“Oh yeah, I remember it happening when I was at Uni. Pity they didn’t bring it in earlier. Then you’d have to stand outside and stop polluting my air.”
“That’s a bit rich. You had a cigarette the other day!”
“Yeah, but I don’t normally smoke.”
“Well, Mr High-And-Mighty, as I was saying, we have another problem. Your mother has a serious crush on you!”
Martin frowned and shook his head. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re taking it too far now.”
“I wish I was, mate. But she’s drawn a heart on her exercise book with yours and her name on it. Also, when she was walking back into school after lunch and following your little chat, she was cooing over you and giggling with the other girls about how gorgeous you are.”
“Oh.” Martin closed his eyes and sunk down in his chair. “You’d better give me one of your cigarettes.”
I shoved the packet in his direction. “So mate, we have got to put a stop to this, and fast!”
When Jenny arrived, I left Martin pondering our new dilemma and jumped up to get her a drink. Now Jenny had joined the troop, she would probably have a different perspective on what we could do about this situation. Although George was a great sounding-board, he rarely came up with solutions. I needed to bring Don into the group, but as Jenny and I’d agreed, that was a step too far for now. I gave Jenny a kiss and ordered her drink whilst she chatted to Dawn, who wanted the full lowdown on how the kids were getting on.
George arrived a moment later and joined Martin. After prising Jenny away from Dawn, we all convened in a tight huddle in the window seat. After Dawn’s reference to the famous five on Saturday, all we needed now was Timmy the Border Collie, and we could have neatly fitted into one of Enid Blyton’s books. Although I guess we were a little old for that, and I didn’t believe her books included a storyline regarding a serial rapist.
I brought George and Jenny fully up to speed on the day’s events. George shot Martin a worried look, and Jenny moved her chair a few inches away from him as I described the events with his sixteen-year-old mother. Perhaps I painted a picture that made Martin appear like a pervert. Martin stayed quiet as he smoked another one of my cigarettes whilst performing his Nookie Bear impression, which was quite off-putting.
“Lad, the only reason I can assume that Paul Colney wants to know who owns that car is because he’s interested in the driver. The good news is, as he asked you who it was, he clearly doesn’t know at this point.”
“Exactly. I had that car when living up at the Broxworth. But it’s a common car even in bright yellow, so I don’t think he ever connected it to me. The bit I don’t understand is where he’s seen the car, which has made him want to know who the driver is.”
“Yeah, and I’m the driver of it now! So what does that mean for me? I now have my rapist father, who is a complete psycho, hunting me down!” Martin stubbed out his cigarette. I swiped my packet off the table before he started chain-smoking, which made his earlier rant ridiculous.
“We don’t know he’s your father. It’s possible and likely, but we don’t know for sure.”
“Darling, the twin is in jail, so I think we should assume it’s him. That awful family have so much to answer for up at that estate. We know all about them at work, and Dad could write a book on that family’s exploits from his time in the Force.”
“Lad, Jenny is right about the family. I think you need to get rid of the car, and as soon as possible.”
“Why don’t we just put it in our garage, darling. At least it will be hidden.”
“Yes, we could do that. I still want to know why he’s looking for it, though.”
“Lad, the lass is right. Let’s just get it under wraps for the moment.”
Martin shifted forward, “Oh, that’s just fricking great! I get teleported to the dark ages, get stuck in a shit job, lose all my friends and my bloody wife, and now I don’t even have a car!”
We all turned and looked at him as he slumped back into his seat, gulping down his beer.
“Jen, sweetheart, will you let me buy that Hillman Hunter from Coreys Mill Motors? Martin could then have your old Viva?”
Jenny sighed, “Well, yes, we could do, but I love my Viva.”
“I know, but you need a car with rear seatbelts.”
“You fuss too much, darling. Chris likes standing on the seat and looking out the back window.”
