The Day Before Tomorrow (7 page)

She vanished. 

She reappeared. ‘You know Jack,’ she said, ‘I wish you would take better care of yourself.  You need to eat properly.  A man your age needs to take care of his heart.  You need the four basic food groups.’  She vanished again.

‘I’ve got your four basic food groups,’ said Stiles with an air of chagrin.  He counted off on his fingers to the empty air.  ‘Beans, bacon, whisky and lard.’

* * *

Denny was lurking in the corner of a dark inn, of a kind that is only still found in rural France, in his current incarnation as a French labourer.  The inn was in Calais, quite near to the coast, a favourable tactical position for the American forces headed for England.  This being the case, the room was full of American soldiers having a good time and waiting for their sailing orders.  He felt like the Scarlet Pimpernel. ‘Well, they certainly are seeking me here and there,’ he thought in some amusement.

Denny’s target was sitting alone at the bar. He was perfect, already drinking heavily and not a bad match for build, perhaps a little taller than Denny, but not too much, it would be okay. If he tucked his pants into his boots, no one would notice.  And best of all, as mentioned before – he was alone.  Denny just hoped that the soldier’s French was no better than his own.  He waited until the soldier had ordered another drink; then he made his move. 

He tapped the soldier on the shoulder then moved swiftly to the other side of him so that by the time the soldier had located him, he was feeling disoriented. 

Denny slid into the seat next to him.  ‘Ah bonjour Monsieur,’ he began, with an inane grin on his face. 

The soldier swore at him.

‘Ah, Ah non, non, Monsieur,’ said Denny wagging a rebuking finger at the soldier.  At this point, his high school French gave out, but it looked as if it really would not matter. The soldier was not in any condition to notice if Denny had talked to him in Greek.

 ‘So,’ he said plastering a look of weasely cunning onto his face. ‘The night is dark for those who walk alone, Heh?’  This was a sufficiently strange comment for the soldier to turn and stare at Denny who was mugging furiously at him, twitching his head and winking broadly.  Through the fug of alcohol, the soldier seemed to dimly understand what Denny was getting at.  ‘One of those flamin’ traitors eh?’ he slurred. 

‘
Please
Monsieur, I facilitate. I am, how you say, liaison between our two peoples, I help you, and you help me, everybody have a nicer war, eh?  I was told you would be interested in what I have to say.’ 

‘You got some information?’

Denny inclined his head and put a finger to his lips. ‘I may have,’  

‘What is it then?’ said the soldier sceptically. 

Denny shook his head.  ‘Not here,’ he said, looking about him with exaggerated caution.  ‘I need to ask you for the countersign.  All must be done properly, Monsieur.  So silly, but it is the way these things are done eh?  All cloaks and daggers heh?’

There was a silence. Eventually the soldier said.  ‘Countersign?’

Denny immediately back-pedalled.  ‘Ah Monsieur, I think we have been talking at cross-purposes, but it is no matter.  I shall now leave you in peace to finish Monsieur Gilbert’s excellent wine.  So sorry, so sorry…’ he was backing away nervously, looking about him with the look of a man who has been trapped into saying more than he intended and was now very worried about it.  Now he just had to hope that the soldier was brighter than he looked.  But not
too
bright, obviously.

  The soldier caught up with events just in time and grabbed Denny’s arm.  ‘Hey,’ he said.  ‘Just hold on a minute.  Whatever it is you have to say, you can tell me.  I’m an American officer.’ 

‘I?’ said Denny with overdone innocence.  ‘I, Monsieur?  I assure you, I have nothing to tell.  Nothing at all.’ He allowed his eyes to dart about the room like a trapped animal seeking a way out.  ‘And now, Monsieur, I really must be …’

‘Oh no you don’t,’ said the soldier, narrowing his eyes.  ‘You tell me what it’s all about, see.  I can pay you, if that’s what’s bothering you.’ 

‘Please Monsieur. I just come in here for quiet drink, nothing more.’  He managed to slip away and headed for the door.  Now the soldier was, as Denny had intended, almost frantic to know what Denny was concealing. 

Denny was lounging against a handy tree. By the light of the upstairs window of the inn, he watched the soldier approach with a greedy look on his face.  He was thinking, no doubt, of promotion. 

