Ahead of his Time

by Adrian Cousins

  “Moore. She was Sarah Moore before she met Dad. I was originally called Moore and then took my stepfather’s name when they married.”

  “Good, God! Really?”

  “You know her, lad?”

  “Yes, George, I know exactly who she is!” I’d seen her at school today and yesterday at court in the public gallery when Patrick Colney was found guilty for stabbing her father, whom I’d now discovered would become Martin’s grandfather. The court case which I instigated by encouraging Sarah to speak out about David Colney – a very small world indeed – and she was Martin’s mother.

  Martin stared at me, eyes wide, as he shot a look at George and then back to me. “How would you know my mother?”

  “I’m a teacher at Fairfield City School, and your mother is one of my students. This may scupper an idea I had today on how we could integrate you into this world. As I see it, the biggest problem we have is Martin doesn’t exist, as he’s landed with no history. He hasn’t dropped in to take the place of his father; therefore, we have to create a history.”

  “What’s your plan, lad?”

  Martin had drifted from the conversation, sitting further back than George and I. The first few weeks of time-travel were tough, and I guess he was trying to get his head around the knowledge about his mother. George and I assumed our position leaning in close to whisper.

  “There’s a temporary position for a school caretaker. Clive, the caretaker, has gone in for an operation and needs six months of convalescence. I’m conducting the interviews, and I thought I could engineer it that Martin gets the job. I reckon I can circumnavigate the paperwork, and also I’ll be able to keep a close eye on him. If I can swing it, I thought we could buy some time as clearly he can’t just mope about all day.”

  “That’s a cracking idea, lad. I think you should do it.”

  “But what about his mother being a student?”

  “Lad, you can’t worry about that. She won’t know him. Anyway, he’ll be the school caretaker, so she won’t give him another look.”

  “Do you think?”

  “Yes, lad, I do. We have no choice, do we?”

  “George, you’re right … I don’t think we do.”

  We had our strategy in place, which I planned to get to work on in the morning. We were still unclear why Martin was here in 1977. Maybe there was no reason, and he’d just followed me here. George ferried Martin back to my rental house as I headed home for my continued interrogation. I was concerned my other closest friend, Don, would need some answers soon, but my immediate problem was Jenny and the urgent need to repair the damage to haul my life back on track.

  13

  Walmart

  Leaning against the door frame with my arms folded, I stood and watched Jenny kneeling on the lino floor, playing with the kids in the bath. Christopher’s plastic U-boat submarine fizzed along in the bath, powered by a bicarbonate-soda tablet; a really innovative little gadget, I thought. Jenny had brought it from Woolworths as one of his Christmas presents. I felt slightly tearful, a feeling I hadn’t experienced for many months, but life was unravelling, and now I feared this wonderful sight of my family was drifting. The more I reached out to save it, the further it drifted away. Jenny turned and smiled.

  “You’re late home, darling.”

  “Yes, sorry, took George for a pint.”

  Jenny turned back to Beth, who was nestled in her arms as she swished her back and forth up the bathtub.

  “Shall I put them to bed for you?” Jenny didn’t answer but carried on swishing Beth whilst Christopher laughed at his submarine, which zipped along, crashing into the end of the bath.

  Although we’d only officially adopted them both for just over a week, the children had lived with us for over a month now. The transformation in Christopher was nothing short of miraculous in such a short space of time. No longer was he the little lad who winced every time you moved your hand. I suspected that had been an involuntary movement he made as he prepared for the inevitable slap or beating he was used to getting. Now he was a happy, carefree lad, accepting the love we gave him with his frightening past now evaporating. He was so young, and I hoped he never remembers his first five years.

  I had to get this situation sorted and quickly. Not for me and my desire to keep my family, but for him. Christopher and Beth deserved a loving and stable life which Jenny and I would give them, but that was only going to continue if I could get myself out of this hole. Jenny still hadn’t answered and ignored the atmosphere, almost tormenting me with her silence as I waited for the argument to restart for the third night in a row.

