by Amanda James
Lucky Neil.
‘He was just going in Mothercare with a drop-dead gorgeous woman, long chestnut hair, tall, leggy,’ Natalie nudged Sarah and winked, ‘arm in arm they were, looked really cosy.’ She gave a false laugh. ‘Only teasing, pet. Your Neil wouldn’t cheat, would he … So who was she, his sister?’
Sarah put her hand on the door handle, more for support than intention to push it open. No, please, no … Sarah’s heart thundered against her rib cage and for the second time that day she thought she was going to lose her lunch. How many drop-dead gorgeous women with long chestnut hair did she know, and going into Mothercare … no wonder Karen wouldn’t tell her who the damned father was.
‘Hey, are you alright, love? You’ve gone ever so pale … I hope I haven’t put my foot in it,’ Natalie said. The nasty gleam in her eye and pretend concern on her spiteful face told Sarah that’s exactly what she’d intended to do.
‘What? No, course you haven’t. Yes, yes, it’s his sister,’ she managed. ‘I’m alright, just tired, Natalie. Bye.’
Sarah fled on jelly legs out through the changing rooms and into the car park. The damp cool of the night air rushed over her flushed face and neck, helping to steady her nerves a little. The clock on the dash said 6.05. Neil would probably still be in Sainsbury’s and it was on the way home, anyway. Had the friend in crisis yesterday been Karen? The one he’d abandoned his anniversary dinner for? Take deep breaths, you’re overreacting, it will all be fine. Go and see Neil, he’ll explain.
As she drove, Sarah tried to focus. Neil and her oldest friend would never do that to her, surely. In fact, Neil had seemed surprised, almost shocked, when she’d told him that Karen was pregnant on Saturday.
‘Really?’ Neil’s mouth had fallen open. ‘Didn’t think Karen was the mothering kind!’ he’d said.
‘Well, it obviously wasn’t planned, and she’s playing her “who’s the pop” cards very close.’
‘Blimey. So shall we have a takeaway?’ Neil had walked into the living room and picked up the phone.
Thinking about it all again now though, Sarah remembered that he had turned very pink and hadn’t looked at her directly. Perhaps Neil hadn’t been shocked that Karen was pregnant at all. Perhaps he’d just been shocked because Karen had chosen to confide in her.
‘And anyway, people may think I’m not the mothering kind!’ she had yelled after him. ‘Little do they know the reason we haven’t heard the patter of tiny feet is because you have got cold ones where fatherhood’s concerned!’
‘Don’t start on that again now; you’re like a broken record with the baby thing. Do you want your usual?’ Neil had dialled the curry house and there the matter had rested.
Sarah swung the car into a space and switched off the engine. She was getting ahead of herself. Neil probably went red on Saturday because he knew that Sarah would start on about babies again, would be jealous that her oldest (single) friend had become pregnant, while Sarah, a happily married woman of seven years, wanted to be, but her child-shy husband didn’t think it was the right time yet, and hadn’t done for the last three years. But would he ever?
She got out of the car and marched towards the brightly lit supermarket. There must be a rational explanation for why he’d been going into Mothercare (arm in arm) with Karen. She’d just walk up and ask him outright. No beating about the bush, no giving him time to think of some lame excuse. Sarah would know immediately if he was lying. If he scratched his left earlobe and swallowed repeatedly until his Adam’s apple bobbed like a float on a lake … then God knows what she’d do.
Neil was in the frozen food aisle when she pounced on him. ‘Oh, hi!’ He pinched her cheek. ‘God, you look a bit messy, love.’ He smiled.
‘I didn’t have time for a shower at the gym, but then I supposed you’re used to your women drop-dead gorgeous nowadays, eh?’
Neil frowned, pulled his left earlobe and held up a pizza. ‘No idea what you’re on about. Your message said you’d had a really awful day, but don’t take it out on me. Now, shall we have pepperoni, or four cheese?’
Sarah had to lean her weight against the freezer. He may just have an itch on his ear … please don’t let it be true … please … and not with Karen.
Neil was still holding up the pizza and frowning. ‘Well, which one?’
‘Are you the father of Karen’s baby?’ she whispered.
