Time Holes: 13

by Chris Tinniswood

  Chapter 2

  Mathematical Synchronicity

  Friday 29 October 2010

  Some weeks later, Austin found himself outside the Headmaster’s office. It was a Friday afternoon, and he had waited there for what seemed like an eternity. Students walked past, either glancing at him and giggling, or giving him ‘the look’. It’s amazing how much you can read into a facial expression. ‘The look’ — as far as Austin was concerned — consisted of a mixture of smugness (Ha! He’s outside the head’s office!), surprise (He’s outside the head’s office?!), relief (Thank God it’s not me outside the head’s office!) and finally worry (If he’s in front of the head’s office, then anyone could be!). Austin Baker was smartly dressed. He was organised, intelligent, well-mannered and imaginative. He was also shy, rather studious, and a prime target for bullies, which was the reason for his current situation.

  The Headmaster opened his door and with a curt nod of his head, ushered Austin into his office. The door quietly closed with only the hint of a click and the Head walked over to his desk, hands clasped behind his back. He slowly, deliberately, sat down on his leather office chair. He positioned himself carefully, with his elbows resting on the desk-top. Then he clasped his hands once again, this time in front of him. He looked at Austin, who was standing rather feebly in front of the desk. Austin’s hands were down by his side, his palms feeling sweaty. The Head spoke to him with quiet authority.

  ‘Do you know why you’re here, Austin?’

  Austin nodded silently.

  ‘You’re here,’ said the Head, ‘because you’ve been late regularly for the past few weeks.’

  Austin felt hot and sick with worry. His parents would be furious with him if he was sent home in disgrace.

  ‘We don’t tolerate lateness in this school, do we?’

  Austin shook his head.

  ‘Is there something you wish to tell me?’

  Austin thought about how Jordan was making his life miserable: how he called him names, tripped him up in the corridor, kicked him in the shins, followed him to school, pushed him, hit him, and stole his lunch money. But how could he tell the Head that the reason he had been late so often was because he deliberately left later in order to avoid Jordan?

  ‘Well?’ asked the Head, ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘No Sir,’ said Austin.

  ‘You mean to tell me there’s nothing you want to say in your defence?’

  Austin knew, of course, that telling the Head about Jordan’s bullying would get Jordan excluded. Jordan was bigger and stronger than him, so that was not a course of action he relished. Not telling him, though, that might go in his favour.

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘How old are you, Austin?’

  ‘13, Sir.’

  ‘And where do you live?’

  ‘No. 13, Blackberry Crescent, Sir.’

  ‘So it must take you, what, ten minutes to get to school?’

  ‘13, Sir.’

  ‘Pardon? Are you being insolent, boy?’

  ‘No, Sir. I timed it. It takes 13 minutes, Sir.’

  ‘I see. Mathematical synchronicity is it?’

  Austin looked up at the Head. He knew the number 13 was prevalent in his life, as well as his dad’s, but hearing it from someone else was odd.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘So what time should you leave in the morning, to get here at 8.30?’

  ‘8.17, Sir. At the latest.’

  ‘And what time do you leave in the morning?’

  ‘About 8.25 Sir.’

  ‘You’re a bright lad, Austin,’ complimented the Head, as he walked round to Austin’s side of the desk. 'You’re just the type of student I want at this school. Intelligent, quick to pick things up. But you cannot pick things up if you’re late!’

  Austin blushed.

  ‘Sorry, Sir. I’ll make sure I’m on time from now on.’

  ‘You do that, Austin, or I’ll have to exclude you. And you don’t want that on your school record, do you?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Right, off you go now, and I want to see you here bang on time Monday morning.’

  Austin walked over to the door.

  ‘Bye, Sir,’ Austin said, with a brave smile and closed the door behind him.

  Take Him Down a Peg or Two

  Friday 29 October 2010

  Jordan was late for lessons again. He half walked, half stumbled down the corridor in search of his classroom, bag falling off his left shoulder, shirt untucked, and tie suffering from a particularly severe peanuting.

  He hoped the Head wasn’t on the prowl, or he’d receive no end of grief for the state of his uniform. He could hear the Head now. You’re a disgrace to the school, Jordan. Why can’t you follow the example of students like Austin Baker?

