A Stitch in Time (13 page)

Sarah nodded and was quiet for a few moments while she digested that. It seemed to be going in a bit more now. She finished her drink and remembered he’d still not answered everything. ‘So, how exactly
do
you get information, then, and who are these powers that be?’

‘I learnt some from Dad, and I get emails of instructions and reports of a Stitch’s progress.’

Sarah looked at him in disbelief. ‘You’re pulling my chain, right?’

‘Nope.’

‘But you haven’t said who the powers are. Where are the emails from, some extraterrestrial, Time-Needle agency?’

‘I really have no idea. I know that they are infinitely powerful and keep time running smoothly. My dad told me never question, or seek more answers about them, as bad things would happen. And to be honest, Sarah, you have asked quite enough questions for one day. You know when people say “pressed for time”, meaning you are too busy or running late?’ Sarah nodded. ‘It originated from a Time-Needle who was far too curious for his own good. One word is wrong, it isn’t pressed
for
time, it is pressed
in
time. This guy was actually “pressed
in
time”; he was flattened like a butterfly in a lepidopterist collection.’

‘That’s terrible!’ Sarah said, wondering if John was fibbing to shut her up. But then, given the crazy things that had happened to her lately, she thought it was probably the truth. ‘And how were Time-Needles contacted before email?’

‘My dad used to get telegrams when I was young; why, what does that matter?’

‘I’m a historian, curiosity comes naturally.’

For the next half an hour, while John busied himself stirring, tasting and putting the rice on to boil, Sarah got the answers to the rest of her questions.

Sarah hadn’t got the sack. Mr Darnley had spoken up for her and Sarah and Rose mended their friendship when Darnley explained how Sarah had put a good word in for Rose. A few months later both Rose and Sarah had gone to work for him. They were employed as filing clerks and that’s where Rose had met Darnley’s nephew. Sarah had kept some of her extended vocabulary and was an eager student; as a result, she ended up teaching in the night school Rose set up.

Needless to say, Mr Darnley didn’t marry Lady Attwood; in fact he dropped her like a hot coal very soon after Sarah came back to the present. She had to sell her house and let her servants go. She moved to the countryside and lived in a modest (by her standards) country house. She retained Cook and Grayson however, and all things considered, Sarah thought they had all got off a little too lightly.

Sarah ate the last bit of poppadom and said, ‘Another few things I’m confused about …’ John rolled his eyes and put naan bread in the oven. ‘No point rolling your eyes, John; after the things I’ve been through the least you can do is answer my questions.’

‘OK, but I
have
been answering them for most of the time you’ve been here. Do you want to end up pressed in time?’ He laughed. ‘Besides, I thought you’d want to relax a bit and try to enjoy yourself.’

Relax and enjoy myself, with you?
Was he just being nice or was he attracted to her after all? Her eyes met his. ‘Well, I do … These are the last two questions for now. First question – why did I go through some kind of fog tunnel to 1913 but in 1940 just stepped through my classroom door, and then my senses were as if trapped behind glass for a bit, whereas in 1913, I felt travel sick and dizzy? And second question, I was in 1913 much longer than in 1940. Why?’ Another question had been buzzing in and out of her thoughts like a wasp at a picnic too lately. ‘And isn’t it a coincidence that you managed to find a Stitch with the same name as the Sarah’s in the past?’

John brought two plates and cutlery over to the table and sat down. ‘I think you sneaked more than two questions in there, but never mind. Firstly, when you travel in time you have to adapt to the hole that’s appeared. Sometimes it’s a substantial tear; sometimes it’s just a few threads that have snagged or something. The 1940 hole was substantial, so you had to be shoved through at some force; the time it took to travel was too quick for you to notice. The 1913 hole was shallower, so you could have a more leisurely entrance.

