by Amanda James
Veronica looked from the window and down her nose at Sarah. ‘Kylie … what a ridiculous name. Whatever were her parents thinking?’
‘Never mind that now, just go. Wait for me in the truck,’ Sarah said, and made to move away. Then she felt Veronica’s talons on her arm.
‘Not quite yet. I think I’ll have a chat to Madam Kylie first.’
Before Sarah could stop her, Veronica had hurried over to Kylie and was peering over her shoulder at her work. A few seconds later she straightened and snorted. ‘Preposterous! Appeasement led by Mr Chamberlain was an important reason for Hitler’s success?’
Kylie coloured up and looked to Sarah for support. ‘But it was. Miss taught us about it last week.’
‘Yes, I did, and I will thank you not to talk to my students in such a way, Miss Ratchet.’ Sarah grabbed Veronica’s arm and tried to guide her toward the door.
Veronica shook her off and went back to Kylie. ‘I’ll have you know that Mr Chamberlain was acting in the country’s best interest. It’s only just over twenty years since the first war which cost us the lives of millions. Why would we want to hurtle into another, hmm? Unfortunately that is exactly what we have had to do – but don’t blame Mr Chamberlain, blame the warmongering nature of the Hun!’ She finished her tirade by poking Kylie on the shoulder.
Kylie blinked back tears and shouted, ‘You can’t talk to me like that, or poke me! My dad will come up to this school!’
Sarah ran over and wrenched Veronica away. ‘Okay, Kylie, don’t worry, Miss Ratchet is just leaving.’
‘Miss Ratchet is not leaving.’ She wrenched herself free again. ‘And since when can’t a teacher poke a child?’ Veronica snapped haughtily. ‘Looks like this lot could do with a poke or perhaps a caning or two.’ She marched over to Wesley and grimaced at his scruffy scrawl and doodles. ‘My God, lad. You have more fat in you than a tub of lard and you are practically illiterate – that means dumb, if you aren’t sure. A spell in the army would sort you out!’ she yelled in his ear.
Wesley stood up, tipping the desk over in the process. ‘You can’t talk to me like that, you snotty bitch!’ he shrieked, raising his hand. He was a good foot taller than Veronica and at least two stone heavier.
Veronica grabbed a ruler and went to whack him on the face.
Sarah’s heart galloped in her chest as she stepped between them. ‘Please, Wesley, sit down and keep calm. Miss was very wrong to say those things, okay?’ God don’t let him wallop her, or me come to that!
Wesley, still fuming and panting like a raging bull, slowly lowered his hand and then his body back into the chair.
Phew. ‘Come with me right now!’ Sarah yelled in Veronica’s brick red face, dug her nails into her arms and dragged her out of the room.
Outside the classroom, Sarah slammed the door on the uproar ensuing from the class and pushed Veronica down the corridor. ‘Go to the truck and wait for me and God help you if you don’t do as I say!’
Veronica looked as if she might argue, but then thought better of it and scuttled off.
Sarah swallowed hard and went back into the chaos of the classroom. She could so use a time trip right about now.
Chapter Eight
An hour later John and Sarah faced Veronica across their kitchen table. John took his wife’s hand and felt a grateful squeeze in return. The colour had returned to her cheeks and she’d stopped rambling that she wished she could have been whisked off on a time trip to the Alaskan wastes or somewhere equally remote.
Sarah had frightened the life out of him ten minutes ago as he’d opened the door to find her standing on the doorstep looking like an escaped crazy person, her hair rivalling Ratchet’s on the unruly front. It had taken John a good few seconds to calm down her ramblings as he couldn’t make head nor tail of it at first. Something about Veronica hiding in a cupboard and nearly coming to blows with a fourteen-year-old pupil? Puzzled, he’d told her gently that Veronica had gone back to 1939 and then Sarah had pointed over her shoulder at a tousled haired woman clambering down from the truck and a cold shiver of panic in his gut had organised her words into a frighteningly coherent pattern.
