[Sins of the Father 01.0] Touchstone

by Andy Conway

  ‘How was prison?’

  ‘Grim as. I’m just glad that drunk wasn’t in there with me.’

  He jumped up from his seat and started undressing. She turned away with alarm, staring out of the window.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going to get Amy to run away with me. It came to me this morning. If she runs away with me, it can’t happen. Which means she can’t die.’

  ‘Do you think it’s healthy falling in love with a girl who’s over a hundred?’

  ‘I like mature women.’

  She turned. No, it was still not safe to look. He was half way through throwing on his Edwardian costume.

  ‘I found out what ‘General Paralysis’ means,’ she said.

  ‘I know what it means.’

  She turned, surprised, and watched while he pulled his shirt over his torso.

  ‘What do you mean? You thought it meant just dead, you said.’

  ‘I know. And then I found out what it really meant,’ he smiled.

  He was so infuriatingly smug she wanted to slap him.

  ‘It’s the polite term for syphilis,’ she said, realising she was blurting it out before he could. ‘They put it on death certificates so it wouldn’t cause a scandal. That’s why he’s mad. It eats away at the spinal cord or something. Sends you crazy.’

  ‘I know,’ he smiled. ‘He goes to that chemist in Highgate for Salvarsan injections. It’s a revolutionary new treatment for it. In 1912. But I think it’s come a little too late for Mr Parker. It’s certainly come too late for Amy.’

  He was almost completely Edwardian now and she felt a twinge of disappointment.

  ‘You can’t save her,’ she said.

  ‘Just watch me.’

  ‘It’s already happened, Danny.’

  ‘Not yet it hasn’t.’

  ‘Do you know you’re in a book of old police mugshots in the library?’

  He stopped. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, You. Daniel Pearce. No Fixed Abode. Drunkard. Arrested 100 years ago.’

  He smiled, chuffed. ‘I’ll have to get a copy of that.’

  She felt anger rising inside her. He was such an idiot. ‘Don’t you get it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That book’s been in the library for years. Your photo’s been in it for years. Before you got arrested yesterday, before you met Amy Parker, maybe before we were born.’

  ‘Mad, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is! It’s mad that you think you can change anything. She’s dead. It’s in the archives. It’s already happened. Just like your arrest.’

  ‘Well I’m going to change it.’

  ‘You’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what that means.’

  ‘It’s just a playground to you, isn’t it? Just a game. It’s all laid on for your personal amusement and you’re going to change the past just because you can!’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Have you ever thought there might be some things you can’t change! Have you ever thought maybe some things are just never going to change!’

  She was close to tears and he couldn’t even see it, he was so stupid.

  ‘No. I haven’t,’ he said.

  ‘Just leave her alone, Danny.’

  She grabbed hold of his lapels and he tried to shake her off, looking at her like she was the crazy one.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I can’t let him kill her.’

  ‘I won’t let you stop it!’

  ‘Try and stop me.’

  He pushed her aside and headed out down the stairs, storming out of the front door, Rachel in his wake, trying to pull him back.

  ‘Danny! You don’t know what you’re doing!’

  ‘Just stay out of it, Rachel! It’s none of your business!’

  He ran off and turned right, heading for the church. She watched him go, panicking, wondering what to do, frozen. She ran home, her heart burning, up her garden path, past her father’s old banger and let herself in with her key, storming up the stairs, bursting into her bedroom and snatching up her tweed walking suit. She tore her clothes off and threw her costume on and ran down the stairs, clutching her hat, slamming the front door just as Martyn came out and called her name.

  And she was running all the way to St Mary’s, knowing she was too late, not caring who saw her dressed like this, tearing into the churchyard and round the back of the church and down the path, breathless, reaching out to the touchstone and she was back in the churchyard in an instant, the sudden rotting smell of the place invading her nostrils, almost gagging her as she gasped a deep breath and was running over soft grass to the wrought-iron gates at the back of the graveyard, stumbling down the slate slope to the gates and pushing them open with a strength she couldn’t have imagined she had.