‘The sickness and the loss of senses, I don’t know. Everyone is affected differently and sometimes, as in your case, in any number of ways. Secondly, you were longer in 1913 because you’re getting used to the experience of being a Stitch; it’s not such a strain on your mental state. The next time, you may be there even longer. The powers test Stitches, as I said before. They try to make situations stressful and unpredictable to see if you can cope and are, therefore, the right choice. For example, you landed in a muckheap today and back in your bed the first time. And one of the reasons you were picked is because of your name. It wasn’t a coincidence. It’s much easier for all concerned if we can find a match and an awful lot of women through the ages have been called Sarah. It dates back to the Bible I think, or before.’

‘Oh, I see … I think. But you never told me about that when I asked why I was chosen.’

‘No. It would have been far too much information at the time. Now, let me get this show on the road.’

‘It still seems a bit hard to believe that you just happen to find me, with the right name
and
the
knowledge needed.’

‘You think
that’s
hard to believe when you have just travelled through time twice and saved the bacon of future generations? Hmm. What is wrong with
that
picture?’

Sarah sat back in her chair and watched John potter around collecting naan bread and making ready to serve their meal. Not such a strain on her mental state, he’d said. Well, he ought to spend a few hours in her head while she was on one of her missions. And she may be longer next time. How could she bring herself to tell him that there wouldn’t be a next time?

Apart from the fact that her nerves couldn’t handle a next time, she didn’t think seeing more of John would be a good idea. The day under the pergola, when he’d told her that she’d imagined the 1940s’ John as him because she cared about him, she’d got angry and dismissed it as just part of the emotional rollercoaster she’d stepped off. And in the light of the fact that she had been riding an emotional tandem with Sarah of the Blitz, it made sense that she would form an attachment. John had been the last fanciable man that she’d seen before going back to 1940, so it stood to reason that her brain had portrayed the John of 1940 as the present-day John. The 1913 experience had been too stressful for her to really analyse how she felt.

But if she were honest, when she’d seen him walking towards her today, even though she’d been standing in the manure, she’d been overjoyed to see him. Her heart had thumped in her chest and giddy excitement had whizzed adrenaline around her blood stream. The talking-to she’d given herself earlier in John’s bedroom, about romantic relationships being futile,
was
logical and definitely
the
best course to take – a safeguard against potential future heartbreak must be achieved at all costs. Trouble was, now, though he was just going about mundane everyday tasks in his kitchen, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He moved so beautifully, sensuously, light on his feet, almost catlike. He had an aura of confidence that was almost palpable, and when he stretched to one of the top cupboards for something, his toned upper body was clearly defined under his thin, white T-shirt. Sarah lowered her eyes and felt a slow blush creep along her neck.
This is no good, Sarah. It can’t happen and remember, he said before that the relationship was strictly platonic, so just eat your curry and bugger off home.

‘My goodness, this is absolutely delicious, John. I didn’t realise how hungry I was, either,’ Sarah said, fanning her face and helping herself to more rice.

‘Thanks. I thought you would be. This is Saturday afternoon – you left here last night about five o’clock and you didn’t really eat anything substantial in 1913.’

‘But it was Wednesday when I left there,’ Sarah said through a mouthful of curry. ‘Oh, never mind, I’m just going to give up trying to rationalise everything as the whole bloody thing is totally irrational.’

‘That’s the attitude. You don’t want to end up like old Jeremiah,’ he said, mopping up his second helping of curry with a bit of naan.

‘Jeremiah?’

‘The guy pressed in time.’ John grinned, bringing the bread to his mouth, but a blob of curry slid off on to his T-shirt. He didn’t notice and tucked in again. Sarah pointed her fork at the yellow stain seeping along his chest.

‘Oh, bloody typical, I should have known better than to wear this.’ He stood up, stripped the shirt off and hurried to the sink. ‘Not sure it will come out even if I soak it; what do you think?’ he said over his shoulder, running water on to the shirt.

I think I would like to kiss every inch of your back and chest for dessert.
‘Err … not sure, it may do, you caught it early,’ Sarah managed, taking a gulp of lager. Please let him put another shirt on.