He’d sat dumbstruck as Sarah had explained how Veronica had come to still be here and outlined the mayhem she’d caused in school. It was impossible? How could the powers that be not have realised that she hadn’t gone back? He had never heard of such a thing in all his years as a Needler and he was pretty sure his dad hadn’t either or he would have told him about such an extraordinary event.
Sarah glanced at him now and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘It took all my imagination to come up with an explanation to the kids and the head. I’m not sure he believed me, to be honest, as I kept going red.’ She sighed.
‘What did you tell them?’ John asked.
‘Well, I went back in the classroom and told them that Veronica was an imposter who’d sneaked in. I also said she was obviously a nut job and she’d been escorted from the premises. I told the head the shock of it made me feel sick and I had to go home.’
‘A nut job?’ Veronica frowned. ‘I expect that means a nut case and how dare you say that about me?’
Sarah lifted her head from John’s shoulder and stuck her neck out at Veronica. ‘Well, it isn’t far from the truth, is it? Waltzing in and calling Wesley dumb and a tub of lard!’
‘I said he had more fat in him than a tub of lard, actually.’ Veronica sniffed and studied her fingernails.
‘Oh, that’s all right then!’ Sarah spat, her blue eyes steely. ‘And I don’t suppose you banged on about Chamberlain and Hitler like they were still alive and the First World War only just twenty years over, either? It was enough to scare the shit out of the kids let alone you verbally attacking Kylie and nearly whacking Wesley across the bloody face!’
‘Okay, that’s enough, Sarah,’ John said, slipping his arm around her. ‘We’ve just got you calm and this isn’t helping the situation. What we need is to get Veronica home and I mean home this time, okay?’ He glared at Veronica.
‘I don’t want to go. Who in their right mind would?’ Veronica threw up her hands.
‘Well, you aren’t in your right mind, are you, so—’
‘That isn’t helping, as I just said, Sarah. Now you two sit here, drink your coffee and I’ll try and contact the powers to see what to do next.’ He stood and walked to the door. ‘And don’t let me find you rowing when I get back.’
When he returned a little while later, he listened at the kitchen door for any sign of raised voices. Good, nice and quiet. But upon entering he could see that the reason for it wasn’t good at all. Veronica had her head on Sarah’s shoulder, blubbing for England and Sarah looked at him with tears in her own eyes.
‘What’s up?’ John asked, though the reason for Veronica’s upset was obvious.
‘She’s terrified that she’ll end up flattened in an air raid,’ Sarah said, patting Veronica’s arm. ‘She’s also very lonely. Edward, a widower who wants to marry her, gave her that beautiful brooch,’ she said, nodding at the sparkly piece on Veronica’s jumper. ‘Then he joined the Home Guard and was sent to Lond—’
Veronica sat up and flapped her hands at Sarah. ‘Shh, I told you that in confidence,’ she hissed.
John drew up a chair and leaned his elbows on the table. It looked like he would have to allow Veronica some knowledge of what would happen to her in order to pacify her enough to comply. The powers had expected as much. When he’d contacted them by email just now, they had been mildly surprised that Veronica was still here, but it had in fact happened before and they weren’t that perturbed about her having knowledge about the future. John rolled his eyes internally, and we all know why that is, don’t we? Because soon she’d remember nothing at all as her memory would be wiped as soon as she returned home … God, sometimes he hated this job, but if she was allowed to keep her memories of the twenty-first century there’d be no telling what damage would be done.
‘Okay, Veronica,’
John said quietly, looking into her grief-stricken and blotchy face. ‘I have just had a word with the powers and they said not to worry. You won’t be flattened if you go back.’
‘I won’t?’ Veronica’s expression turned sceptical, but hopeful too.
‘Nope. In fact you will marry Edward and survive the war. He will be invalided out of the Home Guard, but apart from a slight limp and a twitch in his cheek he will be as good as new.’
Veronica’s hand fluttered to her mouth. ‘My God, that’s marvellous! And he’s always had a twitch in his cheek … but how did he get the limp?’
‘I think he stepped on a shard of glass when he was helping to clear a bombed out house.’
‘And when will we get married?’
‘1941.’
Sarah beamed at him, then turned to Veronica. ‘Now, that’s a bit of good news for a change, isn’t it?’
