by David Munro
“At a cinema in Edinburgh?” Nancy glanced at Constable Fraser.
James shook his head. “In our house, the film was shown on television.” James looked up at Constable Fraser. “My father told me it had been made in 1939.”
The puzzled constable looked at Nancy, who had a bemused expression on her rounded face.
James held the book. “Do you have any science-fiction ones? What about The Time Machine? My father saw the film seven years ago, and enjoyed it.”
“On television?” said Nancy.
James shook his head. “In a cinema.”
“I’ll see what I can do, James.”
“Thank you.”
James returned to the back room, complete with Nancy’s generous gifts. He continued reading his comic, and munched on an apple tart. Nancy smiled at Constable Fraser.
“He has a creative imagination.”
Nancy stared towards the back room, then at Constable Fraser. “Has no parent reported a missing boy?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“That is strange.”
“Sergeant Buchan is investigating.”
“What if by tonight, no parent has come forward?”
“He can stay with my wife and daughter.”
“Given that the poor boy has lost his parents, he appears fine.”
Constable Fraser nodded. “Indeed.”
Nancy said goodbye, and left the police station. The boy had a charm, similar to an older person, also called James that Nancy had encountered in the past. Could James the man, and this boy, be the same person? Nancy’s instinct leaned towards a positive perception. The boy appeared genuine, and sincere in his peculiar answers to questions. Whilst Nancy walked home, her train of thought turned to a piece of literature from the past. A book, which she had found in the coachman’s quarters, sixteen years ago, titled, The Time Machine, by HG Wells.
Nancy entered her cottage, closed the door and went straight to her mahogany writing desk. Opening the drawer, she searched through notepads and letters for two particular diaries. Since becoming the housekeeper at Docharnea in 1896, Nancy had kept them for sentimental reasons. The diaries included instances, which referred to an enigmatic individual called James, who began working as a coachman in 1896. However, several months later, he disappeared. Then, sixteen years later, and not aged in any shape or form, he reappeared seeking his coachman job. As the property had a coachman, no vacancy existed. Then, as fate would have it, the coachman took ill. Thus, James once more filled the role. Nancy found the diaries from 1896 and 1912. She sat down on her fireside chair, and started to read the oldest diary. James arrived in the month of April, departing in August. No explanation had been given to Charles or Mary, Docharnea’s owners. Nancy smiled, just as well a different person had taken ownership in 1912. She recalled that James’s arrival on both occasions intrigued her. In 1896, he noticed a faulty axle on the coach, and had it repaired. If not, a nasty accident could have ensued. Nancy imagined the steep embankment, on the road from Dochar to Ardrishaig. If an axle broke, and the coach toppled over, it would career down the embankment, with serious injury to the occupants. Nancy put aside the diary, and picked up its counterpart from 1912. She found an entry of interest, and studied it. Hit by a runaway horse, James had ended up in Lochgilphead Hospital. He sustained concussion and severe bruising. However, he had saved Elizabeth, the owner’s wife, from serious injury. James had pushed Elizabeth out of the horse’s path in the nick of time. Nancy laid down the diary and smiled. Weeks later, when discharged from hospital, James returned to a redundant position. The purchase of an automobile by the owner had rendered Docharnea’s coach and two horses obsolete. Nancy looked out of her cottage living room window. Not long after, James vanished for a second time. She speculated, and hoped, that he would one day reappear. Had James done so, albeit, as a boy?
CHAPTER 3 – THE ENIGMATIC BOY
The following day, a tall well-groomed lady strutted into the Ardrishaig police station. When she approached the front desk, Constable Fraser looked up and put down his pencil. “Good morning, Mrs Lawson.”
“Sergeant Buchan asked me to call round at my convenience.”
“About the lost boy?”
The lady nodded. “Until he is spoken for, I am more than happy to look after him.”
“That’s kind of you, Mrs Lawson. We appreciate your compassion.”
The lady looked around the spartan police station. “This is no place for a boy. Besides, my young nephew is staying with me, therefore, the two boys will be company for each other.”
“I’ll fetch James, he’s reading Comic Cuts in our office.”
“Then, my nephew and he will have a common interest. Alan looks forward to every new edition.”
As Constable Fraser left reception, the lady adjusted her white wide-brimmed hat and then brushed a brown hair off her cream jacket. A young boy with blond hair and unusual clothes appeared with Constable Fraser. Mrs Lawson stared at his white T-shirt, blue shorts and white socks.
“This is James, Mrs Lawson.”
Mrs Lawson bent down. “Hello, James. I have a comfortable bedroom for you.”
“What about my parents and great-aunt, where are they?” James looked up at Constable Fraser.
“Sergeant Buchan is looking for them, James. When found, he’ll let them know where you are.”
“My nephew is staying with me, and is about the same age as you. He has lots of Comic Cuts, which you can read.”
James grinned up at Constable Fraser. “Terrific.”
Mrs Lawson glanced at the constable. “See you later, Sandy.”
“Bye.”
Mrs Lawson took James’s hand, and led him out of the police station. Parked nearby was a shiny burgundy automobile, whose driver adjusted his beige cap. Mrs Lawson walked James to the automobile. “George, you shouldn’t keep the engine running, we have to preserve petrol.”
