Cross Stitch

by Amanda James

  It seemed obvious to Sarah. ‘Taxi?’

  ‘Oh, yeah! I have the money that Laz gave me for the gear! Great we can flag one down, shouldn’t be too long on this bit of road.’

  Great wasn’t really the word Sarah would have used for the situation. It really was the living end. One minute looking forward to being in John’s arms, the next tearing up to a bloody bridge to save yet another life. Bloody stupid Gerry, if she wanted to sodding jump, then let her. Immediately Sarah felt her moral compass swing into life. That was a terrible thought and so unlike her. But then she had been stretched to breaking point lately.

  Sarah put her hands behind her head and looked up at the darkening sky. This was all above and beyond, but she’d said that before, hadn’t she? She blew heavily down her nose and resigned herself to more trials and tribulations. She deserved a medal. Did the Spindly Ones give out medals? If they did, they would be all twinkly and suspended from staunch, yet wispy threads of humanity. Jeez, now she was going nuts.

  Ollie, a little way up the pavement, waved madly at an approaching taxi and it slowed to a halt in front of her. It looked like she was going to get that closer look at the famous bridge after all, unfortunately. Okay, once more unto the sodding breach …

  The ‘sodding breach’ was so much worse than she expected. And given that she knew that Gerry was probably about to jump off the Clifton Suspension Bridge, that was saying something. The scene before her as she stepped out of the taxi and ran onto the bridge was like something out of a film. Dusk had settled, hastened by the ever gathering rainclouds, and little lights had come on all along the bridge. From the radio of a parked car, the strains of I Will Survive escaped through the open window. Sarah remembered her mum telling her that the song was a smash hit in that year. She joked that she sang it when she was in labour with Sarah. How ironic that it was on the radio now, given the circumstances.

  A sizeable crowd had gathered at the end of the bridge and about a third of the way along, a figure – a figure with pink spiky hair – clung to the railing on the edge, looking over the river far below. Standing next to the figure – and the ‘so much worse than she expected’ –was the form of a tall, and now that she thought about it, spindly figure, running its hands repeatedly through giant haystack hair. Veronica Ratchet.

  ‘Oh my God, no.’ Sarah’s breath caught in her throat and she leaned against Ollie for support. Of all the people anyone could have picked to try and talk down a suicide jumper, Ratchet would be the last. Why the hell hadn’t she listened and stayed put? Damn her, when did she ever listen? A few more moments of Ratchet’s babbling and Gerry would jump. Hell, anyone not suicidal would jump!

  Sarah started forward again; she had to shut Ratchet up pronto, but she felt Ollie’s restraining hand on her arm. ‘Hey, stay here. A guy in the crowd told me the police will be here soon. They have professionals who know what they’re doing.’

  ‘It might be too late by the time Veronica’s finished. You stay here and wait for me.’

  A sense of the surreal descended as Sarah threaded through the crowd and began to walk towards Veronica and Gerry. Thunder growled in the distance and apart from a light wind chattering around the bridge struts, the only other sound was Sarah’s footsteps on the tarmac.

  A few seconds later, Veronica turned, saw Sarah and relief washed across her anguished face.

  ‘Sarah, thank goodness,’ she gasped.

  Sarah closed the short gap between them and looked up at Gerry. Gerry slowly raised her gaze from the water and to Sarah. ‘Hello, Sarah, you’re clever.’ Her voice was flat, monotone. ‘Deciphered my note and got here in record time … pity it’s been for nothing.’

  ‘Note?’

  ‘Yes, Sarah,’ Veronica piped up. ‘The one she left on the kitchen table for you all. I followed her here and—’

  ‘Yes. When I told you expressly not to. What have you been saying to her?’ Sarah hissed.

  ‘She’s been saying nothing to be honest, it’s me who has been bending her ear.’ Gerry smiled sadly and then peered between her legs down at the swirling water as if mesmerised.

  ‘You said nothing?’ Sarah looked at Veronica in astonishment.

  Veronica nodded her head and shrugged. ‘I was worried I’d say the wrong thing like I always do.’

  Relief flooded through Sarah. Perhaps she might still have a chance.