  How he hated Austin. As far as Jordan was concerned, Austin was a smug clever-dick with a knack for getting him in trouble. The only thing he wasn’t any good at was sport, and that was where Jordan excelled. Give him a ball at his feet, or a bat in his hands, and Jordan was in his element. He was always the first to be picked for teams, something that Austin could only dream about. Austin was the antithesis of Jordan when it came to sport. He was the anti-Jordan.

  Rounding a corner, he quickly adjusted himself to look a little more respectable. This was the corridor where the Head’s office was situated. Everyone always looked very purposeful and busy when they walked down this hallway.

  It was then that Jordan stopped in his tracks. It took him a second or two to take in what he saw. For a moment he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but it wasn’t. That really was Austin standing outside the Head’s office.

  He watched as two other students walked by Austin, and they both turned back to look at him. The only expression on Jordan’s face, however, was a broad grin. Then, the Headmaster’s door began to open, and Jordan quickly ducked round the corner so as not to be seen. When he peered back round a few seconds later, Austin was no longer there, and the Head’s door had closed. He walked past the door to see if he could glimpse Austin inside, but he wasn’t in view. Jordan glanced at the sign on the door, which read ‘do not disturb’. It was one of those signs with a sliding tab on it. If you moved it to the left, it would reveal the three words, which was where it was now. If you moved it to the right, it would conceal the three words. Jordan couldn’t resist it. He looked both ways down the corridor to check there was nobody to witness, then reached up to the sign on tip-toe and moved it silently to the right, until only the word ‘disturb’ was revealed.

  Chuckling to himself, Jordan strutted off down the corridor in a much better mood, but as he neared his classroom, he began to wonder just why Austin was in the Head’s office. Was he, even now, telling the Head about him? Jordan knew he wasn’t nice to Austin, but hadn’t cared until now. But then, he hadn’t had much opportunity to do or say anything recently, as Austin studiously avoided him at school, and he hadn’t seen him walking to school either. They lived a few streets apart from each other, and so they quite often met on the way. Perhaps Austin now left after Jordan, deliberately to avoid him, which could mean that he was talking to the Head about being late. That should take him down a peg or two, he thought.

  Jordan didn’t mind the telling off he received when he arrived at his lesson, nor the five minutes he had to stay behind at the end of it. He felt a warm glow about him. Soon, everyone would know that Austin wasn’t perfect. What he didn’t know, however, was that he would not be there to see it.

  The Game is a Foot

  Monday 1 November 2010

  When Monday morning arrived, Jordan idly walked down Hawthorn Avenue, dragging his school bag behind him. It made a pleasing white noise, and Jordan imagined he was a caveman, dragging his kill back to the cave. Of course, the only edible parts of his school bag were the sandwiches his dad had made for him, but Jordan had eaten them as soon as he left his house.

  Jordan’s mum had died two years ago, and his dad had b
een made redundant shortly afterwards. His dad now stayed at home and did everything his mum used to do, as well as being his dad. They had watched Austin Powers the previous evening, after dad had helped him with his homework and cooked him his dinner. His dad loved films, and had acquired quite a collection over the years.

  They had also watched a black and white film starring Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes. Jordan wasn’t keen on them, as he found the pace too slow, the sets too wobbly, and the actors too wooden, but he put up with them because he knew that his dad had enjoyed watching them with his mum. There was one bit he had enjoyed, though, and it was now a running joke with his dad.

  ‘Come, Watson, come!’ Sherlock Holmes had said, ‘The game is afoot!’

  Jordan had found this incredibly funny. He had imagined a massive foot jumping about with Sherlock trying to catch it. He laughed so much that his dad had to put the DVD on pause until Jordan had calmed down, but he found Jordan’s laugh so infectious that he had started to laugh as well. When Jordan had explained what he found so funny, his dad had laughed even more.

  ‘It’s not “the game is a foot”’, said Jordan’s dad, ‘it’s the game is afoot.’

  Of course, when he said it, he realised that there was little difference in the sound of the words, and so they laughed even more. Eventually, though, his dad explained that ‘afoot’ meant ‘happening’ or ‘going on’, and Jordan saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

  Jordan smiled at this recollection, and then caught sight of Austin, who was walking about fifty metres ahead of him. He had just turned into Hawthorn Avenue from Blackberry Crescent, dressed immaculately as usual, and walking at a brisk pace.

