Time After Time

by Wendy Godding

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Mama would work him out well enough,’ Georgina continued confidently, ‘and advise whether he is good company to keep—or a good beau to pursue.’

  ‘I think it’s best to make a judgement when it’s not influenced by things such as money and family,’ Penelope said thoughtfully. ‘We should decide his character based on manners and countenance.’

  Georgina sniffed. ‘Well, based on your theory we should all adore Mr Lockwood.’

  ‘Your father is a good, sensible man,’ Penelope continued, ignoring Georgina’s sarcasm, ‘and a good judge of character. He doesn’t seem to have any objections to Mr Lockwood, and neither does Harry.’

  ‘Harry would invite a tramp into the house if he thought it would upset me and give him a laugh,’ Georgina replied. ‘I’m not sure Harry is a good judge of character at all. But you are right about Father. He seems just as taken as the rest of us.’

  ‘Well, there you are,’ Penelope said, pleased and somewhat surprised by her eagerness to defend a man she barely knew. ‘And don’t forget you were singing his praises only a few days ago.’

  ‘I suppose I was. Still, I look forward to hearing from my aunt,’ Georgina added, ‘and I’m sure you are, too, my dear cousin. Despite your protests of good manners and countenance being enough!’

  They had made their way back to the house when Penelope felt the slightest breeze rustle her skirts. She paused and turned, her arms traced with goosebumps.

  ‘What is it?’ Georgina asked.

  Penelope’s eyes scanned the wide expanse of lawn: the gardens, the hedgerows, the rose garden and the late, splendorous orange bloom. Nothing. There was nothing to make her uneasy, nothing to suggest anyone was there.

  Turning, she smiled at Georgina, pushing to the back of her mind the sudden chill, the inexplicable anxiety in her stomach, and the feeling they were being watched. ‘Nothing. It’s nothing at all.’

  Chapter Six

  Present day

  I woke on Monday with my stomach churning just as Penelope’s had in my dream the night before. Marcus Knight and Heath Lockwood were definitely one and the same, there was no doubt.

  And Penelope was falling in love with him. There was no doubt about that, either.

  Beth arrived to pick me up for school in her mother’s silver Volvo. I eyed it warily as I finished packing my bag. Beth’s mother would not be letting Beth drive her car if they hadn’t come to some sort of arrangement—I could only speculate as to what it might be. Pink t-shirts and hipster jeans? Blonde curls and eyelash extensions? A spray tan?

  ‘You ready?’ Beth asked, her short black bob moving against her chin as she spoke. Sharp bangs cut across her forehead, and her eyes were lined with thick black eyeliner. She had the whole Uma-Thurman-in-Pulp-Fiction look going on today. I wondered when she’d got the bangs.

  ‘Sure, just let me lock up.’ I shoved Jane Eyre in my bag at the top and closed it.

  Making our way down the path towards the Volvo, the roar of a motorcycle engine suddenly filled the air. Looking up, I saw only a silver and black blur as it roared away from the new neighbour’s house.

  I shivered.

  ‘Who was that?’ Beth asked.

  I shrugged. ‘How should I know? Do I look like the neighbourhood gossip?’ I wondered idly if it belonged to Marcus, but the thought of Heath Lockwood on a motorcycle made me giggle and I quickly dismissed the idea.

  Beth opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by a call from next door.

  ‘Good morning, neighbour!’ Marcus waved across to us, smiling broadly.

  I stopped and stared at him. He was the same as Heath Lockwood, only modernised and without an English accent. Ridiculous. And frightening. And confusing. Suddenly, I just wished he would go away. My life was complicated enough; I didn’t needs boys from past lives coming along and complicating it even further.

  Putting my head down, I hurried to the car, completely ignoring Marcus as I scrambled in and, irrationally, locked the door. My chest squeezed tight and my throat itched.

  Climbing into the driver’s seat a few seconds later, Beth turned to stare at me. ‘What was that? Or should I say who was that? And why didn’t you answer him?’

  ‘New neighbour,’ I mumbled, ‘And why should I answer?’

  ‘Because he was friendly,’ Beth pointed out, ‘not to mention, really, really cute.’

  I groaned. ‘You sound like Meredith. Cute is a matter of opinion, and pretty boys aren’t my type.’

