The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (57 page)

‘You know there aren’t actually any bluebirds in Britain,’ Ralf said eventually.

Leo laughed and thumped him on the arm. ‘You really need to get out more, Wolf, you know that?’

They were both distracted by the arrival of a midnight blue Rolls Royce, which thundered over the cobbles far too fast. Its door popped open and Major-General Kingston-Hawke emerged to frantically scan the crowd. Ralf and the others watched as, all thoughts of decorum forgotten, the Major spotted his wife and son and rushed to sweep them into a bear-like embrace.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ King said formally, when he’d recovered his balance. ‘I’m afraid
The Sea-Hawke
is sunk.’

‘Casualty of war, old man,’ said the Major, flushed and puffed with pride. ‘Only a boat, though. Can always buy another. Just glad you weren’t in it!’

She’d been doing it for an hour or so but Mrs Kingston-Hawke, unable to show her relief any other way, continued showering King with kisses as they spoke. She was, yet again, checking him for injuries when she saw Gloria, her arm in a sling, face smudged and hair wild tottering along the cobbles. She was struggling to carry her tripod and camera case.

‘What on earth is she doing
now
?’ Mrs Kingston-Hawke exclaimed. ‘I left her for one minute!’

She hurried over to intercept her daughter. Ralf and the others followed with Cabal at their heels.

‘Important to take a picture for posterity, don’t you think?’ Gloria gushed. ‘Marvellous day, isn’t it?’

Mrs Kingston-Hawke nodded to her son who gently prised the equipment from Gloria’s fingers.

‘How about if I take it, Sis?’ King suggested. ‘You go and stand with the others.’

‘Whizzo idea, Jules,’ Gloria beamed, her eyes glassy. ‘Ralf and his friends can fly, you know!’ she giggled, as her mother guided her back to a chair. ‘And they can stop bullets with the power of their minds! Honestly, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw!’

Mrs Kingston-Hawke patted her daughter on the arm reassuringly and raised her eyes at Ralf.  ‘Ignore her,’ she said, through the side of her mouth. ‘She’s had
very
strong pain medicine.’

They stifled their snorts of laughter as
Mrs Kingston-Hawke whispered comforting words in Gloria’s ear and King organised the village for the photograph.

‘Say cheese, everyone!’ King called.

Glasses were raised, hats thrown and all eyes turned to the camera – all eyes, except Ralf’s. Because just at the moment that King was about to take the picture, he saw something. On the far side of the harbour, by the most inland of Fox Earth Cottages there was a flash of colour. Kat Noakes stood waving a large banner.

‘Swann’s Circus and Tremendous Travelling Show.’

Next to her, in the shadow of the little house stood Ambrose. Ralf couldn’t contain his gasp of surprise or control the sinking feeling in his belly and he raised a hand to point. King pressed the button and the shutter clicked. ‘That’s it everyone!’ he called. ‘Carry on as you were!’

Ambrose was waiting for them up on the top field. Standing in front of his blood red tent, he cut an imposing figure in blue and silver fortune-teller’s robes and was sporting a long, curled black moustache. The Turnarounders stepped forward to greet their old friend, who shook their hands and clapped his own in obvious delight. Ambrose spread his arms wide at the circus tents and entertainers that surrounded them.

‘We’ve come full circle!’ he chuckled. ‘And to think, for a while there, I had doubts you’d pull it off!’

The first few villagers were starting to arrive at the edge of the field, looking to continue the party. They smiled at the sound of Ambrose’s deep laughter.

‘Oh, but you’ve done so well! You really have!’ Old Father Time enthused. ‘Let’s just do a final check, shall we?’

With a wink at Leo, he waggled his fingers theatrically and his book appeared in his hands, seemingly out of thin air. He rifled its pages until he found the one he was looking for.

‘Right!
The Natus. So, Winters is code breaking with Turing at Bletchley Park,’ he informed them. ‘That’s the Battle of the Atlantic back on track. In two years time, Walter Sedley will join up and play his part in the Battle for North Africa. And Ron and Tom Arbuckle will, as they’re destined, canoe up the Gironde Estuary to Bordeaux and sabotage six enemy battleships. So, thanks to them, the war will still end in 1945 and not six months later.’

‘And Gloria?’ Ralf asked. ‘Does she really parachute into France?

‘She’s already working for SOE,’ said Ambrose. He ran his finger down the tiny lines of text in his book, read silently for a minute and gave a satisfied smile. ‘Early next year, she’ll be working with the French Resistance. Her photographs of V2 rocket emplacements will be vital in giving the RAF accurate target information. She’s going to save hundreds of lives.’

‘Told you she was a diamond,’ said Alfie.

Ralf grinned back at him.

‘
You were right to keep an eye on Gordon Kemp too, though,’ said Ambrose, chuckling. ‘He wasn’t one of the Natus in this timeline but he's not not too shabby on the righteous stakes!’

‘
His colour was very bright,’ said Ralf.

