The Time Rip (7 page)

Freya felt happy at the thought of seeing Jeremy again. A warm feeling, as if she were going home, which she tried not to think about too closely.

Instead, she rehearsed her speech about dropping in unexpectedly. She would sound him out first with a line or two about passing by that way. Then, if he was agreeable, she might mention the accounts she happened to have with her. Maybe.

She was a little embarrassed to have taken him up so literally on what was probably a throw away comment, but something had to be done. Anyway, since he did accounting for a living, it would probably take him a fraction of the time that it was taking her to go through the dratted things.

If she were better at maths, she wouldn’t have to go to these lengths. She shook her head slightly. She ought to be able to do the sums. It was not as if she didn’t get the practise. Never mind, she had done a good enough job over the last six months to hide how much she wanted his help.

Besides, she thought with a nervous laugh, if Jeremy had not wanted to see her, he shouldn’t have said she was welcome to come back, and he definitely shouldn’t have kissed her if he wasn’t interested.

Her long skirt and heels made the field hard work, but this time she did not mind. Deep in thought, Freya barely noticed the house until she was practically in front of it. Her gaze ran over the familiar grey stone, encountering boarded up windows and an air of desolation. She stopped short, staring blankly, uncomprehending at first, and then wandering closer to survey the building. It was cold and uninviting. Other than the obvious, it looked wrong somehow and it took her a while to figure out why.

The boarding was old and weathered; dark and buckled with damp as though it had been in place for years. The pieces of uncovered glass remaining in the door were dusty and some panes were missing, revealing darkness inside. The place radiated emptiness, as if it had been that way for years rather than just over a week.

Shock began to creep in, a horrible cold sensation. How could Jeremy have gone so fast? Something must have happened. He had said he’d only just moved in. The thought crossed her mind that only a death could have caused such rapid change.

She felt the colour drain from her face and abruptly halted her thoughts. No. Not necessarily. He might be absent for any number of reasons. Besides, it should not matter to her. She had only met him once and that was for a few scant hours over a week ago.

Unwanted memories began to surface. Of feeling like a nuisance, invisible, an unwanted addition to her parents’ home, and then, after her brother’s death, the bleak empty days that followed in endless repetition until she had finally broken free and moved out.

Her parents had helped set up her business and were obviously trying to make an effort with her now, but Freya was no longer sure how much she wanted to relate to them. Eleven years living in her brother’s shadow, a further six after his death, and they had finally recognised that she existed. It was nowhere near enough. She was not sure if things could ever be completely right between them. She straightened her shoulders. She would not dwell on the past. She would not.

She studied the house again. The paint around the windows was peeling and the grass in the yard was long and choked with weeds. How could that lot have grown up in a week? It had not even rained.

She had an uncanny ‘through the looking glass’ feeling and wondered if she had taken a wrong turning. Maybe she had simply dreamed the whole thing, a subconscious escape from her humdrum existence.

Freya turned slowly, her mind curiously blank as she scanned the field with its flashing car roofs at the far end. Quite by accident, her gaze came to rest on the woods again, and she remembered the strange heat haze she had discovered there.

She walked absently into the wood and found it again. It was rippling gently, inexplicably, under a sprawling tree a short distant into the wood, barely three hundred metres from the farmhouse.

The dappled light under the canopy made it almost invisible. She looked at the low boundary fence just outside. It was broken and mostly lying on the ground and a weird possibility crept into her mind to arrest her thoughts. She looked up again, and stared at the strange shifting of air.

Common sense told her that her imagination was getting away from her again and that she watched too much TV, but it didn’t make any difference. The idea was an irritating taunt that refused to be silent. After all the weird things that had happened to her around here, didn’t she owe it to herself to at least test her little theory?

She walked up to the rippling air and stepped boldly through. A cool breeze rushed away from her, there was a strange alteration in her vision as if things had gone out of focus slightly and then everything snapped back into place.

She was prepared this time for the weird feelings it caused, and stood still for a moment to realign her balance. Next, she carefully circled the rippling area noting the absence of traffic on the road and the suddenly upright boundary fence.

There were no windows on this side of the house. She inhaled, tiptoed alongside and peeked around the corner. It took a few moments for Freya to realize she was holding her breath. The house was as she remembered it, shiny new paint around the windows and clean leaded glass with no boarding in sight. The depth of her feelings took her by surprise. The rush of hope she felt, of happiness, seemed out of proportion.

She wandered back through the shifting air, noted the car roofs flashing by on the road, and then turning round went through once more, and back again, until she finally let go of her common sense and accepted she was not dreaming or losing her mind. She sat on the grass in front of the house in its boarded up state, and let her mind wander over her visit of the week before.

All the small strange incidences she had shrugged off previously began to look very different. The clothes, the way no one seemed to have a car or mobile, the absence of the M4, the old-fashioned kitchens; Jeremy’s offer to put Shorter in the harness for her. The way Joe asked if she had tied the horse up properly, his casual sexism and reluctance to let her visit Jeremy on her own, and finally, the complete absence of tractor ruts in the road.

She had not lost her van or her way. She’d stumbled on a doorway into the past.