  ‘So if you didn’t get my note, how’d you find me?’ Gerry asked and stretched her one arm up to the sky.

  Sarah quickly told her and then took a tentative step towards Gerry.

  ‘Er, don’t come any closer. You think I’m too drunk and stoned to know what you’re doing here?’ Gerry shot Sarah a glance of pure venom.

  Even in the disappearing light Sarah could see that Gerry’s pupils were large and black, and coupled with the whiff of booze on the breeze she didn’t need a rocket scientist to tell her what a sorry condition she was in. Drunk and stoned, just marvellous. From the films she’d seen where jumpers were talked down she remembered the main thing was to keep calm and not to alarm the suicidal person in any way. She told herself to try to be as normal as possible … yeah, right. Glancing to her left she saw that the crowd had grown but no evidence of police yet. Even more marvellous.

  Sarah swallowed and forced a tremor out of her voice. ‘I am here because I’m your friend, love. Life can’t be so bad that you want to end it, can it?’

  Gerry looked at her sidelong, shook her head and gave a humourless laugh. ‘No. I’m just up here for the bloody view, you daft cow.’

  ‘But what happened after I left with Ollie? You were fine before that.’

  Gerry began humming Somewhere Over the Rainbow and then stopped. She looked at Veronica, her blue eyes dark with pain. ‘You tell her, Ronnie. I’m all talked out.’

  Veronica quickly told Sarah that she had pretended to be asleep and heard everything, which she now shared. She had confessed to Gerry on the way to the bridge that she hadn’t really been asleep and that they should go back and talk about it, but Gerry wouldn’t see reason.

  ‘But death is reason, Ronnie. It’s my sad, grubby, worthless little life that has no reason.’ Gerry looked down again and shivered.

  Sarah guessed that the most important bit of the sorry tale was Gerry having to leave her son with her parents and feeling totally rejected. The rejection today from Laz was just the last straw. But how to tackle it? Sarah felt completely out of her depth. Okay, here goes.

  ‘There’s no wonder you’re distraught given all that’s happened to you, love. But there are ways round it. Have you tried to contact your parents lately to see if you can see your boy?’

  ‘No point. What good would I be to him anyway?’ Gerry’s eyes filled up and spilled over. ‘He was born on my birthday, you know. That was last week but I didn’t tell you lot. Birthdays are sad for me ’cos of him … I was twenty-one and he was five.’

  Bingo. Seemed her intuition was right about the boy. ‘You would be good for him, Gerry, you’re his mum,’ Sarah said, feeling her own eyes moisten.

  ‘Mum!’ Gerry’s face coloured up, her eyes flashing in anger. ‘What kind of mum dumps her son and runs off when things get tough? What kind of mum shacks up with men for drugs, what kind—’ She broke off, silent tears coursing down her face. Sarah was worried that the more upset she got the more likely she’d lose her grip on the railings, or perhaps just jump to end the pain. Shit what should she say next! She looked at Veronica who was anxiously biting her nails and shifting from one foot to the other. No help there then.

  ‘Come on, Gerry. Let me help you back over the railings and we can at least talk about it … please, before it’s too late.’

  Gerry stopped crying and took one hand from the railing. ‘It’s already too late.’

  Sarah’s heart lurched as she watched Gerry turn and look at the water once more. And then Veronica stepped closer to the edge.

  ‘Right, that’s enough of that, young lady. Just take m
y hand and climb back over, this minute!’

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open. Had she gone bleeding bonkers! Gerry wasn’t one of her kids in the schoolyard. ‘Veronica, what—’

  ‘But what’s the point?’ Gerry said in a small voice.

  ‘The point is that forty odd years ago people in the last war died to make your life better and now you want to chuck it away! Well, that’s disrespectful. In fact, bloody disrespectful, to use a vulgarity.’ She looked at Sarah and winked. ‘Those people were fighters, and if you do this today, that boy of yours will always have to live with the fact that you didn’t fight for him. For God’s sake, don’t you have any feelings for him at all?’

  Gerry slapped her other hand back on the railing. ‘Of course I have feelings for him,’ she shouted. ‘I love him! I can still see his face, smell that lovely baby smell he had …’ Tears welled and rolled again.

