by Amanda James
‘Of course I’m Sarah. What a ridiculous question and how the hell should I know what happened to us and where we are?’ Sarah flung her arms up. ‘Obviously not back in cosy war-torn 1939, thanks to you!’
Veronica’s face crumpled in despair. ‘But I didn’t do anything … I just w-went to s-leep,’ she said with a sob. And then the guitar starting up again sent her shrieking under the bed.
Sarah stomped over and peered at Veronica quaking amongst empty crisp and biscuit packets, withered apple cores and long abandoned coffee mugs inside of which grew what looked to be alien life. Once again pity for the poor woman flooded through her. It was true, Veronica had been asleep and had no idea that she’d grabbed Sarah’s wrist. But for goodness sake, all this would try the patience of St Peter himself. She blew down her nostrils in exasperation. ‘It’s okay, Veronica, the noise is only a guitar.’
‘A guitar? It can’t be. It sounds like the hounds of hell!’
‘It’s an electric guitar. You probably wouldn’t have heard one, and definitely not played in this punk rock style.’
‘Punk what?’ Veronica didn’t look convinced or any less scared.
‘Rock. In the 1950s there was a new kind of music called rock and … oh, never mind. We need to find out when and where we are, why we are here … and then get you back to your time and me back to mine.’
It sounded simple said out loud but Sarah had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be. ‘Right, come out from under there before you get a disease. Whoever lives here is a perfect candidate for How Clean is Your House?’
Veronica crawled out and sat on the edge of the bed with her fingers in her ears. She averted her eyes from Sarah’s as if she were afraid of her as well as the guitar and scanned her up and down, a look of distaste clear on her miserable face.
Sarah sighed and glanced down at herself. It was then that she realised that her clothes had changed. Drainpipe black jeans, winkle picker shoes, a crazily black and yellow patterned T-shirt with holes in it and, she patted her hair … oh my God, tall hairsprayed-stiff spikes? That’s why Veronica had asked what had happened to her and if she was Sarah!
A grimy mirror by the wardrobe told the rest of the sorry tale. Blonde punk spiked hair, heavy black make-up on her eyes and lips, a safety pin hanging from her ear and white face powder. No wonder Ratchet was scared. Great this is not happening. On the other time trips the same thing had occurred. Sarah was definitely herself when she looked in the mirror, but her clothing and make-up became appropriate to the time period she found herself in. But she wasn’t on a mission now, was she? Unless she’d been sent on one without her permission and Veronica bundled along too. Oh no, no, no. This was just unbearable.
She turned to Veronica. If they were both on a time trip, why hadn’t she been changed? She was still wearing the school clothes that she’d nicked from Sarah. The ‘music’ stopped abruptly and then they heard footsteps thumping up carpetless stairs. The two women looked at each other with trepidation and then the door flew open and a tall skinny young woman looked at them in surprise. At the sight of her, Veronica’s face drained of colour and she wrapped her bony arms protectively around her chest.
Like Sarah, the woman wore her hair in spikes, but pink, not blonde, drainpipe yellow trousers, black heavy boots draped with chains and a deep purple T-shirt – torn and with the blood spattered face of a gargoyle on it. Her make-up was identical to Sarah’s and she had a piercing through her lip and nostril. The nostril sported a silver skull, the lip a pointed stud.
‘Didn’t know you were home, Sarah. Thought you were coming back at about three-ish,’ the young woman said, eyeing Veronica curiously. She looked back to Sarah. ‘You seen my new studded choker collar?’
Sarah’s heart thudded to her winkle pickers. Shit she knows my name and … home? That confirmed it. She was here on a sodding mission then. But why was Veronica here, and who did she have to save?
‘Nope. I haven’t seen it.’ Sarah sighed, bewildered and flopped down next to Veronica.
The young woman harrumphed. ‘Yes, that’s what you said last time about my shoes and then you were wearing them at the gig last week.’
Sarah rolled her eyes but said nothing.
‘And seeing as you’re not introducing me to your new friend, I’ll do it myself,’ the woman continued, striding up to a shell-shocked Ratchet and sticking her hand out. ‘I’m Gerry, short for Geraldine, and you are?’