Having admitted to herself what was going on, she allowed the rush of exhilaration to consume her. Jeremy was okay. She had not lost him. Her potential accountant, she corrected herself. Then quickly shook free of the rush of emotional truths before they could discomfort her. She didn’t believe in love at first sight anyway. It was a daft idea peddled by filmmakers. Lust maybe, but not love.

She would work under the assumption that she was going back in time and would do her best to fit in so no one would think she was crazy. She would also try to find out what date she was going back to so she could research it a bit. It would not do to be talking of something that had not yet happened.

She stood up, trying to tamp down her excitement. Were her clothes okay? She hoped so because she was going to see Jeremy and maybe flirt a bit. If he mentioned it, she might let him look at her accounting. With all this in mind she stepped once more through the time doorway, as she now thought of it, and walked round the house to the kitchen.

The door was propped open and Jeremy was sitting at the table, a mug in one hand. Freya knocked on the frame and watched his dark eyes smile a welcome.

“Hi,” she said, feeling a rush of emotion at the sight of him alive and well.

Jeremy glanced up at her soft knock on the frame and smiled automatically in welcome. Then he really looked at her and genuine warmth widened his smile. She was radiating happiness. Looking at him as if he were a long lost friend. He stood up, leaving the mug on the table, and crossed the room to her side.

“Freya. How do you do? It’s good to see you again. Please come in.”

Jeremy had not expected to see her again despite the fact he had told her she was welcome to return. He blinked as she reached up, placed one hand on his shoulder and ran it half way down his arm, almost as if checking he was real.

Her touch went through him like a premonition and his eyes widened. She caught his look, seemed to realize what she was doing, and stepped back, blue eyes uncertain.

Jeremy viewed her in silence for the second it took him to make up his mind. She looked like she wanted to bolt out the door again and he wasn’t having that.

He was sure she hadn’t intended to touch him. It had been an involuntary movement, which gave him pause for thought. As a rule, he did not date girls as shy as Freya appeared to be, but he accepted he would probably have to get used to it if he was to have any fun in this era. Freya had made her move, had come back to him, now how to lure her further without tipping his hand and frightening her off.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked, “I am afraid I don’t have any tea in the house.”

She gave him a sunny smile, “Coffee sounds great, thanks.”

Watching her glance about, Jeremy had a subtle impression she had come to see him for a specific reason. He wondered idly if that impression was true and if so, what the reason might be.

He pulled out a chair. “Have a seat, Freya. I trust you made it home without incident last week?”

Freya glanced up and revised her impressions of him. He was older by a good few years she guessed, and shockingly good looking. She wanted to tell him how happy she was to see him again, and to ask if it was okay that she had just turned up, but the very fact that he was from a different time stopped any inane chatter she might have made and had her thinking carefully about what she should say to him. One thing was certain: she was not going to tell him she had slept in the field.

“Yes, thanks. I hope it’s okay to call in like this. I didn’t have anything on for today and wanted to thank you again for your help.”

“You are welcome. I am happy to be of assistance to you.” He spooned coffee grounds into two mugs and then turned to face her, leaning back against the stove. “Did you speak with Martin in the end? I must confess I’m curious to know how you handled him.” He grinned suddenly and it made him look more approachable.

“Oh. Martin.” She grimaced slightly. How had he remembered Martin’s name? It had been over a week ago. On the other hand, perhaps in this era it had only been yesterday that she had last been here. She hoped not. “I think it went okay. I mean, we spoke on the phone and he asked me to go see Watford play. I said I had too much work on and that was it.”

Jeremy watched her for a moment, a slight smile curving his mouth, “He was easily dissuaded then.”

“Well, he went on about something else, but I didn’t really hear it, and then we said bye. So I guess it’s okay.”

Jeremy glanced down at his feet, trying not to smile; his face was serious when he looked up at her, “Why did you not hear what else it was that he said?”

Freya hesitated, working through his formal way of speaking, “Um, well, I was, uh, distracted, and then he was okay and we said bye before I could ask him again.”

The kettle began to whistle and Jeremy took it off the heat, filling two cups.

“I see,” he said, his tone bland. “Would you like milk in your coffee? Sugar?”

“Milk, please.”

Jeremy placed Freya’s drink on the table and took the seat opposite her. She wrapped both hands around the mug and inhaled, grateful the kettle had prevented further questions over what had distracted her. She had a feeling he wouldn’t have left it there, and was not about to admit to missing part of the conversation through daydreaming.

She had just opened her mouth to enquire how his accounting was going when he leaned back in his chair and asked pleasantly, “What was it that distracted you?”

“Uh, someone was at the door?” She pictured Janet’s visit of the next day, only realising after the words were out that she had phrased it like a question.

He laughed quietly and shook his head. “You will have to forgive my bad manners in pressing you, but the last time we discussed this I had the distinct impression that Martin was proving difficult. ‘Stalker’ was the word I believe you chose. It does, therefore, seem somewhat surprising that you are not suspicious of his sudden amiability, but perhaps I misunderstood the situation.” He took a sip of coffee and looked up with a slight smile.