Neil flushed scarlet, put his hand to his ear, swallowed hard a few times and laughed a hard, brittle, and very false laugh. ‘What? What did you just say?’
‘You heard me!’ Sarah screeched, making shoppers in their aisle, and the next three, stop dead in their tracks. An old couple deliberating over a packet of frozen Yorkshire puddings dropped it and stared open mouthed, a young couple pretended to read the instructions on a pizza, a middle-aged woman with a little boy slowed her trolley and shushed the child, and a young woman knelt to tie her trainers. Sarah could practically feel the curiosity emanating from all of them.
‘You can’t be serious …’ Neil stopped, but his Adam’s apple jiggled for England. Sarah’s vision seemed to have narrowed, tunnelled, until all she could see was that damned apple bobbing in his red blotchy neck. She shook her head, took a deep breath and blinked back tears.
‘Oh, but I am serious, very serious.’ She glared at the little audience they’d gathered and then back to Neil. ‘So, are you the father?’ Sarah flung her arms wide and thrust her neck forward. ‘I need you to tell me the truth, and I’m sure all these nosy buggers listening in won’t sleep until you do, either!’
Chapter Two
18 months later
The sound of the door clunking shut behind her, the cool touch of the hall tiles underfoot, and the lingering aroma of last night’s curry, signalled she was home at last; another school day from hell was over.
Sarah wriggled her toes a little more on the smooth surface, and then dropped her sweaty shoes into the basket at the bottom of the stairs. Holding her aching back, she bent over, picked up the mail from the mat and flicked through the pile. Crap, crap and more crap. Never mind about the decimation of the rainforests – the two-for-one garden gnome offer at Paradise Garden Centre is much more important.
Bing-bong! She jumped as the doorbell chimed. Sarah rolled her eyes. Who the hell is this, now?
She sneaked into the living room and peeped through the blinds. It was damn near wine o’clock, and after the day she’d had, if it wasn’t Johnny Depp out there, she wasn’t interested.
Sarah could see that the caller was male, dark-haired, tall and suited. He had his back turned to her, and was tapping a clipboard on the side of his leg. Nope, not Johnny Depp. Probably a time-waster, so he could bugger off.
Just as she was closing the gap in the blind, the man turned and spotted her. He smiled, raised his clipboard and waved hello with his pen.
Bugger … I’ll have to open the damned door now!
‘Hello,’ she said, opening the front door slightly, ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve just got in. I’ve lots to do, so I haven’t got time to buy anything.’
‘Well, that’s alright then, because time is my business,’ he said.
Sarah noted that even though he wasn’t Johnny Depp, he wasn’t half-bad. He looked to be about thirty-five, had gorgeous sea-green eyes, a long aquiline nose and a full sensuous mouth. The mouth was curling at the edges in a slow smile.
She sighed. Never mind his smile, Sarah, he’s a time-waster, get rid of him. ‘As I said, I am really busy, and as you have just said, time is your business. Timeshares I expect, so I really must …’
‘I’m really not selling anything.’ He placed the pen between a set of perfect teeth, lowered his eyes and traced his finger down the pages on his clipboard.
‘Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but I must go,’ Sarah said, already starting to close the door. What she needed was a big glass of red and her feet up.
He looked up from his board and smiled again. ‘I think you do mean to be r
ude, actually. Don’t worry, I just need to go over a few instructions with you. You have a huge task to complete, and we need to make sure you know exactly what’s going to happen.’ He took a step towards her.
Sarah immediately slammed the door in his face. Who the bloody hell did he think he was, completely ignoring her? He was obviously a complete fruit loop – handsome, but a fruit loop nonetheless. A task to complete; now that was a new one.
Marching into the kitchen, she grabbed a wine glass from the cupboard and poured a big glug of red. Now, a comfy sofa and mind-numbing rubbish on the TV beckoned. Taking a mouthful of wine she walked into the living room, and nearly spat it out again. The fruit loop was sitting casually on her sofa, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Ooh, have you got a glass for me, Sarah? I could murder one.’
Managing to swallow the wine, she backed towards the door, gasping, ‘How the hell did you get in here, and how do you know my name?’ Frantically, she tried to remember where she’d put her mobile; was it still in her school bag?
