Step Back in Time (29 page)

I open my eyes and, as usual, the first thing I see is blue sky as the sun shines down, warming my horizontal body.

So I’m definitely not still in 1994, or it would be stars in the night sky I’d be seeing now, I think, as I look round, expecting to see the usual crowd of onlookers gathered to discover my fate.

But there’s not a soul to be seen anywhere, just an empty zebra crossing, and me.

I sit up.

The road is deserted too. Odd, the King’s Road is never clear of traffic.

Suddenly a black cab skids round the corner and screeches to a halt at the edge of the crossing.

‘Oi!’ the cabbie shouts, leaning out of his window. ‘Do you want to get yourself killed? Get your arse up and out of the road before I drive over the top of you anyway!’

I quickly crawl to my feet, and stagger over to the side of the pavement.

‘Pissed at this time of the morning, love?’ he shouts as he drives slowly past me. ‘You should be ashamed of yerself! Go home and get cleaned up before anyone sees ya, that’s my advice. You don’t look like you belong on the streets, that’s for sure.’

I examine my clothes as he drives off down the road. I’m wearing a navy blue leather jacket, white T-shirt, red jeans and bright red pumps. The outfit I’d seen in the window of Peter Jones just before I visited George in his shop to deliver his accounts? But I didn’t go in and look at it because I didn’t think I’d be able to carry it off…

That means I must be back! I’m back in 2013!

‘I’m back!’ I shout out to the empty road, jumping up in the air. ‘You told me to get back and I did! I’m here!’

I look down at my side, and I swear I’ve never been more pleased to see a Mulberry tote bag in my whole life. I pull it from my shoulder and thrust it open, desperately hoping my iPhone will be in there. After a few seconds of burrowing, relief floods through me. It is!

I’m about to make my first phone call, when I see the other contents of my bag: a
Beano
, a pair of football boots, a four-leaf-clover brooch and a Bible.

For just a few moments, when I was leaping up and down on the pavement, I wondered if it had all been a dream; in fact, all the time I’d been time travelling a tiny part of me had always wondered if maybe when I’d been hit by the original white car, I’d been so badly injured that I’d slipped into a coma, and my experiences were hallucinations brought on by a strong hospital medication.

But now, seeing all the items I’ve collected still lying in the bottom of my bag, I know it isn’t a dream. It’s been real. I push the screen on my iPhone.

After a few rings, there’s a muffled, ‘Hello?’

‘Ellie? Is that you?’ I ask, never so relieved to hear her Scouse accent.

‘Of course it’s me, Jo-Jo! What the bloody hell do you want at… at 5.25 in the morning?’

I’m a little taken aback. Even though a version of Ellie has been my friend through four decades, this Ellie is only my assistant, my employee.

‘Is everything OK?’ I ask. ‘With the business?’

‘What? Why on earth do you suddenly want to know that? Of course it is.’ Ellie sighs at the other end of the phone. ‘Look, Jo-Jo, you agreed if I took on this role of managing the business while you took a break, that you’d let me get on with it. I’m perfectly capable, you know.’

Ellie is managing my business while I take a break? No, that can’t be right; I
never
take breaks.

‘Yes, I’m sure you are.’ I’m trying to think quickly. ‘It’s just… I worry.’

‘You always have done, Jo-Jo, too much, that’s why you need this time-out. You need to find a life outside the business, let someone else take control for a while. I thought we agreed on that when you first suggested it?’

I suggested this?

‘And you know I’ll look after the place. So just let me shoulder some of the stress for you for a while, that’s what friends are for.’

I physically jump a little on the pavement when Ellie uses the word
friends
. When I left 2013 Ellie had only been working for me for a few months – she was hardly a friend back then. Of course, I think of her like that now after all the adventures we’ve had together, but Ellie doesn’t know that, does she?

‘We’ve been through so much together, Jo-Jo,’ she continues, ‘and you’ve taught me a lot. This is my chance to prove to you just what I’m capable of, and to give you something back for all you’ve given to me.’

This is like a whole new Ellie I’m talking to; she’s so much more confident and in control. Maybe this is an alternative 2013 I’ve come back to? It would explain my new clothes… But this Ellie is definitely right about one thing: I do need a life outside of my business, my adventures have certainly taught me that. When I was in 1963 I certainly realised I was working too hard and that I needed a life away from the office.