“I don’t want to start it again, turning the handle gives me a painful wrist.”
Mrs Lawson opened the rear passenger door, and James got in, taking a seat on the black leather upholstery. Mrs Lawson closed the door, and sat in the front passenger seat. Whilst George put on his driving goggles, Mrs Lawson tied a white bow under her chin. James stared at her unusual hat. The automobile moved off, and headed into the centre of Ardrishaig.
A short time later, the vehicle arrived at a detached property surrounded by well-trimmed green hedges. The driver and his two passengers got out, and entered through the front door. Mr Lawson went upstairs, whilst his wife took James into the kitchen, and sat him down at a wooden table. She smiled his way. “Would you like a glass of lemonade, James?”
“Please.”
Whilst Mrs Lawson poured lemonade from a jug into a tumbler, James cast his gaze around the kitchen, and noted an array of silver pots and pans on polished brass hooks. Mrs Lawson set the tumbler in front of James. After he took a sip, she smiled. “Is that good?”
James nodded, and took another sip.
A boy, taller than James, walked into the kitchen. He wore navy blue bell-bottom trousers with a navy blue and white top. James set down his tumbler, and the two boys took stock of each other.
“Alan, this is James,” said Mrs Lawson, “he will be staying with us for a short while.”
“Splendid.”
James stared at Alan.
Alan stared at James’s T-shirt.
“James is a visitor to Ardrishaig, Alan.”
Alan looked at his aunt. “Can I have some lemonade too, please?”
“Of course.”
“And a piece of ginger cake?”
“It will soon be time for dinner, Alan.”
“After dinner?”
“Perhaps.”
Whilst his aunt poured lemonade, Alan sat opposite James. Once more, he looked at his T-shirt. “Where are you from, James?”
“Edinburgh.”
“Does anyone wear similar outfits to mine in Edinburgh
?”
James shook his head. “Boys are too young to be sailors.”
Listening, Mrs Lawson laid a tumbler of lemonade on the table. Going to a wall cupboard she took out a full bottle of lemonade and filled the jug.
“Why is there no collar on your shirt, James?” asked Alan as he picked up his tumbler and took a sip.
“T-shirts don’t have collars.”
“Why is it called that?” Alan set his tumbler on the table.
James shrugged his shoulders.
“Your hair is rather short.”
“I was at the hairdresser last week.”
“What is a hairdresser?” Alan glanced at his aunt.
“Where you go to get a haircut.” James sipped his lemonade.
“You mean a barber shop?”
“That name is old-fashioned, they are now called hairdressers. Most barbers have closed. Where I stay, the barber shop is now a baker.”
Mrs Lawson looked at James. “Where do you now go for a haircut, James?”
“My mum takes me to Leith, there are lots of hairdressers there.”
Mum? “Does she buy clothes for you in Leith?”
James nodded. “Also B Hyams.”
“Where is that?” said Alan.
“The Royal Mile.”
Alan looked at his aunt. “Perhaps mother could take me there.”
She smiled.
“Father could buy a new top hat, Auntie!”
“A top hat?” said James, with a bemused expression.
“What type of hat does your father wear?” said Alan.
“He never wears one!”
“Not even a bowler?”
James shook his head.
“Does your mother wear a dress like mine, James?”
“It’s shorter, and you can see her arms.”
Alan looked at his aunt, then James.
“Shorter, and the arms are not covered!” Mrs Lawson raised her eyebrows.
James nodded.
Mrs Lawson looked at her nephew. “Alan, take James into the garden, show him your new swing.”
Both boys finished their lemonade, and James followed Alan into a large garden, with a play area. Alan approached the swing, sat on the wooden seat, and was soon moving back and forward. Meanwhile, James stared at a small hut at the edge of the garden.
“My uncle keeps gardening equipment in there.” Alan got off the swing. “You have a go.”
James sat on the seat, gaining momentum. Soon, the swing came to a halt, and he got off.
“What’s wrong?”
James put a hand on his stomach. “I feel sick.”
“Take a deep breath, that’s what I do.”
As James breathed in and out, Alan returned to the swing. James sat down on the dry grass.
“Do you play rugby, James?” said Alan as he swung back and forward.
“No, I play football,” said James as he looked up at Alan. “Have you ever played?”
Alan shook his head. “Our school only has rugby teams.”
“Our school only has football teams.”
“Is it a private school?”
“Private?”
“Does your father pay school fees?”
“I don’t think so.”
“My father does, each year.” Alan stopped swinging.
“Even when you attend secondary school?”
Alan frowned. “Secondary school, what is that?”
“After I leave primary, I’ll attend a secondary school.”
“At what age?”
“When I’m twelve. I’ve four years left at primary school.”
“How long do you stay at a secondary school?”
“At least three years.”
“I will soon be in my final year at school, then I’ll go to Grammar, followed by University.”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“My mother would like me to become a lawyer, but I want to be a politician, like father.”
“What’s a politician?”
Alan stared at James. “A Member of Parliament.”