Veronica sighed and dabbed a tissue at her eyes. ‘But how do I know you aren’t just saying all that to make me go back? I thought you said that knowledge of one’s future is very dangerous, not to say all the stuff I learned here about the twenty-first century. Won’t I be affected by that?’ A sly look crept across her face. ‘I could let something slip … not on purpose, of course.’
‘I think you are far too sensible and clever to just let things slip, Veronica,’ John said, noticing that Sarah was looking at him in disbelief. He attempted an encouraging smile. ‘Right, now let’s get you upstairs and into that wardrobe. Once you’ve dropped off, you will be home quicker than you can say mole.’
Veronica covered her top lip self-consciously. ‘Mole?’
Shit, why had he said that? Just prattling because he was nervous he guessed. ‘Yep it’s a daft saying we have here in the twenty-first century.’
Upstairs, Sarah and John sat on the bed and watched Veronica walk towards the wardrobe. She turned and looked at them, a wistful look softening her long angular features. ‘I suppose this is goodbye then.’
John saw Sarah’s eyes fill up. She seemed to have a love hate relationship with the old trout. Must be a Stitch connection or something, or perhaps she was unduly emotional because … he banished fanciful thoughts from his mind and nodded. ‘Yes, this is goodbye. Still, you can look forward to a happy life after the war.’
Sarah stood and embraced Veronica. ‘It will all be fine.’ She helped her step into the wardrobe and get settled under a blanket. ‘Just take deep breaths; think nice thoughts and you’ll soon be asleep.’
John heard Veronica strangle a sob. ‘Thank you, Sarah. You have been so kind and I haven’t exactly been on my best behaviour. Goodbye and good luck.’
Sarah stepped back into the bedroom and joined John on the bed. They lay down, held each other tight and waited for telltale snores. There was no way they were going downstairs this time in case Veronica decided she’d do another disappearing act.
John felt his heart sink as Sarah whispered, ‘All that stuff you told her about being clever and not slipping up, was it true?’
‘Um … not strictly.’
‘Didn’t think so. So how are you so sure she won’t blab about her marriage in 1941 and what she’s seen here?’
‘Er …’
‘They are going for a memory wipe, aren’t they?’
‘Er …’
‘Damn it, John. It’s just so unfair … it’s a violation really.’
Thankfully John was let off replying by the thunderous snores suddenly reverberating through the wooden doors of the wardrobe. He gave Sarah a squeeze. ‘Thank goodness, give her a few minutes and then we’ll take a look.’
Sarah slipped from the bed and tiptoed to the wardrobe. The snores petered out and then stopped. She glanced round at him, a smile playing over her lips. ‘Sounds like she’s gone,’ she whispered.
John went to join her and they both peeped through the gap in the door. Bloody hell, she was still there, asleep but just not snoring. Sarah rolled her eyes at him and whispered, ‘She doesn’t look very comfy, her head’s not on the pillow right. I’ll just adjust it and then she might relax more.’ As she reached out her hand to touch the pillow, Veronica moaned in her sleep and slipped her fingers around Sarah’s wrist. She yawned loudly and started to snore again.
John felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and an ill omen hammered a warning in his head. ‘Sarah, pull your wrist away! I think she’s going to—’
It was too late. John was left staring at an empty wardrobe.
Three at a time he charged down the stairs like an angry bull. Had the powers that be lost their powers for some bloody reason? Couldn’t they control what was bloody happening any more? He jiggled the mouse at the computer and typed another email – his fingers furiously flying over the keys.
I did as you asked and Veronica Ratchet has successfully returned to 1939. The trouble is Sarah has been taken with her – AGAIN! What the hell is going on? Bring Sarah back right now!
He paced up and down the living room cursing at the top of his voice, raking his fingers through his hair as he waited for a reply. Eventually after ten long minutes he got it:
We can understand your frustration, John, but we would thank you to refrain from adopting such a rude and disrespectful manner. Veronica has been diverted from her quiet return home to 1939 as she’s required for another mission. It appears that Sarah has gone with her. Most unfortunate, but there it is … the Cross Stitch hasn’t run its course.