Veronica stared at her long black painted talons and gingerly shook hands. ‘I am Veronica.’
‘Ronnie for short?’
‘No. I don’t shorten names. I think it is a little common.’ Veronica sniffed.
Gerry took a step back and looked at Sarah in disbelief. ‘A little common?’ She imitated Veronica’s clipped tones perfectly. Then she tossed her spikes. ‘Bloody hell, where’d you dig her up from, Sarah?’
Despite the situation Sarah felt a smile tug at her lips. ‘Er … Veronica is a little old-fashioned, I guess.’
‘You’re not kidding. Her clothes are way straight, but her hair is … “out there”, a bit Debbie Harry on speed.’
Sarah had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop a giggle.
Veronica frowned, clearly affronted and flapped a hand at Gerry. ‘I’d rather be old-fashioned than look like, like a demon from Hades! And what in God’s name have you done to your nose and lip, young woman?’
Gerry took Sarah’s arm and pulled her over to the window and from the corner of her mouth she said, ‘She another of your “strays” you found down the docks? ’Cos anyone in their right mind can see she needs professional help.’ Gerry glanced back at Veronica and then hissed in Sarah’s ear. ‘You can’t just keep on bringing weirdos home.’
Unable to think of an adequate response, Sarah just shrugged. She needed to find out what year it was and then try to find out who she had to save. The sooner she got out of this nightmare and back to John, the better. And if Ratchet got stuck here, well, so be it. She was so over caring what happened to her. But where to start?
Gerry’s keen blue eyes regarded her through the heavy make-up. ‘So, what’s she doing here? This squat is already bursting at the seams. Laz and Ollie will do their nut.’
Squat? Right, they were squatters. That would explain the condition of the house. Sarah said the first thing that came into her head. ‘She had nowhere else to go … a bit lost.’ At least the last bit was true.
Gerry sighed but said nothing.
And who were Laz and Ollie? Was it one of them playing the guitar downstairs? Sarah wandered back over to the bed and sat down. ‘Was that you playing just now, Gerry?’ She smiled.
Gerry rolled her eyes. ‘No, it was the Pope.’
‘The Pope?’ Veronica said, putting her hand to her face. ‘Really? Mind you, I shouldn’t be shocked. It is the twenty-first century after all. Do you think I could meet him?’
Sarah cringed. She needed to get Veronica on her own pretty damn quick to tell her the ground rules about stitching.
Gerry’s eyes grew round and she shook her head in bewilderment. ‘It was a joke, Ronnie. I was playing the guitar. And we are in the twentieth century, love,’ she said slowly and gently.
‘But it can’t be. That’s my century! People dressed like you … in my century? What year is it?’ Veronica shrieked.
‘Blimey, love. You on a bad trip? It’s 1979.’
A faint bell rang in Sarah’s head. Of course … the year I was born. Well done, Veronica, now shut up.
‘I think we should have a walk outside, Veronica, come on.’ Sarah stood up and flashed a warning with her eyes at her.
‘But that’s only forty years in the future. Goodness, I hope I’m not alive to see it. And are we in Southampton?’
Sarah shook her head. Great, that worked then. ‘Let’s go, Veronica.’
‘No, love. Bristol. And I think you should go for a walk with Sarah, like she says.’
Gerry looked at Sarah above Veronica
’s head and mouthed What the hell?
Veronica shot from the bed and pointed a trembling finger at Gerry. ‘Not so fast! You said a bad trip. Do you mean a time trip?’ She looked triumphantly at Sarah. ‘I bet she’s a Stitch too and trying to test us. You won’t fool me. I’m trained for those kinds of shenanigans. There is a war on after all!’
Sarah grabbed Veronica’s elbow and practically dragged her past an open-mouthed Gerry, through the door, down the rickety stairs and out into a steep narrow street. The bright sunshine took a bit of getting used to after such a dismal interior, but then Sarah could see they were standing on a hill overlooking the city. Opposite a cluster of brightly coloured Victorian houses hugged a hillside and in the distance, masts of tall ships bobbed on twinkly water. She turned to Veronica who stood blinking and shaking. ‘Right, you mustn’t say one more word to anyone until we can find a place to chat safely, okay?’