John returned to the table. His chest was muscular, mostly smooth, but had a track of dark hair leading from below the waistband of his jeans to his navel and then it feathered out higher up across his pecs. ‘You don’t mind if I finish my grub semi-naked, do you? I’ll get a shirt when I’ve finished; don’t want to ruin another.’

Sarah shook her head and fixed her eyes on her dinner plate. She needed to leave as soon as was polite. The lager had gone to her head and she was worried that she would say or do something ridiculous if she stayed much longer.

Sarah helped him clear the table and insisted on washing-up. He wiped the table down, put things away whilst chatting about his market garden and how business was doing. She smiled and nodded but didn’t initiate conversation.

‘Well, thanks for a lovely meal, the bath, and everything. I had a great time, but I must be off,’ Sarah said, folding the washing-up cloth.

‘Off already?’ He frowned. ‘I have some great coffee and some chocolate cake we could have later.’

‘No thanks, I have taken up enough of your day. Don’t you have to get back to the garden shop?’

‘No, I took the afternoon off to be here for you and I usually work in the garden, anyway. I have a few casual workers at busy times, but Roy and Helen take care of the business side of things. I’m sure I told you that.’

‘So you did, sorry, I was miles away.’ She gave him a watery smile. ‘Now, can you call me a taxi, or is there a bus stop handy?’ She folded her arms and looked out of the window.

‘OK, you’re a taxi.’ He grinned at the old joke. Sarah didn’t. He walked over, gently took her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing’s the matter,’ she said, her voice sounding like she’d borrowed it from Minnie Mouse. She could feel the heat from his body and his breath on her hair – he was so close.

‘Hmm … I think that’s a big fat lie,’ he said, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. ‘You desperately wanted to be sent home, but not to your house, here. In fact you wanted to be as close to me as we are now, except the muckheap got in the way.’

Sarah’s heart banged in her chest and her whole body had begun to tingle; either she was about to be carted off to another dimension or she was about to have an altogether more pleasurable experience. When John gently kissed the corner of her mouth, she banked on the latter.

‘The muckheap got in the way; what do you mean?’ she mumbled as he kissed the other side of her mouth.

‘Your heart’s desire was to see me above all else when you were in the 1913 park. It was unfortunate that you landed where you did, kind of ruined the moment.’ John started to unzip her overalls.

Sarah put her hand over his. ‘Did I? I don’t remember wishing to see you … and what are you doing? I thought you said this relationship had to remain strictly platonic.’

‘That was then; this is now. I know we shouldn’t, but I for one can’t hold back anymore … Of course, if you don’t want to …’ He pulled her to him and kissed her tenderly.

Sarah held back a little. She couldn’t face being hurt again. But then his kiss became more passionate, demanding and his tongue parted her lips, flicked over hers. Her body dictated proceedings.
What the hell, Sarah
 …
go for it
. Running her hands over his back and tight bum she kissed him back, matching his passion. He pulled her zip lower and showered her neck and breasts with hot kisses. When his mouth found her nipples, she could barely keep standing.

Pulling the zip to its furthest extent and letting her overalls fall to the kitchen floor, he whispered, ‘So, you decided to leave all the underwear off, then?’

Sarah looked him square in the eye. He had the look of a hungry wolf. ‘Yes. Are you complaining?’ She smiled, and started to unzip his jeans. John moved her hand lower and pressed it to him. ‘Does it feel like I’m complaining?’ he murmured, picking her up and carrying her upstairs to his bedroom.

Waking from sleep, Sarah thrilled at the feeling of a warm body entwined around hers. After John had fallen asleep earlier, she had lain with her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Closing her eyes, she’d prayed that she would still be holding him when she awoke, instead of just a pillow, or her old teddy bear, like last time.

Through the window she watched the sun slowly sinking over the hills, leaving a burnished copper glow in the sky; the silver vapour trails of distant planes crisscrossed through, like ribbon on a gift. A blackbird’s song started up in the meadow, a cow lowed, and a breeze rustled the ivy along the ledge outside. Just wonderful.