  The same huddle of snotty pauper children with their uncomprehending doll’s eyes watched her run past them and down the back alley, holding her breath against the stench, heading for the chink of blazing light.

  — 27 —

  Danny rushed through the village and hardly noticed the wonders of a Saturday morning in 1912. He was thinking of how to get Amy away from her father. Could he persuade her to leave with him? What could he say? And where would they go? He still had plenty of 1912 money. He imagined running away with her, getting on a train at New Street Station. Was it built already or would it be the old Curzon Street Station? No, New Street was a Victorian station; he’d seen photos of the old one with its amazing roof which had been damaged during the Blitz and then bulldozed in the sixties to make way for the new concrete monstrosity. They could go there now and buy a ticket to anywhere in the country, maybe go to the coast somewhere, or maybe London, where they could disappear more easily. He felt a thrill of expectation for all the things they might see in London, and then remembered the research he’d done into what happened in 1912. The world was still reeling from the sinking of the Titanic and there were a series of wars happening in the Balkans that would explode into the First World War within a couple of years. It was like the entire world was sleepwalking into the abyss. It was just about the worst time he could pick to be a young, able bodied male.

  Then he realised, he could bring her back to the present with him. That would be the easiest way to disappear. It was perfect. Get her out of the house, walk to St Mary’s, touch the stone, and disappear to 2011. But would that freak her out too much? Would she go insane at the sight of the modern world? Would it unhinge her as much as her father was currently unhinged? He had no more time to think about it. He’d reached her house. He hesitated, wondering if he should just go to the front door and knock. He didn’t have time to mess around. It could be happening right now.

  A policeman was walking towards him from Brighton Road. Could he tell him? Report the murder? Or say he’d heard screams from inside so that he would knock the door? That alone might disrupt what was supposed to happen. But if Mr Parker answered and seemed normal and it was clear there’d been no screaming, it might end up with Danny being arrested and carted back to that cell where he already had a record for being drunk and disorderly. He couldn’t help Amy from a police cell. And he already looked suspicious, hanging around outside the house. He nipped down the side street, away from the policeman’s gaze, and scooted round to the rear of the house. He’d stopped thinking now and was all action: vaulting the fence, padding down the garden and climbing up to Amy’s window, hoping no one from the houses all around would see him and alert the police. He didn’t even know if they had telephones yet. He raised himself slowly and peered into her bedroom through the open window.

  He looked all around. It seemed no one was watching, so he climbed noiselessly into Amy’s bedroom, trying not to make a sound, his boot letting out an ear-splitting creak as he lowered it to the floor. Suddenly, the door opened and he was caught.

  It was Amy. She let out a surprised yelp but stopped herself, clamping her palm to her mouth. She clo
sed the door behind her and rushed to him. He stepped down into her room and took her arms. She was trembling with fear.

  ‘We can’t talk today,’ she whispered. ‘My father’s in a terrible mood. You have to go. If he catches you here…’

  ‘Listen, Amy. There’s something I have to tell you. About your father.’

  She looked up into his eyes, just as she had the first moment he’d seen her, entreating him to tell her, even though she already knew. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You need to come with me,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t. Not today.’

  ‘You have to today.’

  His intensity stilled her. She knew she was in great danger from the man downstairs she both feared and wanted to protect.

  ‘Why today?’

  ‘Just come with me,’ he said. ‘Let’s get away from here.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she whispered.

  ‘Amy, you’re not safe.’

  ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What’s going to happen?’

  He held her, his hands stroking her arms, wanting to kiss her, wanting to run with her.

  ‘You know it, don’t you? You know I’m here to help you.’

  ‘I don’t even know you.’

  ‘You know it feels right, though. To come with me, right now.’

  She stared into his eyes. She knew it.

