Step Back in Time

by Ali McNamara

  I suggested this?

  ‘And you know I’ll look after the place. So just let me shoulder some of the stress for you for a while, that’s what friends are for.’

  I physically jump a little on the pavement when Ellie uses the word friends. When I left 2013 Ellie had only been working for me for a few months – she was hardly a friend back then. Of course, I think of her like that now after all the adventures we’ve had together, but Ellie doesn’t know that, does she?

  ‘We’ve been through so much together, Jo-Jo,’ she continues, ‘and you’ve taught me a lot. This is my chance to prove to you just what I’m capable of, and to give you something back for all you’ve given to me.’

  This is like a whole new Ellie I’m talking to; she’s so much more confident and in control. Maybe this is an alternative 2013 I’ve come back to? It would explain my new clothes… But this Ellie is definitely right about one thing: I do need a life outside of my business, my adventures have certainly taught me that. When I was in 1963 I certainly realised I was working too hard and that I needed a life away from the office.

  I take a deep breath and make a decision.

  Ellie will look after my business; I know she will. I trust her. She’s my friend now. And she sounds so different – it’s almost like she’s been on a life-changing adventure herself.

  ‘You’re right, Ellie,’ I say with confidence. ‘I know you’ll do a great job. I’m so sorry to have woken you, I didn’t realise it was so early. Just go back to bed.’

  ‘That’s OK, sweetie, it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t worry a little bit. But it’s not worth going back to sleep now. I’ll just stick a bit of music on and I’ll soon be awake and running!’

  ‘Can I guess who’s on your playlist?’ I ask, smiling into my phone.

  ‘If you like? Bet you don’t guess many of them right, though. I have quite an eclectic taste in music.’

  ‘I’ll give it a go. Let me see now, I think there’ll be a bit of Take That, for starters.’

  ‘Yep, you know I like the boys – I’ve never hidden that from you.’

  ‘Maybe some Madonna?’

  ‘Yeah, Madge is in there too, I can’t deny it.’

  ‘The Beatles…’

  ‘Ooh, good going, Jo-Jo, you know me better than I thought! Yes, the Fab Four are classics, you can’t go wrong with them. Bet there’s one you can’t get though, bit random, this.’

  I’m grinning now.

  ‘The Bay City Rollers, would it be?’

  ‘Jo-Jo McKenzie, how the bloomin’ heck do you know that? Nobody knows my guilty pleasure of the music world, absolutely nobody. How do you?’

  ‘Inside info,’ I laugh. ‘Go back to bed, Ellie, and enjoy your iPod for a while, you deserve it!’

  ‘Mmm, I will. Just do one thing for me, Jo-Jo, will you?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Ring your mother about her party! She keeps badgering me about it and I can’t keep putting her off!’

  Some things never change.

  I hang up the phone to Ellie, and stare at it for a few seconds, then I go back to Contacts. It’s early, but she always used to be a dawn riser.

  The phone rings a few times before an answerphone cuts in and my mother’s clipped voice repeats her familiar message in my ear. Perhaps things have changed a little?

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ I say. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I will be coming to your anniversary party, and yes, I’ll turn up in fancy dress if that’s what you both want.’ A memory suddenly washes over me of the 1977 Penny hugging me in her kitchen and calling me ‘her girl’ as I stand all alone in the deserted street. ‘And Mum, I’m sorry if I’ve been a pain about calling you back, or about anything else really. Especially your Beatles records. I don’t really hate Paul McCartney, and if Dad goes up in the attic and looks in the big blue suitcase he’ll find your copy of “Mull of Kintyre” there. Don’t ask me how it got there. But that’s where you’ll find it.’ I pause again. ‘Oh, and Mum, I don’t say it very often, but I do love you and Dad very much, you know, and… well I miss you both too.’

  I hang up and find I’m breathing rather heavily. But as I put my phone back in my bag, I find I’m smiling. That felt good. In fact, both those phone calls felt good. I’m starting to like this new 2013; I feel lighter, and more carefree.

