by Amanda James
‘Ah, at last you are with us. Now, who on earth are you and what are you doing wandering into our school?’
Horse Face stepped closer and peered imperiously down her nose at Sarah. Two beady black eyes, neither helpful nor friendly, bored into Sarah’s from a long, thin, milk-white face, and chopping this Munchian creation to a sudden stop was a jaw you could slice bacon on. What the hell? Sarah, to no avail, tried to pull her eyes from the woman’s almost non-existent top lip, above which a single hair sprouted from a huge dark mole.
A tiny fist of adrenaline prodded low in Sarah’s belly and then gathered momentum, quickly punching shock into her heart rate. The mole loomed larger, so Sarah closed her eyes against it and took a deep breath. This must be a dream, or a bloody nightmare. She pinched her arm with some force. Ouch! That would be a negative then. This was real! What the hell had happened? One minute she had been marrying John, the next … no … PLEASE NO! Don’t let this be another time trip … not now … not on the happiest day of her life when—
‘Excuse me,’ Horse Face snapped and poked Sarah on the shoulder. ‘Open your eyes. I don’t want you going off again!’
‘Um …’ Sarah began, opening her eyes and trying to force her frazzled thoughts into some kind of coherent logical order. But her brain wasn’t having any of it. All she could manage to do was to stare at the woman in a fuzzy state of panic. The drumming that Sarah had heard she now discovered wasn’t rain on a window at all, but the woman’s skeletal fingers tapping against a book clasped to her chest. Raising her eyes from the book to the woman’s face again Sarah felt, to her horror, a giggle caper up from her depths when she noticed the hairstyle. A half-hearted attempt had been made to tease a tawny haystack into some kind of Marcel Wave bob, but had failed miserably. The old scarecrow, Worzel Gummidge’s locks looked more refined.
But this was no laughing matter. Sarah looked round the spartan little room which appeared to be an offshoot from a school corridor. Nope. If she had gone back in time on today of all days, this was no bloody laughing matter at all. She swallowed hard. Okay, attack is the best form of defence, and she felt like she had to defend herself from Horse Face. Looking the woman square in the eye she said in her best teacher’s voice, ‘I have no recollection of what happened. Now, please, tell me where I am.’
‘Don’t you get all hoighty-toighty with me!’ Horse Face glowered. ‘You were the one crawling around on the floor in the yard and then upped and fainted. Not a good example to the children at all.’
Not a good example? Sarah sat up on the bed and put a hand to her swimming head. Was the woman bloody crackers? ‘If I fainted I hardly think that I had a choice in the matter … Miss?’ Sarah put her head on one side, glared at the woman and tried to muster a confident expression.
‘Miss Ratchet. And what do you mean, “if you fainted”? Of course you did, or why else would I have summoned the caretaker to carry you into the medical room here? Or are you in the habit of walking onto school premises and pretending to faint, Miss?’
Ratchet, yeah that’d be right. She looked about as human as a screwdriver. Sarah paused and wondered if she was actually married. Oh to hell with it, what did it matter? ‘Mrs Needler. And no, of course not, what a ridiculous thing to say.’
‘I will remind you that you said “if” not “when” you fainted, Mrs Needler. That led me to suppose that—’
‘Okay, cut the prattle.’ Sarah eased her feet – no longer wearing cream satin sling-backs but encased in sensible brown lace-ups – to the floor and sighed. ‘Where are we, and what year is it?’ She really couldn’t be faffed going over the whole, ‘I must have bumped my head so can’t remember anything’ scenario she’d used the first time she’d travelled to the past. And judging by the clothes she and the woman were wearing, the surroundings and the scene she’d first glimpsed before she’d fainted, there really wasn’t very much doubt that she had indeed left Kansas, Toto.
Miss Ratchet put her hand to her mouth, shook her head and said less fiercely, ‘You must have bumped your head in the yard.’ Sarah wanted to laugh again and say, No, that’s my line, but of course she didn’t.
‘I suppose I must have. So … the year is?’
‘1939, and you are in Southampton.’
‘Southampton?’