Fruit loop held up his hands. ‘Hey, sorry, don’t be afraid. Asking for wine was crass of me. You must be freaked out. Look, I promise I’m not here to hurt you.’
Sarah inched out into the hall. Even if she could put her hand on the damned phone, she probably wouldn’t have time to dial 999. No, the best solution was to make a run for it. She set down her wine glass on the hall table and turned for the front door … only to see fruit loop standing in front of it.
She felt the floor come up to meet her, and leaned heavily against the wall. This was impossible; he was sitting on her sofa in the living room, wasn’t he? ‘How the …?’ He held up his hands again, silencing her. ‘I told you, time is my business.’ He shrugged. ‘I can make it stop, go forward and back, but only for a short while, otherwise the dimensions get mucked up. I would certainly get into big trouble with the powers that be, too, but we’ll talk about that another time; there’s enough for you to take in at the moment, as it is.
‘Anyway, suffice to say that I stopped time, walked round you, here in the hall, and then started it again. Same way I got in here, too. Now, we really must get down to business. I am not here to hurt you, I repeat not here to hurt you, Sarah. My name’s John, by the way.’
John walked towards her, gesturing that she should return to the living room. Sarah led the way on shaky legs and then sank down into her armchair. She figured that the fallout from the Neil-and-Karen trauma and her stressful job had, at last, pushed her over the edge. Lots of her teacher friends had breakdowns … this must be her turn. Actually, now that it had happened, she felt relieved, really …
‘So,’ John’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Sarah Yates, thirty-four, divorced.’ He looked at his clipboard. ‘No children, history teacher at Grangeworthy High, stressed, disillusioned with the way teaching is going, though not with the subject of history, and not with most children, just the minority who eat you alive. The latest bane of your life is Danny Jakes of 9CM, who told you recently to “stick your detention up your fat arse!”’
John, now seated on her sofa, pulled a face of sympathy across the room, flicked over the page of notes and continued. ‘Err … husband ran off with best friend, they now have a child, you despise them both, especially him, because you gave him the best years of your life, and now think that your chance for kids has passed. You desperately wanted a child but your ex always put you off, always found some kind of excuse.’ An even more sympathetic look found a home on John’s face. ‘Dear, oh dear.’ He placed the clipboard down and looked across at her again. ‘Now, I have got the right, Sarah Yates, haven’t I?’
Sarah wished that he hadn’t, but sadly he had described her life in a nutshell. Neil had indeed left with Karen about eighteen months ago now. It had been a drunken one-night stand apparently; the pregnancy had come as a terrible shock. They hadn’t planned to keep the child, but then time went by and Karen found it impossible to have a termination. They started getting used to the idea, and Neil insisted on providing financial support, hence the trip to Mothercare.
Then, when Sarah had found out and everything was in the open, Neil and Karen had decided to make a go of it. So, it was Sarah’s fault really – how nice for them to have it all magically and neatly resolved like that.
It was old news, but the pain was still as fresh as a daisy on a spring morning. Hearing the facts read out like a shopping list, even though John seemed sorry for her, did not help. The pity of strangers … wasn’t that a poem, perhaps a film? She should audition for the lead role. Sarah sighed and rubbed her eyes.
‘Yes … yes that’s me, unfortunately. Now, you need to disappear because I’m suddenly feeling very weary. I’ll make an appointment with my Doctor in the morning, but for now, I just want to sleep.’
‘Doctor, why?’
‘To get some antidepressants or something for this breakdown I’m having.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m obviously talking to a hallucination.’
John threw back his head and laughed. ‘No, Sarah, I’m as real as you. It’s normal to feel shell-shocked, but you’ll get over it quite quickly; people usually do.’
‘So, I’m not having a breakdown?’
‘Not as far as I know … look, I am what’s known as a Time-Needle. It’s something you’re born into and can’t do anything about. My dad was a Time-Needle until his retirement a few years ago and so was his father. Our job is to sew together holes that have opened up in time using a Stitch. If they remain open, people will die. I find Stitches in time and you’re a Stitch.’
Sarah looked at him open-mouthed for a few moments, and then, springing up, she wagged a finger at him. ‘OK, that’s it, and that’s all! I need a drink!’
