by Amanda James
Veronica nodded.
‘It originated from a Time Needle who was far too curious for his own good. One word is wrong, it isn’t pressed for time, it’s pressed in time. This guy was actually “pressed in time”. He was flattened like a butterfly in a lepidopterist collection.’
Veronica’s eyes grew round. ‘Crikey! God forbid that should happen!’
‘So, don’t ask any more questions.’ Sarah smirked.
‘Oh, that’s a shame because I do have a very important one.’
Sarah sighed. ‘You are very much like I was in the question department, Veronica. Such curiosity even under the threat of being flattened must be a teacher’s trait. Okay, make this the last one. I want to find out who I have to save, save ’em and bugger off home.’
‘Why do holes open up in time?’
‘Ah, yes. I like the answer to this; it fits right in with my love of history.’ Sarah turned to face Veronica on the bench and felt privileged to impart such knowledge. ‘The most generally accepted theory is that 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 explained that it is like a strong, tightly woven cord of human essence, keeping time interlinked, balanced and enabling progress to the future. Isn’t that beautiful?’
‘Hmm. You said generally accepted, why don’t you know for definite?’
Sarah felt disgruntled by her less than enthusiastic response. Had this grumpy Stitch no soul? ‘Not impressed with that, then? And as I have already said, the Spindly Ones are very secretive. It doesn’t do to know too much. We can only piece together the bits of information they give us.’
Veronica gave a heavy sigh. ‘But you still haven’t said why holes appear.’
‘Give me chance. Okay, the holes appear because the link between past and present in certain areas becomes weak. As you probably realise, it’s very important 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 for 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 me, and perhaps one day like you, Veronica.’
‘Me … do you think I will be a Stitch in the end?’ Veronica asked.
Sarah noticed that the old trout’s eyes were moistening. Good it was about time she realised how bloody important and beautiful all this was. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. You have to prove you are up for it. 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, Veronica, it’s crucial for our passage to the future and even our very existence.’
‘Thank you for explaining it all, Sarah.’ Veronica wiped her nose and turned her excited eyes on Sarah. ‘And right now, by God, I actually feel like I want to be a Stitch!’
‘Well, good for you! And right now I suggest we walk back to the squat and try and see who the hell needs saving, okay?’
Veronica jumped up from the bench and did a mock salute. ‘I will do all I can to help you. Veronica Ratchet at your service!’
Sarah smiled and nodded. But as they walked back through the park, Veronica gushing on about the marvels of time travel and her ideas for finding out who they had to save, Sarah wondered if that would be such a good idea. Ratchet had already created merry hell in Sarah’s classroom and freaked Gerry out with her ramblings. What was needed here was a promise from Veronica that she would keep her mouth well and truly zipped. But something in Sarah’s gut told her that knowing Veronica, the zip would bust under the pressure. And she was all out of ideas on what to do next. John would know.
Her husband’s handsome face surfaced, a look of longing in the verdant green of his eyes. How she wished she was in his arms, safe and warm in their bed, away from this waking nightmare. Oh, John, I wish you were here.
Chapter Ten
Much as he would have loved to be, John of course wasn’t there. At that very moment he was sitting in a comfy chair in his dad’s sitting room under strict instructions to calm down. Harry had been a little surprised to see him screech up to his front door in a cloud of dust and gravel fifteen minutes earlier and since then had listened patiently while John had vented his spleen about the incompetence of the powers that be.
Afterwards, as well as insisting that John calmed down, Harry also insisted that he made his son something to eat and was busily rustling up leftover stew and dumplings while John did a little silent stewing of his own. John regarded the amber liquid in the heavy cut-glass tumbler in his right hand, swirled it and downed it in one. As if by magic, his dad’s head appeared round the door. ‘That’s the last you’re having until you’ve eaten, lad. You’ll be no use nor ornament sozzled.’
John raised his eyebrows. ‘How the hell did you know I’d even poured a whisky?’
‘Dads know everything, as I hope you will discover.’ Harry smirked, his blue eyes dancing. ‘Now dinner will be about ten minutes. Just sit quiet and gather your senses.’
John’s senses were so jumbled it would take an army of gatherers to sort them. All he could think of was Sarah’s worried face as she tried to make Veronica comfy in the wardrobe. God, he’d make sure she was permanently bloody comfy if he ever set eyes on her again. She had caused nothing but mayhem since she’d first reared her stupid mop of a head. But some sense came back to him. It wasn’t all Ratchet’s fault, was it? She seemed to be as much caught up in this awful Cross Stitch malarkey as Sarah was.
The empty glass in his hand begged to be re-filled but he knew his dad was right, so instead of leaping to the drinks cabinet, he absently tapped the edge of the glass while his thoughts galloped over the jumps. The rapid ‘pink, pink, pink’ his fingernail made against the glass competed with the thud of his heartbeat as he wracked his brain about how to help his lovely Sarah. After a few more minutes he thought he had the beginnings of a plan.
‘Now, do you feel better after that?’ Harry asked, pushing his plate away and pouring his son a glass of wine.