‘Southampton, yes. Where did you think you were?’ Ratchet furrowed her brow and folded her arms, slicing the air with sharp elbow joints.
Ratchet Scissorhands surreally floated across Sarah’s mind and she leaned against the bed to try and ground her thoughts. Well, this was just marvellous, wasn’t it? Here she was dumped in the past again. A momentous year, the war about to start, or perhaps it had already, in a town she’d never visited before and with no clue who she was supposed to save.
As a reward for her exemplary stitching, the ‘powers that be’ – the name she’d given to the guardians of time – had allowed Sarah to know something about her latter missions before she’d gone. Looks like they were chucking her back in at the deep end just as they had in her first two trips … but why? What the hell had she done wrong?
‘Do you think you want to be sick because you look pale and I have no stomach for sick people.’ Ratchet backed quickly away towards the door, the bell hanging from her belt clanging weakly against her hip.
‘No, I think I’m okay, just had a bit of a shock, that’s all.’ She sighed. That was the understatement of the year. Sarah felt her eyes grow moist as she thought of John and a church full of people back home. They were all probably gathered around John looking at the empty spot beside him, worried to death. How the hell would they explain her vanishing to the whole congregation when she got back? Dear God, why did this have to happen now?
Ratchet waved a bony hand vaguely in Sarah’s direction. ‘I’m no good with weeping either … Look, just sit here quietly and have a cup of water. I have to teach my class, but it is the last lesson of the day and I’ll be back in a short while. I’m sure you will be right as rain by then.’
‘Yes, I’m sure I will. Thanks,’ Sarah said, and then muttered under her breath, ‘As right as any time traveller can bloody be.’
Almost through the door Ratchet’s head snapped round and she hurried back over to Sarah, thrusting her mole inches from her face. ‘What did you say?’
Sarah recoiled. ‘I said I’m sure I will be all right—’
‘No, no, after that,’ Ratchet hissed, her eyes glowing like two hot coals.
‘Er … nothing.’
‘Yes, yes, you did … I heard you.’ The word ‘heard’ was accompanied by a hard squeeze of Ratchet’s talons around Sarah’s wrist.
Bloody hell was this woman a ‘wanna be’ witch from The Wizard of Oz or something? Sarah half expected her to turn green, throw back her head and cackle manically. ‘Oi, get off,’ she snapped, pulling her wrist free.
‘You said something about time travel. I heard you, you did, didn’t you?’ Ratchet’s voice rose higher with every word until she was practically shrieking. The look on her face really did match the anguish of Munch’s famous artwork now.
‘Veronica! I really need you to attend to your class. I’ve been teaching mine as well as yours for the last twenty minutes and enough is enough.’ A stout short woman looking very much like Dawn French stomped in and placed her hands on her hips. She gave Sarah the briefest glance, accepted a nod from Ratchet and then stomped out again.
‘Right.’ Ratchet turned to Sarah, her voice quavering. ‘You stay there until I get back, do you hear me?’
Gawd, she made Sarah feel like a naughty schoolgirl. ‘Yes, well I can’t think where else I would go to be honest,’ Sarah said, blinking back fresh tears. I mean, it’s not as if I have a wedding reception to go to or anything, is it?
John had to shout to make himself heard over the hubbub. ‘I said stand back for God’s sake! Give her some air!’ The anxiety and volume of his voice forced the knot of anxious wedding guests to step back as one, and a space was cleare
d around Sarah and John, apart from his dad and Sarah’s mum. John laid Sarah on her back, slipped his hand under her neck and tapped her cheek gently with the other.
‘By ’eck, lad, I think she’s fainted,’ Harry said.
‘Oh really? I would never have bloody guessed!’ John snapped and then immediately regretted it as he noted the crestfallen look on his dad’s face. ‘Sorry, yeah I know, Dad, but why is she still out?’
Gwen tried to hitch up her tight dress and then knock-kneed, lowered herself to the floor next to her daughter. ‘Sarah love, can you hear me?’ She gave Sarah’s shoulders a little shake. John’s heart lurched as Gwen grabbed his arm and wailed, ‘John, do something, she’s not waking up!’
