Ahead of his Time

by Adrian Cousins

  The upstairs proved to be as empty as the downstairs. As I glanced out of the back bedroom window, I spotted them standing on the patio, illuminated by the light from the kitchen window. Martin stood holding Beth wrapped in a blanket whilst Jenny powered her way through a cigarette, which was not a good sign as she’d given up as soon as we’d adopted Christopher and Beth.

  Steeling myself for what was about to come, I opened the back door as they stepped back to the house. Martin and Jenny looked up in surprise to see me standing there. For a few seconds we all stood still and stared at each other in total silence.

  Back in the kitchen, Beth became the prize in a game of pass-the-parcel. Martin handed Beth to Jenny who in turn passed her to me, so she could remove her coat which she folded and plonked on the countertop. Martin stood in that old parka staring at the floor, which suggested he felt extremely uncomfortable.

  ‘Well, not as uncomfortable as me, pal!’

  “Can we all sit, please?” Jenny instructed, as she took her seat and folded her arms. She seemed very calm and controlled, which was the exact opposite to me and, I suspect, Martin. I shot Martin a concerned look, but all he offered was a raised eyebrow. Beth wriggled in my arms as I tried to settle her.

  “Jenny—”

  “No, Jason. Please let me say something first,” she interrupted, as she held up the palm of her hand to me. “So, Martin and I have had a long chat. At the moment, I just don’t know what to think. I have you and George telling me some ridiculous story which Martin here seems to be going along with. I can only conclude this is some elaborate ruse which the three of you have concocted, but for what reason I have no idea—”

  “Jen—”

  “No, sorry, Jason. Please don’t interrupt me. Let me finish what I have to say. What I do believe is that you’re a good, honest man.”

  “Yeah, right!” blurted Martin. Both Jenny and I swivelled our heads to look at him as he slouched in his seat, arms folded and shrugging his shoulders.

  “As I was saying, you’re a good man, so I can only conclude that there are two reasons for this story. Firstly, I’m wrong about you.”

  “No!” Although technically, she was correct. Bollocks.

  “Let’s face it, Jason. We met in August last year, so we haven’t known each other long and I know nothing about you apart from what you’ve told me. There’s no one in your past you’ve introduced me to, and your closest friends, George and Don, have only known you for the same amount of time. It would be reasonable for me to conclude that you’re not who you say you are.” Jenny stared at me, her vivid green eyes boring deep into my skull.

  Beth settled as I gently bounced her on my arm as she laid her head on my shoulder. Martin sat there now leaning back on the chair legs, watching the show.

  “What's the second reason?”

  “The second reason you came up with this story is because it’s true, which is frankly ridiculous. What the three of you have concocted is hugely elaborate, so I’m at a loss as to why you would go to all this trouble to come up with it.”

  “Jenny, we haven’t concocted anything; it is true! I know how much of a stretch that is to believe, but it is. When we both time-travelled, only our bodies came. I just wish something would have come with us like our wallets or phones, which would show you we have come from the future. But hell, unfortunately, all we have is our bloody memories.”

  “I have a tattoo,” Martin interjected, sporting a stupid grin.

  “Well, that’s great, Martin. Although I’m so pleased for you, what the fuck has that got to do with this conversation?” I said, raising my eyebrows at him as he grinned back, rocking his chair back and forth.

  “Well, I think it might help, that’s all. It’s a tattoo of my wife’s name with our wedding date on it.” Martin jumped up and threw off his coat, then yanked up the sleeve of his jumper. “Look, I’ll show you.” And there it was, on the inside of his lower arm – Caroline 27 May 2012.

  Jenny stared at it, then looked up at Martin and back at me. “You could’ve just had that done.”

  “Why would I have a tattoo like this if it was fake? Anyway, you can see that it's old. If it was new, it would be red and sore around the edges. You can see how hairy my arm is, and that would’ve taken weeks to grow back after I had it done.”

  “Jenny, he’s right! Look, feel it. That tattoo isn’t new.”

