Time After Time (3 page)

So the fact that the Knight family had
chosen
to move to Brookdale was all the more baffling. Why would anyone come here?

‘What time do you finish work?’ Meredith asked conversationally.

‘Um, not sure. Why?’ I replied distractedly, turning the paper to an editorial on Venice.
Italy
. I’d love to go there.

‘I thought maybe we could go to
Delilah’s
for dinner. They do great fettuccine.’

‘Okay.’ I shrugged, sipping my coffee. Meredith always suggested that we do things together such as lunch or dinner, catching a movie, or going shopping. She’d promised Gran she would take care of me, but really, if truth be told, I didn’t need anyone to take care of me.

I could do that just fine on my own.

‘Mr Frank has asked that you not wear so much black makeup,’ Simone announced when I arrived at work later than morning.

‘What?’ I cried, immediately outraged.

Simone held up her hands defensively. ‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. He just asked me to tell you, that’s all.’

‘Well, he can’t tell me what to put on my face,’ I replied hotly. ‘It’s a free world. Besides, you don’t see me suggesting that he stop wearing that ridiculous mop on his head, do you?’

‘Abbie!’ Simone fixed her eyes on me. ‘You can’t say things like that about people.’

‘He has obviously been saying things about how
I
look,’ I countered, glancing at my reflection in the glass cabinet. Short, white, pixie-cut hair and black makeup, including black lipstick. My nails were also painted black, and I had multiple piercings in my ears and one in my nose. I longed to get my tongue pierced, too, but I was scared of the pain, although I would never admit that.

‘Well, you
can
look a little threatening sometimes,’ Simone pointed out.

‘Good. That’s exactly the way I like it.’

Simone was head librarian at Brookdale Public Library where I worked part-time. Mr Frank was nothing more than a nosy councillor who seemed to think he was in charge of running the library. He was often here making suggestions and, I surmised, perving on high school girls. Apparently he was perving on me, too.
Ugh
. The very idea made me ill.

Simone stacked a trolley with returned books and wheeled it out to me. ‘You know, you don’t have to be scary
all
the time. I’m sure there’s a very pretty Abbie Harper under all that makeup.’

‘Nice try, Simone,’ I replied, ‘but no makeovers! Besides, who wants to be pretty? Pretty is boring.’

‘That’s not true,’ Simone smoothed down her neat brown hair, ‘Besides, don’t you want a boyfriend someday?’

‘Not one that only wants me because I’m pretty!’

‘Fair call, but still…don’t you think you’re missing out?’ She tilted her head to one side and regarded me.

‘Not at all. There’s no one around here I would date. Period.’

‘You’re too harsh. You just can’t see them properly under all that black mascara.’

‘Oh, I can see them all right,’ I laughed hollowly, ‘Idiots who follow the leader. They’re only interested in getting drunk and laid. In that order. No. Thank. You! None of that for me!’

I wheeled the trolley away before Simone could say anything else, feeling hot and itchy after my little speech. I didn’t have any desire to be like everyone else, mostly because I wasn’t, and could never be, regarded as ‘normal’—whatever that meant.

My dreams and memories made sure of that. That had been made clear to me from the very beginning. My dreams set me apart as different.

I had a sneaking suspicion that as a child I had talked openly and freely about my other lives. I have a vivid memory of my mother watching me with frightened eyes as I talked about a little girl called Veronica who lived on a farm. Of course, Veronica was me, but I’d not yet learned that not everyone talked about their past lives. That people didn’t even remember them. When my mother vanished, without even saying goodbye, I soon realised not to talk so much. That some things are better kept secret.

Then my father had decided to leave too, and I was left with Gran, whom I adored. Meredith was her daughter, a later-in-life baby that meant she was only ten years older than myself, and we’d grown up more like sisters than aunt and niece. Now it was just Meredith and me, although I did have a mother and father somewhere in the world. I hadn’t heard from either of them in years, but I got the message.

Anywhere was better than with me, their strange, unusual daughter.

I became absorbed in my work, restacking shelves, thinking about Penelope and the rider on the hill, and I barely noticed what was going on around me. It was only when I heard a familiar voice giggling behind me that I turned around.

Lilly Hamilton and Emma Clay stood there, hands on their hips as they eyed me up and down.

‘We were just looking for the freak section. You know,
freaks
—we thought you would be the best person to ask about it,’ Lilly said meanly, the edges of her mouth curling.

‘I don’t think she’s
human
,’ laughed Emma, ‘So maybe we need the animal section, or the alien section.’