  “Jenny, did you hear me? Shall I put the kids to bed?”

  “Can you take Christopher and read him his story? I’ll get Beth ready, and she’ll go down after she’s had her bottle.”

  “Okay.” I knelt beside her and looked into her eyes.

  “We can talk afterwards, Jason, alright?”

  “Okay.” I nodded, as tears pricked at my eyes, and I turned my head so she wouldn’t notice.

  After getting Christopher off to sleep, Jenny handed me Beth to settle into her cot. I cradled her as she yawned and stared up at me with those bright blue eyes.

  “I’ll start supper if you can settle her, please. She’s been winded,” Jenny threw back, as she purposefully bounded down the stairs.

  I tucked Beth into her cot and gently smoothed her wispy white-blonde hair.

  “Oh bollocks, Beth, I have truly cocked up again. Not really my fault this time, but everything is turning to shit. I could do with your usual advice or bollocking that you used to give me when I’d done something twattish, which we both know was quite often.”

  Beth looked up at me and smiled. Did she have memories of her previous life and recall the stupid scrapes I got into? No, she was probably filling her nappy. I will admit that I was thankful Jenny changed and washed the nappies. Although the ‘new man’ I was, especially for this era, nappy changing just didn’t appeal. I’d shown Jenny the new disposable ones that some chemists like Boots and Timothy-Whites were now selling. However, even though we were reasonably loaded, Jenny thought they were way too expensive.

  “Look, Beth, what am I going to do? I can’t explain Martin’s arrival, and the longer he’s here, your mum will question it more and more. God, I hate lying to her. Christ, also, what am I going to tell Don? He knows something is up, but telling them both Martin and I are time-travellers is not possible. Can you imagine how they would react if I told them you and I were best friends from the future and I'm not born until March this year? Jesus, Beth, this is a bloody nightmare. I thought dealing with that bastard who would’ve abused you was difficult enough, but this is on another level.”

  ‘Told you on Sunday, Apsley … you’re screwed.’

  Of course, Beth offered no help and continued to smile up at me. I rested my head on the cot railing before standing up and scrubbing my hands over my face.

  “Come on, Apsley … think,” I muttered, as I tried to suppress that ever-so annoying voice in my head which was now on a roll as it tormented me.

  The floorboards on the landing creaked; I spun around. There Jenny stood, leaning against the door frame, tears in her eyes. We just stared at each other for what seemed an age. My jaw fell open whilst Jenny wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

  I broke the silence. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough.” Jenny continued to glare at me, searching my eyes for answers.

  “Right,” I huffed. I guess she’d heard it all. Tuesday the 18th of January seemed to be pumping out disaster after disaster, and it just kept giving.

  “Why were you saying those ridiculous things to Beth? Why, Jason?”

  I moved towards her and reached out for her hand, but she snatched it away and moved back a step which caused the floorboards to creak again. I’d vowed to sort those floorboards out many times in the last few months and thirty-odd years in the future. Jenny had never moaned ab
out it, although Lisa had on many occasions.

  “Jason, I don’t understand why you were saying those stupid things … you need to start talking.”

  “I was just … err … just telling a Beth a bedtime story.”

  “No you weren’t! I heard you … I heard all of it. Jason, tell me the bloody truth!”

  This was it. I’d reached the point of no return. Jenny wasn’t going to accept some rubbish that I could conjure up in a few seconds. It may be time to come clean – whatever the consequences.

  Taking a deep breath to give my brain one last second to come up with some believable shite before my mouth blurted out what presumably would be the most ridiculous story Jenny had ever heard – my brain failed to deliver.

  ‘Screwed mate!’

  “Jen, I need to talk to you. But I will need George here with me to do that.” God knows how, but I managed to appear calm, clear and concise.

  “Jason, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? And why do you need George here? I’m your wife, and I don’t understand what he’s got to do with our relationship?”

  I moved towards her and grabbed her shaking hands, pulling her closer to me. “I ask that you trust me. Trust me, Jen. Let me ring George. I’ll get you a drink, then we’ll talk … but George must be here.”