She shot out. John followed her to the kitchen. He watched, frowning, as she pulled a wine glass from the cupboard and picked up the bottle, all the while muttering under her breath.
‘Err … you have a glass out here in the hall already,’ he said, going to the hall and returning with the glass.
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I forgot. How silly of me. I mean, I am behaving perfectly normally, aren’t I? Talking to a Time Lord, Needle, or whatever the hell you are, listening to stories of sewing holes together in time, and what was the last thing?’ she said, knocking back the wine in one gulp. ‘Oh, yes, I’m a Stitch … Yup, perfectly normal!’ She poured more wine and glared at him.
‘Oh dear, you really need to calm down a bit, Sarah. Do you mind if I have this one?’ John asked, holding up the wine glass.
Sarah shrugged and stared out of the window. This was worse than she had initially feared. Not only was she having a full-blown breakdown, she couldn’t make the damned hallucination stop. Her mind was totally out of control!
She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, counted to three, and snapped her eyes open. No, he was still there, sipping her wine as if he was real! Her addled mind had conjured up a gorgeous guy and called him John. Johnny was apparently too obvious. God, how sad was she? Sipping her wine, she decided that the best thing to do was go with the flow. If I play along, show myself … my mind, that I’m not scared, perhaps the stress will go away … and with it, the hallucination. And anyway, what choice do I have?
‘You look a bit calmer now,’ John said, setting his glass on the table and drawing up a stool.
Sarah sighed and opened the fridge door. ‘Yes, well I think it’s sinking in a bit now. Would you like some crackers and cheese? Wine on an empty stomach isn’t such a good idea. I was going to dial a pizza later, but I’ve gone off that idea; funny, that.’
‘Yes, please if you’re sure it’s no trouble,’ John said, peering round her at the contents of the fridge. ‘Ooh, and a bit of that cold ham and pickles if there’s some going begging.’
‘Anything else, you know, while I’m here?’ Sarah asked.
‘Err … is that Sainsbury’s houmous?’ John asked, licking his lips.
A few minutes late
r, Sarah, seated opposite at the kitchen table, watched as John made short work of his food. She decided he did look a bit like Johnny Depp, but his face was broader, his jaw squarer, and as far as she remembered Depp’s eyes were brown, not green like the twinkly ones looking at her right now. Biting into a cracker, Sarah pointed a piece of cheese at him and asked, ‘So, you’re a time traveller; do you have a wife?’
‘A wife?’ John looked startled. ‘No, but I think we need to keep our relationship platonic, Sarah. It’s not that I don’t find you attract—’
‘No! It’s a book and a film,’ she said, horrified that he’d thought she was coming on to him. She sighed and shook her head. Hang on? What the hell does it matter what he thinks, he’s not bloody real!
‘Oh, I see,’ John was saying. ‘I don’t keep up much with books and films.’ He popped a pickled onion into his mouth. ‘And, I’m not a time traveller; you are … or will be, if you agree to it, of course.’
‘Oh, right, yeah. I’m always zipping about the universe in my trusty TARDIS. More ham, John?’
‘Now you are just being facetious, Sarah. Ham … mm, just a couple of slices will be lovely, thanks.’
‘Anyway,’ Sarah said, with her head in the fridge, ‘thought you said I was a Stitch in time, not a time traveller.’ She forked ham on to John’s plate, a thought suddenly occurring to her. ‘Ha ha, “a stitch in time saves nine”! Mind you, that old saying means that if you don’t attend to a problem immediately, the problem will get worse. God knows quite what you meant, John.’
John thanked her and took a sip of wine. He stared at her across the table while she crunched her crackers. ‘Look, Sarah, I think you’re ready to hear what this whole thing is about.’
Sarah drained her glass and folded her arms. ‘Yup, I think I’m ready too, John; fire away, why don’t you?’
‘OK.’ He leaned forward and pushed his plate to one side. ‘The meaning of the old saying “a stitch in time saves nine” has become corrupted over the centuries. It actually means that if a hole in time isn’t sewn up by a Stitch, nine people will die. Those nine people may, or may not, be pivotal actors on the stage of history, but if they die, or are never born, the effect on the future is always negative. The Stitch has to travel back through time to save them.’