Feeling John stir behind her, she wondered if she’d be asked to stay the night. This was all so perfect. Sarah wanted to stay in his arms, his bed, and his life forever; the intensity of her feelings both exhilarated and scared the pants off her. A cheeky smile crept on to her face.
Well, she wasn’t actually wearing any pants at the moment.

A cup of coffee and the cake he mentioned might be a nice surprise to wake up to. She lifted his arm carefully and slid out of bed. She noticed a black dressing gown hanging on the back of the door and shrugged into it. It smelled of sandalwood aftershave and was deliciously soft next to her bare skin; it fitted her well.

Nipping to the loo, she saw that the face in the mirror looked much happier than it had a few hours ago. Her eyes sparkled and her skin seemed to have a healthy glow. Sarah winked at herself.
Not surprised given what you’ve been up to all afternoon, you hussy.

Waiting for the coffee in the cafetière, she found chocolate cake in the fridge, cut two slices, and then wandered into the living room. It was much bigger than any of the rooms she’d seen so far and French doors at the far end opened on to a generous patio, overlooking a stunning view of the valley beyond. How she’d love to live here.
Stop that right now, Sarah! You need to take things easy, slowly, not get carried away on some pink fluffy romantic cloud.
In her experience, pink fluffy romantic clouds tended to turn grey and rain on her parade, leaving her dreams floundering in a mucky puddle.

The decoration was just as tasteful in the living room as the rest of the house. The original Victorian fireplace and stone hearth would be a lovely focal point on cold winter evenings. A comfy-looking, red leather three-piece suite was the only bold colour, against oatmeal walls and a stripped pine floor and, on a large sideboard near the door, a number of ceramic plates and photographs were carefully displayed.

Sarah went over and bent to examine the photos. One was obviously of John and his parents when he was about ten. They were walking along at the seaside and a girl of about eight, presumably his sister, was dragging a stick behind her in the sand. They looked happy and windswept and … who the hell was that?

Behind more photographs of his family and one of John graduating from university, a small photo of John with a woman caught her eye. She picked it up. It was fairly recent as he looked much the same. They were sitting at a table with a bottle of champagne in the foreground and two glasses raised to the camera. She was stunning. Raven haired, dark-eyed and a celebrity-white smile that lit the whole restaurant. A diamond ring winked from the third finger of her left hand. Sarah thrust it back where she’d found it; it suddenly felt alien, dirty. She wiped her hand on the dressing gown and hurried back to the kitchen.

The coffee was done. Sarah sincerely hoped that she hadn’t been. God, that woman was so beautiful. A little voice of reason hopped on to her shoulder and whispered in her ear.
Stop getting ahead of yourself; he’s not the type to two-time, is he? She’s just his ex and is well and truly off the scene.
She sighed and took two mugs from the draining board. Yes, that would be it. Hope started to return tentatively from the despair that the photo had flung it into.

A little voice of doubt kicked reason into touch as she poured coffee.
But what if she’s not off the scene, what if she’s very much on the scene and he’s a complete arsehole? Remember what Neil and Karen did? Do you want that again? And that dressing gown you’re wearing, Sarah, is only a good fit because it’s not his. You did wonder as soon as you put it on, but your pink fluffy cloud brain dismissed it.
Her hand shook as she poured the second mug. But what about the aftershave?
It’s not aftershave, it’s perfume, you silly cow.

Doubt settled heavily in her chest as she carried the tray of coffee and cake upstairs. Pushing the door open with her foot she saw that John was still sleeping, one arm flung across her pillow and the other hanging loosely to the floor. The quilt had slid down to just below his navel and his face looked as innocent as a child’s. He was beautiful.

Beautiful or not, Sarah wanted answers before she even thought about getting back into bed. She set the tray down, flung the dressing gown on a chair and slipped the overalls back on. She couldn’t bear the thing next to her skin a moment longer.

‘Hey, gorgeous, is that coffee and chocolate cake I can smell?’ John said to her back as she looked out over the valley.

