by Jason Ayres
If he couldn’t help, or just took the piss, as was perfectly possible, Kaylee surely could, even if only to provide a shoulder to cry on. The two of them had known each other since reception class, and Kaylee understood her better than anyone else in the world.
The two of them had led very different lives when it came to relationships and sex. Kaylee was very much a one-man woman, but these differences had never been a problem. In fact, during their teenage years, their differing views had been a great help to each other as they charted the rocky path to adulthood.
As it transpired, her friends were not the only old faces she was destined to see today. Just as she was finishing her breakfast, she heard a loud banging on the front door. She glanced at the clock above the kitchen table. It was just past ten o’clock.
“Who the hell’s that at this time?” questioned Lauren out loud. It was still nearly an hour until opening time. She had nearly finished her toast. There was only the centre, crust-free piece left. Since childhood, she had always eaten around the outside first, saving her middle, favourite piece until last.
Shoving the remainder in rather too quickly, leaving a smear of Marmite on her lower lip, she leapt up and headed for the curving, narrow staircase that led to the pub downstairs. Lifting the hatch that allowed access to the bar, she walked across the ancient stone flagstones, opened the heavy, wooden door, and was shocked to see a familiar face waiting to greet her on the other side.
“Kent,” she exclaimed, instantly recognising the chubby ex-policeman and her ex-employer at the front door. “I thought you were dead.”
“That’s charming,” said the pub’s former landlord, as he stood framed in the doorway, the brilliant sunlight shining down on his now almost bald head. He looked much older, unsurprisingly, but also very well. He had a deep tan, not the sort you got in Britain, especially during the past decade.
“Can I come in?” he asked. “It is my pub, after all.”
Reluctantly she moved to one side and ushered him in. Although part of her was pleased to see him again, she was filled with a feeling of apprehension. Had he come back to stake his claim to what was, by rights, his property?
“Relax,” he said. “I haven’t come to evict you. Make me a cup of coffee and I’ll explain all. By the way, do you know you’ve got Marmite on your face?”
He was the same old Kent alright, ordering her about. “Get me a coffee, Lauren, chop some logs, Lauren”: it had never stopped when he was her boss. Despite all that, she had developed a certain fondness for him over the years. He was a buffoon, but a somewhat loveable one, and even when he was bad-tempered and bossy, he was worth having around for comedy value.
Kent excused himself to go to the toilet, explaining that he had had a long journey, while she busied herself with the filter machine. It was ten minutes before he returned, and when he did they settled down with two cups of coffee at the bar. Then Kent explained what had happened after he had gone to Cyprus.
“When the Black Winter hit, there was no question of us even considering coming back anytime soon. We had family in Cyprus. Deb’s sister and her husband had been expats there for years and ran a restaurant in Paphos. We stayed with them for a while and both started working in the restaurant. We couldn’t get in contact with home at all. None of the BBC TV channels were broadcasting, and CNN and Fox were focusing on the problems in America. It seemed as if England was completely cut off.”
“We were,” said Lauren. “Go on.”
“Our biggest worry was obviously the kids, but thankfully they turned up safe and sound in Cyprus a few weeks after we got there. They had managed to get out on foot through the Channel Tunnel. A lot of people escaped that way, apparently. They knew we had gone to Paphos on holiday and decided to follow us there.”
“So how come you never came back?” asked Lauren. “Or even tried to contact me?”
“I tried a few times during that first year, but couldn’t get through on the phone or internet.”
“All of that was down for months,” replied Lauren. “In fact, it was years before it was running reliably again.”
“So it seems,” said Kent. “By the time things seemed to be getting back to normal here, we had got quite settled in Cyprus. Debs loved working in the restaurant. She said cooking all the local dishes made a nice change from roast dinners and fish and chips, so she wanted to stay on. By all accounts England was in a mess so I had no desire to come back either, especially with the amazing weather we were enjoying over there.”
“So where is Debs now?” asked Lauren.
Kent’s face fell, and Lauren guessed what he was about to say before he said it.
“She died,” he replied. “It was a heart attack – about three months ago. She enjoyed her food a bit too much, even with that healthy Mediterranean diet. After a while, I decided I didn’t really want to stay on in Cyprus on my own so it seemed like the right time to come home.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Debs,” said Lauren. “So what are your plans now?”
“Well, as you’ve probably already figured out, I would like to take the pub on again,” said Kent.
“That’s all very well,” replied Lauren. “But this is my home. And what about all the work I’ve put into the place?”
“Or looking at it another way, how about all the back rent you owe me?” challenged Kent. “You’ve been living here scot-free for the past ten years.”
“And I’ve kept your business going for you,” retorted Lauren. “This is the only pub left in town and it would have gone the way of the others if I hadn’t worked bloody hard to keep it afloat.”
“That’s a reasonable point,” conceded Kent. “Don’t worry, I told you I wasn’t about to throw you out. The thing is, I don’t want to take it on all by myself anyway, not at my age. I’m going to be sixty-four next month – I don’t need all the stress at my time of life. What do you think about us cutting a deal to run the place together?”
