuart? Some bloke tried to mug him earlier outside his flat.’

  The passenger on the bike lifts his helmet now. It’s Stu.

  ‘They did?’ I ask, looking at him in horror.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ellie continues, ‘but luckily I was just pulling up on me bike. I took one of them out with my helmet, and the other I used my pepper spray on. They soon scarpered.’

  ‘She’s my hero,’ Stu says, leaning across the saddle to kiss Ellie. ‘Without you I might not have made it to the concert, and I’m late now already.’

  ‘Yeah, sweetie, we’ll be off in a sec,’ Ellie says, looking lovingly back at him. ‘I just want to make sure Jo-Jo is OK. Is that Harry’s car?’ she asks, looking at the red Ferrari.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply distractedly. What am I going to do now?

  ‘Where is he, then?’

  ‘Er… he’s in the shop talking to George.’ At least, I hope that’s what they’re doing.

  ‘Really? How’d you manage to get Harry Rigby to do that? Those two are sworn enemies, aren’t they?’

  ‘Ellie, sweetheart,’ Stu interrupts, ‘I really have to be going!’

  ‘Sure, sorry. Look, I’ll catch up with you later, Jo-Jo, we have to fly!’

  ‘No!’ I cry, thrusting my hand out to prevent her putting her helmet back on. ‘I mean: you can’t go yet.’

  ‘Why?’ Ellie asks, baffled. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I – I’m worried, that – that there might be a fight!’ I improvise.

  ‘Between Harry and George?’ Ellie laughs. ‘I hardly think so. Besides,’ she winks, ‘I wouldn’t fancy Harry’s chances if there was! Sorry, babe,’ she pulls on her helmet properly this time, ‘but we have to go! My man is an important cog in the Live Aid machine today, and I’m gonna get him there on time if it kills me!’

  It won’t kill you, I think, as I watch them U-turn in the road and zoom off down the street. But it probably will Stu.

  ‘Damn!’ I shout, stamping my foot on the ground in frustration. ‘Damn you, Ellie, and your blasted motorbike.’

  ‘Problem?’ a voice enquires next to me.

  ‘Ringo?’ I ask in astonishment, amazed to see him out of his usual habitat – the club. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Lucy told me what happened,’ he says darkly. ‘Is there somewhere we can go to talk?

  ‘Um…’ I think about the last time Ringo and I ‘talked’. ‘I’d say come into the shop,’ I offer, ‘but there’s some stuff going on in there right now.’

  ‘A quick coffee, then?’ he asks. ‘Over the road? This won’t take long.’ He gestures to a café on the opposite side of the road a little way along from George’s shop.

  ‘Sure,’ I nod. Lucy said that Ringo wasn’t all bad, and as I look dejectedly in the direction of the departed motorbike, I realise there isn’t much I can do now for Stu anyway – but at least I tried.

  ‘You can’t win them all,’ Ringo says, after we’ve walked along the road a little, crossed over on the crossing and entered the café.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, sitting down at a table near the window. I figure that at least if I’m in full view nothing too bad can happen to me. Whatever Lucy said, I still don’t trust him.

  ‘Two coffees, please love,’ Ringo asks the waitress, who appears immediately to take our order. ‘That OK with you, Jo-Jo?’

  ‘Yes, fine thanks,’ I reply, watching him. Even away from the club he’s immaculately dressed as always in a sharp black suit,
white shirt and tie. I almost smile. If you were to ask me to describe what a gangster looks like, Ringo would fit the bill exactly. But I don’t feel much like smiling at the moment. ‘What did you mean before outside? You can’t win them all?’

  ‘When you try to help people,’ Ringo says, looping his big fat fingers together on the table in front of him, ‘it doesn’t always go right.’

  I eye him suspiciously across the table. What is he getting at? I take a quick glance behind me, half expecting two big thugs to be standing in the doorway, ready to dispose of me when Ringo gives them the nod. But there’s no one. The café, like so many other places today, is empty, while everyone watches the Live Aid concert. Even the waitress is watching a little portable television placed prominently on the counter.