Denny grinned to himself. ‘Gotcha!’ he thought

* * *

Denny had managed, by dint of some cunning talk, some stolen papers and his purloined uniform, to join up with the 2064th heading for the grim shores of old Blighty.  Now it was time to go on the run again.  He had deserted now from so many regiments by now that it was a wonder he had not been court martialed by every army on the globe.  ‘Join the armies, see the world,’ he thought with grim irony.  So, he was in Dover, only seventy odd miles to go.  Considering how far he had already come, it should be a piece of cake.  But this part, he knew, was going to be the hardest stretch of all.

He was sneaking out of the camp when he heard a sound that made his heart sink.  ‘Hi, who goes there?’ 

Denny turned and saw the Private on sentry duty pointing his rifle straight at him.  He was clearly headed out of camp; there was no way out of it. 

‘Second Lieutenant Chip Bentley,’ he said.  ‘Just going for a walk, Private.’ 

The private came up to him and peered closely at his face.  ‘Sir?’ he said.  ‘Sorry sir, I didn’t recognise you.  I’m sorry sir, but I can’t let you leave the camp.  The colonel would have my guts for garters, sir.  Against regulations see?’

Denny unslung his rifle and hesitated.  He was not sure it was in him to kill a man who was not actively trying to kill him.  And yet, he thought.  Technically any armed American soldier was trying to kill him, wasn’t he?  Weren’t his side at war with this lot?  And wasn’t it supposed to be his job to kill American soldiers? 

‘Sod this,’ he thought. What had this man ever done to him? 

The Private was looking at him perplexedly. ‘Sir?’

‘Over there,’ Denny pointed with his rifle behind the man, who turned to look. 

Denny brought the rifle down on the man’s head, just behind the ear, as the Cap had taught him (a man who had a surprising repertoire of dirty fight moves for such a peace lover). The soldier went down like a sack of potatoes.

‘Thanks Cap,’ breathed Denny under his breath.

He then had the most unexpected good fortune.  Right there completely unguarded at the edge of the compound was one army jeep – regulation – fully fuelled – escapees for the use of.

Denny hopped in. As he drove away, he was singing in his peculiarly melodious voice – “California Dreaming”. 

* * *

 ‘All the leaves are brown … And the sky is Gra-a-ay,’ warbled SL Jamie Adams mournfully and tunelessly.  He had passed homesickness three stops ago and was now at that point where he was making everybody around him feel sick as well, although not necessarily home sick, just sick of him. 

‘I’d be safe and warm – if I was in E-E-L.  A-A-A-A.  Ca-a-a-alifornia Dreeemin…’

Who can say what subtle influences are brought to bear on the new owner of a relic that was once an integral part of another’s life.  What indefinable, tenuous connections might be brought about by the possession of said relic, between the new owner and the old? 

It was not that Jamie hated the army.  But he had joined up to defend his county not to push civilians around.  Where was the honour and glory in that?  And what had the Limeys ever done to threaten America anyway?  Part of him – the career soldier part – knew that it was not his job to reason why.  Soldiers took orders; that was it.  But the human part of him tended to want to know the reasons and even had a treacherous habit of sometimes, in his secret heart, questioning the wisdom of the orders, although he had never been known to go as far as actual disobedience – yet.  

* * *

Next, Tamar wanted to go back to her flat in London, just to pick up a few things, she said, but Cindy was not falling for that one again.  Over the last few days, Tamar had wanted to go to various places “just to have a look”, or “just to see something”, or even “just to do a bit of shopping”.  Even though, to be honest, she could not see the danger of going to an empty flat, or the point of it to be frank, nevertheless, she decided to put her foot down.  She was not going anywhere without an explanation this time. 

Tamar sighed; one of her more serious shortcomings was her lack of patience with intellects less sharp than her own. 

‘Isn’t it obvious what I’m doing?’ she said. 

‘No, not really.’

‘I’m trying to sort out one set of memories from another.  I have plenty of memories of that flat. It’s been my home for three years.  But some of the memories don’t fit.  At least I don’t think so, it’s so hard to tell, so I want to go back home and just see … see … if anything comes to me.  You see?’

‘I – I – think so.’ 

‘It’s so hard to know what’s real anymore,’ said Tamar with a sigh. ‘What about you,’ she added suddenly, ‘don’t you feel like this, like there’s something you’ve forgotten about?’