  As I walk along the street, I realise it’s a bit early for George to be in his shop yet. Perhaps it’s time, at last, to spend a few minutes enjoying my longed-for paper cup filled to the brim with sweet, frothy, syrup-filled coffee while I wait for George to arrive to open up. But as I come level with the old shop I’ve seen in so many lifetimes before, I have to stop and pause at the window of Groovy Records.

  The display is a little more modern than I’m used to seeing in George’s window. But that could be, of course, because the last few times I’ve looked in here it’s been in a different decade. No, there is something unusual about this one – an artistic flair that George’s displays always lacked.

  I stand studying the window. There’re still the same LPs and singles there always used to be; a mixture of sixties, seventies, eighties and nineties music, recorded on to vinyl, cassette tape or CD depending on the decade they were released. But they’ve now been joined by more modern music – CDs from bands like One Direction and The Wanted jostle for pride of place with the elder statesmen of the music industry.

  ‘Anything you’re looking for in particular?’ a familiar voice asks.

  I look back at the reflection in the window. George!

  Or is it? I turn to inspect the young man standing next to me. He’s wearing running clothes and trainers, and beneath his short-cropped dark brown hair, his eyes are identical to George’s, the exact same shade of blue. But is it George? No, it can’t be. This is younger than George ever looked, even in 1963!

  ‘George?’ I ask hesitantly.

  ‘You’re looking for my grandfather? I’m afraid he’s not here any more.’

  ‘Has he retired?’

  ‘No,’ he says and his head drops a little. ‘I’m afraid he passed away a few months ago.’

  My heart drops to my stomach faster than a lead weight.

  ‘George is dead?’ I repeat unnecessarily.

  The young man nods. ‘I’m sorry. He went peacefully, though, right here in the shop, listening to his favourite band.’

  ‘The Beatles,’ I reply, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. You obviously knew him well.’

  I nod slowly, trying to take it in. I thought I’d known George well. But he never talked much about a family, let alone a grandson, so how much about George’s life away from this shop did I actually know? I’d always been too busy with my own problems whenever I’d seen him.

  I immediately feel bad. George was always such a great source of comfort and hope for me, wherever, or whoever, I was. And I always assumed he would be here for me at this shop with a cup of tea and some words of wisdom. I’d never considered the possibility he might not be here one day.

  ‘Are you OK?’ George’s grandson asks. ‘This has obviously come as a shock to you.’

  ‘Yes… I’m fine…’ But to my surprise I feel my knees buckle a little, and I hold on to the window frame for support.

  ‘Look,’ he pulls some keys from his tracksuit pocket, ‘I’m not due to open up yet, but do you want to come in for a bit and take a seat and I’ll make you a cuppa – you look like you could do with one.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I reply gratefully. ‘That would be good.’

  We enter the shop together and I’m comforted to hear the little shop bell still ring above my head, and see my favourite wooden chair sitting where it’s always been. The sunflowers on the counter, wilting and drooping over the edge of the vase, look as if they need changing, but apart from that, the inside looks much as it always has.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he says, disappearing around the corner, ‘I won’t be a minute. I’ll just pop th
e kettle on.’

  I collapse with relief onto the familiar wooden chair that I’ve sat and told George my problems on so many times.

  I’d felt so buoyant outside, talking to Ellie, and then my mother, and now everything has been turned upside down again. I just assumed I’d be able to tell George all my news, the way I always did, and he’d give me his usual calm and considered advice. But this time he wasn’t here. He was gone. Even the big wooden clock behind the counter has stopped ticking, I notice, as I sit here in silence. Its hands have stopped moving at 2.13.

  ‘That’s the kettle on,’ George’s grandson says, returning. ‘Grandad always said a cup of tea would put everything right. I’m not so sure about that myself, but it seemed to work for him for over eighty years.’

  I smile as I remember all the cups of tea that George made for me in this shop.

  ‘I’m Julian, by the way,’ he says, holding out his hand.

  ‘Jo-Jo,’ I reply, shaking it.

  He stops shaking my hand but still holds on to it while he stares at me.

