The Time Rip Read online

Having spent the odd night sleeping in a barn in his youth, he had a good idea of what she would need now. He pulled Carter up by the side of his house. The horse’s ears were up in anticipation of his stable, and the girl was looking more lost than ever as she surveyed the quiet town with its water pump at the centre. Morgan’s chickens had escaped their coop again and were now parading around the pump, one having managed to perch on the top.

  Joseph jumped down and held out a hand. “Come down, lass. Privy’s in there,” he indicated a door to one side of the house. “Kitchen’s round the back there. I’ll see to Carter and meet you inside.”

  Joseph led Carter around the back of the building. He wondered about the girl as he looked after the horse’s needs. She seemed very young to have travelled such a distance by herself.

  The Transit was obviously a motorcar, but what was the M4, and what had she said about looking for a breakdown phone? He raised his eyes briefly heavenward at the modern language of the young; expecting an old man like him to know of these new fangled things.

  Still, whoever she was she clearly needed a friend. When she looked confused, she reminded him so strongly of Marie that he could not prevent his need to help her. He flashed on an old image of his wife, helplessly gazing at the sunken loaf she had pulled from the oven. Coming from a wealthy family, she had never baked in her life before their marriage and had not known she would have to leave the dough to rise before baking. He smiled and shook his head.

  He was behind the times, getting on a bit now, with not much knowledge of modern ways. He thought carefully over the girl’s situation as he went inside, trying to decide the best way to help her.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, she gave him a watery smile. “Hi.”

  Joseph shook his head at her. “Where are my manners now? I haven’t introduced myself.” He grinned broadly and held out his hand, “I’m Joe Wilson. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Freya Keele. Glad to have met you too,” she said, taking his hand and smiling a bit at the silliness of it, having come so far with him in the cart.

  “And now we have done with the formalities, it is time to break our fast,” he said, and began to pull plates from a cupboard. “We’ll have ourselves a bite to eat, and then see about this van of yours.”

  His mention of breakfast took Freya by surprise, and she suddenly realised how hungry she was. She felt close to tears again at his unexpected kindness.

  “Thank you, but I mustn’t put you to so much trouble.”

  “Ah, it’s no trouble at all. I’m hungry myself, and you must be starved after a night out in the field. We’ll both be better for some breakfast and then we can decide what to do next.”

  “Thanks Joe, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have met you today.”

  “It’s a pleasure to have you here. A proper treat for me to have company at breakfast. I am sure we will find your van. You most likely missed the road in the dark and went round in circles. Women don’t have the sense of direction men do, my dear.”

  Freya’s curiosity pushed aside tears and questions for the moment. His casual sexism took her by surprise. It was an outrageous thing to say and she could only think he was trying to make her laugh, although she would swear he was serious. She smiled a little, accordingly, feeling confused. Still, aside from this lapse in manners, he was friendly and she needed a friend right now.

  She watched as he pulled out a half loaf of bread from an old-fashioned larder. He also collected a small round of cheese, an earthenware jug full of milk, and a cube of butter wrapped carefully in waxed paper.

  Like Jeremy’s kitchen, the room was sparse and quaint looking. The sink was a deep ceramic square trough with a thin-looking single tap connected to a pipe, roughly patched into the wall behind. There were no tiles. There did not appear to be a fridge; the food apparently kept in the larder. Perhaps the fridge was behind one of the low-level cupboard doors, and Joe was some kind of food snob who kept cheese in the larder to improve its flavour or something daft. On the other hand, maybe he was simply an old man who was disdainful of modern appliances. She shook her head slightly to clear it.

  Freya had never eaten bread and cheese for breakfast, unless in the form of cold pizza, but had to admit that it was completely delicious. The glass of milk he offered her was not as cold as she might expect, but was very fresh and surprisingly creamy.

  “Wow,” she said looking up, a faint milk moustache coating her lip. “Is this full fat? I’ve had semi-skimmed so long now I forgot how nice real milk is.”