  Beth paused before starting the engine. ‘And just who is your type, Abbie?’

  ‘Marilyn Manson.’

  ‘Oh, ha-ha!’ she snorted. ‘I mean, seriously. Even you have to admit he is cute.’

  I shot her a look. ‘No. I don’t have to admit he’s cute. Because he’s not. End of story.’ I don’t want to talk about Marcus Knight, I thought hotly, I don’t want to see him next door or when I go to sleep at night, and I certainly don’t want to be falling in love with him.

  Beth rolled her eyes as I silently corrected myself.

  It wasn’t me who was falling in love with him. It was Penelope.

  Marcus’ arrival at Brookdale High created a buzz of excitement that went beyond the normal new-student hype. He was too friendly, too charming and too good looking, quickly becoming the hottest thing. So similar to Heath Lockwood at Broadhurst. I felt a little smug recalling Meredith’s ridiculous suggestion we be friends. It transpired that Marcus and I shared two classes: English and art. Those classes also happened to be shared with Emma and Lilly, which was unfortunate but bearable. After all, I’d been putting up with Lilly and her antics for a long time now. I was used to the regular humiliation she inflicted.

  ‘Have you seen the new boy?’ Laura asked as I slid into the seat beside her in English later that morning. Her bright red hair was streaked with purple and she wore blue eye shadow which clashed brilliantly. Laura had the whole goth look down to a fine art, including the tongue piercing.

  ‘Not you too,’ I groaned. Surely someone as offbeat as Laura wouldn’t be interested in someone as picture perfect as Marcus Knight?

  She shrugged. ‘Well, he’s just too cute. Have you seen him?’

  ‘Yeah, he lives next door.’

  ‘He lives next door? To you?’ she squealed, ‘Hubba hubba! I want weekly reports and an invitation to hang out.’

  ‘Hubba hubba?’ I drawled, ‘Who even speaks like that?’

  But I didn’t hear Laura’s reply as my attention was drawn to Lilly and Emma.

  They strode in confidently, and I was instantly alert and on guard, which history had taught me to be when it came to them.

  Eyeing the two girls warily as they made their way to their seats, I wondered if they would let me be, just for once. But they took an unnecessary detour between my and Laura’s desks, answering my silent question.

  In her hand Lilly carried a polystyrene cup, on which I kept my gaze fixed.

  Marcus chose that moment to also enter, filling the doorway and demanding attention. He scanned the room before his eyes lit on me. He grinned, his mouth stretching broadly in a crooked smile.

  Without thinking, without even checking my reaction, I smiled back.

  Then Lilly tripped.

  The rest happened in slow motion. Just like it always did whenever Lilly was involved.

  Hearing Laura call my name, I looked up to see a blur of orange flying through the air. Bizarrely, staring at the liquid, I thought of the brilliant orange rose at Broadhurst. Then the liquid hit me with a wet splat, slapping my face and trickling down the top of my dress, vanishing all thoughts of beautiful roses.

  ‘Oh my gawd!’ Lilly cried, her false, unnecessarily loud voice echoing around the classroom, ‘I’m so sorry!’ She was just dramatic enough to attract everyone’s attention.

  Pumpkin soup. Cold pumpkin soup. I felt my eyes well with tears as the entire room erupted with laughter. Wiping the soup away from my mouth, I tried not
to taste it. I recalled that the cafeteria had served pumpkin soup on Friday. Lilly had planned and preordained this attack well.

  With my teeth clenched, I shot a mutinous glare at Lilly who smirked, laughing with the rest of the class.

  ‘So sorry,’ Lilly repeated, ‘but, you know,’ she paused, making sure everyone heard, ‘you actually look quite good with a bit of colour. Less like a cartoon character!’

  The room erupted into laughter again, and I heard the familiar rumblings of freak and weirdo. Pushing past Lilly, my eyes brimming with tears, I ignored Marcus and his sympathetic eyes as I bolted from the room.

  Safe in the bathroom, I smashed a fist against the door. One of the junior girls cried out and ran away, leaving me alone with my fury. Damn you Lilly Hamilton! Why can’t you just leave me alone?

