The Time Rip Page 6

  “Okay.” Freya glanced up, blue eyes meeting brown. “You said you were going to grow some vegetables; be more self-sufficient and all that,” she said, with a sudden idea of what to offer in return. She was not sure she wanted to wait for whatever mutually agreeable suggestion he might make. “Maybe I can supply you with some seeds for that. I’ve got some good contacts, being in floristry.”

  “An excellent idea. That would be most helpful. Let me show you where I had marked out to grow them. You might have some other ideas for the garden too.”

  He stood as he spoke, came round the table and held out his hand. Freya placed her hand in his automatically, feeling his fingers close warmly. He pulled her to her feet but kept her hand in his, leading her outside and round the house. She felt dumb walking around holding hands with him, but did not know what to do about it, entirely unable to think of what to say about it that would make any kind of sense.

  On the other side of the house was a gate leading into a walled off garden. It was a large rectangular plot, a mess of weeds mainly, interspersed with a couple of fruit trees. Jeremy indicated a patch of earth he had obviously spent some time clearing.

  “Here,” he said. He turned towards her slightly, standing so close she could feel the heat from his body. Her mind shied away from her feelings and she let the garden distract her, gaze wandering over the space and imagining it filled with flowers.

  It could be lovely with a bit of work. If it were hers, she would put a bench against the west-facing wall to catch the afternoon sun; perhaps grow a rose over the gate at the entrance.

  Jeremy’s hand on her arm had her glancing back up at him. He was looking down at her with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. Her gaze dropped to his mouth; watched the corners lift in a smile as he shifted closer. She felt suddenly dizzy. She wanted to speak but was unable to form a coherent thought.

  Into the silence a voice called out, “Mr Sanders? Are you there?”

  Jeremy turned and let her go, answered, “Back here, Joe.” He sent Freya a look filled with humour and exasperation.

  Joe appeared around the gate and his face lit up at the sight of Freya.

  “Freya! How do you do? You got back home all right I take it?”

  Freya drew a breath and stepped back; trying to calm her racing heart. Joe’s appearance gave her some much-needed thinking time and she was thankful for his sudden arrival.

  “Yes thanks, Joe. It’s good to see you.” She caught Jeremy’s inquiring look, and quickly glanced away, silently cursing.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Joe gave the younger man a grin. “I brought the butter you requested, I’ve put it the larder for you, and Mrs Oakley asked if I would let you know she has a couple of bantams you are welcome to have. She said she’d keep ‘em for you if you want to see her later on in the week.”

  “That is most kind of her. Thank you for letting me know. I will be going into town tomorrow, so I hope to catch up with her then.”

  Freya glanced back at Jeremy. Any minute now, he was going to ask how she had met Joe. She knew it, and that would be a bad thing.

  “Actually, I should really get going,” she said. She had wanted to see Joe to thank him again for his help, but did not see how she could without Jeremy learning of her night in the field.

  She certainly did not want to talk about her ‘stolen’ Transit van. Jeremy would not only drag the entire story out of her, but also pick holes in any lies she tried on him. He would want to know why she had not gone back to him that night and how she had made it home in the end, and she was not ready for that.

  An image of him insisting on escorting her through the field to her van flashed through her mind. It was more than likely he would do so if he learnt of her troubles getting back last time. She squashed the thought fast, but he was watching her again, making her anxious about what he would guess next.

  Joe was speaking, making pleasantries, but Freya was too nervous of the subject of the Transit coming up to listen properly. She bit her lip and began to make more excuses to leave. Joe wouldn’t mention the Transit if she were not there. She caught Jeremy’s eye on her way out. Eyebrows raised, he was looking speculatively at her, but she clearly saw the glint of laughter.

  Freya raced round the back of the house, diving through her time doorway and across the field to her van. She did not stop for breath until she had collapsed onto the seat.

  The thought of what she had almost done in the back garden had colour stinging her face. If Joe had not interrupted, she felt sure Jeremy would have kissed her, and from the look in his eyes, it would have been no chaste brush of the lips.

  He was several years older, with a confidence that spoke of experience, and she had never had a boyfriend. She wasn’t even sure if she’d have wanted to stop him. It was not just curiosity. She could not seem to breathe or think when he was that close. She closed her eyes, remembering the laughter in his.

  She had been unable to think clearly, but that had apparently not been a problem for him. He must have known how he was affecting her. He had laughed at her rapid retreat, she was sure of it, and she was supposed to meet him tomorrow to collect her accounts.

  She had gone to see him with the intention of playing, light heartedly flirting a bit, without much thought for where she was going with it. What she had not anticipated was his response. It was a little scary that he had reciprocated so rapidly. It made her intensely aware of her own lack of experience.

  When she thought of her reactions to him she almost cringed. She had a huge crush on him that had her feeling a little out of control, and it didn’t help matters that he seemed to second-guess her so easily.

  He had offered to deal with Martin for her and, although he could not do so without going through her time doorway, the thought of how he might have helped made her extremely uncomfortable. She might not always know the best way to handle a given situation, but she was no wilting flower, and Martin was going to be the first in line for a shock if he thought differently.