  I left Jen sitting at the kitchen table with a substantially large glass of wine whilst I phoned George and prayed he could come immediately. Thankfully he recognised the gravity of the situation, threw Ivy an acceptable excuse and said he’d be over in ten minutes – ten very long minutes – which I used to power my way through two cigarettes on the doorstep before going back into the kitchen.

  “Jen, George said he will be here in a few minutes. Before I say anything else, you know, really know in your heart that I love you? Also, I’ve not done anything that falls foul of our wedding vows.”

  “Lying?” She didn’t look up but just repeated that word, “Lying?”

  “Withholding some truth, yes … but not strictly lying.”

  I plonked my bum in the chair next to her and took her hand. She didn’t fight me but looked up with tears trickling down her face. We stayed motionless, not uttering a word until George arrived – I was devastated.

  George didn’t knock but burst into the kitchen and stood and stared at both of us crying as we held each other’s hands. “Oh hell, I knew this day would come; just knew it,” he said, as he hung his coat on the handle of the yellow Ewbank carpet sweeper, which was propped up against the kitchen wall.

  “Sit, George, I will get you a whisky.” I released my hands from Jenny and nipped through to get the whisky bottle from the drink’s cabinet in the lounge. When I returned, George had taken Jenny’s hands in his.

  “Right, lass. We’ve known each other for a few months, and I’d like to think we’ve grown quite close … would you agree?” Jen nodded and glanced at me as I placed a glass of whisky in front of George, then looked back at him.

  “I hope you think of me a sensible normal kind of chap?” He raised his eyebrow, George Sutton style. It was a question that seemed to hang in the air, waiting for my wife to respond. I looked down at their hands, Jenny’s tiny slim fingers dwarfed by George’s huge fists.

  Yes, of course, George, you and Ivy are wonderful people. I don’t think I’ve ever met such lovely people as you both. It's fair to say that Jason and I love you like parents … but George, what’s going on?”

  George swallowed the whisky in one slug and took hold of her hands again.

  “Lass, I wanna tell you a true story.” Which I thought sounded a bit like Max Bygraves, although there was nothing humorous about this situation.

  “All I want you to do is listen to me. When I’ve told you this totally true story, we can talk … is that a deal?” George asked.

  Jenny shot me a look, her face screwed up in a mixture of confusion and anger, then stared back at George. She looked scared, and I hated it. I loved her, and this was killing me.

  “Jenny lass, do we have a deal?”

  “Yes … yes, George.”

  I stood leaning up against the sink, gripping the edge with such force my knuckles were white as George relayed the story of my time-travel adventure. To be fair, as George had all those months ago, Jenny listened without interrupting. With her hands clasped in his, she occasionally glanced up at me. Listening to the story George told was difficult to hear. Although I was living it, clearly to any sane normal human being it was so bloody ridiculous, and it was a miracle he’d ever believed me. I now feared my marriage was over as this was going to be too much for Jenny. Well, it would be for any reasonable person, and I knew this would be too much for her to take in without thinking George and I had lost our marbles.

  George concluded my tale and, for a few long minutes, we sat quietly staring at each other. I fidgeted with a dishcloth whilst George rattled the change in his pockets – Jenny just stared at me.

  “Jen?” She didn’t waver – just continued to stare – her emerald eyes had taken on a darker shade, and I now felt they were piercing my skull.

  “You remember I bet a hundred-pounds on that Grand Prix race last October, and you thought that was madness? Also, remember that little argument we had when I placed a bet on Jimmy Carter winning the American Presidential election even though all the political reporting suggested Ford would win?”

  Jen just continued to glare at me, not blinking.

  “Well, those bets weren’t a risk; they were facts as I had the knowledge.” Jenny huffed, gulped down her wine, shaking her head.

  I pushed on. She hadn’t thrown us out – yet – so I carried on trying to inch her mind closer to accepting this madness. “You often comment I do and say silly things … you say you like that about me.” I rambled on with whatever popped into my brain. I should have prepared this speech and practised it, so I was ready to wheel it out when required. However, I never thought it would be needed, so I just carried on blurting out my random thoughts.

