Step Back in Time (24 page)

‘One in two, miss.’

‘That’s right, Stella, well done. So 50 per cent, a half and one in two are all ways of describing the probability of a coin toss. What was it, out of interest, Jason?’

‘A head, miss,’ Jason says, lifting his hand to reveal the coin. ‘Good call.’ He begins to walk back to his seat.

‘Jason, haven’t you forgotten something?’ I ask, holding out my hand.

‘Sorry, miss,’ he says, backing down the classroom and returning the ten pence to me.

‘See, the probability of me not noticing that was zero,’ I joke, smiling at him. ‘Now, do we have any dice in here? We’ll do some work with those next.’

I enjoy the rest of the lesson, and the children seem to catch on really quickly once I find ways of teaching the subject that make sense to them.

When the bell goes for break I’m quite surprised to find the time has gone so quickly.

‘Class, gather up your things,’ I call, ‘and proceed in an orderly fashion outside. Remember, no running in the corridor!’

I breathe a sigh of relief as they all file out of the classroom, chattering and giggling together in anticipation of a few minutes’ playtime outside in the fresh air.

‘Excuse me, miss, can I just ask you a quick question?’ It’s Paul, the boy who helped clear my desk of rubbish.

‘Yes, of course, Paul, what is it? Is there something you didn’t understand in the lesson?’

‘No I understood everything you said perfectly. What I was wondering is, what you thought the probability of time travel would be?’

‘H – how do you mean, Paul?’ I manage to reply, a little thrown by his question.

‘I mean, how likely do you think it would be to take place? It’s something I’m really interested in.’

‘I see,’ I say, playing for time. Is this kid for real? But as his innocent blue eyes stare up questioningly at me, I have to assume so. ‘I don’t really know the answer to that, I’m afraid. In maths we deal in facts and figures. I think time travel would be for a different subject altogether.’

‘Which one would that be, then?’ he asks, still looking up at me enquiringly, ‘History or science maybe?’

‘Science, perhaps?’ I suggest, not really knowing how to answer him.

‘Excellent,’ he says eagerly, ‘because you’re teaching us that as well. I’ll look forward to that lesson!’

And with that he runs off through the classroom door out into the corridor.

And all I can think to say to his departing figure is:

‘Don’t run!’

I flop into one of the comfy armchairs in the staffroom.

‘Cup of coffee, Jo-Jo?’ one of the other teachers asks. ‘I’m just making one.’

‘Yes, please,’ I reply to a woman wearing a large floppy scarf that holds back her curly brown hair. ‘That would be great, thanks.’ Instant coffee hasn’t killed me so far in the last three decades, so I’m sure I can cope with it again now.

The staffroom door opens again, and another teacher, carrying a huge pile of exercise books, backs through it. The pile begins to wobble, so I jump up to help him.

‘Harry!’ I exclaim, as he turns around and our eyes meet over the top of the books. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘No,’ Harry says, putting the books down on a table and straightening them up, ‘the job didn’t work out so I’m back for another term.’

‘Ah… I’m sorry.’

I try not to stare at him too much as he goes over to the drinks area and makes himself a cup of coffee. Unlike the Harry from the eighties who was sharply dressed in suits, shirts and ties, this Harry is wearing baggy brown corduroy trousers, a checked shirt – and is that actually a tank top?

My coffee is passed to me and I thank my fellow teacher. Taking a quick sip, I realise it’s actually not that bad. I really must stop whining about my lack of expensive caffeine-based beverages – anyone would think I was addicted!

Harry comes back over to the seating area and sits down in one of the armchairs. He reaches into his pocket and puts on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. Gosh, now I really have seen it all – Harry as an office boy, Harry as a teen punk, Harry as a yuppie businessman and now this, Harry as a geeky teacher.

He picks up a
Guardian
and begins to read it, and I see the last part of the date on the front page –
September 1994
.

‘So what happened with the other job?’ I venture, hoping to find out a bit more about this version of him.

He lowers the paper. ‘It didn’t work out. Not my cup of tea.’ He lifts his cup. ‘Or coffee, in this case.’

