by Amanda James
God, he was really angry, but then what did she expect? ‘John, I’m sorry, I overreacted. I was just so happy being here in bed with you, pottering around in your home and then I saw the photo. I was jealous, worried and most of all stupid … It’s no excuse but after my husband—’
John held up his hand. ‘That’s enough apologising. I overreacted, too. It was a kick in the guts when she left. But she said she needed the smell of olives in her nostrils instead of cabbages. I guess I was angry because I kept the dressing gown and then you put it on. I hate it that you’re upset.’ He took her hand and kissed it.
‘I’m not upset with you now. I’m just upset because she hurt you. If she wanted bloody olives she should have popped down to the deli.’ She giggled. ‘So how did you meet?’ Why that mattered, Sarah didn’t know, she just wanted to assess the situation a little more, she guessed.
‘She was over visiting relatives here and a friend of her cousin is my friend, too. We went for a drink one night and she came along. We just got on, I thought I loved her, but in the end she was just a bit high maintenance for me. She “helps out” in her parents’ vineyard, but is mostly cosseted and spoiled. They are stinking rich and pay for all of her whims – clothes, cars, trips to England. I think she expected me to become a well-trained little lapdog; she had to think again.’
‘Well I’m glad she went back to Italy, that’s all I can say,’ Sarah said and kissed his shoulder. ‘Seeing her photo gave me quite a turn.’
‘You won’t have to see it again, don’t worry.’ Smiling, John fed her a piece of cake with one hand and tugged at her zip with the other. ‘And why don’t you hop back into bed with me. I’m sure I could make you feel much better.’
Sunday morning saw Sarah up with the larks and striding over the fields. ‘The best thing for a troubled mind is a good walk,’ her gran always said. Considering that the woman was always moaning about her troubles, and rarely left her chair and the TV, it was a bit rich, but there was truth in every word, nevertheless.
Worries had wound around Sarah’s mind like a jungle creeper when she had started from John’s door an hour ago. After their misunderstanding last night, they had made love again and then stayed up watching an old Bette Davis movie. The question of her going home hadn’t occurred to either of them. It was just so natural and easy being together. This morning, however, she knew she had to bite the bullet and tell him that she didn’t want to stitch anymore, but she didn’t want that to be the end of their relationship. Half-truths had been an option, but after the early morning sun and fresh breeze had worked their magic, her head was free of creeper, and indecision.
‘There you are, I was worried that you’d left me – walked home in just old overalls and wellies,’ John said. He was fresh from the shower, a green fluffy towel wrapped round his waist. ‘Tea?’ He ran water into the kettle and flashed her a smile bright enough to challenge the sunbeams dancing over the sill.
‘Yes please, and I’m in no rush to leave.’ She smiled back.
John poured the tea and indicated that she should follow him. He led the way through the living room – now Josephina-less, Sarah noticed on glancing at the sideboard – and out through the French doors to the patio. Sarah felt a little twinge of shame that he’d removed the photo because of the fuss she’d made yesterday, but it was a nice gesture and showed that he wanted to please her. Outside, a jug of orange juice, toast and vase of yellow roses sat on a wooden picnic table set for two.
‘So if you thought I’d left, who’s this for, eh?’ Sarah poked him in the back.
‘Tarnation, I guess you’ve plumb found me out, li’l lady,’ he said, pulling a chair out for her. ‘Do you fancy having a look around the garden after breakfast? Don’t worry if not, I know not everyone gets excited about carrots and taters, Master Frodo.’
She laughed. ‘Of course I’d love to, but I do want to have a serious talk first, if I may.’
‘Uh-oh, sounds ominous.’
John ate his toast and sipped his tea while Sarah launched into a big spiel about not feeling able to cope with any more adventures. She felt that it was more luck than judgement that she’d saved Rose, and that it would only be a matter of time before that luck would run out. Three things bothered her most. One was the complete lack of control she had of exactly when she would be whisked back to the past; two was the fear that if she stopped stitching, John would despise her and end things; and the third thing was that she didn’t really understand why the damn holes opened in the first place. Sarah looked at John with ‘I hope you don’t hate me’ written across her forehead.
John wiped his mouth, nodded and said, ‘Yes, I do despise you and want you out now … and if you believe that, you’re a nut job.’ He leaned over and kissed her. ‘Everything you said is all perfectly understandable and I think there may be things we can do about it. Firstly, you are a great Stitch. You may feel like you’re out of control but the reports I have received about you are outstanding. Loads of Stitches just give up halfway through if they can’t do the job immediately.’
‘Give up halfway through, how do they do that?’ Sarah was pleased that he still wanted her but tried to act cool. ‘Don’t let men think they have you dancing attendance.’ Another one of her gran’s. Stupid, really.
‘Oh in a variety of ways; they may just take to their bed and refuse to do anything, or they’ll run away from where they end up – fugitives in another dimension. They’re brought back and that’s the end of it. In truth, they don’t really care enough to save anyone. You should be proud of your achievements. And the ones that are found to be great at the job, despite the obstacles deliberately placed in front of them, often do get warnings about when they have to go back to the past. Some even get a hint as to where they have to go, too. It’s a reward, I guess. As I said, your progress reports are excellent.’