The vicar rushed forward and knelt then. ‘Mrs Mason, please don’t get hysterical, we need calm. And we also need to get your wife into the recovery position, John.’
For a split second the word wife sent an indescribable glow of happiness through John’s heart, and then the sight of Sarah’s ashen face highlighted by two pink flushes of colour on her cheekbones brought anxiety rolling back into his belly. The vicar shot him a ‘don’t just sit there do something’ look. So putting his hands carefully against Sarah’s side, he pushed, as the vicar bent her leg and rolled her over.
‘Tip her head back a bit now,’ Harry said, biting his nails. ‘I remember that bit from Casualty.’
John tipped her head back, noting that her skin was very hot and clammy to his touch. Lowering his ear to her mouth he listened for a breath and was rewarded by a little puff of hot air to his cheek, then another few in quick succession. He didn’t like the sound of that. He shot an anxious look at the vicar. ‘Her breathing seems a bit too shallow and rapid to me.’
‘Yes, and I don’t like her colour,’ the vicar said getting to his feet. ‘Right, I’m phoning an ambulance.’
‘And while we wait I’ll pop across to see if Doctor Stewart is at home,’ the vicar’s wife called from the back of the crowd.
Five minutes later as Dr Stewart assessed Sarah, still unconscious but now on a sofa in the vestry, John paced up and down across the parquet floor, his heart beating louder than his footsteps. What the hell was wrong with her? Was it just nerves getting the better of her as Gwen had suggested a few minutes ago? He doubted it. Sarah had always been a tough cookie, even tougher now after all the missions through time she’d been on over the past year. John could tell that Gwen had probably just said that to try and calm him, though her face was nearly as pale and pinched as her daughter’s. Still, the doctor had cancelled the ambulance so it couldn’t be that bad.
Gwen’s face suddenly lit up and she flapped a hand at him from where she stood just behind the doctor. ‘I think she’s stirring, John,’ she gasped.
Taking his wife’s limp hand, John watched her eyes roll and twitch under her eyelids and her mouth trying to form words. She still didn’t look like she was coming round any time soon. Stroking a damp curl away from Sarah’s cheek he felt the contrast in temperature between her face and hand. Summer and winter.
Doctor Stewart put his stethoscope away and snapped his bag shut. He glanced at John and gave a brief smile of reassurance.
‘Have you found out what’s wrong with her, doctor?’
The doctor’s practised voice of calm treacled into his ears as if from a long way off. ‘I think she will be all right in a while, John. It seems she fainted but then fell into a deep sleep. My examinations show a regular heartbeat, but she does have a fever.’
‘A fever? She has a virus or something?’
‘I’d say it was a very bad case of flu. She needs to go home to bed immediately, I’m afraid. No wedding reception for this young lady.’
Sarah’s eyes opened briefly and she whispered, ‘Horse face … bell … no way, Rachet.’
‘“Horse face, bell, no way, Rachet?” What is she on about?’ Harry muttered.
‘She is delirious, Mr Needler. That is normal for severe cases of flu.’
‘But how could it happen so quickly?’ John said, turning to Gwen. ‘She was fine this morning, wasn’t she?’
She shook her head, no. ‘She did complain of a headache and feeling shaky last night and this morning, but we thought it was just nerves. She had paracetamol and felt a bit better.’
‘And that’s what she must do now,’ the doctor said, making as if to leave. ‘Bed rest, plenty of fluids, paracetamol and ibuprofen. Call your own doctor if she’s not improving by tomorrow.’
‘But what if it’s pneumonia? Her breathing was weird earlier and she looks really ill,’ John countered. He wasn’t happy with that flu diagnosis; something didn’t feel right in his gut.
‘Her breathing is fine now. Flu cases can look much worse than they are, but there’s a chance it could turn to pneumonia, so as I said, call your doctor if she gets worse.’
An hour later, John kissed Sarah on the head and tucked the duvet around her. She definitely seemed a bit better now she was warm and comfy at home. The delirium had stopped and she seemed to be sleeping normally without the twitches and rolling of the eyes. John stroked a finger along her cheek and neck and thought selfishly about his missed wedding night.