  Then there was the fact Jeremy had taken her accounts before she was certain she wanted him to. She reminded herself that he came from a different time, when men would probably have viewed women as unlikely business people.

  She really hoped that Joe would not mention her night in the field. She sighed again, and one or two thoughts struck in rapid succession.

  Firstly, she had left her bag on the kitchen table. Her wallet, keys and phone were in her skirt pockets, but her work diary, sunglasses and cardigan were in that bag.

  The glasses and cardigan were not too much of a problem, but the diary was a bit of a giveaway since it had 2008 emblazoned on the front. Still, she was headed back there the following day, and she could not see him going through her bag. He seemed too polite for that.

  The second, more alarming, thought was the accounts themselves. She had not fully appreciated it before, but the value of money changed considerably over time. Her humble income could well appear to be a small fortune to someone of another age. Would shillings and old pence be represented differently in figures, and was it possible for the decimal places to be different? She hadn’t thought so, but she didn’t know.

  Her first impulse was to run back for both, but if Joe had already left then she would have to explain herself to Jeremy and, after what had almost happened in the garden, she was not sure that she would even get to explain herself. She leaned her head against the steering wheel and tried to think what to do.

  Chapter 3

  Back in the garden, Jeremy gave Joe a warm smile. “Thanks for getting here so early. I’ll get your cash.”

  Joe tipped his cap and followed Jeremy back around the house.

  Jeremy noticed Freya’s bag on the kitchen table and frowned faintly. He moved it to hang over the back of a chair. She would shortly be back for it no doubt. He smiled to himself as he rummaged in the kitchen drawer.

  If Joe had not disturbed them, Freya would have let him kiss her. Sh
e had no idea how to handle him, or the situation. Joe interrupting them had given her time to make her excuses. He wondered if she had forgotten that he kissed her last time and now, having remembered, would not be coming back.

  No. She would want her accounts. He was certain from the reluctance with which she handed them over that she would be back for them. He might then have an interesting situation on his hands and wondered if she would bring someone with her to play chaperone when she returned.

  Then again, she had left her bag here and would surely discover its absence before she left for home. Perhaps she would leave it until tomorrow. The thought of the possible chaos of her mind over that dilemma made him smile again.

  Poor Freya, she was from a more innocent time. He had been born well over two hundred years after her and, despite the education and training he had undertaken, knew he would come across differently from the men she might have been in contact with here.

  She would be much further over her head than she could possibly imagine. He would have to remember to go carefully over his research of the 1900s if he did not want to scare her off.

  He wondered how Joe knew her and turned, wallet in hand. “Have you known Freya long?”

  “Met her not long after you did, I reckon. A week last Friday morning, just after your delivery, in fact.” Joe took his cap off as he spoke, glancing toward Jeremy, “Came up to Carter at a run. Just as well he’s getting on a bit, because he wouldn’t have stood for it in years gone by. She was after a lift into town.”

  “At five in the morning?”

  Joe smiled wryly in response; waiting for Jeremy to catch up.

  Jeremy frowned at the table as he reached the obvious conclusion. “She slept rough. She told me she lives in Reading.”

  “Aye. Did you see her Friday? She was after using your telephone.”

  Jeremy shook his head slightly, “No, as you said, I met her on the evening before you found her and I did not see her again until today. Why did she not come back to me that night? She knew I would have taken her home. I offered to put Shorter in the harness before she left.”

  Having seen them together in the garden, Joe accurately guessed most of what Freya had left out and carefully hid his smile. He was not sure if Jeremy was talking to him or simply voicing thoughts, but he answered anyway, “Likely she didn’t want to trouble you. I suppose she must have found that Transit of hers. I didn’t like to leave her, but she was very insistent.”

  Jeremy blinked and cleared the cups from the table to give his mind a chance to catch up; re-evaluate. “She didn’t mention such a thing to me,” he said slowly.

  “She must have found it if she didn’t come to see you that day.”

  “A Transit?”

  “That’s it. She said her van Transit had been stolen and asked if I knew the way to the nearest town. I gave her a lift to my place. We had some breakfast and spent the morning looking for it.”

  “Transit van,” Jeremy corrected absently, deep in thought.

  Joe watched him closely. “I was surprised she’d have a motorised van. Her business must be doing well. Or her family.”

  Jeremy had been lost in thought but he looked up at that, “How did you know it was motorised?”

  Joe shrugged, “She said there was no horse. Sweet girl,” Joe grinned, “I expect she’ll make someone a beautiful wife one day.”

  Jeremy’s eyes glinted in appreciation, “Don’t hold your breath, old friend.”

  “Early days, and she did come back to see you. In my day, a girl would never have paid a call by herself on a single gentleman.”

  Jeremy went over possibilities, “How did she seem to you that morning, Joe?”

  “She was upset, if that’s what you mean, likely shaken up by it all. Silly girl should have gone back to you. Fancy sleeping in the field like that. Wonder what her folks had to say about it all.”

  Jeremy seemed lost in thought again and Joe paused, head on one side, as he watched the other man. He did some speculating of his own. “Talked a lot of things I’d not heard of, but the young always know about new things. Morgan Freeman has sent off for a motorcar. Imagine that. I can’t see it catching on though.”