A cold shudder ran through me as I pictured him standing there, Jenny breaking hard, and he suddenly being catapulted through the front windscreen. I know my old world had gone health and safety crazy, where kids weren’t even allowed to play conkers for fear of a potential eye injury. Still, I was right about seat belts, the evidence was there, and even that sicko Savile had been doing his clunk-click TV campaign for years. Jimmy Savile, there’s another one I needed to alert the world about, but as I knew from my Ripper letter experience, it was pointless.
“Jen, it will be the law soon that you have to wear seat belts. I can't remember when, but it will be the law for rear seat belts as well.”
“When I was a kid, my mum and dad always made me wear a seat belt in the back of our car. Dad had a brand-new Honda Accord; it was really posh at the time.”
“Honda, that’s one of those Jap-crap cars? Can’t believe that we have to import cars from that bloody place, not after what that lot did in the war!”
I huffed as this was going off track. “George, I know that’s raw for you, and you had brothers who suffered in the Far East. But in our old world, Japan is probably one of our closest allies. As for cars, well in the future they produce some of the most reliable vehicles and electronics in the world. I know that’s tough, but we have to draw the line somewhere and move on. Otherwise, we’ll have to talk about the British Empire’s atrocities which were on the same level.”
George nodded, “Alright, lad.” He plucked up his beer and fell back in his chair. This was going nowhere. Martin and George now had the hump, and Jenny was pining for her Viva that she didn’t want to let go of.
“Look, everyone, can we get back to what we are talking about. We have to hide the Cortina … agreed?” I looked at them in turn, they all nodded.
“Jenny, the Hillman Hunter, for the kid’s sake?”
She nodded and smiled. “Yes, darling, alright.” That smile melted me. I’d been so consumed with the events of the last two weeks I’d almost forgotten what a lucky bloke I was. Although Martin was stuck in a world he didn’t want to be in, I, on the other hand, was in heaven – Jenny was truly an angel.
‘Your job is to keep that lovely girl of yours happy, my boy.’ Don’s voice rolled around my head.
I took hold of her hand across the table and squeezed it tightly. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Give us a ciggy, Jason. If you two can separate for a moment.”
Jenny beamed her smile, then broke the handhold and delved into her handbag. She plucked out a pack of ten Embassy No1, a box of Bryant and May matches and handed them to Martin.
Martin lit up again, performed his stupid Nookie Bear face as he studied the burning end. After a further moment of silence, he leant forward. “Right, what are we going to do about Mum?”
George thumped his beer down. “Well, lad, you’re going to have to avoid her. It’s just not right your mother swooning over her son … it’s … it’s immoral!”
“It’s not my fault!” Martin blurted back.
“I knew placing him in that job at school was going to be a disaster.” I gestured my thumb towards Martin.
“Wha … What? I didn’t ask for this, did I?”
Jenny shot me a look. Those eyes were telling me to calm the whole situation before our raised voices alerted the entire pub to our rather strange conversation.
“Alright, hang on. What is done is done.” I tapped the palm of my hand on the table, which seemed to have the required effect of calming George and Martin.
“It feels like I'm in the film Back to th
e Future,” said Martin.
“Precisely the thought I had earlier.”
“Is that the lightning film you were both talking about last week?” asked Jenny.
“Yeah,” both Martin and I replied.
“What’s that, lad?” George asked, as he leant forward, folding his arms on the table.
“That film I said about with the Flux-Capacitor and the time-travelling car.”
“Darling, when does that film come out? I’d like to see it as it sounds really good.”
“It is!” we both replied.
“The mid-eighties, if I remember correctly,” I added, and then we all fell silent again.
“Martin, did your mum ever mention any boyfriends she had at school? I was just thinking if she did, we could engineer that they hook up sooner rather than later.”
Martin blew out his cheeks as he tried to think. Then he raised his finger. “Hang on, Mum was really friendly with this couple. He was the editor of the Fairfield Chronicle, and Mum knew him from school.” He clicked his fingers, trying to pull the name from his memory. George sat even further forward at the mention of the Chronicle. “Dad played golf with him a couple of times, and there was always this suggestion that Mum and he were close in their school days. Christ, what was his name? I should be able to remember him as I only saw him a few months ago when visiting Mum.”