  ‘I’m taking you away from here,’ he said, suddenly forceful and praying she would give in to him. ‘Now. You understand?’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I’m going to take you somewhere safe. Somewhere he won’t find you.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. Now.’

  She nodded and started to look around for things to take with her, her hands shaking violently.

  ‘We haven’t time,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll need some things, though,’ she pleaded.

  ‘No, we need to go now, before he…’

  Too late. Heavy footsteps came clumping rapidly up the stairs and her father’s voice boomed out, ‘Amy!’

  She froze in terror. Danny tried to drag her to the window, their only escape route.

  ‘Come on! Now!’ he said.

  She couldn’t move, staring at the door in terror. It flew open and Mr Parker was there.

  ‘What’s this!?’ he cried. ‘Under my roof!?’

  Before either of them could move, he smacked Amy across the face with the back of his hand. She flew across the room and hit the wall, crumpling in terror. Danny stepped between them, arms out to protect. Mr Parker punched him square on the jaw. He reeled back, surprised.

  ‘You whore! You vile whore! Abomination!’

  ‘Father! Please! No! Stop!’

  He loomed down over Amy and slapped her again across the face, her squeal of pain flaming inside Danny’s head. He dived at the old man. They both crashed against the wardrobe. Mr Parker slumped, dazed. Danny grabbed Amy’s hand and ran out of the door with her.

  They tore down the stairs, two at a time, stumbling, falling, flying, Mr Parker chasing them, Amy screaming hysterically. On the lower landing Parker jumped on Danny’s back and they fell in a flailing, kicking heap. Amy carried on running down the stairs. Danny managed to kick Mr Parker back, and as he jumped to his feet to follow Amy, he looked back and saw Parker’s face all red, flecks of spittle foaming at his mouth as he struggled back to his feet and followed.

  He heard the sound of the electric tram in the distance as he clattered across the tiles in the hall and bolted through the open front door behind Amy, who was rushing blindly down the garden path into the street. And as in a dream he saw the tram looming and Amy running into its path. She couldn’t hear his disembodied cry.

  No one saw Rachel running towards them, trying to stop it all, panic on her face, arm outstretched, too late.

  Amy stood frozen in the street, staring in panic at her father, a monster spat from the house’s mouth. She heard the tram’s whistle too late, twisted to see it almost upon her.

  The brakes screeched, the bell rang, someone screamed.

  Danny lunged and tackled her out of its path.

  The tram clattered by and hissed to a stop as Danny held her tight on the floor. He had a moment to realise they were alive, where he could feel her soft body under his, her breasts rising against him, panting, alive. The tram passed by and Mr Parker came screaming at them brandishing a cane.

  ‘You whore! You vile whore! Abomination!’

  Danny jumped to his feet between them and thwock! took the cane right across his face, stumbling to one side, blood spurting from his cheek. Parker raised the cane again to strike Amy, then stuttered, confused, as the cane was snatched from his grasp and a crowd of passersby jumped on him and pinned him down. A woman pulled Amy to the far kerb, wrapping her arms around her.

  Someone pulled Danny to his feet and dragged him away. He stared after Amy, dizzy, groggy, face bleeding, but triumphant, seeing Amy safe and her father still screaming biblical abuse at her from under a scrum of burly men.

  ‘I did it,’ he said. ‘I stopped it.’

  Amy stared back as he was dragged away from her. She understood it now. He caught her eyes for the last time and found himself yanked up into a pony trap. Rachel was by his side and shouting at the driver:

  ‘St Mary’s church, please!’

  The cabman whipped the horse off and they pulled away from the scene, speeding off up the hill to the village. Danny looked back in panic. Policemen were running to the scene.

  ‘Come on,’ said Rachel. ‘You can’t help her now.’

  The pony trap rattled away. He gazed back at Amy. She was safe, a crowd of people gathering round her. Her face disappeared in the crowd. He found himself laughing hysterically, laughing till he cried.