Despite his worries John had enjoyed it and even had a second helping. Like Sarah, he tended to eat rather than starve when he was upset. ‘It was another Harry Needler triumph.’ John took a long swallow of wine and looked intently at his dad. ‘What do you say to sending an email or two on my behalf?’
Harry ran his hands through his grey salt and pepper hair and blew heavily down his nostrils. ‘You don’t beat about the bush, do you? I don’t know, John. They said they wouldn’t talk to you because you had been rude. They aren’t stupid. They’d know that you are using me to get answers.’
‘Not stupid? Well, they haven’t been particularly clever lately have they?’ John flashed his eyes and put his glass to his lips.
‘But what do I say?’
‘Well, first it might be helpful if we knew where in time she was. I would like to know why it’s happening too if you can wheedle something out of them.’
‘The thing is,’ Harry took a sip of wine as if he wanted more thinking time. ‘They told you to just sit tight and wait, that Sarah would do her best and be back.’
‘That’s not good enough for me. I want to try and do something to help if I can … especially if …’
Harry leaned forward his face eager for more. ‘Especially if … what?’
This was just what John had hoped for. The more he let his dad into his confidence the more he would be likely to offer help. ‘If she is in the same, er … situation as that other Stitch Mum once told you about.’
‘You mean you think she is—’
‘Don’t say it, Dad. I have no idea, but if you say the word it will become all too real and then if it isn’t true …’ John looked away and ran his hand across the stubble on his chin
.
‘I get you.’ Harry heaved a sigh and pushed his chair back. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but stay away from the whisky bottle.’
Not even the slightest tremble disturbed his hands as they busied themselves making coffee. How they remained calm like that while his heart did the tumble dryer act in his chest, John didn’t know. Waiting for anything that was important had never been his strong point.
Harry was back quicker than John expected though and it wasn’t good news. The powers had of course realised that Harry was acting on John’s behalf and were not best pleased. The only bit of new information he’d gleaned was that Sarah and Veronica were on a mission in Bristol in 1979.
‘They won’t tell me anything personal about Sarah, even though I told them what your mum said about the other Stitch.’
‘What, and that was it? Not who they had to save, how long they would be there or anything?’ John watched his dad’s face for any sign of the ENF, but his dad shook his head and his face remained open and honest.
‘I knew Sarah was due to go on a time trip to 1979 but not for a few weeks. Why would it have been brought forward? And what has Veronica Ratchet to do with it all? Right, I’m going in. Somebody’s got to look after her.’ John slammed his coffee cup on the table and stood up.
Harry grabbed his arm. ‘You will do no such thing! Remember what happened last time when you went back in time without express permission?’
John pulled his arm away and glowered at his father. ‘It’s not the kind of thing you forget in a hurry.’
‘No, it bloody well isn’t. And this time it could be more than a mangled hand that you receive in punishment!’
‘I know, but what about Sarah!’
‘Sarah will be okay, I feel it somehow. And if it hadn’t been for her pleading with the powers you would still have that claw instead of a hand. Then where would you have been, eh?’ Harry guided John into the sitting room and forced him into the chair. ‘Of course you want to protect her, but she is an independent woman – strong and confident. Trust her. If you don’t and go charging back to 1979 like a mad bull, she might be lost to you forever.’
Again under strict orders to calm down, John relaxed back into the comfy chair and closed his leadened eyes. The clatter of dishes and a fake cheerful whistle came from the kitchen as Harry put on a command performance of ‘everything will be all right, lad’. John felt a little smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Nobody could ask for a better dad. And he had to admit to himself that Harry was right.
If he went back to 1979, all guns blazing, there would be no second chances after last time. The smile disappeared when he remembered all the hoops that the powers had put Sarah through to ensure that she was the right woman for him. She had come up trumps in the end and the age old rule that forbade Needles and Stitches to be together apart from a few exceptional circumstances had been overcome. She’d been allowed to retain all memory of her stitching and they had been allowed to marry.
It had not been easy though and John had been severely punished when he’d gone back to 1928 to save Sarah from rape, and possibly serious injury. The powers were furious, said he should have known better, but given the circumstances he had no choice. But he did have a choice this time.
John opened his eyes and gazed across the room into the amber flames of the open fire. This time he had to be strong. As far as he knew Sarah wasn’t in danger and, as his dad had said, there would be serious consequences if he disobeyed the rules. He guessed it could be a memory wipe for her and possibly him too, not to say a physical punishment. The physical punishment he could bear, but the idea that he might not even remember having met Sarah at all …
A lump of emotion pushed its way into his gullet and sat there, heavy as a cannonball. The amber flames reminded him of whisky but before he could think about getting one, the cut-glass tumbler appeared in his hand courtesy of Harry.
‘You look like you need that,’ Harry said, and the warm reassuring weight of his dad’s hand on his shoulder doubled the size of the cannonball. John took a big gulp and dislodged it, the fiery liquid burning a path to his belly.
‘Cheers, Dad. I did.’
‘So are you resigned to do the sensible thing, sit tight and wait for Sarah to come home?’ Harry lowered himself into his favourite armchair by the fire.
‘I guess so.’ John finished his drink and clenched his jaw. ‘But if she comes to any harm, I swear to God I won’t rest until someone pays for it.’