  ‘Then get your miserable arse back over here and fight then, damn you!’ Veronica’s beady eyes were bright with emotion, her mouth set in a determined line and, for once, Sarah thought she actually looked quite beautiful.

  Gerry looked at them both trancelike. Thunder grumbled in the near distance and the first fat raindrops splashed down mingling with her tears. For Sarah, time seemed to stop and all she could hear was the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears and the faint wail of a police siren coming up the valley. Then, incredibly, Gerry gave a half-smile and held her hand out to Veronica. Sarah’s stomach did a few somersaults but she stepped forward too and together they both practically dragged Gerry over the railings and back to safety.

  ‘My God, what a fright you gave us!’ Sarah wrapped her arms around Gerry’s shaking frame and hugged her tight.

  Veronica sank to her knees next to them and turned her face to the rain. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered.

  Sarah knelt too and gave her the biggest bear hug in the world. ‘You did it, Veronica! You stuck your bloody schoolteacher’s head on and you sodding did it!’

  ‘Watch your language, madam!’ Veronica laughed and hugged Sarah back. ‘Looks like we both did a bit of good stitching today, eh?’ She nodded at a smiling Ollie running towards them.

  Sarah grinned, realisation dawning. ‘That’s right. Two people needed saving today more or less at the same time and one Stitch couldn’t do both. You should be so proud you pulled it off, Veronica.’

  Veronica beamed and hugged her again.

  Sarah closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness it’s all over, me old Ratchet.’

  When Sarah opened her eyes again she was standing in her kitchen in front of a stunned but delighted John.

  Chapter Thirteen

  John nearly dropped his coffee mug when he turned from the toaster and saw Sarah standing by the kitchen door. The hot liquid slopped on his hand but he barely noticed it. All five senses were tuned to his beautiful wife, safe and back home again.

  He set the mug on the table and crossed the distance between them in three large strides. She shot a shaky smile at him, but he could tell by her moist eyes and trembling hands that she’d been through it. ‘My poor darling,’ he whispered, feeling his throat thicken. Drawing her gently towards him he looked into her beautiful blue eyes and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Are you okay?’

  He felt her arms go round him and tighten as if she’d never let him go. She rested her head against his chest and released a deep sigh. ‘I have been better, but now at last I’m back in your arms, thank God.’

  After a hot bath and breakfast, Sarah told John the entire story of the impromptu trip to 1979. Most of why it happened was still a huge mystery to the pair of them. John, this time, was as much in the dark as Sarah. He normally knew roughly when a Stitch was due back from a trip and if they had been successful because the powers would email.

  However, because he was in the doghouse with them at the moment, they had remained silent, apart from the odd message regarding the other Stitches that he was needling for. One, Karen Hillary, had temporarily got stuck in the middle of the Crimean War. Thankfully she’d managed to complete the mission and come back without John having to go and sort it. That’s all he would have needed, dodging bloody cannonballs while being beside himself with worry about Sarah.

  He’d had a sleepless night after he’d come back from his dad’s and was on his fifth coffee when Sarah appeared, but as soon as he’d held her close, all the tension drained out of him and he at last began to feel a bit more like John Needler, instead of a raging bull on amphetamines.

  ‘So,’ Sarah said, sipping her tea. ‘I reckon that I was sent back to 1979 with Veronica because both Ollie and Gerry needed saving at the same time, so two of us were needed. Also, because of this unexplained Cross Stitch, I think the whole thing seems largely out of the Spindly Ones control. 1879, 1939 and 1979 all got jumbled up in one big time-travelling disaster.’

  John could see the logic in that, if there was logic in such a mix-up, but he had the strong feeling in his gut there was more to it. Nevertheless, he decided that his gut had to keep schtum on that front. Time would tell. He smirked at the ironic thought and Sarah immediately pounced on it.

  ‘What’s the smirk for? Do you know something about all this that I don’t?’

  ‘Nope. But I will send an email later to see if I can get any more out of them.’

  Sarah stood and moved round the table to sit on his lap. She smelled fresh from the bath and the heat from her soft curvaceous body coming through the thin silky dressing gown ignited a flare of excitement in his.