I take a deep breath and make a decision.

Ellie will look after my business; I know she will. I trust her. She’s my friend now. And she sounds so different – it’s almost like she’s been on a life-changing adventure herself.

‘You’re right, Ellie,’ I say with confidence. ‘I know you’ll do a great job. I’m so sorry to have woken you, I didn’t realise it was so early. Just go back to bed.’

‘That’s OK, sweetie, it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t worry a little bit. But it’s not worth going back to sleep now. I’ll just stick a bit of music on and I’ll soon be awake and running!’

‘Can I guess who’s on your playlist?’ I ask, smiling into my phone.

‘If you like? Bet you don’t guess many of them right, though. I have quite an eclectic taste in music.’

‘I’ll give it a go. Let me see now, I think there’ll be a bit of Take That, for starters.’

‘Yep, you know I like the boys – I’ve never hidden that from you.’

‘Maybe some Madonna?’

‘Yeah, Madge is in there too, I can’t deny it.’

‘The Beatles…’

‘Ooh, good going, Jo-Jo, you know me better than I thought! Yes, the Fab Four are classics, you can’t go wrong with them. Bet there’s one you can’t get though, bit random, this.’

I’m grinning now.

‘The Bay City Rollers, would it be?’

‘Jo-Jo McKenzie, how the bloomin’ heck do you know that?
Nobody
knows my guilty pleasure of the music world, absolutely nobody. How do you?’

‘Inside info,’ I laugh. ‘Go back to bed, Ellie, and enjoy your iPod for a while, you deserve it!’

‘Mmm, I will. Just do one thing for me, Jo-Jo, will you?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Ring your mother about her party! She keeps badgering me about it and I can’t keep putting her off!’

Some things never change.
 

I hang up the phone to Ellie, and stare at it for a few seconds, then I go back to Contacts. It’s early, but she always used to be a dawn riser.

The phone rings a few times before an answerphone cuts in and my mother’s clipped voice repeats her familiar message in my ear. Perhaps things have changed a little?

‘Hi, Mum,’ I say. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I will be coming to your anniversary party, and yes, I’ll turn up in fancy dress if that’s what you both want.’ A memory suddenly washes over me of the 1977 Penny hugging me in her kitchen and calling me ‘her girl’ as I stand all alone in the deserted street. ‘And Mum, I’m sorry if I’ve been a pain about calling you back, or about anything else really. Especially your Beatles records. I don’t really hate Paul McCartney, and if Dad goes up in the attic and looks in the big blue suitcase he’ll find your copy of “Mull of Kintyre” there. Don’t ask me how it got there. But that’s where you’ll find it.’ I pause again. ‘Oh, and Mum, I don’t say it very often, but I do love you and Dad very much, you know, and… well I miss you both too.’

I hang up and find I’m breathing rather heavily. But as I put my phone back in my bag, I find I’m smiling. That felt good. In fact, both those phone calls felt good. I’m starting to like this new 2013; I feel lighter, and more carefree.

As I walk along the street, I realise it’s a bit early for George to be in his shop yet. Perhaps it’s time, at last, to spend a few minutes enjoying my longed-for paper cup filled to the brim with sweet, frothy, syrup-filled coffee while I wait for George to arrive to open up. But as I come level with the old shop I’ve seen in so many lifetimes before, I have to stop and pause at the window of Groovy Records.

The display is a little more modern than I’m used to seeing in George’s window. But that could be, of course, because the last few times I’ve looked in here it’s been in a different decade. No, there
is
something unusual about this one – an artistic flair that George’s displays always lacked.

I stand studying the window. There’re still the same LPs and singles there always used to be; a mixture of sixties, seventies, eighties and nineties music, recorded on to vinyl, cassette tape or CD depending on the decade they were released. But they’ve now been joined by more modern music – CDs from bands like One Direction and The Wanted jostle for pride of place with the elder statesmen of the music industry.

‘Anything you’re looking for in particular?’ a familiar voice asks.

I look back at the reflection in the window.
George!

Or is it? I turn to inspect the young man standing next to me. He’s wearing running clothes and trainers, and beneath his short-cropped dark brown hair, his eyes are identical to George’s, the exact same shade of blue. But is it George? No, it can’t be. This is younger than George ever looked, even in 1963!