I smile politely. ‘Why?’ I ask, as he’s just about to lift the paper again.

A flicker of irritation crosses his face. ‘Apparently I’m not the right type.’

‘The right type of teacher?’

Harry blinks at me a couple of times. ‘No, the right type of person.’

‘To?’

He sighs now. ‘To manage a tour.’

‘A tour?’

‘What is this, Jo-Jo, twenty questions? Yes, apparently I’m not the right material to manage a rock band’s tour around the UK.’

Even I could have told him that, dressed the way he is.

I take another sip of my coffee. ‘Is that what you’d really like to do instead of teach? Manage bands, or rather their tours?’

Harry looks around the staffroom. ‘Got to be better than this. Teaching music in a grotty London school to a bunch of kids.’

I watch him while he tries to read his paper again. This Harry, he’s different to the others. He seems jaded with his life while the other versions of him, whatever their persona, always had a certain vitality about them.

‘Perhaps you’re good at teaching?’ I suggest, trying to be positive.

Harry lowers the paper again. ‘Maybe I am, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t rather
be
somewhere else,
doing
something else now does it?’

‘No, I guess not.’
I can relate to that feeling
.

The bell rings to signal the end of break.

‘And there’s my five minutes up. Great!’ he says, tossing his paper back down on the table.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you with all my questions.’

Harry smiles now for the first time.

‘No, I should apologise to you, I’m in a foul mood today, I’m not the best company.’ He leans in towards me as we both stand up. ‘Just between the two of us, my wife was quite pleased I didn’t get the job. She thought it was a stupid idea from the start. And if I’m honest, I only really wanted the job so I could get away from her for a bit.’

My eyes shoot immediately to Harry’s left hand, and there it is, as clear as day, a thin gold wedding band.

‘That’s not good,’ I say, tearing my eyes away from his hand. ‘I mean her not being keen, not you wanting to get away.’
What am I supposed to say?

‘No,’ Harry pulls off his glasses and eyes me a tad suspiciously. ‘I guess not.’

The staffroom has all but emptied now as the other teachers head back to their classes.

‘Look, we’d better go or we’ll be late,’ Harry says, moving towards the door which he holds open for me. ‘And you can’t afford to be late twice in one day. I saw you earlier, racing across the playground with Ellie.’

‘Ah, that,’ I say as I walk down the corridor with him. ‘Yes, not the most elegant of entrances for a teacher, ripping off a sweatshirt while running across a netball court.’

‘A Take That sweatshirt too,’ he grins.

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘But I thought you and Ellie were super fans? I half imagine you camping outside the band’s hotel when they’re in town?’

‘I hardly think so!’
At least, I hope we don’t do that
.

‘Good. I’m glad you’re not that bad!’ Harry stops walking outside a classroom door. ‘Would you still like a regular lift home now I’m back for another term?’

‘Yes, I guess so.’

‘I’ll pick you up in the car park after school then, usual place.’

‘Sure,’ I say, as he enters his classroom and greets his pupils.
I’ll find it
, I think as he smiles at me and closes the door. But all I can think, as I hurry back along to my own class of eager children, waiting for me to impart more knowledge to them is:

He’s married.
 

This time my Harry is married
…

The rest of day passes without too many problems, and I manage to continue the role of teacher fairly successfully, without getting myself into detention for bad behaviour.

In fact, I’m quite enjoying it.

They’re a bright bunch, my lot, once you work out the best way of getting through to them, and by the end of the day we may not have quite covered everything the National Curriculum suggests, but I think they’ve learnt plenty.

While I’m gathering my things from my locker, Ellie comes into the staffroom to do the same.

‘Fancy coming round to mine now to watch some videos?’ she asks in a hushed voice.

I wonder what sort of videos she means.

‘I’ve got
Live & Kicking
from last Saturday recorded if you want to see it?’

Wasn’t
Live & Kicking
a kids programme?

‘Apparently Robbie is looking really hot on it.’

Take That again.
 

‘No, I can’t tonight. Besides, Harry is giving me a lift home.’