  As Martin sat down and laid his arm across the table in front of Jenny, she rubbed her index finger across it. Fortunately, Martin had dark hair and was covered like a gorilla.

  He now looked all pleased with himself as he turned and grinned at me. “Think I’ve proved it for you, mate.”

  Jenny stopped rubbing his arm and huffed. “Well, it's not proof, is it? But I will admit it would be odd to have a tattoo if it wasn’t true. Anyway, why would you have a tattoo like that? I thought men only had them if they were in the Navy?”

  “Jen, tattoos are really popular with men and women in forty years, especially millennials. Tattoos are really sophisticated, and it’s considered an art form.”

  “You don’t have one! And what are millennials?”

  “No, it was never my thing and to be honest I just didn’t fancy it. Millennials are those born around the millennium … the year 2000.”

  “And you said women have them as well? That’s really odd.”

  “Caroline has two. One on her ankle of a champagne glass, and a rose on her bum,” Martin interjected.

  Jenny screwed up her face as if a bad smell had just filled the room. “Well, I’m sorry, Martin, I don’t think that sounds very nice.” Martin looked offended but chose not to answer back.

  “Jen, it was different then. It was common for women to have tattoos … different era.”

  “Common, you’re right. I wouldn’t be seen dead with a tattoo!”

  “Anyway, look at his arm. With all that we’ve said, this has got to help convince you, hasn’t it?”

  Jenny chewed her lip and shook her head. “Jason, it’s ridiculous. How could you time travel?”

  “I have four of them, you know,” Martin said, as he stood up and rolled his trouser leg up to reveal another tattoo on his calf. The badge of Manchester United Football Club with ‘20 league titles Champions 2013’ inked below the badge and again heavily covered in black hair.

  I never thought that the act of Martin removing clothing would be such a wonderful moment. However, this second tattoo further supported our story, and this one, as did the first, also had a date on it.

  Martin seemed excited now that he had an interested audience to view his body art, and I could see Jenny was intrigued. What I hadn’t expected was to see the fourth tattoo just above his right ankle. There was no date on this one, as there wasn't on the stag head on his shoulder, but it was the most distinctive tattoo of the four and the only one I had previously seen. I realised there would be no need for him to drop his trousers and show me his backside if he was so inclined to do so, as I’d already seen it once before nestled in between mine and Lisa’s winter coats. Lisa had clearly thought the act of Martin removing his clothing was wonderful as well.

  Now knowing that at one point Martin was one of my ex-wife’s lovers was a shock. I shoved that thought to the back of my mind, as the current dilemma was far more critical.

  Jenny relayed the conversation she and Martin had had before I arrived, and it seemed that Martin had painted, as expected, a particularly poor account of my character. However, now learning that he was shagging my ex-wife a couple of years ago didn’t exactly make him a candidate for GQ’s man of the year. The positive note was Martin’s account was identical at the points where it crossed over with the one George delivered the night before. Jenny played along, asking questions, whether that meant she was softening to the idea we were time travellers, I wasn’t sure, but it was a good sign – wasn’t it?

  “Tell me about your ex-wife. I want to know what she was like and why did you split up?” I could see it hu
rt her to discover I was previously married.

  “Nothing to tell, really. We married in 2006, not sure why but we just did. I guess it was okay to start with, but we drifted and then she left me for another bloke.” I looked at Martin, raised my eyebrows, and took great delight as he flushed and resembled a cooked lobster. “I think she had a few affairs whilst we were still married.”

  “Lisa talked to my Caroline all the time. Think she left you because you were a right tosser, and a miserable one at that!” he batted back at me.

  “Yes, okay, Martin, thank you for that. I think we’ve established I wasn’t the nicest person back then. But to be frank, your input to the state of my marriage to Lisa is not really required.” And there was a double meaning to that now. “Anyway, I don’t think your marriage to Caroline was so perfect, do you?”

  “What d’you mean? Caroline and I were very happy. She used to tell me all the time that Lisa had been on the phone moaning about you and wished she could find someone else.”

