A Stitch in Time (19 page)

‘But …’ John began.

‘Is this yours, Seera?’ Josephina interrupted, waving the little gift bag she’d picked up from underneath the broken vase.

‘Err … yes, well it
was
for …’ Sarah shook her head and grabbed the bag.

‘Can’t you stay a little longer, Sarah?’ John walked over and took her hand. ‘Josephina just dropped by on the off chance … She’ll be going soon.’ He looked at Josephina pointedly.

‘Si, I guess I should call a taxi soon, though it would be nice to raise a glass to my Johnny’s new friend.’ She flashed a row of perfect teeth at Sarah, but the warmth of the smile stopped short of her eyes.

Her
Johnny indeed, and new friend? God, Sarah would love to pull out Josephina’s shiny long tresses by the roots. ‘No, I must go, Ella needs me,’ Sarah muttered and limped out to her car.

Where are the fucking car keys!
Behind the wheel now, she rifled through her handbag for the third time. The tears in her eyes didn’t help and then John banged on the window.

‘Sarah, come on, please stay a little longer …’ he shouted, motioning that she should lower the window.

She flicked her tears away and opened it a crack. ‘I can’t and to be honest, John, this was never going to work, was it? I mean, the whole time-travelling thing is mad. I want a normal relationship, with a normal down-to-earth man.’

He put his palm on the window and shook his head. ‘You don’t mean that. I know how you feel, you said you loved me and …’

‘Yes, well, it wasn’t real, not properly. I was just caught up in the emotion of it all I guess.’ Sarah found the key and thrust it into the ignition. Why was she saying all this to him? It was certainly a heap of crap; it felt as if her mouth had a mind of its own. ‘So I suggest you go back to the lovely Josephina. She’s incredibly beautiful and obviously thinks she made a mistake dumping you, or why would she be here?’ Sarah started the engine.

Right on cue Josephina walked out of the cottage and raised a glass in Sarah’s direction.

‘So why did you come here today dressed like that and with a gift for me?’ John asked, his brow furrowed, his mouth a hard line.

‘Oh, it was a goodbye gift, I guess. An appropriate one to mark our relationship such as it was, and I thought I’d dress up for our last dinner, that’s all.’ She shrugged, opened the window more and shoved the watch at him.

John didn’t open it. His eyes met hers and she noticed tears forming. ‘Josephina means nothing to me now, Sarah. You know that you’re probably just being tested, too? Look me in the eye and tell me I don’t mean anything to you.’ His voice cracked.

She looked at him and then at Josephina and then back at John. She saw Karen and Neil all over again. There was absolutely no way that her heart could go through all that again. She would love to believe him, but how could she be sure that it was just the powers testing her? He might have just said that to cover up his philandering. Sarah looked at the pain in his eyes and wanted to say I love you, I adore you, I worship the ground you walk on. She heard herself say, ‘I’m sorry but you don’t. Bye, John.’

Sarah reversed the car and drove away. Through her tears, in the rear-view mirror, she saw John open the gift box and put his hand to his head, and just as she turned the corner, Sarah saw Josephina walk over and take him in her arms.

Someone had got their hand clamped over her mouth. Sarah lay still and forced her eyes open. It was light, she was belly down on the settee in the living room, the television in the corner displayed static dots and she felt something hard against her groin. Hell, was someone trying to rape her? Quickly reaching for the hand, she pulled it from her mouth and twisted off the settee on to the floor in one fluid movement. Ouch! The heel of one of her shoes stuck into her bottom, and pins and needles raced through her hand like a nettle sting.

She was alone. No rapist lurked behind the settee. She realised what had happened and gave a wry smile. She had slept on her hand which had caused it to feel like someone else’s, and the hard thing pressed against her groin was … an empty wine bottle that had somehow become wedged underneath her after her binge-drinking session.

God, she felt rough. On her hands and knees she crawled to the bottom of the stairs. She was still in the red dress from last night, though it appeared to have acquired a few dubious stains since then. The stairs towered above her like the summit of K2 but she needed the loo and so there was nothing else for it. By the time she had crawled to the landing, beads of sweat were standing all along her top lip and a wave of nausea started a tsunami roll deep within her gut.
Oh shit, there’s only one way this wave is going and that’s up!

The cool of the ceramic toilet bowl felt soothing on her forehead. It wasn’t the most hygienic of resting places but she had no choice. The first tidal wave was safely in the toilet, but another was on its way. How had she got so shitfaced? Yes, there was one empty bottle on the settee, but she’d had a bottle before, not often, but when she had, she’d felt queasy but not completely ruined like this.

The answer came after vomiting a second time. She splashed water on her face and then went in search of a clean towel. Opening the airing cupboard another empty wine bottle presented itself. What the hell …? Ah, yes, a flashback … Sarah sitting on the loo singing ‘I’m Not in Love’ at the top of her lungs, whilst drinking the last few drops of red wine straight from the bottle. Then, finding she was out of toilet roll … opening the airing cupboard and taking a roll out with one hand and shoving the empty bottle in with the other. Yep, it had all seemed perfectly logical … last night.