Ellie looks surprised. ‘You’re not going to start that up again, are you?’

‘What do you mean – start it up again? He’s giving me a lift, that’s all.’

‘You know what happened last time when he was
giving you lifts
?’

I stare at her blankly.

‘Are you still denying anything went on?’ Ellie asks, her eyes wide. ‘I can’t believe the two of you still do that.’

‘Perhaps because it’s true?’ I reply defensively. I have no idea what Ellie is talking about, but I bet whatever it is, her facts are wrong.

‘His wife doesn’t think so,’ Ellie says knowingly.

‘That’s her problem, isn’t it?’ I bang my locker door shut; it’s so frustrating not knowing anything all the time. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Aw, Jo-Jo,’ Ellie calls to my departing figure, ‘don’t be like that. I didn’t mean anything! Tell you what, I’ll bring you that recording of the boys on
The Hit Man and Her
I’ve been promising you for ages to make up for it.’

‘Great,’ I reply, putting on a fake smile. ‘You do that.’

I feel uneasy as I hurry down the school corridor. Suddenly this car journey seems like it could be fraught with difficulties. What’s supposed to have happened between us? Maybe I shouldn’t be accepting a lift from Harry after all.

But Harry is already waiting for me in a pale blue Fiat Uno when I arrive in the car park, so I climb into the passenger seat next to him and pull on my seat belt.

‘How was your day?’ Harry asks as we pull out of the school gates.

‘Good, thanks. Not as tough as I thought it was going to be when I first arrived this morning anyway.’

Ain’t that the truth!
 

‘Yeah, Year 3 can be a tough age to teach.’ Harry reaches to turn the radio on. ‘Not this again,’ he says as the familiar opening bars of Wet Wet Wet singing ‘Love Is All Around’ float through the car. ‘I thought they’d banned this from being played on the radio?’

‘Didn’t they just stop making the record available to purchase?’ I say, remembering reading something about this iconic nineties tune somewhere.

‘I think they’ve tried everything,’ Harry grumbles. ‘And yet I still keep hearing it.’

‘Have you seen the film it came from,
Four Weddings and a Funeral
?’ I ask to make conversation.

Harry allows his eyes to flicker away from the windscreen for a moment. ‘You know I have. I bumped into you and Ellie at the cinema when I was there watching it with my wife.’

‘So you did! Silly me, it slipped my mind.’ I quickly turn away and pretend to look out of the passenger window.

‘She moaned the whole way through that movie,’ Harry continues after a pause. ‘I think she wanted to go and see Arnie in
True Lies
that night, but I wanted to see that one – probably why I hate the song now. Love definitely wasn’t all around for us that night, that’s for sure.’

I look back at him and try to nod in a sympathetic fashion.

‘Things aren’t too good then, between you and your wife?’ I ask hesitantly. This is so difficult – I don’t know how much I’m supposed to know.

‘Jo-Jo, you know they’re not.’ Harry doesn’t look at me this time. ‘Patricia and I just seem to be growing further and further apart these days.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I don’t really know what else to say. What Ellie said before is still niggling at me, and not knowing exactly what I’m dealing with here is damned hard.

‘And if she sees you in my car,’ Harry says as he pulls to a halt at the end of a cul-de-sac of houses, ‘life will be even more painful when I get in tonight, so is it OK if I drop you here?’ he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the pavement outside.

‘Yes, that’s fine, thanks.’ How on earth I’m supposed to find where I live is a different matter – but that’s my issue.

‘I’ll see you Monday, then,’ Harry says as I climb from the car. ‘Pick you up just round the corner, in front of the phone box like we used to? I quite like these two-day weeks that end on a Friday. Joy of a new term, eh?’

I nod hesitantly.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asks. ‘About the lift? I mean if you’re uncomfortable after… well, you know? We don’t have to.’

‘No, I’m fine. This is fine. Lifts are fine.’ I grin a bit manically, in an effort to hide my discomfort.

‘Good.’ Harry looks at me a bit oddly. ‘Well, I’ll see you Monday, then.’