“Come on, Martin, think. This is important.”
He clenched his fist and thumped the table. “Got it … Carlton King. That’s his name, Carlton King.”
George turned to me. “You know him, lad?”
“Err … yes, I know him. Got to say I’m amazed he becomes the editor of the Chronicle. He’s not the sharpest chisel in the toolbox and always getting into bother one way or another.” I thought of him only a few hours ago entering the toilet cubical and donning a fetching pair of pink Marigold gloves, brush in hand, then pebble dashing the toilet seat.
“You’d be amazed at what idiots they appoint as an editor at that place. The current one, Braithwaite, is a complete idiot. Can’t spell to save his life, I can tell you. As for punctuation, the man’s obsessed with using a comma … total idiot!”
“So darling, is that the plan? Somehow you get Carlton and Martin’s mum together so she forgets about Martin?”
“I think so. Martin, you’re really going to have to keep a low profile. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but somehow, I have to get your mother to stop looking at you and develop a crush on Carlton King.”
“Blimey. What if they really get it together and then end up, you know, doing, you know what?”
“What?” we all said together.
Martin nodded his head and grinned. “You know, my mum and this Carlton boy, get it on. She falls for him, has a baby, never meets my dad; Martin, that is, not the rapist. Then maybe that changes history, and Mum never gets raped.”
Jenny placed her hand on Martin’s arm and looked at him. “And you never get born.”
We all sat back for a moment, contemplating what Jenny had said. She was right. If I interfered too much, then I could change history. Although we’d already decided we had to stop Sarah from being raped. Martin wanted to go back to 2019, but in reality, that was never going to happen. Also, both Martins couldn’t exist when we got to 1988.
The other problem I faced, and I’d had this rolling around my head for weeks, was that everything I did or said was changing history because I wasn’t even born the first time around. Every day that ripple effect sent further far-reaching circles of change out into the world which altered history. There surely would come a point when those ripples would travel far enough to change events in the future which I could remember happening and knew would take place.
Perhaps those sporting and world events would change. Maybe my planned financial investments would not prove as lucrative as I thought. I needed to ramp up my short-term betting and continue to build my portfolio of assets before the world I knew changed forever. Surely those ripples hadn’t already gone as far to nullify my bet that Notts Forest would win the league next year or that Niki Lauda would be world champion later this year – or had they?
We finished our drinks with little achieved, apart from my challenge to encourage Sarah to look at Carlton. George said he needed to be off, Jenny and I planned to spend the evening with her parents, and Martin said he had a hot date with one of the young mums he’d met at the school gates earlier today – the man was an insatiable screwing machine.
Martin drove out of the car park ahead of Jenny and me. I had to brake hard as a white Ford Capri, with a coat-hanger aerial, sharply pulled off from the opposite side of the road behind Martin’s Cortina.
32
The Damned
John and Frances always made a huge fuss of the kids. They’d turned a spare bedroom into a playroom-come-sleepover den for Christopher. John had set up a large Scalextric and a Hornby railway set which I imagined had cost a fortune. Frances maintained that the train set was John’s and not really Christopher’s, as John was obsessed with expanding his portfolio of rolling-stock at every opportunity. Although Frances was on rocky ground when highlighting the number of boys’ toys that had been amassed, as she had gone slightly crazy with dolls houses, Tiny Tears and Cindy dolls.
Frances spoilt both Christopher and Beth as they had far too many toys that he could find the time to play with, or Beth could appreciate; my two adopted children were spoilt. Tonight, Chris had his Chitty Chitty Bang Bang car, which rarely left his pocket while having a tug of war with John. His Stretch Armstrong toy had his arms and legs pulled as if stuck on the torture rack in the dungeons of the Tower of London.