Veronica nodded mutely.
Ten minutes later they were sitting on a park bench next to a pond watching the ducks sail past quacking contentedly as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Sarah wished she could join them. But at least she felt a little calmer now and she had to smile when she remembered Gerry’s expression after Veronica’s outburst.
Veronica knitted her bushy brows together. ‘I fail to see the humour in our predicament, Sarah. Just what by all the saints are we doing here?’
When Gerry had said they were in 1979 a few bells had begun to ring, but because of Veronica’s runaway mouth she hadn’t had time to think straight. But now, she at last started to piece together what little information she had.
‘Okay, Ronnie,’ she began, until she received a glare that could curdle milk. ‘Er … I mean Veronica. I am scheduled to do a time trip to 1979 a month after my wedding. As well as saving a life, I thought it might be interesting to go back to the year of my birth to see what it was like back then. But as we know since the day I stood at the altar, my time travelling schedule has gone horribly tits up. Who knows what the Spindly Ones are thinking, if they are thinking at all. They can’t be can they, sending you here too?’
‘Tits up?’ Veronica said puzzled.
‘Yeah, it’s like belly up. If someone were dead in the water their belly or in this case, tits, would be up. It means that something isn’t working, gone wrong—’
‘I get it! I get it! Oh, that is hilarious!’ Veronica laughed fit to burst.
‘But I thought you’d think it was vulgar?’
‘It is, but so funny too!’
Sarah watched Veronica rocking with laughter, her face red, tears streaming down and worried that Veronica had been pushed over the edge by the whole crazy situation. ‘Good, well, anyway, we need to sort out a few Stitch ground rules.’
Veronica ignored her.
‘Veronica, can you please listen?’
Veronica laughed a while longer and then noticing Sarah’s stern expression took a few deep breaths. ‘Okay. Go on I’m all ears. All ears.’ She took another breath and cocked her head on one side. ‘Imagine if a person was made up entirely of ears, now that would be most odd.’ She grinned stupidly at Sarah.
Yup, deffo on the brink. ‘Right. Listen carefully. We must not at any time divulge to people that we are Stitches or any information from our own time. That is a big no no. If that happens we are liable to be warned to stop by being inflicted with fits of laughter, flatulence, nausea, or any number of embarrassing things.’
‘Oh, dear. Have you suffered any of these afflictions?’
‘Yes, I was given the giggles in 1940, and flatulence in 1913. It was very difficult to cover up I can tell you.’
‘Ah. And I revealed quite a bit to that Geraldine creature, didn’t I? So why didn’t I have any of those things inflicted upon me?’
‘Probably because she thinks you are a crackpot and didn’t believe a word. But no more of it, okay?’
‘Well, really! Me a crackpot and she looking like a phantom or one of the living dead?’
‘She thinks you’re a crackpot because of the things you were saying, Veronica. I mean, what would you think in her shoes?’
‘I wouldn’t be seen dead in her ugly boots.’ Veronica shuddered. ‘Or yours either. Why are you dressed like that? Does everyone in the 1970s dress like that?’
Sarah explained that when a Stitch goes on a mission they find themselves dressed in the fashion of the day, and in the seventies only punk rockers dressed in that way. ‘To be honest, I don’t know much about 1979 because, as I told you, I was only just born. I guess the most shocking thing for you to hear about this year is that Britain elected its first woman Prime Minister.’ Sarah figured it wouldn’t hurt to spill those beans as Veronica would get a memory wipe when she got back to 1939. Sarah checked herself. If she got bloody back.
‘My goodness! Did she do a good job?’
‘Some folk loved her; others hated her, like my family. She closed down the mines and decimated the steel industry and coming from Sheffield, that was a huge blow. But enough of that, I need to find out who I have to save and then get gone.’
‘But I just don’t understand how it all works,’ said Veronica dejectedly. ‘You look like you, well apart from the ridiculous hair and make-up, but Geraldine obviously thinks you are someone else, someone who lives in that house. Yet she called you by your name.’