Harry levelled his compassionate gaze at his son and nodded. ‘And I swear to God that if she does, I’ll bloody help you.’
Chapter Eleven
Outside the squat again, Sarah raised her hand to knock on the peeling painted door and glanced at Veronica. ‘So remember, keep to our story and then stay quiet, okay?’
‘Of course. I’m not stupid, but I’d rather not say what I have to … Isn’t there something else we—’
‘No, there isn’t. Be quiet now,’ Sarah hissed and knocked.
Gerry’s head appeared round the door. ‘You forgot your key again?’
‘Yep, I need to be more organised. So can we come in?’ Sarah tipped her head to Veronica.
Gerry rolled her eyes and stepped to the side.
‘I guess so, but Ollie and Laz are back. They weren’t too keen on having another house guest, to be honest. Especially one with such a, let’s say, colourful imagination.’
Two serious looking punks, presumably Ollie and Laz, were draped lazily over an old green Chesterfield sofa that looked like it had been salvaged from the Blitz. Stuffing bulged from seams and the tall and very slim men resembled stick insects on some exotic plant leaf. Both had the regulation spikes, though shorter than Sarah and Gerry’s, chains, black eye make-up and piercings, but Sarah noted that the younger one had very attractive blue eyes, pleasant features and a half smile on his lips. The other one looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp.
Sarah nodded at them and perched on a smaller settee in a similar condition, she indicated that Veronica should do the same hoping that she wouldn’t get a flea bite or worse.
‘This is your mate, then?’ The wasp eater inclined his head towards Veronica, his hair spikes wobbling slightly.
‘Yes, this is Veronica, she’s going through a tough time at the moment and I would really appreciate it if she could stay with us for a bit and—’
‘Ain’t she got a tongue in her ’ed?’ Bulldog snapped.
‘I have indeed, young man. Would you mind telling me your name so I can address you civilly?’ Veronica smiled and folded her hands demurely in her lap.
‘Jeez, you weren’t joking, Gerry. This bird sounds like the bleedin’ queen!’ Bulldog chuckled and then looked at Veronica intently. ‘My name is Laz and I would like to know more about you and why we should let you join our little clan.’
‘Right, Laz … is that short for Lazarus? You know the man who Jesus raised from the dead?’
‘Eh? No, I hated the name my parents gave me – Larry. It makes me sound like a bloody lamb or something. So I changed it to Laz. Cool, yeah?’
Veronica frowned. ‘Cool? I wasn’t aware that names had a temperature.’
Laz looked at the others and then snorted with laughter. ‘That’s a good ’un, Ronnie. You ought to be on the stage! Deadpan and everything.’
Veronica looked questioningly at Sarah and Sarah signalled with her eyebrows for her to get on with it.
‘Okay,’ Veronica began haltingly and rolled her eyes up to the left as if she was reciting lines from a play. ‘I think I should be allowed to stay because I have been into some weighty drugs … no, I mean heavy drugs that have given me a bad trip. I was on a trip when I said those odd things about the war and stuffing.’ Laz frowned at her. ‘No, sorry, I meant stuff. I have nowhere to go because my aged man, er … no, old man, beat me up,’ Veronica finished, smiling triumphantly at the fact that she’d remembered most of the story word for word.
Ollie leant forward an
d spoke to Sarah, his smile gone, blue eyes chipping to steel. ‘Where did you find her? Down the docks again where you found your other … let’s say more intimate friend?’
Gerry thrust a cold bottle of beer into her hand which gave her thinking time and as she sipped it, Sarah had the strong feeling that the 1979 Sarah and Ollie had been lovers. There was still more than a flicker of passion burning for him too, but something had gone horribly wrong between them. Given his question, she surmised that 1979 Sarah had cheated on him.
‘Yes, actually. That’s where I find all my waifs and strays.’ Sarah sighed and attempted a smile.
‘Hmm, and how is that mangy dog, Steve, then? Not seen him sniffing round you for a few days.’ Ollie flashed a nasty smile but Sarah could see an ocean of hurt behind his deep sensitive blue eyes.
Laz sneered. ‘Yeah, I heard you arguing in the early hours the other morning. I bet he’s dumped you, ain’t he?’
Gerry frowned at him and shook her head quickly as if to warn him to shut up.
‘Ah, he has then. Well, you had it coming, love. What goes around and all that.’ Laz grinned and patted Ollie’s shoulder chummily.
Ollie nodded and slumped back into the sofa. Unsure of a response Sarah took another sip of beer and hiccupped loudly.
‘Careful, Sarah, we don’t want you to choke, do we?’ Ollie said quietly, his death stare suggesting that’s exactly what he wanted.
‘So can I stay here with you all a while?’ Veronica’s reedy tone broke the uncomfortable silence.
‘Don’t see why not. You make me laugh and that’s always a good thing.’ Laz chuckled.
About to say thank you, Sarah just hiccupped violently again. ‘You’d better go and have a drink of water, love,’ Gerry said, taking the beer. ‘Hold your head upside down and drink from the other side of the glass. Works wonders for me.’