‘Yes, hope the coffee’s not too strong.’

John yawned, stretched and said, ‘Why are you dressed? Thought we may have an encore for the earlier performance.’

‘Who’s the woman with the long dark hair in the photo downstairs?’ Sarah turned, folded her arms and scanned his face intently.

John nearly spilled his hot coffee. ‘Come straight to the point, why don’t you?’ He frowned, putting the mug back on the tray.

‘The reason I’m dressed is because I slipped your dressing gown on to make the coffee … I took it off again when I realised … it isn’t yours, is it?’

John’s eyes met hers. ‘Hop back into bed and we’ll talk about it.’

‘No, I’ll stay where I am, thanks.’

He folded his arms, and the frown deepened. ‘Suit yourself. The dressing gown isn’t mine, no; it’s Josephina’s. We were together about three years and the photo you’re so steamed about was taken the night we got engaged. She left me about six months ago, and went back to Italy.’

Sarah blinked a few times and swallowed hard. Italy, eh? She’d rather it was Australia, but Italy would have to do. John picked up his coffee and sipped it, keeping his eyes on the mug. She couldn’t read him completely, but from his tense posture, she could tell he wasn’t best pleased. In her brain, the words ‘you overreacted you daft mare!’ flashed neon on, off, on, off, on. Did she think he’d lived the life of a monk before her? And to even think that he would be the kind of man to cheat. Why the hell did Josephina leave him, anyway?

She perched at the end of the bed and picked up her mug. ‘Why did she leave you, anyway?’ She glanced sidelong at him and gave a little laugh. ‘She must have been crazy.’

‘Really? The way you behaved just now, you’d think I was a lying, cheating sleep-around!’ He picked up a slice of cake, took a big bite and chucked the remainder down on the plate.

God, he was really angry, but then what did she expect? ‘John, I’m sorry, I overreacted. I was just so happy being here in bed with you, pottering around in your home and then I saw the photo. I was jealous, worried and most of all stupid … It’s no excuse but after my husband—’

John held up his hand. ‘That’s enough apologising. I overreacted, too. It was a kick in the guts when she left. But she said she needed the smell of olives in her nostrils instead of cabbages. I guess I was angry because I kept the dressing gown and then you put it on. I hate it that you’re upset.’ He took her hand and kissed it.

‘I’m not upset with you now. I’m just upset because she hurt you. If she wanted bloody olives she should have popped down to the deli.’ She giggled. ‘So how did you meet?’ Why that mattered, Sarah didn’t know, she just wanted to assess the situation a little more, she guessed.

‘She was over visiting relatives here and a friend of her cousin is my friend, too. We went for a drink one night and she came along. We just got on, I thought I loved her, but in the end she was just a bit high maintenance for me. She “helps out” in her parents’ vineyard, but is mostly cosseted and spoiled. They are stinking rich and pay for all of her whims – clothes, cars, trips to England. I think she expected me to become a well-trained little lapdog; she had to think again.’

‘Well I’m glad she went back to Italy, that’s all I can say,’ Sarah said and kissed his shoulder. ‘Seeing her photo gave me quite a turn.’

‘You won’t have to see it again, don’t worry.’ Smiling, John fed her a piece of cake with one hand and tugged at her zip with the other. ‘And why don’t you hop back into bed with me. I’m sure I could make you feel much better.’

Sunday morning saw Sarah up with the larks and striding over the fields. ‘The best thing for a troubled mind is a good walk,’ her gran always said. Considering that the woman was always moaning about her troubles, and rarely left her chair and the TV, it was a bit rich, but there was truth in every word, nevertheless.

Worries had wound around Sarah’s mind like a jungle creeper when she had started from John’s door an hour ago. After their misunderstanding last night, they had made love again and then stayed up watching an old Bette Davis movie. The question of her going home hadn’t occurred to either of them. It was just so natural and easy being together. This morning, however, she knew she had to bite the bullet and tell him that she didn’t want to stitch anymore, but she didn’t want that to be the end of their relationship. Half-truths had been an option, but after the early morning sun and fresh breeze had worked their magic, her head was free of creeper, and indecision.