  Jordan recalled the joke he’d made many times since that Summer’s afternoon when he’d met Austin for the first time.

  ‘Hey! Austin Powers!’ he called out, ‘You look like mini-me!’

  Jordan was sure that Austin flinched when he heard his voice but he didn’t turn round or answer back, so he called out, ‘Looks like somebody beat you with an ugly stick!’

  When this insult didn’t obtain the desired reaction, Jordan became slightly annoyed. Then he saw what could only be described as ‘an ugly stick’ lying on the pavement just ahead of him. There were teeth marks on the bark. Somebody’s dog had obviously dropped it on the way back from its walk. Jordan picked it up with glee, and thought for a moment how brilliant it would be if whatever he said suddenly appeared in front of him. He whispered ‘a million quid’ but of course, nothing happened.

  ‘Oh, look! I’ve got an ugly stick in my hand!’ he cried out.

  Austin started to run. This is what Jordan had been waiting for. The game is a foot, thought Jordan, and my feet are faster than Austin’s. This was most certainly true, as Jordan was on the track team at school, and if Austin had been any further away from the end of the road, he would definitely have been caught.

  However, as Austin approached the junction with Oak Road, Jordan saw that he was looking in both directions. Surely he won’t go the long way, he thought, he’ll be late for school! So, Jordan threw the stick at Austin just in case, but it narrowly missed him as Austin abruptly swerved to the right.

  Jordan skidded to a halt, a dust cloud gathering at his feet.

  ‘You’re going the wrong way, Powers!’ he hollered, but Austin just carried on running. Jordan stood at the junction watching Austin run the wrong way, and thought to himself that at least he would be in trouble for being late again.

  ‘Frickin’ idiot!’ he yelled, and then set off in the right direction at a steady trot. This was a good start to the day, and it would be even better if he reached school and was standing at the gates to greet Austin when he arrived.

  A few minutes later, Jordan reached the school, and paused to catch his breath. When he looked up, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Austin was already there!

  A Short Cut

  Monday 1 November 2010

  As Austin ran the wrong way along Oak Road towards the abandoned houses, he thought to himself how well the morning had begun. He had been up bright and early. He’d showered, dressed and eaten his breakfast in record time. At ten minutes past eight, just 13 minutes earlier than the previous day, he had walked out of his front door and into Blackberry Crescent. He’d looked both ways, checking for Jordan, and then started his 13 minute walk to school. He had just started to feel positive that today he would be on time and everything was going to be all right, when he’d heard Jordan taunting him.

  Now, he was going to be late again, and all because of him. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Jordan standing at the junction like Peter Pan, arms akimbo and legs astride in cocky arrogance. ‘You’re going the wrong way, Powers!’ he heard him shout, ‘Frickin’ idiot!’

  Sticks and stones, thought Austin, as he ran without looking back. The school wasn’t too far along the road to the left, but it was a circular road that met, eventually, with the road he was running along. The problem was, it would take him twice as long to reach the school as Jordan, so he would be late, unless...

  Austin stopped and caught his breath. He glanced back over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Jordan. He looked at the first abandoned house and felt the same twinge of uneasiness he’d felt during the summer when he’d first seen it. He recalled the conversation he’d had with the old lady. Should I, he thought, should I go in?

  He walked up to the front door. It was still boarded up, but he could just see the number three on it, and the impression where the number one had once been. Where did I put that ‘1’? I must’ve dropped it somewhere, he thought.

  He peered through the broken glass of the lounge window. He could see right through to the back garden, at the end of which was a gap in the fence, and he realised that it could be a short cut to school. Behind the fence was some wasteland which he could cross. He might even get there before Jordan if he could only get in the front door. He noticed that there was an opening wide enough between the boards for him to squeeze through. He reached through and pressed against the door. It creaked open a notch. Good, thought Austin, I can do this. Carefully, he squeezed through the space in the boards. A button on his blazer became caught on a splinter, and he spent a good minute anxiously trying to disentangle himself. Eventually, through diligent patience, he freed his blazer from the clutches of the wood and slipped into the house.