  Tears pricked my eyes but I ignored them, mentally willing them away. I never cried, having learned years ago that it got me nowhere. Tears might fill my eyes, but I never let them fall.

  Slowly, inhaling deep breaths, I started to calm down, and only then could I look in the mirror.

  My hair was covered in thick, orange goop, which streaked my face and disappeared down the back of my dress. A mental image of Marcus’ face, one of shock and pity, filled my vision, and anger surged again in my chest, my lungs burning. Turning on the tap, I cleaned myself up, knowing I’d be late for my next class and that Mr Richards would probably send me to the office for a late slip. I could skip, but I’d made it a rule to never cut class. Education was my way out of Brookdale, my chance to get away from the likes of Lilly Hamilton. Besides, it would only give them more satisfaction knowing they’d bested me. No, over the years I’d learned the best thing to do was clean myself up, hold my head high, and face them.

  Even as I hated every moment of it.

  Removing my makeup and rinsing my hair, I stared at my barren face in the mirror. Void of makeup, I looked less like myself and more like the good, kind-hearted daughter of a parson. The one everyone liked, who knew nothing about this double life we led, and who’d just caught the eye of the handsome Heath Lockwood.

  Penelope lived in an idyllic world that contrasted sharply with mine. And yet she was me. She was me from two hundred years ago. I felt as if I was split in two, circumstance and time the only things that separated me. I tilted my head and regarded my reflection. Why is this happening? I thought, wishing the dreams and memories would go away, Why do I remember you?

  My day didn’t get any better. Even after I reapplied my makeup, removing all traces of orange soup, I was still the object of ridicule. Word had spread of my humiliation, and everyone was keen to join yet again in making fun of Abbie Harper, the oddity in black.

  I kept my head held high, ignoring the gibes as best I could. Ignoring my anger, curling in the pit of my belly and directed entirely at Lilly and Emma, was a more difficult task.

  Beth greeted me sympathetically at lunchtime. ‘I heard what those cows did.’

  ‘Laura?’ I asked, slumping onto the seat opposite her.

  ‘Actually, no,’ Beth replied, but she didn’t elaborate further. She didn’t need to. We both knew how the Brookdale High grapevine operated. ‘Honestly, Abbie, I don’t know why you put up with them. Those two are always giving you a hard time—don’t you just want to smack them?’

  I made a face. ‘Yes, but look at them, and look at me.’

  Beth glanced across the room to where Emma, Lilly and their group sat. They were surrounded by cheerleaders and the basketball team. ‘You could take them out any day. I mean, I know you’re tiny and all, but you’re one tough—’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ I interrupted, ‘I mean look at them, and look at me. If I hit her, who do you think is going to get suspended? Or expelled? And, knowing those two, probably even charged!’

  Beth fell quiet for a moment. She knew I was right. No one would stick up for me over Lilly. ‘You know, we could look a little different,’ Beth suggested. ‘We don’t have to look so…alternative.’

  ‘What? And look like them?’ I spat, ‘Like teenage replicas from Seventeen magazine? No. Thank. You.’

  Beth shrugged. ‘Just a thought. Then you could hit them and no one would blame you. And it would make my mother happy. Plus, we might stand a chance with Marcus Knight.’

  There it is again! That name! Not only was he next door and in my dreams, now my friends couldn’t stop talking about him.

  ‘Isn’t he a darling!’ Laura said, joining us. She plonked her tray down a little too hard, sloshing some of her Coke.

  I glanced at her wryly. ‘I’m not sure you’re his type.’

  ‘No. He must prefer blondes. Apparently he already has a date with the horrible Lilly Hamilton on Saturday night. Fast mover.’

  ‘More like Lilly’s a fast mover,’ I mumbled, feeling strangely irritated by the idea of Marcus dating Lilly. What do I care who Marcus goes out with?

  But I did care. Or, at least, I knew Penelope would care very much who Heath fraternised with. After all, judging by the way she blushed every time he looked at her, and how her heart took on a frenzied rhythm whenever his eyes fell on her, she was falling desperately in love with him.

  I arrived purposely late to art class, hoping to avoid any further confrontations with Lilly and Emma. I needn’t have worried. The two girls had already set up their easels near Marcus and were too busy flirting to even notice me. Savour the small graces, I told myself.