  ‘You were so brave standing up to the Spindly’s like that, hon,’ she murmured in his ear as she slipped her hand under his shirt and traced her fingers across his chest.

  ‘I was so bloody angry I didn’t even think about the consequences.’ John moved a damp tress of honey-blonde hair away from her neck and placed a kiss in the well of her throat. Brushing his lips along her neck he inhaled the warm familiar smell of her and ran his hand along her thigh. Last night he’d lain awake tossing and turning, worried sick about where Sarah was and if she was in danger. He’d yearned for her touch and to feel her body against his again, just like this. It was inconceivable to him that he’d never hold her again; he knew he couldn’t have gone on if anything had happened to her.

  ‘Hey, John,’ Sarah said, putting a finger under his chin and lifting his face to hers. ‘What’s wrong? You look like somebody died?’

  ‘I was just thinking what I would have done if you had been stuck there … never come home … I—’

  ‘That’s enough of that talk.’ Sarah stood and held her hand out to him. ‘I am back and we are together again, and come hell or high water, we will always be together.’ She walked to the door. ‘Now, thankfully I’m not teaching today, so come on, I have a job for you to do.’

  ‘Eh? Can’t we just relax a bit before you have me fetching and carrying and—’ John stopped as his wife dropped her dressing gown to the floor, a cheeky smile on her face. He jumped up and hurried up the stairs after her, enjoying the view of her pert behind swaying as she climbed. He grinned. ‘Now this is the kind of a job I like.’

  A few hours later after making love and a restful sleep, Sarah, desperate to get back to normal, had gone grocery shopping. John had been given strict instructions to try and find out more from the powers by email. Surprisingly, it seemed he was forgiven and he’d found out quite a bit about Veronica, Gerry and Ollie, and he was sure Sarah would be pleased to hear it. However, any personal information had been withheld, so John hadn’t pushed it. There was no use getting on the wrong side of them again.

  Up to his ankles in sludge, John carefully levered up another bedraggled looking bunch of carrots. The last week had turned his field into a quagmire and harvesting in those conditions was not his favourite job. Still, there had been more than a nip in the air that morning, a sign that winter was walking towards them in frosty boots. In a few weeks the swede, parsnip and leek would be ready, and the heated green
houses were full of exotic vegetables and herbs for the local restaurants.

  John straightened, wiped the sweat from his brow with a muddy paw and looked out across the rolling hills edged with stone walls and dotted with sheep. Glowering rainclouds gathered in a corner of the sky like school bullies conspiring to muscle in and nick the dinner money of the watery October sun. All around was still and silent, save a rook’s bark and his own heavy breathing. Inhaling deeply, the pungent aroma of the damp earth connected him to the land and John felt a swell of happiness in his belly. He loved his work, life was good and hopefully due to get better if his dad’s hunch was—

  ‘Hey, John, I’m back!’

  John turned to see Sarah waving from the doorway of their cottage, her hair lifting on the breeze, dressed in blue jeans and a red shirt. His stomach flipped and his heart grew heavy with love at the sight of her. He raised a hand and grinned stupidly. Without doubt she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  ‘Well, stop gawking and come and tell me what you found out, then!’ She turned and went indoors. John stuck his fork in the ground and chuckled. Yep. The most beautiful woman in the world … but with the sharpest tongue.

  ‘Chocolate and walnut cake, you are a star!’ John smiled as he saw the cake Sarah had placed on the table. ‘And my favourite coffee too, you are spoiling me,’ he said, slipping his arms around his wife’s waist as she busied herself with the cafetière.

  Sarah tapped his hands. ‘Get those mucky paws washed and sit down. I am all ears to know what you have to say.’ She turned and gave him a wistful smile. ‘Veronica thought that was a really funny phrase. She said “imagine what a person would look like made entirely of ears”. I miss the old trout, unbelievable I know. Hope she made it back okay.’

  ‘Mmm. That cerk is de best yer,’ John said, his mouth full.

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s cake not cerk.’ Sarah licked the chocolate off a walnut and tossed it into her mouth.

  John washed the cake down with a mouthful of delicious coffee. ‘Okay, miss perfect, at least I haven’t got chocolate on my nose.’