‘Really?’ She liked the idea of getting good reports; must be the teacher in her. ‘But you talk about Stitches as if there are loads of us knocking about the place. I’ve never met one … or are they sworn to secrecy like spies, or are they just afraid to talk about it in case they get accused of being mentally ill?’
‘There are thousands of Stitches, but let’s go back to the question about holes.’ John took a sip of tea and fiddled with the petals on a rose. Sarah had the feeling he was sidestepping the Stitch issue, but she let him continue uninterrupted.
‘Like I said when we first met, there are a few theories but I favour this one. All the dimensions of time are linked by a living, breathing thread. From the beginning of time until the present, the deeds, emotions, memories and spirits of the players on this vast stage of history, all become part of this thread.’ John paused and steepled his fingers. ‘I guess it’s like a strong, tightly woven cord of human essence, keeping time interlinked, balanced and enabling progress to the future.’
‘What? How the hell does that work exactly?’ Sarah asked.
‘That isn’t known, or at least I don’t know it.’
Sarah said nothing but raised her eyebrows, sat back and folded her arms.
‘Life isn’t a romantic novel where all ends are sown up neatly, all questions answered and problems magically resolved, Sarah. Time is messy and the holes that appear take a lot of sewing up, as you’ve discovered. Sometimes there is no happy ever after.’
Sarah held her hands up. ‘Hey, I didn’t say a word.’
‘No, but the look you’re giving me speaks volumes. So do you want to hear the rest?’
‘Yes, OK, Mr Grumpy.’ She took his hand across the table. The whole thing seemed incredible, but then why should that surprise her? She had recently returned from 1913.
He squeezed her hand. ‘OK, the holes appear because the link between past and present in certain areas becomes weak. As a history teacher, you know how important it is to know where we all come from and to learn from our mistakes. Also, we all know on Remembrance Day that we should be grateful to those who have made sacrifices fo
r the wellbeing of others and stuff. Well, too often people forget. They just pay lip service to the past. Then holes open up in time’s thread and can only be strengthened by the bravery, determination and love of people like you, Sarah. Stitches must go in and demonstrate that they are prepared to undergo traumatic situations in order to save the lives of others. The past isn’t dead and gone; it’s crucial for our passage to the future and even our very existence.’
Sarah felt strangely emotional all of a sudden. She loved the idea of past, present and future being held together by love and determination and other emotions. What had John called it … human essence? But why weren’t important events affected by a person from the future like her, just dropping into the past and changing things? And why hadn’t he answered her question about other Stitches?
‘That sounds incredible, John. So you say Stitches save lives to make the future as it should be, and when people muck up, bad things happen?’
‘Yes, like when Norman refused and we got Hitler. Apparently he’d agreed at first and then pulled out at the last minute; no one else was available at such short notice.’
‘But like I said the first time we met, how can I be alive now and change things in the past that have already happened in the present. It makes my mind boggle, to be honest.’
‘Again, it is a bit complicated, but like I said yesterday, you aren’t really yourself in the past, are you? You don’t appear to others as you, you appear as the Sarah they know. You kind of work in tandem, your spirit is with them, rather than you physically intervening as a separate entity. So even though you go back in time, you are not wholly you. Most importantly, time isn’t set in stone, it’s in flux, and changes can be subtle or dramatic depending on how good or bad a Stitch is at their job.’
Sarah sipped her tea for a few minutes. It all made a weird kind of sense, but there was just the question of why, if there were thousands of Stitches, didn’t anyone know about them? Even if they were all sworn to secrecy, one of them would have let something slip over the years. She put down her cup and said as much to John.
He had a shifty look about him and fiddled with a spoon this time. ‘Err … there’s no easy way of saying this. Once the mission is completed they—’ he swallowed and looked over the fields ‘—they have their memories wiped of all connection to the mission.’
Though the morning was warm, a cold wind seemed to blow right through her. Sarah shook her head. ‘Will that happen to me? And all connection … that must include you, us?’
John looked back at her; his green eyes seemed darker, drawn, and full of uncertainty. ‘Not if you listen and agree to what I’m about to tell you. There have been quite a few trusted Stitches over the centuries who were allowed to keep their memory intact. The powers that be were a hundred percent sure that they would never divulge their experiences to a living soul. The thing is, Sarah, if you give up now…’ He set his mouth and shook his head.
‘So if I give up, I get my memory dry cleaned and you’ll disappear along with 1940 and 1913?’
He nodded.
She stood up and kicked the chair. ‘Oh, great! So I have no choice then, again … just for a change. One minute I’ll be, oh I don’t know, let’s say on the toilet at home, the next I’ll be in the Old West in a stage coach with my knickers round my ankles, huh?’
John shook his head and pursed his lips. Sarah could tell he was trying not to smirk at her scenario. ‘No, that won’t happen next time,’ he said, standing and drawing her close. ‘For those trusted and exemplary Stitches like yourself, there can be leeway in when you go. You have been tested and passed with flying colours. So next time – if you choose to have a next time – I’m guessing that you’ll be able to be a bit prepared at least.
