by Ali McNamara
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not stuck in a year I don’t want to be, I’m stuck in a year I do want to be.’
‘I’m not sure I follow?’
Billy sighs. ‘I’m from 2004, Jo-Jo. Back then I was a dead-end singer in a pretty poor Take That tribute band. I used to dream of seeing the band live because I never got to the first time around – let’s just say I was in a difficult relationship then and he was quite controlling.’ Billy closes his eyes as if trying to block out the memories. ‘But anyhow,’ he says, ‘one day in 2004 I was involved in a nasty incident with a pair of kitchen scissors.’ He winces.
‘Oh my! Did you fall on them?’
‘No, I was stabbed by them.’
‘You were stabbed!’ I exclaim. ‘Bloody hell, Billy, what an awful way to go.’
Billy makes a shushing sound with his hand. ‘No, it wasn’t pleasant. But I don’t remember much about it, to be honest. One minute I’m cooking spag bol in my kitchen, and the next, poof, I’m here!’
‘Did they catch whoever did it?’
‘No idea, babe, don’t tell you that, do they? However, I had the last laugh over whoever did stab me because I absolutely adore where I am now! Don’t want to go back ever.’
‘You don’t want to go back?’ I ask, astounded by this admission. ‘Why?’
‘Because I bloody love it here amongst all this!’ He holds up his hands and gesticulates at the arena. ‘I get to live all this for real this time – the hype, the concerts, the TV appearances. When they break up that’s it, isn’t it – all gone. No more Take That.’ Billy visibly deflates in front of me, as though someone has released some of his air – the air that keeps him alive.
A wonderful warm feeling rushes through me as I smile at him. ‘Billy, I have some very good news for you.’
‘What?’ he asks, his head lifting a little.
‘Take That get back together.’
Billy looks at me for a split second like I’ve said something in a foreign language he doesn’t understand. Then, as it begins to register, his eyes narrow.
‘Don’t mess with me, Jo-Jo. This is important stuff to me.’
‘I’m not! I’m from 2013, and not only do Take That reform in 2005 as a four-piece, and then tour twice on their own to sell-out arenas, but in 2010 they tour again with Robbie!’
Billy looks like I’ve just told him he’s won ten million pounds on the lottery.
‘No way!’ He flaps his hands up and down excitedly. ‘When you said in the arena you hoped things would get better for them after the split I thought you were just being optimistic. I can’t believe this!’
‘I’m not finished yet, it gets better.’
‘It can’t. It can’t!’ He begins to bob up and down now too, as well as flapping his hands, so he looks like a fledgling chick trying to take off from a nest.
‘Gary Barlow becomes a celebrity in his own right when he becomes a judge on a TV show called The X Factor.’
‘Oh my days! I think I’m going to faint,’ Billy says, and he actually looks as if he might. He puts his hand out to the wall behind us for support. ‘That X Factor show had just started before I left. Is it still running?’
‘Yes and it’s massive. And so is Gary. He’s a household name in his own right now, Billy, you’ve got so much to look forward to!’
‘Jo-Jo, you’ve made my night – no, my life!’ Billy gives me a big hug. ‘Now what can I do for you? Are you happy to stay here in 1994, or do you want to leave?’
‘I want to leave,’ I reply almost immediately, then I think about Harry. ‘Although this is the first time I’ve ever felt like I might want to stay on.’
‘Harry?’ Billy asks knowingly.
I nod. ‘But it’s not the first time I’ve met him…’ and I tell Billy as quickly as I can what’s been happening to me.
‘How very romantic,’ Billy says when I’ve finished. ‘The two of you constantly drawn together like that over all those decades, and yet you don’t know why?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’
I haven’t really thought of it as romantic before. I’ve been so busy trying to figure out why I’m doing this, and how I’m going to get back that I haven’t stopped to think that to be constantly drawn into the life of the same person is quite nice too. All right, it’s more than just nice: it’s pretty damn wonderful.