Squeezing toothpaste on to her brush, she gently cleaned her vomitty mouth. So, what exactly
had
she done after she got back? Sarah remembered all the pain and humiliation of what had happened at John’s and then returning home, but that was about it. The reflection in the mirror of a woman at least a hundred years old said
don’t even ask
.

An hour later, showered and wearing clean clothes, she felt little improved, so decided to return to bed. There was serious wound licking to be done. Lying there with her eyes closed she felt the room spin. Opening one eye she half-expected to have arrived in ancient Rome and been tasked with trying to warn Caesar about keeping his knife drawer locked, or speeding up to JFK’s cavalcade and throwing herself down before it in the road, shouting, ‘Turn back, Mr President, or you may lose your head!’

She wasn’t in either of those places though, sadly. She was in her bedroom, imitating a wet lettuce, a slug sliming under her soft green folds and munching its way through her brain. The room was only spinning because she’d poured two bottles of wine down her gullet, and judging by the carton on the kitchen floor, a family sized pizza from the freezer. Luckily she had been conscious enough to cook it.

Turning carefully, she pushed her face into the comfort of her pillow. Was it just because every fibre of her being yearned for him, or could she actually smell John on it? He
had
stayed here last week; it felt like a lifetime ago. Inhaling again, she decided she was just being fanciful.

Why had she told him a pack of lies yesterday? His lovely green eyes had been full of love and pain in equal measure when he’d asked her if she still loved him. How could she have been so cold, so cruel? Sarah drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest but found no comfort. A foetus in a cold womb, devoid of compassion and humanity, that’s what you are, Sarah.

Beep, beep, bee, bee beep!

A message on her mobile. It sounded as if it was in the hallway. Did she have enough energy to get all the way down there?

Wrapped in a duvet, she perched on the bottom step. The pounding, rushing sensation in her head started to abate enough for her to lean forward slightly and retrieve the mobile from the scattered contents of her upturned handbag. Three missed calls with voicemails and four text messages, all from John. The first one was at 5 p.m. yesterday and the last one was just now. She checked them in order.

Voicemail 1 – Saturday – 5 p.m. – Sarah, please come back, I know you didn’t mean those things, I can see why you were upset. You must have thought the worst seeing Josephina here like that. I swear she just turned up out of the blue. She’ll be gone in a minute; I’m ordering her a taxi. It is you I love.

Voicemail 2 – Saturday – 6 p.m. – Josephina has gone; she hung around insisting that I needed a friend as I was so upset. She even suggested that she stay for the meal I was preparing for you! I told her I was in love with you and her ship had sailed. Please ring me. And did your sister really come round, or was that an excuse?

Voicemail 3 – Saturday – 7.30 p.m.
–
Please, Sarah, ring me or text, anything to let me know you are alright … that we are alright. I can’t drive over as I’ve had a drink, but I could get a taxi. I need to know if your sister is there, as I’d feel a proper Charlie turning up if she’s pouring her heart out to you … She’s not there is she, Sarah … I can feel it. You’re breaking my heart here.

His voice broke on the last word and Sarah felt her eyes fill up and brim over. Another flashback … her flipping open the phone, seeing the texts from John and each time flipping it closed without reading … Her again, swigging wine and stuffing pizza, ignoring the insistent ringing from her handbag, turning some music up on her CD player and tossing her hair defiantly. Sarah shook her head now. What a stupid bitch.

Text message 1 – Saturday – 9.15 p.m.
–
I really hope you will be back to normal tomorrow. You had a very tough time in Kansas and that may have clouded your judgement. It can’t have been easy being Artie’s mother, too – knowing how you feel about wanting children. I need to see you. I won’t come round until you ask, but don’t leave me like this for too long. I can’t bear it. And the watch is so beautiful, thank you, I always wanted one like this. xxxx

Text message 2 – Saturday – 10.15 p.m. –
OK, I’m getting the hint. I won’t try to reach you again. I know you’re upset about Josephina, but we were having a drink, not in bed together, for fuck’s sake. I’ve poured my heart out to you tonight, begged you to come over and you just left me drangling
 …
dangling, as you can tell, I’ve had a drink can’t spell for toffee… and now I’m going to bed
 …
do what you like. xxxxx

Text message 3 – Saturday – 10.30 p.m. –
Goodlight, Sarah, please contact me tomorrow, I do love U and I’m sorry I wasangry in th last message, it was just grustration. xxxxxxxxxx

Text message 4 – Sunday – 11.15 a.m. –
Sarah, I’m worried about you. Text me back just to let me know that you are alright, or I’m coming over. Don’t you realise that this is just another of the obstacles put in your way? My parents had ones just like this but they overcame them. You should have had time to think by now, and if you meant what you said yesterday, I’ll have to accept it. I can understand that our life together would be hard, and as I said the other week, nobody would blame you for opting out. I can’t make you love me, but just know that I will always love you, John. xxx

Sarah stood up and went to the kitchen to get tissues. What should she do? Her heart, predictably, said, ‘ring him and tell him you’re sorry and get over here pronto.’ Her head said, ‘there is no way you could stand to be hurt again like last time.’ A flashback of herself a year and a half ago on hearing her best friend Karen had given birth to her ex-husband’s baby … drunk, in the bath … one hand tipping a bottle of painkillers into the other … the hand coming up to her mouth.