‘George?’ I ask hesitantly.

‘You’re looking for my grandfather? I’m afraid he’s not here any more.’

‘Has he retired?’

‘No,’ he says and his head drops a little. ‘I’m afraid he passed away a few months ago.’

My heart drops to my stomach faster than a lead weight.

‘George is dead?’ I repeat unnecessarily.

The young man nods. ‘I’m sorry. He went peacefully, though, right here in the shop, listening to his favourite band.’

‘The Beatles,’ I reply, already knowing the answer.

‘Yes, that’s right. You obviously knew him well.’

I nod slowly, trying to take it in. I thought I’d known George well. But he never talked much about a family, let alone a grandson, so how much about George’s life away from this shop did I actually know? I’d always been too busy with my own problems whenever I’d seen him.

I immediately feel bad. George was always such a great source of comfort and hope for me, wherever, or whoever, I was. And I always assumed he would be here for me at this shop with a cup of tea and some words of wisdom. I’d never considered the possibility he might not be here one day.

‘Are you OK?’ George’s grandson asks. ‘This has obviously come as a shock to you.’

‘Yes… I’m fine…’ But to my surprise I feel my knees buckle a little, and I hold on to the window frame for support.

‘Look,’ he pulls some keys from his tracksuit pocket, ‘I’m not due to open up yet, but do you want to come in for a bit and take a seat and I’ll make you a cuppa – you look like you could do with one.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ I reply gratefully. ‘That would be good.’

We enter the shop together and I’m comforted to hear the little shop bell still ring above my head, and see my favourite wooden chair sitting where it’s always been. The sunflowers on the counter, wilting and drooping over the edge of the vase, look as if they need changing, but apart from that, the inside looks much as it always has.

‘Take a seat,’ he says, disappearing around the corner, ‘I won’t be a minute. I’ll just pop the kettle on.’

I collapse with relief onto the familiar wooden chair that I’ve sat and told George my problems on so many times.

I’d felt so buoyant outside, talking to Ellie, and then my mother, and now everything has been turned upside down again. I just assumed I’d be able to tell George all my news, the way I always did, and he’d give me his usual calm and considered advice. But this time he wasn’t here. He was gone. Even the big wooden clock behind the counter has stopped ticking, I notice, as I sit here in silence. Its hands have stopped moving at 2.13.

‘That’s the kettle on,’ George’s grandson says, returning. ‘Grandad always said a cup of tea would put everything right. I’m not so sure about that myself, but it seemed to work for him for over eighty years.’

I smile as I remember all the cups of tea that George made for me in this shop.

‘I’m Julian, by the way,’ he says, holding out his hand.

‘Jo-Jo,’ I reply, shaking it.

He stops shaking my hand but still holds on to it while he stares at me.

‘What?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘
You’re
Jo-Jo?’ he asks, looking dazed.

‘Yes, is there a problem?’ I pull my hand away.

Julian shakes his head. ‘No, no, not at all. It’s just that before he died Grandad told me that one day a girl called Jo-Jo would come by the shop, and when she did, I was to look after her and make her a cup of tea.’

I smile. That’s so typical of George.

‘I wondered at the time if he was making it up – one of his little stories. Grandad had so many of them. Used to keep us all entertained for hours, he did. I don’t know how he thought of them all. But now you’re actually here.’

‘Yes, I am. George probably knew I’d turn up again like a bad penny. He couldn’t keep me away!’

‘Not at all,’ Julian continues. ‘Grandad talked about you with much fondness. But he also said when you returned I was to give you something, and I’ve been keeping it hidden under the counter ever since in case what he said was true.’

Julian goes behind the shop counter and retrieves a brown paper bag.

‘What is it?’ I ask, looking at the bag.

Julian hands it to me. ‘Open it up and take a look. Means nothing to me. But it might to you.’

I open up the bag and pull out two black vinyl records in their slightly battered old sleeves. They’re both Beatles singles – ‘Eleanor Rigby’ and ‘All You Need Is Love’.

‘Mean anything?’ Julian asks.

I shrug. ‘Not really.

‘Maybe Grandad just wanted you to have them?’ he suggests. ‘He didn’t say too much in his will. Only about this shop, really, and that was all a bit odd.’