  “Well, she did, didn’t she, eh?” I pointed at him, now angry that he had the gall to be so high and mighty.

  “You two stop it, stop it!”

  We both looked at Jen. She was right, and anyway, why did it matter Lisa and Martin had had a fling? Hell, I didn’t care then, so why did it matter now?

  “In your motor-racing book, you’ve written down that one of the drivers dies in March. Is that true?”

  “You asking me that question, does that mean you believe me now?”

  For a moment, Jenny stared at me, then closed her eyes as I could see the tears welling up, causing her long eyelashes to become moist. She sat back in her chair and breathed heavily.

  “Jen?”

  She opened her eyes which now had a watery film across them. “Oh, Jason, I don’t know. I want to say yes, but I feel so stupid. My heart wants to believe, but my head is screaming at me that you’re some strange man who I should leave now and have nothing more to do with.”

  “Jen, please don’t say that … please.” I wanted to leap across and put my arms around her, but I had Beth nestled on my shoulder. Anyway, I didn’t think she would accept my hug at this precise point.

  “Well, Jason, does that racing driver die? Assuming you’re telling the truth for one crazy moment.” She picked at a chip of her red nail varnish on her thumb and bit her bottom lip.

  “Yes, Tom Pryce dies in March at the South African Grand Prix. It was a horrific accident which killed one of the marshals as well.”

  Jenny sat forward, leaning across the table and pointed a finger at me. “And you're going to let it happen? Why would you just let him die? If you know this, that’s as good as murder!”

  “What the hell could I do to stop it?”

  “Well, you could phone the authorities or write to him. Do something for Christ’s sake! You’re telling me that two men will be killed, and you do nothing! What kind of man are you, for Christ’s sake?” Bollocking delivered, she sat back folding her arms.

  “Jen, listen. I’ve thought about telling someone, but I’ve had this problem before, and I know no one will believe me. You don’t believe me, so who the hell is going to believe it when I write a letter to Tom Pryce saying you're going to die in a few weeks. Think about it … no one … no one will believe that, will they?”

  I stood and moved Beth to my other shoulder as my arm started developing pins and needles. Jenny sat with her arms tightly folded with a deep frown across her face, I guess contemplating what I’d said.

  “Oh, for fuck sake. This is bloody nuts … fricking nuts,” Martin blurted out, as he jumped up from his chair and strode off into the hall.

  “Where you going?”

  “For a piss!”

  I walked over to the sink, turning and leaning against it as I stared at Jen. I needed her to believe me, almost wishing Tom Pryce died next week and not in March so she could see I was telling the truth. Although not proud of myself wishing a man to die early.

  “Yes, I do see that. If you said something about it, no one would believe you. But Jason, two men will die!”

  “Look, Jen, I had the same dilemma last September. George and I discussed it for weeks but never came up with a solution. There’s a serial killer in the north of England, and he goes on to be one of the most infamous serial killers of all time. I can’t remember how many women he killed, but the murders started last year and continued until the early ’80s. George and I just couldn’t figure out what to do. I know his name, but not when he kills. To be honest with you, I’m expecting any day now to hear that he’s killed his third victim.”

  “What did you do?” her voice had slightly softened.

  “I wrote a letter to the police and some newspapers. That may have been a mistake, as the police came to the school yesterday because they’ve traced the typewriter I used to write that letter. Now I’m concerned about what will happen if they can pin it on me.”

  Martin padded back into the kitchen and plopped back into his chair. “Pin what on you?”

  “I typed a letter last year stating I knew it was Peter Sutcliffe who committed the murders in Yorkshire.”

  “Who?”

  Jenny shot Martin a look. “Do you know who he is? Jason said he was the most notorious serial killer of all time. I’m a bit surprised if you haven’t heard of him, or is this where your elaborate story starts to fall apart? Perhaps you two forgot to talk this one through!” The softness in her voice had instantly evaporated. Once again, she looked tearful, and I could sense her anger bubbling. Her head was again winning over her heart. “Well, Martin? Don’t just sit there with that gormless expression. Have you heard of this Peter Sutcliffe?”