  To his left was a doorway. Only one rusty hinge remained to give any impression that a door had once existed, hanging onto the frame by a single screw. This was the lounge he had looked into from outside. He knew it lead to the back of the house, but there was no exit, so he bypassed it. The corridor in front of him smelt musty and damp, and was strewn with old newspaper and empty beer cans. A mouse scurried away in front of him as he started to tip-toe his way along. It made him jump, and he laughed nervously. It’s only a mouse, idiot.

  At the end of the hallway were two doors. He opened the one to his left and found a toilet. Not in there, he thought. He opened the next door which revealed what was left of the kitchen. As he went through the doorway, a strange sensation came over him. His vision blurred, his stomach knotted, his head burned, and his muscles went taut and then relaxed, which made him fall forwards onto the kitchen floor.

  What the hell was that? Austin thought, as he picked himself up. He carefully dusted himself down until he looked almost immaculate again. The sensation had ended as suddenly as it had begun, leaving only a slight tremor in his stomach, and Austin made his way over to the back door. It was not locked, and so he gladly left the house and walked down the garden path, gratefully taking in deep lungfuls of cold morning air. The gap in the fence was large enough for him to slip through without any problems, and so he lost no time in making his way across the wasteland.

  Eliminating the Impossible

  Monday 1 November 2010

  Austin finally reached the school grounds and with a sigh of relief, stopped to catch his breath. There was no sig
n of Jordan yet, he noticed, and then paused in puzzlement. There was no sign of anyone else, either. Oh no, he thought, I’m late again. Lessons have already started! He quickly looked at his watch. It said twenty-three minutes past eight. Austin frowned. I’ve been at school at this time before, and there’re normally plenty of kids waiting to go in for half-past. Why is nobody here yet?

  Just then, a green car drew up and the driver’s window wound down to reveal Mr Jones smiling at him.

  ‘You’re here nice and early, Austin!’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Sir,’ replied Austin. ‘What’s the time, please?’

  ‘Ten past eight.’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ said Austin, ‘I left at ten past eight!’

  ‘Are you winding me up, Austin?’ joked Mr Jones, ‘because as far as I know, you’re too young to time travel!’

  With that, Mr Jones drove off into the car park, leaving behind an astonished Austin. Time travel, he thought, I’ve travelled through time? That can’t be right!

  His dad’s library was full of science fiction, and during a rainy week in July his dad had picked a few novels by H. G. Wells for him to read. The Time Machine was amongst them, and this led Austin to ask his dad whether time travel was possible. His dad had replied that he hoped it would be one day, and later they’d sat down to watch Back to the Future.

  The notion that he had travelled in time was both alarming and thrilling, but there had been no time machine, no pimped-out DeLorean DMC-12 in which to ride. He’d only walked through that abandoned house. However, although Mr Jones had been joking, it did made sense. In fact, it was the only thing that could explain it.

  Austin was a well-read 13 year old. Whilst other boys his age were playing sports or gaming online, Austin was steeping himself in fiction both old and new, both modern and classic. Even his parents called him a bookworm. What’s more, he loved a good mystery, and Sherlock Holmes was a favourite amongst detectives. Holmes had a particular saying for just this sort of situation. How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? Austin linked many things in his life to the stories he read. It was his benchmark, his standard, through which he understood the world. There would always be something from a novel he could relate a problem to, and this was no exception.

  Austin made his way to a bench and sat down. This was a lot to take in. Did I leave at ten past eight? Austin checked his watch again. He was always very careful about the time, but there was no mistake. It now read twenty-eight minutes past eight, so by rights he should be surrounded by groups of students waiting to go in. It must be true, he thought, it must be. Then he remembered the odd feeling he had experienced when going through the kitchen door in the abandoned house. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. Austin’s heart quickened at the thought. I’ve travelled through time, he said to himself, over and over again, as if just saying it would make it true.

  As the first students started to arrive, he couldn’t help but smile secretly to himself. What would they think if they knew what he’d done? Then, his smile turned into a grin as he realised that the one person who would be most shocked to see him there... was Jordan!

  Cease and Desist

  Monday 1 November 2010

  That’s not possible, thought Jordan, as he stared in disbelief at Austin, who was standing against the side of the school building, waiting patiently for the bell to signal the start of school. He can’t have got here already. He must have got a lift from someone, cos he couldn’t have got to school before me otherwise. Not going right, anyway.

