The Time Rip (20 page)

“No, sir, I’m Jem Walker. It’s me brother, Jack, who usually does this round. He’s laid up with the measles today.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope he feels well again soon.”

“Aye, he’ll be fine. All me little sisters and brothers is laid up with ‘em, but the docs reckon they’re only a mild case and not to worry.”

“Give my regards to them,” said Jeremy absently. He wandered into the kitchen with the small box. It was from the London office and had “Confidential” stamped on the front in bold font.

Taking a large pair of scissors out of the drawer, he sliced through the string, unwrapped the box and pulled a pair of novelty handcuffs out. They were covered in bright pink velvet and had a pink key with a heart shape fob hanging by a ribbon from one bracelet.

He rolled his eyes, chucked them carelessly back into the box and pulled out a computer generated delivery note. Scanning the page, he saw that John Kitter had apparently placed the order, and that it had originally been delivered to the London office in 2008.

Despite the reference to the head of the 2112 London police the prank had Flyboy’s name all over it, or perhaps Brannigan he mused, knowing the two were close in both friendship and humour.

Chapter 6

Back at the market, Janet tucked her phone away. Head on one side, she considered her approach. The man called Greg was laughing at something Freya was saying and glanced up unexpectedly to catch her eye. He looked her up and down, clear interest in his gaze.

Janet felt a smile curve her mouth as she walked over. “Freya, how are you doing?”

“Janet, hi, this is Greg Jones, a friend of Jeremy’s. Greg this is Janet Green, my best friend.”

“Lovely to meet you, Janet.” Greg smiled and held out a hand.

“Hello.” Janet gave him a happy smile, looking him over in appreciation, and clasped the hand he held out for slightly longer than politeness dictated. Greg’s smile widened in response.

Freya unconsciously claimed Janet’s attention by inching closer, and seemed so thrilled to see her that Janet instantly wondered if something was wrong.

She stepped up to give Freya a quick hug and sling an arm around her waist. “Freya, I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”

“I’m afraid, I’ve made her late,” Greg interrupted. “We were so busy chatting we lost all track of time.”

Janet turned back slightly to survey the man and decided he looked better than she’d first thought. A bit rough around the edges and not too handsome.

“I like your tee shirt. Is Animal a hero of yours?” she asked.

“Not as much as Kermit. I think he should run for Prime Minister; I’d vote for him.”

“A frog as PM. Hmm, it would certainly grab the headlines. Still, I’m not sure I’d vote for him. I can’t be doing with all those green issues; I like my car too much.”

Freya groaned at this, but Greg didn’t bat an eyelid. “No, what slander! How can you diss Kermit? He’s the best.”

Janet flicked a glance at Freya and then said, “I once voted for the Monster Raving Loony party; in school politics, of course. I think they set it all up so as to give us kids an understanding of democracy and all that, but no one gave a stuff and all voted for the Loonies who had a landslide victory. Then again, I think it may have had something to do with their main representative, who was the belle of the sixth form.”

Greg tisked appreciatively. “Who did you vote for Freya?”

“They didn’t have the politics thing by the time I got there. There’s five years between us and I think after the disaster of the loony party getting through they thought better of it.”

“Probably a wise decision. Sooo, Janet…” Greg gave her a fast grin, “Can I buy you a coffee?”

Janet smiled politely in response, “That would be lovely. There’s a new place opened up down the road; it’s only a short walk.” She took Freya’s hand as she spoke, drawing it through her arm, and then reached for Greg so they walked away linked with Janet in the centre.

Freya relaxed, comforted by Janet’s gesture; an unspoken promise that Janet would not abandon her. That she would still be included.

She caught herself up on the thought. Janet always, unquestioningly, gave her this contact and had further disguised it by taking Greg’s arm, too. It was suddenly clear to her now that she knew what she was seeing. Greg and Janet were chatting again but Freya was not really listening. Lost in thought over her new found knowledge.

She didn’t want her friend to worry about her. She could see Janet was attracted to Greg, and while she worried about Greg’s apparent duplicity over the time device, her dealings with Greg had nothing to do with any possible friendship between him and Janet.

Late on the following afternoon, Freya wandered the market at the end of her working day. Having already packed up her stall, she was procrastinating going back home. She knew Greg Jones had told Jeremy that she was back in 2008 and, unfortunately, he still had her mobile phone and flat keys.

No matter what Greg had protested, she could not quite make herself believe that Jeremy would not come after her. She had bested him after all; in Greg’s own words, she had made him look incompetent. Somehow, he didn’t seem the type to take that lying down.

She walked round the edge of the market, deep in thought. Greg seemed more civilized than Jeremy, but still clearly believed she had a time device. Therefore, it was safe to presume that he would likely be watching her too.

“Hello, Freya, no muscle this time?”

Martin’s voice close by her ear startled her out of her thoughts and had her thinking fast. It was quiet here, away from the main market, and currently deserted.