  — 28 —

  When she came through and felt the rush of now hit her, Danny was lying on the grass, shouting up at the sky. ‘I did it! I did it! Get in!’

  He jumped to his feet and wheeled around, punching the air, the adrenalin that had erupted inside him with the fight still sizzling in his veins. Rachel steadied herself, feeling a rush of dizziness.

  ‘Promise me we never go back again,’ she said. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘What are you worried about?’ Danny cried. ‘It all turned out fine, didn’t it?’

  She dug out his bag from under the bush and threw it at him. He caught it, still grinning, infuriatingly. She reached out to him and brushed the cut on his cheek, the blood on her fingertips. He winced away from her.

  ‘You should get that seen to. It looks nasty. He could have killed you.’

  ‘He could have killed her. I stopped it. She’s going to live. I wonder how long for?’

  ‘We’ll see in the library,’ she said. ‘Maybe she died the next day.’

  ‘You’re a real glass half full girl, aren’t you?’

  They walked up the path, both breathing heavily, taking unsteady steps, and walked out onto St Mary’s Row through the upper gate: busy, overcast, Saturday afternoon St Mary’s Row in the year 2011, all normal, just as they’d left it this morning. She turned to him.

  ‘You’ll get that seen to won’t you?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll see you Monday,’ she said.

  He was already marching down the slope to the village, an absurd spring in his step. She watched him, half hating him; he was so full of himself.

  He wheeled around and called to her, laughing.

  ‘Rachel! Thank you! Thank you for helping me!’

  She turned and trudged up Wake Green Road, walking the half a mile to home, piecing it all together in her mind, wondering what had happened to them all. Had Mr Parker died in the asylum just as he had before or was it murdering his own daughter that had done that to him? No, it was the syphilis that had killed him. His date with the asylum was assured and they were probably carting him off there right now. Had Amy
survived and grown to be a woman, and if so, when had she finally died? And if they’d changed that, made her live longer, maybe have children herself, what effect would her life, branching out, have on other lives around her?

  She trudged up her garden path, so exhausted that she didn’t notice the new car in the drive. She put her key in the door and turned it. It stuck. Something was wrong. She rattled it a few times but it wouldn’t click the Yale lock open. She sighed and pressed the doorbell and listened as someone approached inside. Olive opened the door.

  ‘My key’s not working,’ she said, stepping inside. ‘We’ll have to get—’

  Olive shoved her back. ‘Hey! What’s going on?’

  Rachel stumbled back onto the drive. ‘What’s wrong? It’s me, Nan. Rachel.’

  Olive looked scared. ‘Martyn! Someone’s trying to come in!’

  ‘Nan! Are you all right? Don’t you recognise me?’

  Martyn rushed to Olive’s side and stepped in front of her. He’d dressed up for something; he looked all smart and clean but there was anger in his eyes. What was happening?

  ‘What’s wrong with Nan, Da—’

  ‘Hey, bugger off!’ he shouted. ‘I don’t know what funny game you think it is but take it somewhere else!’

  ‘Dad!’ she cried.

  ‘I’m not your bloody Dad. Go on! Sling it, you bloody druggie!’

  She saw this was no joke, she saw it in the menace in his eyes, and yes, the fear too. She backed away and felt herself crumpling up like a sheet of paper burning, everything she knew melting from under her, the horror dawning on her.

  ‘No,’ she moaned. ‘This isn’t happening. No. No. No.’

  ‘Go on!’ Martyn shouted. ‘Now! I’m calling the police!’

  Tears were already falling down her face as she silently screamed and broke into a run. She ran crying down Wake Green Road and through the village and down Chantry Road and was hammering at Danny’s front door with her fists, shouting his name.

  The door flung open and he lurched back as her fists nearly hit him.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?!’ he shouted.

  She grabbed hold of him. ‘Danny. Does anyone recognise you?’