  ‘I try and help people all the time,’ he continues. ‘But they’re always suspicious of my motives. People like you, for instance.’

  I swallow hard. What has Lucy been telling him?

  The waitress brings our coffee now. She puts two cups of brown hot liquid on the table, with a jug of milk and some sachets of sugar.

  Ringo lifts the jug and pours a fair amount of the milk into his own coffee, then opens three of the sachets of sugar and tips them into his cup while I silently watch him.

  ‘Like yours black, do you?’ he asks, looking at my untouched coffee. ‘Can’t bear it like that myself. I’m a latte man; caramel is my favourite, gingerbread if it’s available. But until that comes along, this is the best I can do.’ He lifts his cup of coffee and begins to drink from it. His black eyes study me intently while I sit, open-mouthed, opposite him.

  ‘You – you’re one of us?’ I whisper in amazement across the table, looking carefully around me as though the waitress might overhear us from the counter, but she’s too engrossed in Status Quo’s ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’ right now. ‘You must be, to know coffee like that. Only someone from the future would know about lattes and different-flavoured syrups.’

  Ringo takes another sip of his coffee, then puts his cup down.

  ‘I am indeed.’

  ‘But why didn’t you say so before?’

  ‘I didn’t know you were too until Lucy came to me with a story about how you were her new best friend and you really understood what she was going through etc, etc. I figured the rest out from there.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ I ask ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘I’ve been here a long, long time, Jo-Jo,’ Ringo says, not really answering my question. ‘So long, in fact, that I can’t really remember what my life was like before. I help out those that I find in a similar predicament to me, and help them get back on their feet again so they can move on.’

  ‘Like the girls in the club?’ I ask. ‘Although I fail to see how turning some of them into strippers is helping them.’

  ‘Jo-Jo, don’t go all holier-than-thou on me. I’ve had enough of that in the past. It’s not ideal, I know, but the club gives them contacts, they meet people, and with my help they move on in life, get better jobs, without being taken advantage of. And stripping, although we prefer to call it exotic dancing, is as far as it goes, I can assure you.’

  I think about this. ‘That’s what Lucy said. Is that really true, though? No funny business goes on behind the scenes?’

  Ringo puts his hand on his heart. ‘May Archangel Michael strike me down with his mighty sword now if I’m lying – and just between the two of us, he’s one mighty fearsome dude.’

  I can’t figure out if Ringo is being serious now.

  ‘But what I’m trying to tell you is, Jo-Jo, sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose at this game.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sometimes the things you do to try and help people work out for the good, and sometimes they don’t. But when they don’t, it’s because they’re not supposed to. Believe me, I know. I’ve been doing it long enough.’

  I still look blankly at him.

  ‘Take, for instance, your friend Stu. He was always going to get to that concert whatever you did. It’s his destiny. Nothing you can do about it.’

  I look out of the window again. ‘But poor Stu – and now poor Ellie, too. She’s going to suffer as well when he dies. She’s besotted with him.’

  ‘Yes, she will,’ he says, nodding. ‘But it will make her a stronger person for it.’

  ‘But why? Why can’t I just stop all this bad stuff happening to people? What’s the point to all this if no good can come from it?’

  ‘Because, if Stu doesn’t plug that amp in, then someone else will. That is Stu, and now Ellie’s, destiny. You can’t change that. You don’t need to change that. You’re here to do and learn other things. Am I making any sense?’

  I shrug. ‘Sort of…’

  ‘However, if you were to look back down the road,’ he says, turning his gaze out of the window towards Groovy Records, ‘you’d see two old friends who should never have been parted, reunited once more. That’s because of you, Jo-Jo. Apart from what you’ve learnt about yourself, that’s what good you’ve done by being here in 1985.’

  I look out of the window towards the shop. I can’t see inside it properly from here, but as I think about George and Harry being reunited again after all this time, a deep, warm feeling spreads right through me, and I turn back towards Ringo to tell him what I’ve just felt, but he’s gone.