The other day when Sarah had been in the shower, he’d peeped in the carrier bag she’d shoved in a drawer when he’d come into the room. In it was a selection of sexy underwear and a red silk basque. The thought of it was even now causing a familiar stirring and he had to tell himself off. For God’s sake, stop it. Here’s Sarah, ill, missing out on the celebrations and all you can think of is jumping her bones. John kissed her hand and smiled. Even when she was ill she was still the most beautiful woman in the world.
But hell, why did all this have to happen today? After everything that had happened with her last husband she deserved a day to remember. He smiled humourlessly. This would certainly be a day to remember, but for all the wrong damned reasons. If Sarah’s illness wasn’t enough, another bombshell had been sent blasting through his heavy heart just before they left the church too. The vicar had pulled him to one side and said that although he and Sarah were married in the eyes of God; until they had both signed the register the marriage wasn’t legal. Obviously Sarah was in no fit state to put pen to paper at the moment, but as soon as she was able, they must get it done.
One thing was for sure, if or when they went to New York next week, he would make sure they had the best time of their lives. He sighed and crept backwards out of the bedroom. Gently closing the door, he turned slap bang into his dad on the landing.
‘Bloody hell, Dad, what are you doing creeping about here?’ he hissed. ‘I thought you were holding it together for me at the reception.’
‘I am, but I just popped back to bring you a bottle of champagne. You might not feel like drinking it but have one glass at least to mark your day,’ Harry said, searching John’s face with perceptive blue eyes.
John knew that was his dad’s excuse to check that he was all right and felt a sudden rush of affection for him. ‘It wouldn’t feel right without, Sarah, Dad. But thanks.’
‘How is she?’ Harry asked, leading the way downstairs.
‘Better now, I think. At least she’s stopped talking gibberish.’
Harry reached his hand to the handle of the back door and then turned to face John, a dark cloud passing over his normally sunny expression. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything … but I can’t see how I can keep it quiet really … I think it might be a bit more than gibberish, lad.’
A cold finger of anxiety poked John in the chest. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, on the way back here in the car, I heard her say a few things about 1939 and not today of all days … that kind of thing.’
‘So? That was just part of the delirium.’ John shrugged.
‘Well, that’s what I assumed at first, but it felt a bit familiar. And then I remembered something from years ago. Something your mum told me about another Stitch … a really weird time trip this woman had had … it star
ted with fainting and a fever, and Sarah did mention 1939 …’ Harry left off and sighed.
‘Eh? But Sarah’s still upstairs in bed if you hadn’t noticed, Dad.’ John began to wonder if his dad had been drinking too much champagne. He also sometimes wondered if Harry was a little jealous, or felt redundant now that he had retired from needling, and assumed that everything was to do with ‘the business’, as they often called the task of needling and stitching. It clearly wasn’t this time because how the hell could Sarah have gone on a time trip and still be here? Besides, they would have been warned, consulted with beforehand wouldn’t they – now that Sarah had proved herself to be more than good at her job? And the powers that be certainly wouldn’t have just whisked her away the minute after they were married … would they?
Harry tutted. ‘Yes, of course I had noticed, but that’s another thing that’s similar. This other Stitch stayed here the whole time too, well her body did and she had a fever. Perhaps it was something to do with her mind or spirit being back in the past somewhere. Anyway, when she got back she was right as rain.’
John frowned and shook his head in bewilderment.
‘I know it doesn’t seem possible,’ Harry continued. ‘But you see there are special conditions that can send the whole thing haywire … and, well, Sarah could have this special condition. I could be wrong though and it could just be flu like the doc said.’
‘What special condition?’ John’s frown deepened. He was beginning to get fed up with all this hinting and hedging. Harry always was one for melodrama. Now he was looking at the floor and not answering! ‘For goodness sake, Dad. What special bloody condition?’
His dad looked up. ‘Since the time disaster with Norman that persuaded the powers that be to only use female Stitches, it’s the kind of special condition only Stitches can get … if you take my meaning,’ Harry said, his eyes twinkling.
John sighed and glared at his father. But then a second later, from somewhere deep in his brain, a penny poised itself over a slot and threatened to drop.