  ‘What?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You’re Jo-Jo?’ he asks, looking dazed.

  ‘Yes, is there a problem?’ I pull my hand away.

  Julian shakes his head. ‘No, no, not at all. It’s just that before he died Grandad told me that one day a girl called Jo-Jo would come by the shop, and when she did, I was to look after her and make her a cup of tea.’

  I smile. That’s so typical of George.

  ‘I wondered at the time if he was making it up – one of his little stories. Grandad had so many of them. Used to keep us all entertained for hours, he did. I don’t know how he thought of them all. But now you’re actually here.’

  ‘Yes, I am. George probably knew I’d turn up again like a bad penny. He couldn’t keep me away!’

  ‘Not at all,’ Julian continues. ‘Grandad talked about you with much fondness. But he also said when you returned I was to give you something, and I’ve been keeping it hidden under the counter ever since in case what he said was true.’

  Julian goes behind the shop counter and retrieves a brown paper bag.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, looking at the bag.

  Julian hands it to me. ‘Open it up and take a look. Means nothing to me. But it might to you.’

  I open up the bag and pull out two black vinyl records in their slightly battered old sleeves. They’re both Beatles singles – ‘Eleanor Rigby’ and ‘All You Need Is Love’.

  ‘Mean anything?’ Julian asks.

  I shrug. ‘Not really.

  ‘Maybe Grandad just wanted you to have them?’ he suggests. ‘He didn’t say too much in his will. Only about this shop, really, and that was all a bit odd.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask, still looking at the Beatles records in my hand.

  ‘He insisted that it should always remain as Groovy Records, that he wanted me to run it for as long as I possibly could, and that we should always welcome in anyone who seemed lost and lonely and offer them a cup of tea and a seat for a while and listen to their problems.’

  I smile. Of course George would. ‘Am I your problem for today, do you think?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Julian says, smiling back. ‘It’s always a pleasure to meet someone who knew my grandad. And just between you and me, I’ve a lot more problems with this shop than a pretty lady turning up on my doorstep wanting a cup of tea.’

  ‘Really? What?’

  ‘It’s nothing, really, you don’t want me bothering you with my troubles.’

  ‘Julian, you have no idea how many times I sat in this very chair and bothered your grandfather with my problems. It’s the least I can do.’

  Julian smiles and sits down in the chair next to me. ‘It’s just that Grandad may have left me this shop in his will, but he didn’t leave me the means to keep it going.’

  ‘But Groovy Records always turned over a profit, although I never could understand how George did it.’

  ‘That’s the thing, it did when Grandad ran it, but since I’ve been in charge it’s all gone downhill. We had to remain closed for five months when he first died, before I could take over, which didn’t help. But running a record shop isn’t really my thing, you see. I’m only doing it because it’s what Grandad wanted. He seemed to have a magical touch.’

  ‘Yes, George was a bit like that – charmed, you might call him.’

  Julian nods. ‘Anyway, none of this is your concern, Jo-Jo. I’ll work something out.’ He glances at the records I still hold in my hand. ‘Should I play them for you?’ he asks. ‘For old times’ sake? This shop hasn’t heard the Beatles since Grandad passed.’

  ‘Yes, why not?’ I give them to him. ‘Let’s play them for George.’

  Julian carefully loads one of the records on to the old player that has always stood in the corner of the shop and the familiar string introduction to ‘Eleanor Rigby’ begins to play, followed by the haunting vocal describing all the lonely people.

  As we sit in the little shop listening to the song play, me on the little wooden chair and Julian perched on the shop counter, we’re both lost for a few minutes in our memories of George.

  ‘Any the wiser why Grandad left you that particular Beatles record?’ Julian asks at the end of the song.

  ‘Not really, no,’ I reply, desperately trying to think of some link between the song and everything that’s happened. I repeat the lyrics over again in my head. Where do all the lonely people come from, the Beatles asked. Where do they all belong?

  ‘I’ll play the next one,’ he says, lifting ‘Eleanor Rigby’ away from the player and replacing it with ‘All You Need Is Love’.