‘Bye,’ I call as I close the door, and he drives further down into a neat and tidy close of modern brick-built semi-detached houses.

What is this thing between us?
I wonder as I look around me now, and wonder which one of these houses is mine.
Did we have an affair?

‘Jo-Jo, it is you?’ An elderly lady appears from her house carrying a cardboard box. ‘They tried to deliver this for you earlier,’ she says, hurrying down her drive, patting her white hair as she comes towards me. ‘But when I told them you were out, they said it was OK to leave it with a neighbour.’

Ah, so I live in one of these houses, do I? I think, looking either side of my neighbour’s house. Not bad, but how do I afford this on a teacher’s salary? These houses look quite big. Do I live with someone else?

‘Thank you,’ I say, taking the parcel from her and wondering what it might be. ‘Very kind of you.’

‘No trouble, my dear. I used to do the same for your mother – God rest her soul,’ she says, crossing herself. ‘I still miss her, you know.’

‘Yes… we all do.’ My mother has passed away this time? How very sad for this Jo-Jo. I think again about my own real mother, and feel that same pull in the centre of my stomach I felt in 1977 when Penny hugged me.

‘But having you here now does make up for it a little bit. It’s like a small piece of her is still here with us in Apple Close.’

‘That’s good.’

‘I’m so glad you decided to stay on in her house and not sell it. We’ve had some, how can I put it?’ She leans in towards me. ‘Less than desirable people moving into the close lately, and you being here is an added bonus.’

‘Why thank you, that’s kind of you to say.’

‘It’s no trouble, my dear. As you know, me and Mr Sullivan are here for you any time you need us.’ She pats me softly on the arm. ‘Talking of which, I’d best be getting back indoors, I’m cooking a nice steak and kidney pie for our tea, and then me and Mr Sullivan are going to watch a bit of
Animal Hospital
with little Rolf Harris, then
Pets Win Prizes
with that Dale Winton. Prefer him on
Supermarket Sweep
myself, but Mr Sullivan’s big on animal shows.’

‘Very nice,’ I agree, smiling at her.

She turns to go. ‘Before I forget,’ she says, turning back immediately, ‘Mr Sullivan says he’ll come and take a look at your guttering over the weekend.’ She points up at the roof of the house to her right. ‘He says some of it looks a little loose and you don’t want that coming adrift once the winter sets in.’

‘Sure, Mrs Sullivan, that would be great. Thank you.’

‘No trouble, my dear,’ she says with a wave of her hand as she begins to shuffle back down her drive. ‘Like I say, we’re here for you any time, day or night!’

So
this
is my new home, I think, looking up at a red brick semi, with a large bay window and a navy blue front door. As I walk down the gravel drive carrying my parcel, I feel inside my bag, hoping I’ll find a set of keys, and luckily I do. After a bit of trial and error when I reach the door, I manage to work out which key of the many on my
Friends
key ring will allow me to go inside.

My new home, in which I can’t find any reason to suggest that I live other than alone, has a kitchen diner, a lounge, and a small cloakroom downstairs, and three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. It’s pleasantly decorated, bright and sunny in places, and seems perfectly acceptable for my usual short stay – which I’m hoping this is going to be.

I need to take a trip to see George and find out what he knows this time. I glance at my watch. His shop won’t be open now, so it will have to wait until tomorrow. I look over at the parcel Mrs Sullivan has given me, still sitting unwrapped on the lounge coffee table, and I wonder what’s inside? Only one way to find out, I suppose, so I go over and begin ripping off the brown packaging.

Inside, in amongst the foam packaging chips I find five more boxes, and inside them, five dolls. ‘Take That dolls?’ I exclaim, looking down at the boxes which proudly announce
Official Take That Merchandise
. ‘Are you kidding me? Why would I order these?’

The dolls, of course, look nothing like any of the members of Take That, not unless I have a very bad memory, or I’m in a parallel universe where Take That all look like a very tanned and stoned Justin Bieber.