‘Constantly,’ said Cindy.

‘I mean, you’re in some of my memories. I know that we must have known each other before.  Don’t you feel it too?’ 

‘I try not to think about it,’ said Cindy, which was as good as an admission.

 ‘Well don’t,’ said Tamar,  because if I’m right, then you’re not who you think you are either.’ 

‘Who is?’ said Cindy gloomily. 

‘Why don’t you want to know?’

 ‘Because – well, what if the world has changed for the better.’

‘Better!  How can
this
,’ Tamar swept an arm around the room in an encompassing gesture.  ‘Possibly be better?’

‘Well, you don’t know. Neither of us knows, maybe we’re happier now than we were then.  We have no idea what the world was like before it changed, just fragments no real picture.’

‘Oh I see, better the devil you know, is that it?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Oh, don’t be such a coward. Somebody messed with our lives, and I, for one, want to know who – and why?’ 

‘Besides, what if it’s better the
other
way?’ she added thoughtfully. 

* * *

 As Denny drove through the county of his birth, he was afflicted with the strangest feeling that he had landed on an alien planet.  The Americans, like the Martians in the “War of the Worlds”, appeared to have transplanted a mysterious vegetation that had covered the land with stars and stripes.  Every doorway, front porch and gateway, every pillar and portico, every tree and lamppost was festooned with fluttering banners.  It made the whole world look like the Land of Oz, once dreary black and white, now in fabulous Technicolor.  It made Denny depressed. He had once quite liked Americans – well, everybody needs somebody to look down on, but right now, he felt as if he would hate them all forever.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was reminded that from somebody’s point of view, that was probably the idea. 

He had been having these thoughts for a while now, intermittently.  The idea of a great cosmic conspiracy was growing on his mind.  It certainly would explain a lot of things.  And he was even having what he thought of as delusions of grandeur.  That is, he thought that maybe it all had something to do with him personally – or at least, if not him, then certainly Tamar, and himself by association. 

He put a lot of this down to his unwillingness to believe that ordinary human beings were capable of making purposeless war all by themselves, just because that was what they were like.  He
wanted
it to be a conspiracy, a menacing shadowy plot in which humans were just the innocent pawns. A view that he knew was naïve in the extreme.  But still the feeling persisted. 

And yet, the Americans in particular, had swept across nations with frightening efficiency.  And Denny supposed that they ought to be good at war if any nation was.  They had certainly made enough films about it.

Of course, to be fair, they had also made a lot of TV shows about adolescent angst but it did not mean that they had the monopoly on it.

~Chapter Twelve ~

H
ome!  It looked just the same as she remembered it, until she realised that her memory of late had not been terribly reliable.  Perhaps home did not really look like this at all.  Had never looked like this.  No sooner had she thought this then the room seemed to change before her very eyes, just for a fraction of a second.  It became far bigger for one thing.  Behind her, she heard Cindy gasp. 

She turned.  ‘You saw that too?’

Cindy could only nod. 

‘The room changed, didn’t it?’  Tamar persisted. 

Cindy agreed to it. 

‘Then it was real, it wasn’t just a memory.’  She looked around her as if she expected it to happen again.  The room remained resolutely the same. 

Disappointed but undeterred, Tamar continued in the same vein.  ‘Then this means that the world is coming back – the other world, the way it was before, doesn’t it?’

She picked up a photograph of her and Denny; this had been taken about a week after they had first got together – at least she thought it had.  Perhaps it had not; perhaps this photograph was not really here at all.  She remembered it being taken, in one of those silly little passport photo booths.  They had been nineteen, at college together.  She remembered the night they had finally got together.  Caught up in her incipient nostalgia, the world started to go wibbly round the edges.  ‘Uh oh,’ she thought with that tiny unchangeable part of her that would always be sarcastic.  ‘Flashback time.’  

She had been dating a medical student at the time, wealthy and handsome of course.  Although she still hung around with Denny. When they had walked into the swanky restaurant, she had been shocked to spot Denny sat forlornly alone at a table for six.  What was he doing here?

She had thought quickly. When her date had gone to check her coat she made a swift phone call from the lobby the result of which was that, as a medical student, he was paged by the hospital, to assist the house doctor.