  “Aye lass. I milked Goldie this morning for it.”

  “A cow called Goldie? Is that short for Goldilocks?” Freya snickered a bit. “Do you keep a lot of cows here?”

  “I keep a couple of cows. I supply milk to a few folk here who trade goods or services with me. The market comes on Saturdays for the rest. I also do a bit of cheese and butter, but that’s for meself.”

  Freya sat back with a happy sigh having finished her impromptu breakfast. She felt her spirits rise and welcomed the return of her sunny nature.

  Joe looked up with a grin, “That’s more like it. You put me in mind of Marie when you smile like that.”

  “Who’s Marie?” Freya asked.

  Joe pointed out a photograph on the wall. “That’s my Marie there,” he said with pride. “Real stunner she was. That’s us on our wedding day. Think I was a bit of a looker an’ all in my day.”

  Freya studied the picture. “She’s beautiful.”

  “That she was. When she passed on I had some bad times for a while. Had to pawn a good many things before her family came through for us. Still, that’s life. No point in regrets, have to live for the day.”

  “When I lost Nathan, my older brother, for a while it was as much as I could do to get out of bed in the morning. Now I try to grab every moment.” She took a breath. It was still hard to talk of Nathan, but she made the effort now and then, in the hope that one day she would be able to remember him more naturally to other people.

  Freya looked at the photograph again. “I think you look like movie stars. She must have been very special.”

  “Movie stars eh? Well, I like that. Was Nathan blond like you? I bet he was a handsome lad.”

  “He was dark, but his eyes were a beautiful blue. Everyone thought he had contacts, but he didn’t. He was cheeky too, and he had a shocking temper on him.”

  She paused and Joe seemed to sense her difficulty because he suddenly said, “Now, I’ve one or two jobs to see to, and then we can have a look for that van of yours.”

  “Thanks for being so nice to me, and for breakfast and everything, but I think it’s been stolen. At least I have my wallet.” She looked down and smiled ruefully. “If I’d had half a brain I wouldn’t have left the mobile behind. Are there any buses into town, or can I use your telephone to call a cab?”

  Joe shook his head and said, “No buses round here, and I’m afraid I don’t have a telephone. I know the folk around here though, and I cannot imagine any that would go thieving.”

  Joe ran a hand absently over his jaw and then said, “Mr Sanders is having a telephone put in today. The men from London are coming to sort it out before noon. Tell you what, we will have ourselves another lookee round for your van. If there is still no sign of it, we can ask Mr Sanders if we can use his new telephone. Bet he’ll be pleased to show it off. I know I would be.”

  Freya couldn’t help the smile that came to her face at this artless speech. That Joe believed Jeremy would be pleased to show off a new phone struck her at once as ridiculous and sweet. He was a throw back to a generation long past.

  Joe grinned and nodded, feeling pleased. “First though, I must see to my errands. I reckon you will be better for a clean up too. Can’t go visiting while covered in half the field. It’s not seemly.”

  Freya put one hand automatically to her tangled hair, and pulled away some grass seeds. If anyone else had told her so bluntly she needed to clean herself up she might
have been sorely tempted to give them an earful, but she could not deny that she must look a mess, and Joe was so kind, so obviously of another generation, she found it easier to excuse him.

  Freya was grateful she had happened on someone so apparently caring; no matter that Joe was a little strange, there was no doubt he had her best interests at heart. Freya prided herself on being a good judge of character and she trusted her intuitive sense of Joe’s good nature implicitly.

  She followed him up the stairs and into a small irregular room with a low ceiling, whitewashed walls and bare floorboards. It was very sparse, had a single bed made up with military neatness and a chest of drawers under a tiny window.

  There was also a tarnished and age spotted mirror on the wall. In this, Freya caught sight of her dirty tearstained face and tangled hair that appeared to have most of the field caught up in it.

  She quickly glanced away. The window was a quaint latticework of small panes with uneven lead holding them together, but the village outside held all her attention. She could not think of it as a town.