Most unfortunate? Is that all they could say? John felt his temper go from simmer to a rolling boil, and before he could stop himself he’d written:
What do you mean, most unfortunate? I know what you said about the fluke of the Cross Stitch thing, but isn’t it up to you lot who goes on missions and where and when any more? Where is she? Have you lost your bloody powers, been taken over by a multi-universe time-travelling agency or something? I said bring her back, right now!
This time John had his reply much quicker.
Because you continue to be abusive we will have to end communication for today. Of course you are upset and we can understand that, but at present we don’t appear to have full control of Sarah’s actions. There are investigations into the possible cause of her … erratic disappearances, and there are some theories, some of which you know, but for now there is no firm conclusion. We cannot speculate and, as you know, cannot tell you about your personal future in detail, suffice to say we are confident that Sarah will do her best and be back to you shortly.
‘What!’ John snorted aloud and went to reply, but the screen went dead and no amount of switching on and off would change it.
He stared at the screen and helplessness washed anger from his blood. What have they done with my Sarah? My poor baby, stuck God knows where with that stupid bloody woman. Nausea bubbled in his stomach and he ran to the kitchen door. Birds sang, fields rolled, clouds floated and the scent of new mown hay wafted in on the breeze. Just a normal autumn day in the country. But everything was far from normal, wasn’t it? Even by the standards of a Needle and Stitch.
John took a deep breath or two and felt his sickness pass but his anxiety remained. A fine bloody husband he was. Not five minutes in the job and he’d failed to protect his beautiful wife twice now. What the hell was going on? He didn’t know, and the powers had as good as admitted that they didn’t know either. Maybe it was time to give in and pick his dad’s brain on the outlandish theory he had cooking in it. It would probably do no good because the goal posts had been moved now. Last time, at the altar, Sarah’s body was left behind just like the other Stitch that Harry had told him about. But this time she’d disappeared, gone back to the past as normal. Well, not as normal, as Veronica had dragged her off, but at least as she usually travelled on a mission.
Still, even the smallest detail his dad could remember about the other Stitch would be better than nothing. And, most importantly, at least John would feel like he was doing something.
Grabbing his coat from the hook he slammed
the door, ran to the car and drove away like a bat out of hell. If Sarah had been in the passenger seat she would have gone bananas at him for reckless driving. She wasn’t though, was she? In fact, he hadn’t the slightest clue where in the world she was or even what time period she’d been dumped in. John swallowed a lump of emotion and floored the accelerator.
Chapter Nine
Unsure if the high pitched screeching busting her eardrums was coming from a human or an animal, Sarah rubbed her eyes and shook her head. Then the darkness lifted, her senses focused and she realised that part of the screeching was indeed human. Veronica lay prone a few feet away, her mouth as wide as her eyes, but her efforts were also accompanied by the wail of an electric guitar.
She further discovered that instead of kneeling over Veronica in the wardrobe, she was on her knees in a damp, filthy bedroom. A tattered poster of a punk band, possibly the Sex Pistols, hung above a single bed, its dubiously stained sheets strewn with takeaway cartons, and a bucket in the corner caught a succession of drips escaping from a large damp patch on the ceiling.
The guitar screech coming up through the floorboards beneath her feet fell silent for a few seconds and then started up again even louder. Veronica screeched again at roughly the same volume as the guitar and shuffled crab-like across the floor to the far corner where she folded herself into a ball and whimpered.
Sarah grabbed the bed leg and struggled to her feet, anger fighting with anxiety in her gut. She glared at the pathetic bundle in the corner and felt like whacking her across the head. Bugger it all, the stupid mare had grabbed her wrist and now here she was, catapulted unceremoniously into the past again. But it sure as hell wasn’t 1939.
The guitar strains faded and Veronica looked up at her, snot and tears mingling in dirty rivulets down her nostrils and chin. ‘My God, what happened to you …’ Veronica stared fixedly at Sarah. ‘And where … where are we, Sarah? You are Sarah, aren’t you?’ she snuffled.