  “No.” Jeremy mused, “I don’t suppose it will.”

  After Joe left, Jeremy began to clear up the kitchen. The sun was climbing, but the kitchen was still cool at this time of day. He sat down to go through Freya’s accounts; waiting for her to return for her bag.

  He opened her ledger book and paused, observing the dates above the figures. The accounts were a mess. She seemed to have little idea what was required of her, and he smiled as he read her attempts.

  Freya’s accounts were dated some decades after decimalization had been rolled out, and he found it interesting to switch from a twelve base to a ten once more. Not for the first time, he wondered if the original was the better system.

  When he had finished he checked the time and decided Freya was unlikely to return today. Shrugging slightly, he emptied the contents of her bag onto the table. The diary caught his eye immediately and he began to browse through it.

  It was clearly a business document. Names of various suppliers, along with contact details, appointments and reminders filled the pages.

  He turned to the flyleaf and found her address. Taking a notebook from the kitchen drawer, he began to copy out information from the diary. When he was finished, he replaced it in the bag along with her sunglasses and cardigan.

  He stretched and stood; glanced at his watch. Then went upstairs and sat at a small desk. He pulled a slim metal case from its drawer. Blue ambient light projected against the wall under the window as he loaded up information on the year 2008. He settled down to read.

  Several hours later, he put a call in to his colleague, Matt. Then, from the wardrobe in the corner, he drew out a lightweight coat and tossed it on the bed. Keys followed. Handcuffs, some sharps, a roll of lint, and lastly his notebook from the kitchen, were all slung carelessly onto the bed. Once the various items were stashed in his pockets, he flipped open his time device and vanished.

  Freya drove back to London, and wondered what she should do next. Her mind refused to think of a solution and then, after a while, refused to think of the problem. She found herself blithely driving along with her head empty of everything but the road.

  She was uncomfortable that she had run off having barely spoken to Joe. She had become close to him without realizing it. She wondered idly what it would have been like to have parents like Joe and Marie. Of course, she would then have grown up in another century. She thought of the thin, barefoot children she had seen. Maybe it would not have been so great.

  In Reading, she parked up. Then picked past litter and the smashed glass from a nearby bus stop to her front door. The only advantage Freya could see to having a basement flat, aside from the cheaper rent, was its coolness when summer’s heat made most places unbearable.

  Once inside, she phoned around her business associates, trying to cut a deal for vegetable seedlings, while thinking about her morning with Joe the previous week. The thin, ragged children stayed in her mind. Joe’s easy conversation hid the reality of a life lived barely above the breadline. No welfare state in those days.

  Later on, she took a trip to the library to research different eras online, attempting to narrow down the date she was going back to. It was difficult to pin point because she only had the clothes and her general impressions to go on.

  She guessed it must be before cars were around, as everyone seemed to have horses. According to her research, it should be no later than around the turn of the last century. She pictured again the children and women she had seen in Joe’s Village, looking closely at photographs on the Internet to try to compare clothing.

  It would be easier if she had a picture of those kids in front of her to compare with. There were many different styles of clothing, and her memories were beginning to blur a bit. After much work, she narrowed it down to between 1890 and 19
10, a time span of around 20 years.

  Of course, it was possible she was miles out, but without more information to go on it was hard to guess. Clothing should be a good indicator, as fashions came and went, but she had to wonder how much ready cash the women of Joe’s village would have had for clothes if they could not keep their kids in shoes.

  For all she knew they were wearing charity shop clothing that could be twenty odd years out of date, and that would bring the time frame forward considerably. In addition, the sites she was looking at were mainly drawings of fashion plates, or blurred sepia photographs that did not make for easy identification.

  Her mind wandered over it all. The impossibility of it. As soon as she was back here, it became difficult to think of it as real.

  Next time she went, she was going to bring something back to remind her that she had actually been there. It was too tempting to think of it as some elaborate fantasy her bored brain had concocted.

  Sighing, she logged off and walked home thinking of what to make for lunch. The sky was looking grim. The hazy sunshine of the morning had turned into a masses of grey clouds. Their white tops were visible in places, flattening out ominously, but the heat still managed to be stifling.

  The weather finally broke late on Sunday afternoon. The heavy atmosphere erupting in torrential rain that gushed from the sky, streaming down dirty buildings and fast forming puddles amid the litter and debris on the ground.

  Down a deserted graffiti covered alleyway, a man appeared without fuss. Jeremy stood still for a moment, scanning his surroundings and then checking his time device. The wind whipped at his coat tails. He caught the dramatic image he made in the mirrored glass of a barred window and winced.

  Emerging from the alleyway he set off in an easterly direction, hunching slightly against the rain, unfazed by the heavy traffic along the high street. He found shelter in a café to wait out the worst of the weather.

  The coffee he purchased was strong and aromatic; he savoured it slowly. One of the delights of living and working in former centuries was the availability of good quality coffee. By 2112, coffee, along with many other things, had become scarce. Government solutions to global warming and war having all but destroyed those areas that grew such crops. Only the very rich could still indulge.