  Jordan’s face reddened. Yet again, Austin had beaten him without trying. Furious, he ran towards his antagonist, who was gazing into space, completely unaware of Jordan’s presence. Using his momentum, Jordan pushed Austin up against the wall, grabbed his tie and pulled the knot tight.

  Jordan did not get the reaction he had been looking for: Austin didn’t cry out. He didn’t start sobbing. He didn’t whimper, sweat, or shake.

  He started laughing.

  This added to Jordan’s frustration. He tried to think of something to say, something to make Austin stop laughing. But Jordan’s mind was in too much turmoil to bring out a coherent sentence, so he resorted to something less demanding; his fist.

  But as his free hand clenched and raised, he saw something on the periphery of his vision. His fist relaxed into an open hand, and he let Austin go, but it was too late. Miss Randolph had seen him.

  ‘Jordan Baxter!’ said the Deputy Headmistress, ‘Cease and desist!’

  This was Miss Randolph’s war-cry. She only said that when the child in question was in big trouble. She walked up to the two boys. Austin began to readjust his tie. The knot had become a peanut. Any schoolboy would have been proud to have created such a thing, but Jordan wasn’t given a chance to admire his handiwork.

  ‘You’d better come along with me,’ said Miss Randolph. ‘I think the Head would like a little chat with you.’

  Miss Randolph turned to look at Austin, who was still struggling with his tie.

  ‘Are you okay, Austin?’ she asked.

  Austin feebly nodded his head, but as Miss Randolph turned to walk towards the Head’s office, Jordan noticed that his nod had transformed into a grin. Jordan mouthed ‘you’re dead’ to Austin, who pretended to be scared.

  Miss Randolph escorted Jordan through the gauntlet of students lining the main entrance. They all turned to watch him. It made him feel like a convict on death row. He imagined Miss Randolph as a prison Guard, calling out ‘Dead Man Walking!’ He remembered sneaking downstairs one night, whilst his dad was watching a DVD with that very scene, and sneaking a peek at it through the banisters. Perhaps that was what had impressed him most, as the banisters had been like bars in a prison cell.

  The Head was not pleased to see him, especially so early in the morning. He ushered him into his office and told him to stand in front of his desk and wait quietly. Jordan did as he was told, and watched the Head as he opened drawers, rummaged for files, and generally continued with his work. The last time Jordan had been to the Head’s office, he had watched him go through the same routine. He was sure it was designed to make him more nervous and uncomfortable than he already was. Well, it works, he thought. He imagined himself being strapped into an electric chair, whilst the Head, who was now his executioner, readied the instrument of his impending death.

  ‘What is it with you, Jordan?’ the Head asked. ‘What do you get out of bullying a nice lad like Austin?’

  Nice lad? You don’t have a clue about him, thought Jordan. He shrugged.

  ‘When I ask you a question, I expect a verbal answer,’ said the Head, his voice raised a notch.

  Jordan blushed. ‘Sorry, Sir,’ he said, looking down at the polished oak floorboards. He felt a sudden pulse of pain in his left temple, and knew that one of his headaches was on its way. They always came when he was in trouble, and Jordan somehow wound up in trouble quite a lot. He imagined the electrodes being attached to his head, in just the place his headache had started.

  ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’ said the Head.

  Jordan looked up, but couldn’t quite look him in the eyes.

  ‘We’ve been here before, Jordan,’ said the Head, ‘so we know where we both stand. You know that what you did was wrong, as do I. So I’m not going to beat around the bush. I have better things to do than waste my time trying to fathom your inadequacies. This is your last warning. Next time I see you in this office, I won’t hesitate to exclude you. Do I make myself clear?’

  Jordan nodded, then remembered that a verbal answer was needed, and said, ‘yes Sir.’

  ‘Off you go,’ said the Head.

  Jordan left the Head’s office and walked down the corridor towards the classroom, but by now the pulse of pain had progressed to a deluge, and he felt sick, so he turned and walked the other way towards the sick bay.

  The school nurse was j
ust examining her bunch of keys, trying to find the correct one to unlock the sick bay door. It was painted a light shade of green, which didn’t improve the condition of any child who arrived there. It smelt of disinfectant and bandages, as did the nurse, but Jordan was a frequent visitor with his headaches, and the nurse just smiled at him and ushered him through the now open door.

  It would be the last time she would ever see him.