“I want half the profits,” replied Lauren.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” replied Kent. “Now, tell me, how are things going here? I did a bit of homework online before I came back and it looks like you’re doing well, judging by the reviews you’re getting.”
“I am doing well,” said Lauren. “That’s why I want a fair cut. I’m not blowing my own trumpet, but this place would be nothing without me.”
Kent paused for a minute, summing up what Lauren had said. She had stated her position pretty strongly and he knew what she had said was true. He would be foolish to risk losing her. Far better to agree to her terms, let her have half the money and let her do most of the work. Then he could have a relatively easy life, and more importantly, devote his time to what he had really come home for. He had unfinished business in the town with a long-lost love. It may only have been three months since Debs died, but he didn’t have time to waste at his age.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Put it there, partner,” he said in a lame attempt at a Wild West accent. He held out his hand to seal the deal.
She took it, not particularly enjoying the handshake. His palms seemed a bit sweaty, and an unpleasant thought went through her head, bearing in mind his lengthy toilet visit:
I hope he washed his hands afterwards.
“I assume there is room at the inn?” asked Kent. “I was planning to move back in.”
“That’s fine,” said Lauren, not particularly relishing being housemates with Kent, but realising its practicalities. “But let’s get one thing clear – this is strictly a business arrangement. Don’t get any funny ideas.”
Loose as Lauren generally was with her morals, she had no intention of hooking up with Kent. Somehow that just seemed wrong and she was rarely short of offers from elsewhere.
“Fine by me,” said Kent. His romantic aspirations lay elsewhere and he had no intention of confiding them to Lauren.
“Plus, I’m used to having my freedom when it comes to my personal life,” added La
uren. “If I want to take someone upstairs, I don’t want any moral objections, or complaints about the noise.”
“Don’t worry about it,” replied Kent, who was under no illusion about what Lauren was like. It was one of the reasons he had employed her in the first place. He knew that she pulled in the punters.
Business concluded, he decided it was time to change the subject.
“So what’s happened to all the old gang?” asked Kent. “Is Andy still about?”
The mention of Andy brought a flicker of pain to Lauren’s eyes. She hadn’t thought about him for a while. He had been the pub’s resident alcoholic and a substantial contributor to its turnover for many years. His death was something she still felt guilty about. She had sent him out in the snow, not quite realising how bad conditions were at the start of the Black Winter.
It had been the last time she had ever seen him. Many months later, he was found buried in a melting snowdrift, an empty bottle of expensive malt whisky by his side. She had never forgiven herself, and had felt all the more guilty after receiving the OBE that she hadn’t let him stay. Kent didn’t need to know about any of that, though.
“No, he died,” she replied. “He fell over drunk in the snow and froze to death.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” said Kent. Then he asked the question he really wanted the answer to: “What about Kay? Have you seen her?”
Kay was Kent’s teenage love interest, one with whom he had shared an intriguing adventure many years before when both had time-travelled into their own past. Lauren knew nothing of this and that was the way he intended to keep it. So it seemed they both had secrets they wanted to keep from each other.
“I haven’t seen her in the flesh for years. I don’t know if she still lives around here,” replied Lauren. “However, I have seen her on the TV, would you believe? She’s one of the presenters on that show, The New Australia. Have you seen it?”
Kent hadn’t, but he was going to make sure that he did as soon as he got the chance.
The two of them continued catching up on old times until they were interrupted by further banging on the door. Lauren looked up, noticing the time on the old-fashioned analogue clock behind the bar.
“Bloody hell, it’s ten past eleven. That’ll be the pensioners wanting their coffee. Come on, you can give me a hand.”
Lauren was starting as she meant to go on. She was determined that there was going to be no bossing her about anymore if they were going to be partners. If anything, the boot was going to be on the other foot.
They opened the door and half a dozen or so senior citizens shuffled in slowly. Many remembered Kent, and expressed their surprise at seeing him again. They didn’t seem unhappy about it, which encouraged him. Once they were settled with their coffee in their usual seats by the bay window that faced the street, Lauren turned her attention back to Kent.
“By the way, I’m going out for a meal with some friends tonight,” she began. “So you can look after the place for me. It’s only Tuesday so it shouldn’t be too strenuous. It will give you a chance to get back into the swing of things.”
“Hey,” protested Kent. “Who’s in charge, here?”
“We both are,” said Lauren. “Remember, you’ve been away a long time. A lot of things have changed. Until you get back up to speed, it’s probably best you follow my lead.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” said Kent sarcastically. It didn’t look like much had changed to him. A pub was a pub. How hard could it be? Pulling a few pints, sticking the money in the till?
“Now then,” he added. “I’ve got all my stuff in the car out the front. Where should I put it?”
“The room at the back overlooking the garden is free,” replied Lauren. “You can have that.”
Lauren knew that room was tiny, but there was no way she was giving up the large room at the front.
“I was kind of hoping to get my old room back,” said Kent, obviously meaning hers.