“Martin, hi. Sorry about yesterday. Greg’s a friend and I have asked you repeatedly to leave me alone.” Freya felt her voice come out high and breathless; not the confident tone she heard in her mind. Martin might not be built like Jeremy, but he was tall and radiating anger.

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down an adjacent wide alleyway, slamming her against the brickwork and leaning close.

It was utterly deserted. A dead end between tall buildings with wheelie bins spilling litter and leftover food waste onto the ground.

Shock jarred through her at the impact, leaving fear metallic on her tongue. She tasted blood and there was a strange roaring in her ears. Her vision seemed to be darkening around the edges, as if she were watching the action from the mouth of a tunnel, everything moving in slow jerky frames. She heard his voice clearly above the rush of noise in her head.

“I think you need a lesson in manners, Freya.”

He produced a small flick knife, held it up for her to see, and her mind stopped dead, all thought banished. She could not move or speak, utterly frozen with dread.

The next few minutes happened as though on fast forward. A surreal nightmare quality infused the experience, adrenaline blocking rational thought as she watched light glint off the blade.

He suddenly shoved back from her, clutching his shin and stumbling, half-crouched over, the knife still fisted in his other hand. She must have kicked him, but she had no memory of it.

He was swearing, making guttural animal sounds, and she launched towards him, both hands outstretched, shoving him back hard. Off balance, he fell against the side of an overflowing bin.

The action caused it to roll slowly backwards on its castors and he lost balance completely; one hand skimming along the disappearing edge as his head struck hard against the corner. He fell to the ground, the knife skittering away from nerveless fingers to the other side of the alleyway.

Freya started towards him and then froze. She was aware of her own harsh breathing and not much else.

Feeling faint and shaky, for a moment she couldn’t comprehend anything beyond her pounding heart. She should be running away, but her legs felt like jelly. Instead she sagged limply against the brickwork.

Her vision returned slowly to normal, like a camera lens widening to take more in. After a moment or two, she began to laugh in jerky bursts, her teeth chattering, and she realised she was crying.

Eventually she began to regain control and the analytical part of her mind, her dark subconscious, that had stayed quiet, detached and observant throughout, now put forward a suggestion.

The theory went thus: if she ran away, Martin would simply return another time and she might not be so lucky in getting away from him.

If he was insane enough to come at her with a knife, chances were good that a restraining order was not going to be much use. Not that she knew how to go about obtaining such a thing anyway, or that a piece of paper would stop someone with a knife, that she could see. She would have to deal with him at some point, so it seemed a good idea to do it while he was unconscious.

Next, both Jeremy and Greg Jones believed she or Martin had a time device that they wanted back. Therefore, if she kidnapped Martin, dragged him through the time doorway and left him to Jeremy’s mercy, she would effectively kill two birds with one stone.

There were many holes in this marvellous plan, the first being that Martin did not have a time device. Freya wondered whether this would matter. After all, the fact that she did not have one had not stopped Jeremy and Greg from stalking her.

Martin would be seriously freaked out when Jeremy detained him, and that, in turn, could be enough to make Martin leave her alone.

Freya’s fear over the attack was rapidly turning to anger. She surveyed Martin somewhat coldly, walking forwards on still shaky legs to nudge his arm with the tip of one shoe. He was still unconscious.

She would bring her van back here and if he had come round, she would simply drive away. If not, she would load him in the back and head straight for the M4. She bit the edge of one finger absently as she backed away from him.

It was a short walk back to the market to collect the van. She spent a few minutes chatting to Gus before saying her goodbyes, all of which increased the surreal quality of the situation.

She drove around the block feeling anxious. Suppose someone saw her? She would have the police after her if she were not careful. She backed the van into the alleyway. Martin was where she had left him and she wondered belatedly if she should call an ambulance for him.

She crouched down next to him, feeling for a pulse, thinking perhaps she should have done this in the first place, and was somewhat relived to find that he was alive and breathing shallowly.

He had a cut to the back of his head where he had struck the edge of the bin, but it wasn’t bleeding now. He also had a small string of blood leaking out of one nostril. She rolled him gently onto his back. He groaned slightly, making her jump.

She opened both back doors to the van and crouched behind his head, easing her hands under his shoulders, intending to lift him towards her. He was big and immensely heavy and she was not having any luck shifting him.

A door to the left opened and a grossly overweight, oily man heaved a black sack into the skip then turned and noticed her.

“What’s with him?” The man curled his lip at her, eyeing her in a way that gave her the creeps.

“He slipped and got knocked out. I need to get him to the hospital; give me a hand here, will you?” Freya was inwardly astonished at her coldly confident tone.

The man seemed to re-assess the situation and lumbered over to help. “He your old man?”

“Yep, and he’s gonna be my dead old man unless I get him to the A & E.”

“You have a fight?”