  “You remember our first night here in this house when you said that Alan was going to see The Clash gig in Islington. I said I loved The Clash, and London Calling was an epic album. That album will be released in a couple of years, but to me, it was old punk before my time. It was just one of the million time-travel cock-ups I’ve made that you never really noticed. Do you remember?”

  Jenny didn’t move a muscle and turned up her nose as if George or I had relieved our bowels of unwanted gasses.

  With no answer from Jen, I bashed on with my babbling. “You remember before Christmas when you were annoyed that Woollies had sold out of Space Hoppers, and I suggested Amazon might sell them? We then had this big debate about what was Amazon, and I said I’d bumped my head and was talking gibberish.”

  Still no movement from Jen, and George was now playing his second symphony via his loose change jingling in his pocket.

  “Well, Amazon is the world’s biggest online retailer. You can order what you want on your computer, and they deliver it the next day. You’ll remember when you questioned why I purchased shares in McDonald's restaurants and an American supermarket called Walmart, and I said they were an investment for the kids’ future. You said that no one had ever heard of them and I was wasting money. Those two businesses in thirty years’ time are two of the biggest companies in the world, so the kids will become multimillionaires.”

  “What about those pocket computer companies you mentioned, lad?”

  “Apple and Microsoft? Yeah, their stock is not available at the moment. I’m not sure when, but it will only be a few years and I’ll invest in them as well.”

  I pulled out a chair and took Jenny’s hand in mine as if that act would somehow transfer my knowledge through our skin, and she would believe me – I was becoming desperate. “Christ, Jen, I know how this sounds, but it’s the truth. You’ll see over time as everything I say is going to happen … will happen. It changes nothing about us … nothing.”

  Jenny pulled her hand back
and turned to face George. “I’m so disappointed in you, George. I just don’t know what you’re playing at, but I had you down as a decent man … how wrong I was!”

  “Jenny, lass—”

  Jenny turned to me. She wasn’t angry, but disappointment oozed from her. “I’m off to bed. I suggest you sleep on the sofa.” She scraped her chair back and marched out of the kitchen. I sprung up from my chair, causing it to flip back and crash to the floor, whilst George grabbed my wrist and pulled. I glared back at him as he shook his head.

  “Sit, lad.”

  “Oh, for fuck sake! Can today get any fucking worse?” I blurted, as I buried my head in my hands. On this occasion, which was extremely rare, he didn’t chastise me for my vulgar language.

  “Lad, she’s going to need time. You have to understand that what we’ve just told her is hard to take. Remember when you first tried to tell me? I just laughed and thought you were a nutter. We can show her the truth over time … we can.”

  I nodded. Of course, George was right, but how long would it take, and would Jenny stick it out whilst I tried to convince her.

  “Lad, remind me of some of the events of this year. I’m hoping you can think of some key ones that happen soon. It will really help the lass understand this is all true.”

  “Jesus, George, it’s hard to think … this year is the Queen's Jubilee, but everyone knows that. I’ve written down about ten years’ worth of Grand Prix results in case I forget them, but often I refer back and wonder if I’ve got some of them wrong.”

  “Well, lad, you’ve got them all right so far.”

  “Yes, I have, and I’m totally convinced I have this year’s correct. It’s an easy year to remember as Niki Lauda won the title after his crash last year. I predicted Scheckter winning in Argentina last Sunday and scooped over a grand. The manager at the bookies in the High Street has actually barred me. He said I couldn’t enter his shop again as I’d cost him three and a half thousand pounds in four months. To be honest with you, winning bets at the bookies has become boring because I already know the result. It’s not as if I even need the money, based on the number of diamonds I have stashed in other Jason’s safety deposit box. There’s no fun in it anymore. It’s just a money-making process and, to be honest, it’s a ball-ache going into the shop. It was so much easier when I was able to place the bets online.”