‘There you are, I was worried that you’d left me – walked home in just old overalls and wellies,’ John said. He was fresh from the shower, a green fluffy towel wrapped round his waist. ‘Tea?’ He ran water into the kettle and flashed her a smile bright enough to challenge the sunbeams dancing over the sill.

‘Yes please, and I’m in no rush to leave.’ She smiled back.

John poured the tea and indicated that she should follow him. He led the way through the living room – now Josephina-less, Sarah noticed on glancing at the sideboard – and out through the French doors to the patio. Sarah felt a little twinge of shame that he’d removed the photo because of the fuss she’d made yesterday, but it was a nice gesture and showed that he wanted to please her. Outside, a jug of orange juice, toast and vase of yellow roses sat on a wooden picnic table set for two.

‘So if you thought I’d left, who’s this for, eh?’ Sarah poked him in the back.

‘Tarnation, I guess you’ve plumb found me out, li’l lady,’ he said, pulling a chair out for her. ‘Do you fancy having a look around the garden after breakfast? Don’t worry if not, I know not everyone gets excited about carrots and taters, Master Frodo.’

She laughed. ‘Of course I’d love to, but I do want to have a serious talk first, if I may.’

‘Uh-oh, sounds ominous.’

John ate his toast and sipped his tea while Sarah launched into a big spiel about not feeling able to cope with any more adventures. She felt that it was more luck than judgement that she’d saved Rose, and that it would only be a matter of time before that luck would run out. Three things bothered her most. One was the complete lack of control she had of exactly
when
she would be whisked back to the past; two was the fear that if she stopped stitching, John would despise her and end things; and the third thing was that she didn’t really understand why the damn holes opened in the first place. Sarah looked at John with ‘I hope you don’t hate me’ written across her forehead.

John wiped his mouth, nodded and said, ‘Yes, I do despise you and want you out now … and if you believe that, you’re a nut job.’ He leaned over and kissed her. ‘Everything you said is all perfectly understandable and I think there may be things we can do about it. Firstly, you are a great Stitch. You may feel like you’re out of control but the reports I have received about you are outstanding. Loads of Stitches just give up halfway through if they can’t do the job immediately.’

‘Give up halfway through, how do they do that?’ Sarah was pleased that he still wanted her but tried to act cool.
‘Don’t let men think they have you dancing attendance.’
Another one of her gran’s. Stupid, really.

‘Oh in a variety of ways; they may just take to their bed and refuse to do anything, or they’ll run away from where they end up – fugitives in another dimension. They’re brought back and that’s the end of it. In truth, they don’t really care enough to save anyone. You should be proud of your achievements. And the ones that are found to be great at the job, despite the obstacles deliberately placed in front of them, often do get warnings about
when
they have to go back to the past. Some even get a hint as to where they have to go, too. It’s a reward, I guess. As I said, your progress reports are excellent.’

‘Really?’ She liked the idea of getting good reports; must be the teacher in her. ‘But you talk about Stitches as if there are loads of us knocking about the place. I’ve never met one … or are they sworn to secrecy like spies, or are they just afraid to talk about it in case they get accused of being mentally ill?’

‘There are thousands of Stitches, but let’s go back to the question about holes.’ John took a sip of tea and fiddled with the petals on a rose. Sarah had the feeling he was sidestepping the Stitch issue, but she let him continue uninterrupted.

‘Like I said when we first met, there are a few theories but I favour this one. All the dimensions of time are linked by a living, breathing thread. From the beginning of time until the present, the deeds, emotions, memories and spirits of the players on this vast stage of history, all become part of this thread.’ John paused and steepled his fingers. ‘I guess it’s like a strong, tightly woven cord of human essence, keeping time interlinked, balanced and enabling progress to the future.’

‘What? How the hell does
that
work exactly?’ Sarah asked.

‘That isn’t known, or at least I don’t know it.’