Before tea, I had to intervene in an argument raging between John, Jenny, and her younger brother, Alan. The disagreement was regarding Alan’s attire, which John and Jenny thought was horrific. He’d attached chains to his black jeans, had a padlock securing a chain around his neck and had modelled his hair in spikes with the content of a whole can of Frances’s Harmony Hairspray. There was no question of ‘Is she or isn’t she’ or in this case ‘he’ as in those dreadful cheesy adverts on TV. However, hair spray aside, the real fury was regarding Alan’s decision earlier that day to have his ear pierced.
Apparently, a mate made the hole in his ear using the pin of his The Damned badge, whilst his girlfriend held an ice cube to the back of his ear to numb the pain. I tried to convince John and Frances it was a phase, and he would probably grow out of it. Jenny was furious with Alan for his lack of respect, and how could anyone like that dreadful music. Although only just born at the birth of the Punk movement, I grew up to love that genre and was secretly jealous of all the bands Alan would have the opportunity to see.
Frances said that Alan’s girlfriend was a shocking girl who constantly chewed gum and wore fishnet tights with only the skimpiest black leather skirt, which in her opinion didn’t sufficiently cover her modesty. Frances also thought her dreadful thick black makeup was utterly horrible, “What kind of girl would wear black lipstick?” she’d exclaimed over tea.
After we’d dealt with the dishes and, at last, the conversation had moved on from Alan and his girlfriend’s dress sense, John and I enjoyed a cigar in the conservatory. Frances and Jenny attended to the kids getting them ready for bed. Christopher wanted to stay the night, and John agreed to perform the bedtime story routine after we’d finished our Man-Chat, as he put it.
Frances had said not to let Jonny push me into joining his secret club, where they got up to all sorts of sordid things, as Jenny was enough woman for any man. She delivered one of Jenny’s super smiles, slapped my bum and left us to puff away. Although Frances was joking, the subliminal message was clear, reminding me what a wonderful wife I had – not that I needed a reminder.
Back in my old world, Lisa’s mother had suggested to her husband during mine and Lisa's troubled marriage that he could enrol me into his secret organisation, which involved funny handshakes and rolled-up trouser legs. “It might
straighten him out a bit,” she’d said at the time, desperate to do anything to improve my lacklustre performance as a husband and son-in-law. Lisa’s father had nearly choked at the idea, stating the club was only for like-minded businessmen. He feared he would be blackballed if he attempted to introduce a new member who was an incompetent idiot like myself.
All of this conversation took place as I sat in their lounge as if I didn’t exist. Lisa didn’t defend me from her father’s rather unpleasant description of my personality. At that point in my relationship with my in-laws, I’d lost interest and didn’t care one jot what they thought of me. I recall helping myself to another glass of wine, whilst Lisa’s mum questioned Lisa if I had an alcohol dependency problem.
It had become common to sit and listen to a conversation between the three of them about my apparent incompetence as a husband and son-in-law. The last such discussion which I’d suffered was her mother questioning whether I was a ‘Jaffa’, as she put it. Her reference to the seedless orange was questioning if I possessed a low seed count as we hadn’t managed to procreate any children.
Her father had said to thank our lucky stars we hadn’t, as the idea of more idiots like me being born was not a pleasant thought. At that point, I did man-up and tell her parents to piss off and advised Lisa if she wanted to agree with her bigoted, fuck-stupid, self-centred, offensive wanker parents, then she could piss off as well. I left the house, leaving them all shocked at my outburst. I had berated myself for not being a man and saying those exact words years before as I should’ve done. I never revisited their house – a real blessing.
As I stubbed out my cigar, Frances popped her head in the room whilst bouncing Beth in her arms. “Jason, your lovely friend, Don, is on the phone. He’s been trying to ring you at home and now rang here. He says he needs to talk to you urgently.”
Jumping up, I scooted into the hall to get to the phone. Don would have only rung around urgently trying to track me down if there was an emergency. As he’d phoned, I presumed he was okay, so that was a relief as I plucked up the receiver. My guess was it was something to do with Martin.
Ahead of his Time Page 22