‘You’d think there’d be something that links it all,’ Billy says. ‘These sorts of occurrences are rarely completely random in my experience.’
I hesitate. ‘I think there might be a Beatles link that runs through all this. Because everywhere I go they seem to show up, from their songs to their lyrics.’
‘The Beatles, hmm…’ Billy says, thinking. ‘That’s very interesting, considering what’s about to happen.’
‘Why? What’s relevant about tonight?’
‘Come with me and you’ll see in the next few minutes,’ Billy says, taking my hand as Ellie now reappears, and it’s time to head back into the main auditorium. ‘Mr Barlow will tell us what we need to know. You just wait and see, Jo-Jo.’
As the lights dim, the screams grow louder, and a moving platform lit like a Christmas tree extends out into the audience above our heads. Then, like five blue bullets fired out of a dancing gun, Take That appear on the rooftop stage to begin the next part of their show.
They’ve worn some pretty snazzy stage outfits throughout the show so far, but now as they wave down at their adoring crowd, they’re wearing bright blue single-breasted suits, which look extremely familiar to me.
And it’s as the first few bars of their next song begin, I realise why, when I immediately recognise the Beatles hit ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’.
‘See, I told you,’ Billy says, grinning at me; he waves his hand up in the air. ‘Take That does the Beatles!’
I stand and watch, astonished, as they dance and sing their way through a medley of ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’, ‘Hard Day’s Night’, ‘She Loves You’, and ‘I Feel Fine’.
‘I can’t believe this!’ I say out loud, forgetting that Ellie doesn’t know my secret. ‘I never knew Take That sang any Beatles songs on tour!’
‘What do you mean?’ Ellie shouts, her eyes still trained up on the stage above us. ‘Not just on tour, is it? This medley is the B-side of ‘Everything Changes’. How can you not know that? We played it often enough when it came out!’
‘Yeah, yeah, I forgot,’ I mumble, still watching the boys energetically make their way through their songs. But when Jason launches into ‘Get Back’, it’s as if I’m the only person in the whole of Wembley listening to him.
‘Hey, that’s like you!’ Billy shouts in my ear, while Ellie is leaping up and down on my other side. ‘He’s singing “Get Back”, Jo-Jo, “get back to where you once belonged”.’
Jason repeats this lyric over and over, as he continues his lively rendition of the song up on the stage above us. While I stand absolutely still, not moving a muscle. Even my own name is part of a Beatles lyric – of course I’ve realised this before, but I’ve just not considered it in the context of what has been happening to me lately.
It’s time to get back, Jo-Jo, I repeat in my head, time to get back to where you once belonged.
It’s a message.
It’s time.
‘Hey, where are you going?’ I hear Ellie call, as I begin to push my way along the row of fans still leaping around and singing along to the songs. ‘It’s not over yet.’
But it is for me. It’s time for me to go back. But I must find George first before I do.
I fight my way out of the noisy, packed auditorium and into the empty Wembley corridors outside. The only people milling about are stewards and a few staff still manning some of the refreshment stands. Ignoring their shouts of concern, I run past them towards the nearest exit. Then I let myself out into the fresh air, take a few deep breaths, and stop for a moment to decide on my next move.
There are a fe
w taxis and buses arriving, ready to collect the thousands of exuberant fans that will burst forth from these same doors in a little while, and a few concerned-looking parents already beginning to hover, too, ready to retrieve their excited daughters when they eventually emerge, and take them safely back home.
‘Miss McKenzie?’ I jump when I hear the small voice call my name.
I turn around and have to look down to see the owner of the voice.
‘Paul!’ I say in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’
It’s the young boy from my class, the one who helped clear up my mess, and then stayed back to ask me questions about the probability of time travel.
‘We’re here to collect my sister,’ he explains. ‘She’s here with my mum.’
A man steps forward now; it’s John the caretaker from the school.
‘Hello, Miss McKenzie,’ he says, smiling. ‘Is the show over already?’
‘No, I just needed to leave early, that’s all.’ I look between John and Paul now. There’s something about the two of them that’s suddenly very familiar.