‘You should take your time to think about it. Until I saw you standing there yesterday up to your knees in muck I had thought about it and decided it just wouldn’t work, wasn’t worth the heartache, but then when I looked into your eyes, my heart soared and I knew you were the one. If you choose to stitch – choose me – our life won’t be ordinary, and it certainly won’t be easy … This game can take its toll. I know from experience … You see, the same thing happened to my parents.’
‘What? Your mum is a Stitch, too?’
He blinked and swallowed hard. ‘She was, Sarah, and a bloody good one. She cared so much about her job. She died a few years ago and I miss her so much.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry … Did she die because of a trip back …?’
‘No, nothing like that. It was cancer … but perhaps the stress of such a, let’s say, “unusual” life style for Mum and Dad didn’t help.’
‘Ah, I know what that’s like. My dad died of it, too. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. My mum was a mess at the time, but she copes the best she can now. She has a job in a charity shop, and that keeps her mind occupied, but she’s not the same mum anymore. She just goes through the motions sometimes, alive but not living, you know?’
‘I do know; my dad is much the same,’ John whispered into her hair. ‘So taking all that into consideration I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to call it a day, nobody would.’
Sarah was at a loss for words. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his rapid heartbeat. He was obviously anxious about her response. He smelled of lemon shower gel and the fresh sunny morning and she was shocked to realise that even though she was apprehensive about all the problems their relationship was sure to face, she had never felt as happy, safe or calm as she did right at that moment.
Despite everything he had told her, the logical, sensible, safeguard-against-hurt argument had at last been defeated. There was no way she would run the risk of losing him, and if that meant a trip to Mars without oxygen and a fire hose, she’d do it. And why would she do such a crazy thing? Because even though she’d known him for a just a nano-second in the marches of time, she felt right then that she would love him for eternity.
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. ‘I don’t need time to think about this, John. I’m back on the job,’ she said, and pressed her lips to his.
Chapter Sixteen
John had negotiated the next two weeks as ‘time travel free’ for Sarah. The first week was half-term and the two of them spent every minute together. Sarah spent more time at his house than hers; she had to keep pinching herself to check that she wasn’t dreaming. And floating all along her blue horizon were pink fluffy clouds as far as the eye could see.
Although Sarah had tried to get more information about how he negotiated, and who with, she was none the wiser. He just said he did it by email and he didn’t know who the powers that be were. It was something that they would never know and had to live with. In the end, she believed him. As he said, life wasn’t a romance novel. But lately, when she was in his arms, Sarah felt that’s exactly what life was.
The question about why she had been selected as a Stitch had been answered, though. As John had said the first time she had met him, in general Stitches were chosen because of their strength of spirit, courage and potential to do the right thing. It was because of this, her job, and equally importantly, John surmised, because the powers that be had decided that it was time for him to settle down. He had been sadly mistaken with Josephina, but perhaps they thought that Sarah was a good match.
There was maybe some connection between them that only the powers could see; he didn’t know, but that was his best guess. Because of the obvious problems associated with living such a life, most Needler wives hadn’t been Stitches and were oblivious to their husband’s Time-Needling. Keeping something like this hidden was very tricky, but necessary. John had asked his dad once if all Needles were men as his personal history seemed to bear that out, and were all Stitches women. His dad hadn’t known for sure but he thought that these jobs were interchangeable. Once again, secrecy prevented knowledge of all the facts. He’d also guessed that women were better at stitching given their natural intuition and in
nate sense of caring. John wasn’t too sure about this assumption. He’d met a few women who would give Genghis Khan a run for his money.
Most Needlers abided by the sensible rules of never getting romantically involved with a Stitch, too. If they had flouted the rules like his father had, and now, John himself, was doing, it was a good indication that the match was a good one because there were so many problems associated with such a relationship; both parties would risk heartache and sadness. His dad suspected (because he had never been told explicitly) that his mum had been chosen for him in this way, but had had to prove that she was determined to stick at stitching and by her husband when the going got tough.
The powers had made it as difficult as possible for the relationship to flourish between his parents, but they had stuck at it and in the end the powers were satisfied. Sarah was determined that they would be satisfied with her and John too, even though she had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t be easy.
Wandering around the market garden with John had been informative and interesting. She had learned more about vegetables and flowers in a few hours than she’d learned in her whole life. John was in his element there. His face lit up when he showed her this type of onion, or that particularly juicy vine tomato. Roy and Helen, the husband-and-wife team who ran the shop selling his produce and taking orders for larger concerns, were lovely. They welcomed her with open arms and she felt like she’d known them forever. Helen had taken her to one side as they walked along the cabbages. ‘I’ve never seen John so happy; he obviously adores you.’
Sarah’s heart did a happy dance. That must mean he was happier with her than he had been with ‘not tonight Josephina’.
The following Sunday evening crept up on them, as, unfortunately, they are wont to do. John had brought her home and Sarah was torn between asking him to stay and doing a bit of work for the next school day. She hadn’t so much as marked a textbook and felt woefully under prepared.