  There was a group of small children chasing after some chickens, calling to each other and singing. They were different heights and, presumably, ages, but all were thin in the extreme and wore ill-fitting clothes. Some were barefoot, while others wore little black boots. The boys looked like miniature replicas of Joe, complete with cloth caps, and some of the girls had white pinafores over their dresses.

  There were a couple of older women standing chatting by the pump, and with their long skirts and peasant style high neck blouses they looked like they could be straight out of a period drama. She felt that if she had gone back in time a hundred years or so she might have seen something similar.

  Then she considered her own ankle length grey skirt that formed half of what had once been a smart suit, and Joe’s shirt and trousers were nothing out of the ordinary.

  She was so absorbed, she hardly noticed Joe until he placed a large jug of water on the chest of drawers along with a bowl and a small cake of soap. He rummaged around in one of the drawers, muttering slightly, and then triumphantly held up a comb.

  He indicated a small towel on the bed and said, “It’s a bit old and frayed round the edges,” then with a lightening grin, “A bit like me. I’ll be out back feeding the chickens. Come down when you’re done, and we’ll put Carter back in his harness.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he ambled back down the stairs. Freya paused for a moment, taking in the small room with its sense of peace and silence. Then gratefully made use of the things he had provided. The cold water was lovely on her face and hands, and it was good to get the tangles out of her hair. She straightened her skirt as best she could and went back downstairs.

  Joe gave her a beaming grin, “Eh lass, you look much more the thing now.” He then launched into a story of one of his chickens that had escaped the coop and ended up on his bedpost. He had awoken to the sound of clucking, and thought for a moment he was still dreaming. “Thing was a bugger to catch, too,” he mused.

  Joe relished having Freya around, and seemed to get a kick out of educating her in the care of chickens, veggies and the herd of cows he kept. “Things a young lass like you ought to know about,” he said. Then with a somewhat sly look, “Mr Sanders is looking to do some bits like this so it can’t hurt for you to have some knowledge of these things.”

  Freya wondered at his comment, but decided not to question it. She sighed and bit the edge of one finger. Although she was enjoying Joe’s company, she wanted to go home. The thought of the work involved in reporting the loss of her van, calling her insurance company, sourcing another work vehicle, plus all the other chores she had left to do was depressing.

  Joe seemed to judge her mood. He quickly finished what he was doing, and started getting Carter speedily attached to the cart. While he was busy with the horse, a stout man wandered up. Dressed in shirt, grey trousers and waistcoat, he greeted Joe as if they were old friends. He doffed his cap somewhat absurdly at her when Joe made the introductions, and Freya gave him a shy smile. The two men chatted about farming for a while and Freya quickly lost interest.

  She viewed the little town; watched as a man in a three-piece suit brought out a funny looking black box and rested it carefully on the top of someone’s garden wall. The man bent over the box, fiddling with something just out of sight.

  A stiff looking man herded together a group of children, and cuffed one or two about the head until they formed some order.

  The other man appeared to be engrossed in his contraption. He swung it around towards her, and she could see that it looked like an old-fashioned camera.

  He was holding it in front of his waist as he bent over slightly, indicating that the viewfinder was on the top of the thing somewhere. It had a broad opening in the front revealing polished wood and brass, and some kind of maroon bellows arrangement, which Freya presumed controlled the distance between the magnifying lenses. She had never seen anything like it.

  She watched in bemused silence as an odd-looking man came out from a nearby building. He attached a collar round his neck, which appeared to have been cut from a sheet of paper, before standing with the group of kids. That was it! He put her in mind of Abraham Lincoln, it was the beard and hat and everything.

  It was a completely bizarre sight and she turned to Joe, intending to ask him about it, but Joe’s friend took his leave then, distracting her, and the moment was gone. Joe held out his hand, clearly waiting to help her up into the cart.