‘That’s a shame,’ John says. ‘My wife tells me the finale is often the best part. When everything comes together, you might say.’
‘Yes, indeed. Look, it’s lovely to see you both, but I really have to dash —’
‘Wait, I have something for you before you go,’ Paul says, pulling his rucksack off his shoulders and unzipping it. He pulls out a small book and passes it to me.
‘What is it?’ I ask, thinking it’s some homework he’s forgotten to hand in. But the book is too small to be that, and the dim light outside makes it difficult for me to make out what’s on the cover.
He looks up at his father, who nods his encouragement.
‘My dad gave you a Beano many years ago, and now it’s my turn to give you a gift.’
I look at Paul’s face carefully now, and then at John’s. Now I see what’s familiar: John looks exactly like the little boy I saved from getting hit on the crossing in 1963.
‘You’re the boy from the zebra crossing?’ I ask John in amazement.
He nods. ‘You saved me that day, Jo-Jo. I didn’t run back out into the road because of you, and if it wasn’t for that, this little fella wouldn’t be here now.’ He ruffles Paul’s curly hair.
‘So we can all mix together in the same book?’ I wonder out loud. ‘Sometimes the pages fit together, and the words start to make sense again.’ I look down at the book I now hold in my hand. ‘What is this?’ I ask, trying to see what it says in the light.
‘It’s a Bible,’ Paul replies.
‘Can I ask why?’ I look between them, not really expecting a straight answer. I’m used to that by now.
‘Just take it,’ John says. ‘You’re on a magical mystery tour, Jo-Jo, It won’t be long before you can work it out.’
I smile at them both. ‘Shouldn’t that be, before we can work it out?’
John nods. ‘You will, Jo-Jo. We all do eventually.’
Suddenly the big doors behind us open, and I realise that any minute now thousands of girls and women are going to come flooding out into the area we’re standing in.
I wave goodbye to John and Paul and I begin to run down Wembley Way, the long walkway that leads from Wembley Arena to the tube station; I need to get there before the station and the trains become packed out with fans. As I run, I smile to myself. John and Paul – I should have known; two of the Beatles, and some would say one of the greatest song-writing duos ever. It had to be them, didn’t it?
It had been the Beatles all along. I knew that now. I’d simply refused to recognise the links because I’d chosen to continue a childhood anxiety into my adult years. It wasn’t the Fab Four that I hated at all. It was their association with my youth, the years of travelling, feeling unsettled, and never being in control of my own destiny. The clues had been there all the time and I just hadn’t seen them.
I climb onto a nearly empty tube train and sit and piece it all together as I travel back towards the King’s Road. Apart from all the songs and lyrics that constantly kept appearing throughout my time travelling, it was John who left me the Beano comic back in 1963; George who gave me the football boots in 1977; Ringo, the four-leaf-clover brooch in 1985; and now Paul – a Bible here in 1994. All four of these funny little gifts that I carried with me through each decade have been given to me by a different Beatle. So this must be it, then, I must have all the clues now; there were only four band members. So what happens now? What do I have to do before I can return to my own life back in 2013?
There is only one person who can help me.
George.
Forty-Four
Finally I’m able to exit the underground and emerge up on to the now familiar King’s Road.
As I run past all the shops, I don’t have time to notice anything in their windows. I’ve often stopped and had a giggle to myself at the fashions or the music or the latest gadgets being advertised in the windows many of the times I’ve travelled along this street over the last few decades. But not this time. This time I’m certain I know what I need, and I know just where I’m going to find it.
I have to wait for the traffic to pause and allow me to cross as I arrive at the zebra crossing opposite the World’s End pub, and as I stand, hopping from foot to foot impatiently, I see the doors of the pub open and two figures appear, chatting to one another.
‘Harry, George!’ I call excitedly, waving my arm. ‘It’s me, Jo-Jo, over here!’
But my voice is drowned out by the noise of the traffic, so they don’t appear to see or hear me.