She had come close, too close for comfort. And now she’d found John, loved him so much that it hurt … and then this catwalk model waltzes back into his life. Yes, he’d said it was over between them, that the powers were testing them, and that she was the one, but Josephina
was
back. Sarah had seen in the other woman’s eyes that she wasn’t about to give John up without a fight.

Sarah blew her nose and poured a glass of water. Was she ready for a fight? She thought about her behaviour last night. That’ll be a no then. And besides, wasn’t the bit she’d told John about wanting a normal relationship and settling down true? He would always be a Time-Needle and that was about as far away from normal as you could get.

And it sounded as if his parents had a rough time over the years, too. No, it wouldn’t work. Also, she’d always be wondering if he’d go back to Josephina and that would do her head in …
Face it, Sarah, you’re a mess and a hopeless case. He’d be better off with Josephina anyway
 …

In her pyjamas, Sarah wandered into the garden and sat under the pergola. The roses growing over it nodded their heads on a warm breeze, their perfume sweet and fragrant. Was it only a few weeks ago that she’d sat here with John? She smiled as she remembered how he’d revealed that the 1940s’ John looked like him, because Sarah had wanted him to look like someone she cared about.
Ha! That was the understatement of the year.

The mobile sat on her leg like a tiny weapon of mass destruction. What she was about to do would destroy her happiness, but hopefully would preserve her mental state (such as it was), and protect her heart from being ripped out and shredded. There were only so many times a heart could stand that kind of treatment.

She took a deep breath, opened her phone to messages, and typed:

John – don’t come over. Sorry I didn’t answer your texts and messages. My sister Ella didn’t come round, you were right there. I was angry and upset because of Josephina, but to be honest it really doesn’t change much. The rules against Stitches and Needles being together are sensible. We need to end it. I can’t see how we could be happy, so I guess I have been tested and found wanting. Josephina can make you happy if you let her, I’m sure of it. Our time together was great fun, if off the scale in terms of surreal! I expect I will have no memory of you or my adventures soon – better that way. All the very best for the future – Sarah x

A message came back in a few minutes. Through her tears she read:

Then there is nothing more to say. I was kicked into touch by Josephina, and I mistakenly thought that you would never be so cruel. Seems I was wrong. It will be a very long time before I let anyone else go for the hat trick. And yes, apparently you have until the end of the week to keep our memories. There is one last job ‘they’ would like you to do because someone has dropped out, and because of your roaring success with the others. I told them that this was very unlikely, as you didn’t even want to do the last one.

I was going to be churlish and just put ‘John’ at the end of this. But I can’t be like that. Love you, John xxx

Sarah rocked to and fro, sobbing, for the next twenty minutes. Next door’s cat startled her, by patting her leg with its paw, as if to say, ‘Hey, what’s wrong, is there something I can do?’

She was about to shoo it away, but something about its beautiful green eyes made her feel closer to John and she scooped it up like a baby, squeezing it to her chest. The cat’s sympathy didn’t extend to scooping and squeezing, and it wriggled free, but it settled on the bench next to her, purring.

The cat’s smoky-grey fur was warm from the sun, and as she stroked it, Sarah’s sobs subsided. Didn’t they say that stroking animals was therapeutic? Perhaps she’d get one; hell, she might even get six. When she had first moved to this house after her marriage had broken down, she’d considered getting a cat, but a kitten would have been too demanding – Sarah could barely look after herself at the time.

Now might be the time to rethink. She smiled. ‘The Cat Woman’ would be her new moniker. For miles around, people would talk in hushed tones about the nutty woman who lived on Meersbrook Street, with 125 cats, who never went out, apart from nights when the moon was fat and full, who always dressed in black and paced the alleyways yowling most horribly.

‘Barnaby, where are you? Din dins!’ On hearing his owner’s voice, the cat flew from the bench, sped across the lawn and over the garden wall faster than a cruise missile. Sarah sighed, alone again … naturally. At times like these, a girl needed her best friend. Since hers had buggered off with her husband, Sarah didn’t really have one. She had a few friends from uni she still kept in touch with, a couple of acquaintances from work, Ella, and her mum, but how would she go about explaining John to them anyway? Yes, the time-travelling experience could be omitted, but then the whole picture wouldn’t be clear and … She shook her head.

Besides, they had enough of their own troubles, too; she couldn’t burden them with it. Ella had problems with her husband being out of work and they argued loads, and her mum was still getting over her dad seven years on. The way Sarah was feeling she’d probably blurt out that John was a Time-Needle and then they’d really have something to worry about. No, it wouldn’t be fair to share … would it?
Oh, for God’s sake, Sarah, what difference does it make anyway? You’ve made your decision, so live with
it.

Her tummy told her she should probably try to eat something, so she stood to a stretch and dawdled up the garden path, pausing to admire the herb pot John had brought over for her recently. ‘Nothing like a few fresh herbs straight from the garden to perk up a meal,’ he’d said, presenting her with a handful of basil for their bolognaise sauce.