‘Blimey, I really must be a huge fan,’ I say to myself as I stare down at the dolls, all grinning back up at me from their boxes. When I was wandering around the house I saw the odd Take That poster, a few postcards pinned on the kitchen noticeboard, and obviously all their CDs stacked up near a CD player in the lounge, but I thought that was fairly mild, nothing too major I couldn’t deal with. But this! I look down at the dolls again, then hurriedly put them back in the cardboard box and shut the lid. They just freak me out.

What should I do now? Just like in 2013 it doesn’t seem by the look of my fridge that I’m a very adventurous cook, so I guess I’ll have to go out for some supplies or get a takeaway dinner. I look out of the window; it’s a bright sunny September evening, so I decide I’ll take a walk.

After I wash away the schooly feeling that, even as a teacher, I still seem to have picked up, I change my clothes – and even that’s quite stressful, when it appears that 80 per cent of my wardrobe consists of official Take That tour T-shirts and hoodies. But I finally leave the blue front door again wearing baggy jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a black waistcoat, teamed with plain black lace-up Doc Marten boots, which I feel looks quite cool for the time – at least, I hope it does.

As I get to the bottom of Apple Close I realise that I have no idea where I am in London. I’m just about to step out and cross the road in the direction of the tube station I remember passing with Harry earlier when I hear a shout from across the road.

‘Hey, Jo-Jo, wait-up! I was just coming over to see you.’

I look over towards the voice and see a young man in his mid-twenties with short blond hair, spiked at the front. He dashes across the road and, as he gets close to me, I realise he’s got piercing blue eyes too.

‘Hi,’ I say cheerfully, hoping this is a suitable response. He seems very pleased to see me.

‘Hey, I was just coming over to your house, babe.’

‘Were you?’ I look at his clothing suspiciously. He’s wearing huge black baggy jeans, a pink Burberry check waistcoat, and a lime green T-shirt.

‘Don’t mind this,’ he says, gesturing at his outfit. ‘I’m just off to the World’s End to do my act. I’m calling myself Billy Vanilli this time around – what do you think?’

‘That’s very good. Catchy.’

He narrows his eyes doubtfully. ‘Anyway, I thought since you were near I’d call in on you first and discuss our plans.’

‘Plans?’

‘For the gigs, babe?’ he says, looking shocked now. ‘I’ve already been in touch with Ellie and she reckons we can find out where they’re staying and infiltrate the hotel if we work as a team.’

I stare blankly at him.

‘What is wrong with you tonight, Jo-Jo? I’d have thought you’d have been well up for this. You’re usually bored once you go back to school.’

A car pulls out of the top of Apple Close now; it’s Harry’s, and he waves casually at me before he turns and drives off in the opposite direction from where Billy and I are standing.

‘So now I see what’s distracting you,’ Billy says approvingly. ‘Nice choice, babe, I’d quite go for him myself, but he’s obviously not that way inclined if he’s on
your
radar!’

‘Billy! I don’t know what you mean? Harry is just a teacher at my school, and he’s also my neighbour.’ I pray that Billy is actually his name and not simply a stage name.

‘Now I know something is wrong with you.’ Billy plonks his hands on his hips. ‘You never ever call me Billy.’

‘I don’t?’

‘No, you always shorten it to Bill – you say Billy sounds like one of your pupils’ names.’

‘Did Ellie tell you about the accident when you spoke to her?’ I ask, hoping to change the subject.

‘Yeah, she did say something about an incident with you and a car. Oh my, are you all right, babe?’ He thrusts his hand to my forehead.

‘Yes, I’m fine, but maybe that’s why I seem a bit off tonight.’

‘Of course, babe.’ He grabs me, and suddenly I find myself surrounded by pink Burberry check as Billy wraps his surprisingly strong arms around me. ‘Billy is sorry. I think I’m probably a tad on edge too, what with my new set tonight.’

I ease myself gently from his grip.

‘Why don’t I come and listen to you then?’ I ask, thinking I haven’t been to the World’s End in a while and it’s near to where I always get hit by the white car before I jump through time; maybe it has some relevance to this whole process?