Sarah’s heart sank. This would not be easy to explain. She’d only just about got her own head around it. It had taken John a few goes to get it across to her as it was. She stretched her legs out and thought about how to start. ‘Right, Veronica, this is a bit hard to swallow so pay attention.’
‘I always pay attention. And don’t talk to me as if I was a child in class.’
‘Sorry, force of habit. Okay, what normally happens is that a Stitch goes back in time and they kind of “become” a person alive at the time. They have the same name too. So when I go back in time it always has to be a Sarah. No idea what would happen in your case. Veronica isn’t that common, is it? Anyway, the Sarah I become is close to the person that the Stitch is sent to save. They could be a relative or a friend. But in order not to alarm anyone, the Stitch looks exactly like that person to their friends and relatives, yet the Stitch stays entirely themselves. I am thankful I always have all my own bits. They don’t inhabit that person’s body. And when they look in a mirror they of course see themselves.’
Veronica thought for a while and then said, ‘But what happens to that person’s body if they aren’t inhabited? Is it just an empty vessel floating around in the ether or something?’
‘Ha! That’s more or less what I asked John a while ago. He didn’t know absolutely because the Spindly Ones play their cards very close to their chests … if they have chests. Anyway, as I understand it, a Stitch sort of works in tandem with the person from the past. They don’t possess the body, but have a kind of spiritual and cerebral link.’
‘Sounds a bit odd to me.’
‘A bit?’ Sarah chuckled. ‘I’d say a lot!’
‘Don’t the people in the past remember what happened after the Stitch has gone again? And you still haven’t said what happens to their body.’
‘Okay, I’m getting to that. Because your connection is one of brain and spirit not physical, there is a melding of minds but not a physical meeting of bodies. The spiritual link makes them feel like they are dreaming, and they might remember some of what is happening, like you might remember a vivid dream for example. But after I have completed my mission, the actual memory of the dream fades quite quickly, more or less, depending on the person. And as I said, when I am in the past I feel and see my own body, but the Sarah in her dream state still has hers at the same time. This is, like I said, because you aren’t them, physically, but you’re like a spiritual presence outside but alongside them in tandem. She isn’t an empty boat floating in the ether or whatever you said.’
‘I said vessel. And I really am finding this hard to grasp.’ Veronica shook her head.
> ‘That’s because it is. It is outside all human experience and if I hadn’t experienced it first-hand, I wouldn’t have believed it either.’
‘Hmm. And how do you know who to save?’
‘Again, it is tricky and often you just have to go with your gut instinct. Sometimes there are physical signs like when you get punished for divulging information about the future. In 1940, during the Blitz in Sheffield, I got itchy feet and in 1874, when I was sent to help a family of homesteaders in Kansas, I got the worst attack of the hiccups. Mind you, it was a wonder that I didn’t just pass out as I had to help deliver a baby on a dirt floor with no medical assistance.’
Veronica’s eyes widened but she said nothing.
‘Sometimes Stitches get nothing at all to go on apart from their intuition.’
Veronica remained quiet for a while and Sarah could almost hear the cogs turning in her brain trying to order the information into coherent understanding. The breeze blew against her spikes and she wondered if her hair would ever be the same again. Her mum had bought a newspaper once all about the year she was born and Sarah had thought that the punks looked dangerously exciting. Now that she was one, she just felt faintly ridiculous, but perhaps that was because she was thirty-four. Punk rock was the domain of young folk she guessed. Young folk? Gosh she was beginning to sound like the puzzled woman sitting next to her.
‘Who exactly are these “powers that be” or “Spindly Ones”, then?’
Great, more questions. Sarah groaned. Now she realised how John must have felt when she was grilling him. ‘I really have no idea. John said they are infinitely powerful and keep time running smoothly.’ Sarah picked up a little stone beside her foot and skimmed it along the pond sending a few ducks squawking. ‘Not doing such a great job now, are they?’
‘But you must know more than that,’ Veronica barked.
‘I don’t actually. And John’s dad told him to never question or seek more answers about them, as bad things would happen.’ Sarah was looking forward to the next bit. When John had told her she thought he was joking at first. ‘You know when people say “pressed for time”, meaning you are too busy or running late?’