“Let’s be honest, Kent,” she said. “Who is more likely to need a double bed these days – me or you? It’s me, isn’t it? And at least down at the back of the pub, you’ll get a bit of peace and quiet – you know, when I’m entertaining.”
It wasn’t actually that sort of screaming she was worried about. She didn’t want him to hear her having her nightmares.
Kent didn’t reply, but just shrugged his shoulders. It was obvious from his body language that he couldn’t think of a response.
“I rest my case,” she said. “Now, you had better get your stuff in, as the lunchtime crowd will be in soon and I could use a hand.”
He didn’t argue, heading back out of the front door to collect whatever belongings he had left in his car.
Lauren was pleased with the way things had gone. This ought to all work out very nicely. She was in charge and she was going to make sure it stayed that way.
With everything sorted on the home front, she was now ready to turn her attention to the evening ahead. Her mind was made up. It was time to tell the others about her dreams.
Chapter Three
July 2040
Hannah Benson, head of the local police, and her daughter, Jessica, were the first guests to arrive at the restaurant.
Hannah checked her look in the mirror as their driverless car crunched its way up the gravel drive, sending up clouds of dust as it went. The ground was bone dry on this gorgeous summer evening, the kind which she and everyone else in Britain had been starved of in recent years.
She felt she looked pretty good for her forty-nine years, although she had to work hard now to fight the natural signs of aging. She dyed her hair regularly to keep the grey at bay and moisturised her skin daily, but it was worth it. In a few months’ time she would be reunited with her lover for the first time in sixteen years. She wanted to preserve herself so that when he first saw her, his reaction would be that she hadn’t changed a bit.
Beside her in the car was her beautiful and blossoming daughter, Jessica. Just turned twenty, she was a stunner, inheriting her mother’s looks and more. Hannah had been pretty in her youth, and still was, but she knew she had never been as beautiful as Jess was right now. Clearly she had inherited some good genes from her father.
Hannah was thinking about Jess’s father now, wishing he could be here with them tonight. He had been absent on so many occasions while Jess had been growing up. Peter was the man she had met and fallen in love with around the time the team had first discovered the first time bubble. It was that discovery and the subsequent consequences that had brought them together, but had also turned out to be a double-edged sword, keeping them apart for all these years.
Her consolation and constant reminder of him through all this time had been Jess. Their daughter, conceived in the tunnel beneath the railway line after one of his trips through time, had inherited not just his looks, but his brains, too. Following in her father’s footsteps, she had just completed her second year of teacher training. With college finished for the year, she had recently returned home to spend the summer with Hannah.
Life had been tough for Jess, having to grow up without her father, through no fault of his own. She was not the child of a single mother, abandoned by an errant father, but a victim of unique and unusual circumstances. Jess’s only memory of him was of a fleeting meeting in that same railway underpass where she had been conceived. It was a long time ago – she had been just four years old.
Why had he been gone so long? He had been diagnosed with a terminal form of cancer, for which a cure was being developed, but not soon enough to save him. Taking inspiration from famous people who had frozen their bodies in the hope that medical science might later be able to revive them, Peter had come up with an idea. He took the decision to freeze himself, not in ice, but in time.
Neither he nor Hannah had expected him to be gone this long. He should have been back with them ten years ago, but the unfortunate timing of the Black Winter had left him trapped underground and unreachable. Ra
ther than die in an icy tomb, he had been left with no other option but to enter the bubble again, knowing it would take him forward a further decade in time.
Since then, both Jess and her mother had been counting the years until they would see him again. Finally, that time was approaching.
“You have reached your destination,” announced the car in a soulless female voice. “Please do not remove your seat belts until I have parked.”
This same female voice had been used for countless devices going back to the early days of sat navs. It was something Jess had noticed and now decided to comment on.
“You’d think they would make these driverless cars a bit chattier,” remarked Jess. “Our vacuum bot’s got more personality than this.”
Jess had grown up in a world where talking appliances had become commonplace. Everything from toasters to shower heads seemed to give a running commentary on what was going on these days. Hannah found it annoying and intrusive, feeling nostalgic for the days when you weren’t quite sure exactly what the temperature would be when you stepped into the shower. All these technological advances had made life a little too predictable for her liking; even if it meant avoiding the occasional scalding if someone flushed the toilet while the shower was running.
Getting out of the car, the two of them soaked up the warm evening sunshine which was pouring down across the cornfield opposite the restaurant. It made Hannah feel reassured about the world, as she gazed at the heads of the developing crops swaying gently in the breeze. There were a few bees buzzing around some wild flowers growing at the edge of the field. She wasn’t sure if they were real bees or the artificial ones from this distance, but they looked real. That was encouraging, too.
Hannah hadn’t taken much notice of such things before Britain’s ecosystem was ravaged by the Black Winter. Before that, people had taken such things for granted, but the struggles of the past decade had made everyone more aware of environmental issues. For Hannah, seeing bees, real or mechanical, and food growing in the fields was immensely heartening. It showed that Mother Nature was bouncing back.