  They spent the next two hours driving round all the roads Joe could think of where Freya might have left the van. Joe was sure that Freya had simply forgotten where she had left it, but after going down dozens of country lanes and larger dirt roads, with no sight or sound of the Motorway, Freya was more bewildered than ever.

  The countryside was still and quiet. The M4 was either completely empty or simply not there. Perhaps the road was closed. That must be it, Freya reasoned, there must have been an accident and they had shut the road. She shivered a bit, and wondered how bad it would have to be for the road to close for so long, but it was a six-lane motorway. She still should have found it.

  For one sickening moment, her thoughts turned to Nathan. She quickly banished the memories. It would do her no good to rake up the past in that way. Instead, she racked her brains over how she could have lost not only her van, but also all sense of direction and memory of where she had turned off.

  Whenever she remembered the journey here, it was always with only one or two turns from the M4. She began to wonder if she had imagined being able to see the roofs of the cars from the field.

  Joe was tactful about it and did not question her too closely. He seemed to presume that because she was a woman it was to be expected. His attitude might have annoyed her at any other time, but right now she felt too bemused to object.

  Joe ran his fingers gently over the side of his jaw, “Well, I can’t think of any other roads around here to try. Looks like maybe someone did make off with it.”

  “Yeah,” Freya mumbled, still lost in thought. They had stopped in the road where Freya was convinced she had left the van. She recognized the large oak tree on one side, and the field and Farmhouse on the other. She glanced accusingly at the house, and wished she had never seen the stupid place. Then she would not have been tempted to leave the stupid van to go and ask for stupid water.

  “I think I’ll walk over to see Jeremy. He might have an A-Z I can look at. I can’t believe the road isn’t around here somewhere.”

  “It’ll take a good half hour to drive round that way. I can take you, but we will have to come back later on for it. I forgot I’m supposed to meet Jean today.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I can just walk through the field again.”

  “No, no, lass. I can’t have you paying calls on Mr Sanders on your own.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? It’s not seemly, Miss. That’s why not.”

  “Come on, Joe
, you’re not serious are you?”

  “Certainly, I’m serious. You don’t want him to get the wrong idea about you, now. You just let me take you round there later.”

  “Don’t worry, Joe. It will be fine, I promise. Jeremy won’t get the wrong idea about me. I will be extra polite. Anyway, he already said I was welcome to drop by whenever, so I’m sure he won’t mind letting me use the phone.”

  Joe hesitated, but it was clear Freya was not going to be dissuaded. He was probably old fashioned in his thinking anyway. Young people often went their own way these days and no harm in it, but he still felt he ought to protest a little more.

  A short while later Freya surveyed the empty road and field in silence. It was a relief to allow her thoughts their chaos. It had taken a surprising amount of time to convince Joe to leave her to walk through the field, and he had agreed only on the understanding that she come back to find him if she was still unable to get home.

  She did not know why he was reluctant for her to visit Jeremy on her own. After all, Joe did not know about that scorching kiss. Unless Jeremy was well known for his flirtatious ways. Hmm, something to think about.

  She was gazing unseeing at the dusty road when something else completely inexplicable occurred to her. The road was mostly flat dried mud. Very ordinary, until she considered that there had been tractor marks baked in deep enough for her to stumble over the previous evening.

  There were still impressions baked into the mud, but they were of horses’ hooves. It must be a different road. There was just no other explanation. She had been so sure. Perhaps she had come back through the wrong field, and just the other side of the house would be another field with her van, and the road, and everything else waiting for her. Feeling utterly relieved by this obvious explanation, Freya began to push through the long grass once more.

  As she got closer to the farmhouse, her gaze wandered over the impossible beauty of the surrounding countryside. It was a picture in delicate watercolours.

  The fields baked gold and lilac under a sky that ranged from white-hot to an intense blue. The woods were luminous in the sunlight, and flickered with a multitude of emeralds that light and shadow produced. It was enticing, the dappled shade beckoning, making her long to sling a hammock underneath and while away the afternoon staring through the canopy at the clouds above.