“Guy Fawkes wanted to blow up the Houses of Parliament.”
Alan stared. “What do you want to become, James?”
“A football player.”
Mrs Lawson stood watching at the kitchen window, and turned to her husband, George, who had just entered. “That young boy has sparked my curiosity.”
“In what way?”
Mrs Lawson stared at the garden. “When speaking to Alan, he mentioned that after the age of twelve, he attends a secondary school.”
“Secondary school?”
Mrs Lawson nodded. “For at least three years.”
Her husband approached the window, and observed James cross-legged on the grass, speaking to Alan. “It must be a fee-paying school. Children leave school at twelve and then have to work, unless the family is wealthy.”
“Similar to Susan, next door. She learns from her mother on how to become a future good wife.” Mrs Lawson glanced at her husband. “My brother-in-law’s royal connections should assist Alan’s ambition.”
“No doubt.”
“A Member of Parliament beckons.”
“I wager Alan is unaware of his mother’s Suffragette activities.”
Mrs Lawson put a finger to her mouth.
Her husband smiled.
Alan got off the swing and then sat on the grass beside James. “What games do you play, apart from football?”
“Monopoly.”
“What type of game is that?”
“You buy as much property as you can, and the person who has the most, wins.”
“How many play?”
“As much as five, boys and girls.”
“Girls play it!”
James nodded.
“Where do you get the money from – your father?”
James shook his head. “Money is included with the game.”
“It must be an expensive game to buy.”
James stared at Alan. “It’s not real money.”
“Not real?”
“Imitation.”
Alan hesitated. “I play Snakes and Ladders and marbles.”
“My friends and I play marbles on our school breaks, morning and afternoon.”
“Do you play tennis?”
“There are no tennis courts at our school.”
Alan raised his head and smirked. “Our school has two tennis courts, a rugby and cricket pitch.”
Mrs Lawson came into the garden and Alan looked towards his aunt. “It will soon be time for dinner, please show James where the bathroom is, and he can wash his hands.”
“Yes, Auntie.” Alan stood up. “This way, James.”
James followed, and as he entered the kitchen, spotted a comic on the table and went over for a closer look. Alan paused, and handed it to him. “You can read it after dinner.”
James looked at the front page. “Comic Cuts.”
Alan grinned. “It is the best-selling comic. Comes out every week!”
James turned the pages.
“Have you ever read it?”
“In the police station.”
Alan stared.
“I like to read the Hotspur, Valiant and Tiger.”
“Are they on sale each week?”
James nodded.
“Is the Tiger about a zoo?”
“It’s a sports and adventure comic. My favourite character is Roy of the Rovers!”
“The Rovers?”
James glanced at Alan. “Yes, Melchester Rovers.”
“After dinner, you must tell me all about Roy, and his football team.”
“Also, Captain Hurricane.”
“Being a fast footballer, no doubt that is why he is in charge of the team.”
James laughed. “He’s an army captain in the Valiant.”
When both boys departed the kitchen, Mr Lawson smiled at his wife as she returned from the garden.
“Have you heard of com
ics called Valiant, Hotspur and Tiger?”
Mrs Lawson shook her head.
“They are on sale in Edinburgh.”
“As well as an unusual style of clothes.”
Alan returned to the kitchen, approached his aunt and stood still. Turning round to face him, she asked, “what is wrong?”
Alan whispered, “are you aware James was apprehended?”
“Do not worry. Edward Beaumont and his wife found James all by himself in Dochar, and took him to the police station.” Mrs Lawson smiled. “He hasn’t been in any trouble.”
Alan sighed. “Phew!”
Alan and James kicked a ball to each other in the garden, watched by Mr Lawson and his wife through the kitchen window. “Aren’t they supposed to throw a rugby ball at each other?” said Mrs Lawson.
“Since James doesn’t play rugby, the oval ball is being used for football.”
“One kick in the wrong direction and a window pane will require a replacement.”
Mr Lawson grinned. “At least the ball is a child’s size.”
His wife remained silent.
“It won’t be our young guest who breaks a window, he’s adept at kicking an oval ball.”
“Snakes and ladders would be less noisy.”
Mr Lawson laughed. “The boys may soon tire.”
“Hopefully, before my nerves are shattered!”
Several minutes later, Alan picked up the ball, and took a couple of deep breaths. James stood and waited.
“How about a game of marbles?”
“We played this morning.”
“Tennis?”
“I haven’t played tennis.”
“I will show you.”
Mrs Lawson looked at her husband sitting at a table reading the Sunday Times. “I will give the boys lemonade.”
Mr Lawson raised his head. “Do they appear thirsty?”
“No, but I don’t want a tennis ball heading this way.”
Mr Lawson laughed, and continued to read the broadsheet newspaper. His wife poured lemonade into two tumblers then took them outside. Receiving them, James and Alan accepted with gratitude. Mrs Lawson returned to the kitchen, and sat opposite her husband.
“There’s tension in the Balkans,” he said.
“It was the main topic of conversation at the Post Office.”
“It will be a welcome change from a discussion about certain locals.”
Mrs Lawson laughed.