Damn! I watch helplessly as they begin to walk away together down the road. I need to speak to both of you. I wait desperately for a break in the traffic. Why is no one stopping for me tonight? What’s up with these damn lights? I look up at the big orange balls beside me.
Suddenly the road quietens, so I take my chance and dash over the crossing, still looking along the road where Harry and George are now rapidly disappearing into the distance.
But I should know better than to trust this crossing whenever it quietens suddenly. Because as quickly as my feet have made contact with the familiar black and white stripes, so does the now equally familiar white car shoot round the corner and everything goes cold…
The Long and Winding Road
Forty-Five
I open my eyes and, as usual, the first thing I see is blue sky as the sun shines down, warming my horizontal body.
So I’m definitely not still in 1994, or it would be stars in the night sky I’d be seeing now, I think, as I look round, expecting to see the usual crowd of onlookers gathered to discover my fate.
But there’s not a soul to be seen anywhere, just an empty zebra crossing, and me.
I sit up.
The road is deserted too. Odd, the King’s Road is never clear of traffic.
Suddenly a black cab skids round the corner and screeches to a halt at the edge of the crossing.
‘Oi!’ the cabbie shouts, leaning out of his window. ‘Do you want to get yourself killed? Get your arse up and out of the road before I drive over the top of you anyway!’
I quickly crawl to my feet, and stagger over to the side of the pavement.
‘Pissed at this time of the morning, love?’ he shouts as he drives slowly past me. ‘You should be ashamed of yerself! Go home and get cleaned up before anyone sees ya, that’s my advice. You don’t look like you belong on the streets, that’s for sure.’
I examine my clothes as he drives off down the road. I’m wearing a navy blue leather jacket, white T-shirt, red jeans and bright red pumps. The outfit I’d seen in the window of Peter Jones just before I visited George in his shop to deliver his accounts? But I didn’t go in and look at it because I didn’t think I’d be able to carry it off…
That means I must be back! I’m back in 2013!
‘I’m back!’ I shout out to the empty road, jumping up in the air. ‘You told me to get back and I did! I’m here
!’
I look down at my side, and I swear I’ve never been more pleased to see a Mulberry tote bag in my whole life. I pull it from my shoulder and thrust it open, desperately hoping my iPhone will be in there. After a few seconds of burrowing, relief floods through me. It is!
I’m about to make my first phone call, when I see the other contents of my bag: a Beano, a pair of football boots, a four-leaf-clover brooch and a Bible.
For just a few moments, when I was leaping up and down on the pavement, I wondered if it had all been a dream; in fact, all the time I’d been time travelling a tiny part of me had always wondered if maybe when I’d been hit by the original white car, I’d been so badly injured that I’d slipped into a coma, and my experiences were hallucinations brought on by a strong hospital medication.
But now, seeing all the items I’ve collected still lying in the bottom of my bag, I know it isn’t a dream. It’s been real. I push the screen on my iPhone.
After a few rings, there’s a muffled, ‘Hello?’
‘Ellie? Is that you?’ I ask, never so relieved to hear her Scouse accent.
‘Of course it’s me, Jo-Jo! What the bloody hell do you want at… at 5.25 in the morning?’
I’m a little taken aback. Even though a version of Ellie has been my friend through four decades, this Ellie is only my assistant, my employee.
‘Is everything OK?’ I ask. ‘With the business?’
‘What? Why on earth do you suddenly want to know that? Of course it is.’ Ellie sighs at the other end of the phone. ‘Look, Jo-Jo, you agreed if I took on this role of managing the business while you took a break, that you’d let me get on with it. I’m perfectly capable, you know.’
Ellie is managing my business while I take a break? No, that can’t be right; I never take breaks.
‘Yes, I’m sure you are.’ I’m trying to think quickly. ‘It’s just… I worry.’
‘You always have done, Jo-Jo, too much, that’s why you need this time-out. You need to find a life outside the business, let someone else take control for a while. I thought we agreed on that when you first suggested it?’