  The memorable ‘Love’ intro comes wafting across the shop now, followed by the familiar lyrics.

  Why did George leave me these two particular songs? There has to be some meaning to them, knowing George. It’s a clue, something to help me finally find my answer.

  The chorus still plays in my head as Julian lifts the second record from the turntable, places it back in its sleeve, then hands them both to me.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,’ he says. ‘I have no idea why Grandad left you these, only that he was very insistent that you have them.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I reply, looking down at the records in my hand. ‘I’m sure I’ll figure it out one day.’ I look up at Julian. ‘I’d like to pay my last respects to your grandfather – is there a gravestone?’

  ‘Yes, Grandad was very specific about his whole funeral, he had the whole thing planned to a tee.’ He smiles. ‘We had to have this whole Beatles theme on the day, their songs, everything, and Grandad was even buried up in Liverpool.’

  ‘In Liverpool?’ I say in surprise. ‘But George lived his whole life here in London.’

  ‘He was actually born in Liverpool. My great-grandparents moved here when he was young, to find work I believe. I guess that’s where his love of the Beatles started.’

  I think about this. ‘I’d still like to go some time and visit – could you tell me where it is?’

  Julian reaches behind the desk for a piece of paper and a pen, then he scribbles something down. ‘Here,’ he says, passing it to me.

  ‘Thank you.’ I give the paper a quick glance, fold it and put it in my bag. ‘I think perhaps it’s time for me to go now.’

  ‘But you haven’t had your tea yet,’ Julian says.

  I look around the shop at the posters on the walls and the records in the racks.

  ‘I hope you won’t be offended, Julian, but it just isn’t the same now your grandad isn’t here. It doesn’t feel right, drinking tea in here without him.’

  Julian smiles. ‘No offence taken. I know exactly what you mean. Besides, I’m pretty useless at making tea anyway. You’d be better getting coffee down the road at Starbucks.’

  ‘Julian, you have no idea just how long I’ve been waiting for someone to say those words to me!’ I stand up. ‘Thank you for these,’ I say, holding up the records
in the bag, then quite randomly I go over and hug him. ‘It was lovely to meet you. George would be very proud of you, I know he would.’

  Julian looks a little surprised at the hug, but pleased at my compliment. ‘I do hope so. My grandad was a very special man.’

  ‘He was indeed, Julian. He really was, and if I can think of any way to help you with the shop I’ll be in touch, I promise.’

  As I leave Julian, the little shop bell tinkles above my head, and somehow I know it won’t be the last time I’ll hear it.

  And I don’t head immediately up the road to Starbucks as I originally planned. Surprisingly, as soon as I leave the shop I forget all about my need for coffee. Instead I turn in the opposite direction and start walking towards the nearest railway station. To find a train that’s going to take me to Liverpool and to George.

  Forty-Six

  Once I get to Euston, I manage to get on a fast train up to Liverpool. But my journey still gives me plenty of time to think.

  While I was waiting for my train, I used the Wi-Fi at the station to download a Beatles greatest hits album to my iPhone. So while I’ve been travelling, I’ve listened to the same two Beatles songs that George gave me, along with a few others, pretty much on repeat all the way up to Liverpool. But still nothing is any clearer.

  The only things I’ve been able to pull from ‘Eleanor Rigby’ that have any meaning for me is that there’s an Eleanor, of course – and Ellie was with me all the way through my time travelling. There’s a Father McKenzie mentioned, which is my surname, and Eleanor’s surname, Rigby, is also Harry’s name, and he was with me constantly too.

  I think about Harry and wonder what he’s doing now. I haven’t had time to try and find out anything about him in the few hours I’ve been back because I’ve been so busy trying to work out this mystery. I thought about calling him when I was first on the train, but I placed the business card he’d given me back in the original 2013 in the pocket of my work suit and I’m certainly not wearing that now that I seem to have morphed into this new version of me, so I have no way of contacting him. But I wonder where he is right now, and more importantly if I’ll ever see him again.