  “Err … nope. No idea what you’re on about.” He opened his hands and raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Oh, for fuck sake, Martin!” What d’you mean you never heard of him? The Yorkshire Ripper … everyone’s bloody-well heard of him!” Now he really was pissing me off.

  “Oh, him. Yeah, yeah, of course, I’ve heard of him. But that was in the ’60s or ’70s, wasn’t it?

  “For fuck sake, Martin, this is the bloody ’70s!”

  “Oh yeah, ha-ha, I forgot.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. Although he was only ten years my junior, he was just like all the other air-heads I used to work with. Far too many millennials had their bloody head stuck in social media rather than actually listening and debating real news. Christ, I even remember Kyle, the office junior at Waddington Steel, didn’t even know who Winston Churchill was! When it came up in the office conversation, Kyle thought they were talking about a nodding dog and some insurance company.

  “So, you have heard of this killer then?” I could feel she wanted him to know – her heart fighting her head for supremacy.

  “Yeah, yeah. Some nut job went around killing women. They named him the Yorkshire Ripper, after Jack the Ripper, I think. Anyway, what’s this letter you’re on about?”

  I passed Beth back to Jenny and propped open the back door as I was seriously in need of a cigarette. With my lungs filled with smoke, I bashed on bringing them both up to speed with the events regarding my anonymous letter.

  I relayed my letters story and what had happened on Tuesday at school when the police had arrived and removed one of the typewriters. As I recounted my tale, I once again became increasingly concerned that my fingerprints had been lifted from the letters and pondered if they were mine or other Jason’s. Did we have the same ones? I was reasonably clear if the police could identify the actual machine used, it would be impossible to identify the author without fingerprints. My other concern was what the police wanted with the author, as the killings seemed to have stopped or had he just taken a break. However, any day now, I expected there would be news of another gruesome murder.

  One thing for sure was Martin would be absolutely no help, as he wasn’t even sure which bloody decade the murders took place in. That all said, the top of my disastrous-nightmares-to-sort list was convi
ncing Jenny who I really was. The pendulum was swinging wildly back and forth, and if the expression on her face was anything to go by, it suggested it wasn’t currently in my favour.

  “You may not have heard anything from your letter as they have arrested him and are now just tying up the loose ends. If he hasn’t committed any more murders, perhaps your letter has stopped him?” Martin offered up.

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s too much to think about at the moment. The only thing that really matters is you, Jenny, and you trusting and believing me. I just don’t care about anything else. It’ll be a hell of a long time to wait until March 5th when Tom Pryce dies for you to see that I am a time-traveller.”

  “And me! Can I remind you the reason I’m here is because you can't drive properly! Having that crash, you caused my death!” Martin had taken up rocking back and forth on the back legs of his chair, with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

  “Yes alright, Martin, and you! And yes, I'm sorry I killed you. But right now, I need Jenny to believe me as my whole life depends on it.”

  “Jason, I don’t know. As I’ve said, it’s too ridiculous, and I can’t believe we’re actually having this conversation. Anyway, I think it’s time to get Christopher home to bed now, and I can’t talk about this anymore tonight. My head is thumping. It feels like a bomb has gone off between my ears.”

  Jenny stood and handed Beth back to me as she leant across to retrieve her coat. I grabbed her hand, but she pulled it away glaring at me. “Don’t, Jason, let’s just get home and get the kids to bed.”

  Martin continued to rock back and forth on his chair, with the biggest grin across his face. “Yes! Yes … I’ve got it!”

  Jen and I stared at him, both wondering what the cause of his outburst was.

  “What have you got apart from that stupid grin?”

  “Proof old buddy … Proof!”

  “Martin, spit it out. I’m tired, my head hurts, and I want to get the kids home,” Jen fired back, as she fastened the buttons on her coat.

  “Back to the Future, my old friend. Back to the Future!”