‘
I should think so too!’ Ambrose exclaimed. Kemp turns out to be rather special. Through a cunning use of lights and bonfires, he’ll manage to dupe a Luftwaffe squadron into bombing Urk Fitch’s back field instead of annihilating Folkstone as they’ve been ordered. Not bad for a night’s ARP watch.’

‘What about Hart, though
?’ Leo asked. ‘Hart was one of the Natus. He was ‘the greatest of them’, wasn’t he? Does he still go on to be Churchill's double?’

‘
Churchill's double?’ Ambrose chuckled. ‘Oh, no. They use someone else. After all those months in captivity Hart’s far too ill for that kind of work. And too thin!’

‘But
what
does
he do?’ asked Leo. ‘Does he work as a spy or something?’

‘No,’ Ambrose smiled. ‘
He makes a couple of films which do wonders for British morale but Archie’s finest moment doesn’t come until the war is over.’ He flicked forwards in the book and tapped the new page. ‘He’s touring the United States when the hotel in which he’s staying catches fire. A hundred and nineteen people are killed that night in Atlanta but Archie manages to rescue four other guests and a young man who is funding his college education by working as a night porter.’

‘Oh,’ said Leo,
strangely deflated. ‘I – er – I mean, that’s good and everything but I kinda expected him to have done something else. You know – bigger. More important.’

Ambrose
sighed. ‘But Leo, it
is
important. Hart does many noble things in his life but his achievement that December night in 1946 is world-changing! It sets in motion a chain of events that continues right up until your own time. You see, the young night porter Hart saves that night is a sixteen year old student by the name of Martin Luther King Junior.’

‘Whoa!’

‘Quite,’ said Ambrose.

Valen grinned. ‘So History’s back on track then?’ she asked. ‘All of it?’

‘Almost,’ said Ambrose. ‘Ah, yes, about now, I think.’ He pointed and Ralf saw King and his father hovering at the edge of the field. ‘The last piece of unfinished business. Wolf?’ Ralf hesitated but then, waving the other Turnarounders to stay, walked over to join them. Cabal, unwilling to be parted from his boy so soon after getting him back, trotted along beside him.

‘Thanks for what you did back there, King,’ Ralf said. ‘For pulling me out of the water, I mean.’

King attempted his old sour look but it came out as more of a wonky grin. ‘Forget it,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Would have done the same for anyone. No hard feelings?’

Ralf smiled, took the hand and shook it firmly. ‘No hard feelings.’

Major Kingston-Hawke roared with laughter at this. ‘I should think not! Did you hear that, Fran?’ he cried, beckoning his wife over. ‘Saved Osborne’s life and he’s making light of it!’ He slapped his son on the back so hard that he stumbled. Then, with a nod to Ralf he whisked King away into the gathering crowd. ‘Have you met my son?’ he said to anyone who’d listen. ‘Was part of the rescue, don’t you know! Took himself off to France!’

King grinned back over his shoulder. ‘I’ll call round tomorrow? We could go for a swim in the lake if it’s warm enough? All of us, I mean. Leo, Seth, Valen and Alfie too. Bring the dog if you like!’

Ralf smiled. ‘Definitely!’ he called. Though for him and the rest of the Turnarounders, he knew there would be no swim tomorrow. Not in King’s Hadow, anyway.

When he returned to Ambrose’s tent the others were taking a final look at the fields around them, the woods, the church steeple just visible over the trees, the shimmering blue of the sea in the evening light. They stood in silence and drank in the beauty.

‘So, are we all ready?’ Ambrose asked, eventually.

Ralf swallowed. Even after all this time in King’s Hadow, it still felt far too soon to leave.

Ambrose stepped just inside the opening of the tent. He flicked his scythe down and in a single expert motion, surgically created the tiniest of Falls. There was no argument and no explanation. The Turnarounders simply knew that they could not stay. Casting regretful glances back and wondering enviously about their past selves, Seth, Alfie, Valen and Leo stepped one by one into the Fall.

Ralf turned for one last look.

The sky hung like a pink and red masterpiece over the village, which from above looked chocolate box pretty. Ralf sighed. A square of yellow paper fluttered on to the grass in front of him and he bent to pick it up. It was an announcement, blown free from the Village Hall notice board.

KING’S HADOW LIFEBOAT.

Following the success of the joint fund raising efforts of King’s Hadow Village and St. Crispin's, The Convent and Dark Ferry High schools, the Council is pleased to announce that enough was collected to completely refurbish and modernise our lifeboat. By popular vote, and in recognition of the contribution of all, the vessel will be renamed:

‘The King’s Hadow Spirit.’

It was signed by Major Kingston-Hawke, Reverend Denning and the Heads of all three schools.

Ralf smiled and with a reassuring hand on Cabal’s huge head, headed back to the future.

Though set against a backdrop of actual events, 'The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue' is a work of fiction. With the exception of world leaders and events, all characters, places and situations depicted have no connection to reality.

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theturnarounders.com

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