The Time Rip (4 page)

Joseph picked through her words. He knew of only one person who had a house nearby. Mr Sanders also fitted the ‘so polite’
description, but Joseph was shocked that she would tell him she had considered going to see the young man by herself late at night. Then again, he was an old man now and perhaps equally old fashioned in his ways.

If her appearance was anything to go by, the girl had slept in the field. This would not have surprised him if she had been a farm hand, but her clothes told another story. The cut and fabric of her clothes were not those of someone who worked on the land, although both were now creased and covered in half the field.

She also came across as intelligent and well educated despite her chaotic manner. She was clearly a gently bred girl who had found herself in trouble. Joe wondered what her family were doing allowing her to go about alone, and had to remind himself again that times had changed since his youth.

“Maybe the horse wandered off. Did you tie him up well? We’d best make a search for him.”

“H-horse?” she stammered slightly, “I don’t have a horse. It was a van that got stolen.”

“Where is it you live, lass?” Joseph asked as kindly as he could. She seemed a bit bewildered by his suggestion. Clearly, they were talking at cross-purposes.

“Just outside Reading; I was coming back from Hungerford. I went to see a new supplier. I’m a flower seller.”

Joseph backtracked once more through the conversation. He looked her over, noting the weariness and confusion. “You slept in the field, I take it.”

She looked down unhappily. “I was looking for the M4. I thought if I could find the main road, I could call from one of those emergency breakdown phones they always have, but it got so late and I was so tired. I just want to go home.”

Joseph hesitated at her words, a puzzled look crossing his face, but the gleam of tears in her eyes had him abandoning his questions. Instead, he put his mind to how best to help her.

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.