  Like Penelope, I loved art, mostly because I could lose myself in the soothing, meditative process of painting. It provided a brief escape from my chaotic, confusing life, if only for a little while. It was only when I painted or drew that I forgot about who I was during the day, and who I was at night.

  Right now we were creating using an architectural theme. Landscapes and buildings was the topic, and I was painting the parsonage. Using oils, I worked on the sky, which was causing me some bother. It was proving difficult to capture, as if I’d never really looked up and seen it.

  ‘Pretty, Abbie,’ said Miss Morup behind me, ‘An old English church. Very quaint. Are you working off a photograph?’ She glanced around my station but, of course, found no photograph.

  ‘No.’ I didn’t offer an explanation.

  ‘Well, very nicely done,’ she murmured before moving away.

  ‘It must be a sunset picture,’ Lilly called from across the room. Honestly, did the girl miss nothing? ‘All orange!’ It wasn’t funny, but most of the class had a good giggle.

  Ignoring her, I kept working. Mixing a selection of blues and greys, I concentrated on the clouds drifting above the parsonage. I was pleased with the buildings—the church and the cottage stood just as I remembered—but the sky somehow needed to show movement and change. I’d toyed with the idea of doing a sunset or sunrise, but that seemed too clichéd. It also seemed too hopeful, when I knew there was no hope for the parson’s daughter. There never was.

  He would get her in the end. He always got her in the end, and for Penelope, the end was drawing frightfully near.

  After working silently for a while, I became aware of someone standing behind me, watching wordlessly. Assuming it was Miss Morup again, I continued painting, concentrating on the clouds, making them darker and angrier. Frustrated and looking for advice, I turned around, only to jump, startled.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Marcus was there.

  ‘What do you want?’

  His eyes flickered slightly between me and the painting. ‘Nice work.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, caught off guard by his compliment and the gentle warmth of his voice, ‘um, thank you.’

  ‘Where’s that place?’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘You haven’t been there?’ He seemed surprised.

  ‘Well, no. Not really.’

  Marcus continued to stare at the picture, a thoughtful look on his face. I watched him and wondered if perhaps he knew it. If perhaps he remembered…

  Then his eyes sna
pped back to mine. ‘You do beautiful paintings,’ he said after a lengthy pause. ‘England, isn’t it? Broadhurst parsonage.’

  I gasped. ‘You know it?’

  He pointed at my notes lying on the floor, a smile tugging at his lips. ‘You wrote it there.’

  Glancing down at my flowery handwriting, my heart sank. He didn’t know the parsonage. He hadn’t been there. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Be nice to go there sometime,’ he said slowly, his eyes roaming my face, ‘England.’ I watched him, my mouth dry. I felt hot and itchy as I waited for recognition to flood his eyes, silently begging for him to recognise his connection to Broadhurst, to me.

  But it never came and, after a few moments, he blinked, his eyes lightening to a soft caramel colour, before he moved away.

  I watched him walk back across the room, unsure of exactly what had just transpired. Did he know the parsonage? Did he remember?

  After school, as I walked towards the car park to meet Beth, I spied Lilly and Emma with Marcus. They had followed him and were leaning against the bonnet of his red Toyota, flirting with him.

  ‘Admit it,’ Beth said, approaching me, ‘you think he’s cute!’

  ‘Hardly,’ I scoffed. ‘And really, how long are we going to be talking about him? Hasn’t the novelty worn off yet?’

  ‘Not for those two,’ Beth commented. ‘Besides, I was watching you. You seem awfully interested in him.’

  For the second time that day I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks. I opened the car door and climbed in, dramatically slamming it shut behind me.

  I waited for Beth to follow suit before replying. ‘Not at all. The only thing I’m interested in is not having Lilly and Emma hang around the house next door. That would be a fate worse than death.’

  Chapter Seven

  1806

  ‘Heath and I have been studying phrenology. Have you heard of it, Georgie?’ Harry said, his eyes flashing teasingly at his sister.

  Penelope watched with interest. Harry was baiting Georgina; she recognised the signs well. Georgina would be baited until she asked what he was talking about, only to be told something shocking. Harry got a peculiar delight out of shocking Georgina and herself.