  What? How could he have? I look all around the café, but I’m definitely the only customer in here now, with two cups of coffee on my table, one full where I haven’t touched it, and the other empty. How on earth did he leave without me hearing him? And he’s left me to pay, too – charming! I’m about to get up and settle our bill, when I notice something sitting on the table in front of me; it’s a tiny brooch in the shape of a four-leaf clover.

  How very odd, I think, picking it up to examine it. Why would Ringo leave me a brooch, of all things?

  I put the brooch in my purse and leave a couple of pound notes on the table for the coffees; our waitress is still too involved in the concert to even notice what I’m doing. Taking a quick glance down the road towards the shop again, I can now see Harry and George at the window, probably looking for me to come and unlock the door and let them out now they’ve done their part, made up and become friends again. So I hurriedly leave the shop and rush out on to the zebra crossing, confident, on this exceptionally quiet day on the King’s Road, that there’s unlikely to be any traffic coming.

  As I get about halfway across, I can just see Harry peeking through the glass window of the shop door. He waves, so I lift my hand to wave back, and it’s then that it happens. The white sports car appears from nowhere, screeching around the corner as it always does.

  The last thing I see is the look of horror on Harry’s face as he watches me – and then, as always, it all goes cold.

  Get Back

  Thirty-Four

  I open my eyes, knowing what will greet me before the daylight even has time to hit my pupils.

  There they all are, as always, the small crowd that has gathered above me to see whether I’m alive or dead.

  The question I have to ask myself as I see the relief on their faces as they assume from my movement that I’m alive is: am I?

  I mean, yes, I’m moving, breathing and living like a normal human being, but what sort of human being travels through time? Is this real? Is it a dream? Or is it my latest theory, that I’m a type of angelic being, spending a short time in people’s lives, steering them back on to the right path, then moving on to another lifetime and another set of lives that need shaking up a bit?

  The ice-cold water suddenly cascading down my face suggests that going with option one might be the best course of action right now. After all, how many angels get a glass of water thrown in their face?

  ‘Sorry!’ Ellie apologises. ‘I thought it might help.’

  ‘If I’d fainted, maybe it might have,’ I say, wiping the water away with my hand. ‘But I’ve been hit by a ca
r.’

  ‘You remember?’ she asks, amazed. ‘I thought you might have lost your memory in the accident, and we’d have to play Take That songs at your bedside on a twenty-four-hour loop, and maybe get the band to visit you at the hospital to try and get you to remember.’

  I look up at Ellie now. She’s wearing green jogging bottoms and trainers, and on her top half is a Take That tour sweatshirt with the band’s faces emblazoned across the front.

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary, really. I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure, love?’ a man next to me asks. ‘That was quite a tumble you just took. Bloody driver didn’t stop, did he? I tried to get his registration, but he took off like something from that movie – Speed.’

  ‘Speed was about a bus, not a car, you muppet,’ Ellie says, shaking her head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say to the man, apologising for Ellie. ‘I’m fine, really. I know how to fall,’ I improvise, ‘I do martial arts.’

  ‘Like Jean Claude Van Damme?’ he asks.

  So they know who he is now. ‘Yeah, something like him.’

  ‘I love his movies, I do.’ The man, who’s wearing a Lonsdale sweatshirt and a very tight pair of black and white stonewashed jeans, tries to do a karate kick up in the air, but fails miserably when his jeans prevent him from raising his leg over knee height.

  Mmm, maybe Ellie was right about the muppet bit…

  ‘Anyway…’ I say, making a move to stand up. Ellie grabs my arm, and I assume she’s trying to help me, but then she lets go and grabs a Woolworths carrier bag that’s been lying next to me on the zebra crossing. She immediately whips it open and looks inside.

  ‘Phew,’ she says, looking relieved. ‘You didn’t squash them.’

  ‘Squash what?’ I ask, brushing some dirt from my hooded sweatshirt. As I look down at it I notice a bright yellow double TT insignia printed on the front.

  ‘The limited edition posters we got with the CDs this morning, dummy! Look,’ she says, pulling two rolled-up tubes of paper from the bag, then to my horror she actually kisses one. ‘They’re still pristine!’