‘Maybe,’ agreed Lilly, ‘but I really do think freak is the best way to describe
her
.’ Her eyes raked disparagingly over my black crocheted dress.

I returned her stare and, for added effect, narrowed my eyes.

‘Well?’ said Emma after a moment, shifting under my glare. ‘
Do
you know where it is? Or do you only know where the sections like death and self-mutilation are?’

‘I know where the serial killer section is,’ I replied thoughtfully, not breaking her stare. ‘You know, I read a story the other day about a girl who snapped and murdered all the stupid bimbos at her high school. Slit. Their. Throats. But not deep enough for them to die straight away, and it took them hours to bleed to death. Have you heard of her?’

Emma and Lilly jostled between their feet, and exchanged glances.

‘Are you threatening us?’ Lilly said.

I smiled. ‘No! Not at all—just telling you a “story”,’ I made quotation marks with my fingers to emphasise the word ‘story’. ‘Don’t you just love a good “story”?’

‘What I’d
love
would be for the world to open up and swallow all you weirdo freaks,’ answered Lilly hotly, ‘You just don’t belong here.’

They didn’t wait for a response but turned on their heels and flounced away in a flurry of pastel, short skirts and peroxide hair. I watched them go, feeling weary. Why they bothered to pick on me I had never understood, but I was sure that if Lilly was ever in the same room as me, the same
building
even, then she would go out of her way to make trouble for me. She took great pleasure in reminding me that I was an outsider and she was very much an insider. Why she even bothered, I never knew, and I had long ago given up trying to work it out. Instead I did my best to avoid her, and to not let her get under my skin.

Arriving home later, I found Meredith waiting, dressed up and ready for dinner.
Great
. To top off my day I was headed to
Delilah’s
, the number one hangout for anyone who was anyone at Brookdale High. And that, as a rule, didn’t include me.

‘I thought before we left I’d drop off this cake at the new neighbours’ place,’ Meredith said.

I peered inside the little basket she carried. ‘You didn’t make it,’ I accused, taking in the repackaged store-bought cake.

She blushed. ‘Well, you know I can’t bake! That was your gran’s thing. Besides, it’s the thought that counts.’

‘And there’s wine in there as well?’

Meredith ignored me. ‘I thought you could come too. You know, be friendly.’ She waited patiently for me to agree.

I hesitated. This was a chance to prove to myself that the boy next door wasn’t Heath Lockwood—that it was just a trick of my imagination. Or, this was a chance to prove it wasn’t a trick at all.

‘Sure,’ I said, ignoring the surprised and pleased look that flashed across Meredith’s face. ‘Just let me get changed.’

After running upstairs, I quickly changed into a black dress—a different one—and some torn, hot pink tights. Then I reapplied my black lipstick. Upon reflection, I added a few more bracelets, a few more beads around my neck, and replaced my small nose stud with a nose ring. After returning downstairs, I followed Meredith next door. I ignored the frown she directed at my outfit, which contrasted sharply with the casual jeans and pale green cardigan she wore.

I stood silently beside Meredith as she rang the doorbell, staring at the name by the front door.
Knight
. The new family’s name was Knight.

Eventually the small, neat-looking lady I’d seen yesterday answered the door and smiled at Meredith. ‘Yes?’

I glanced through the open doorway at the boxes and crates placed haphazardly around the room.

‘Hi!’ Meredith said in her cheeriest voice. ‘My name’s Meredith Harper and this is my niece, Abbie. We live next door and wanted to say welcome.’ She proffered the basket.

‘Why, how lovely!’ cried the lady. ‘Please come in and excuse the mess. I’m Valerie Knight.’ She moved out of the doorway, kicking boxes out of the way, allowing Meredith and me entry.

‘Marcus!’ she called up the stairs, ‘Come and meet the Harpers.’

Marcus. The boy’s name was Marcus, not Heath. Crisis definitely averted. It must be a coincidence—after all, how many boys are there in the world with dark brown eyes? Billions? I was being overly dramatic.

‘So, Abbie,’ Valerie continued, ‘do you go to the local school?’ She smiled politely, but I had already caught the up-and-down look she gave me.

Meredith answered for me. ‘Yes, Abbie’s a senior at Brookdale High.’

‘So is our son!’ Valerie cried, going to the bottom of the stairs, which she called up again. ‘Marcus! Come and meet your new neighbours! We also have another son,’ she explained, ‘but he’s away in the air force.’

There came a bounding on the stairs above, and I suddenly had an irrational urge to flee. The flight-or-fight response coursed icily through my veins, growing stronger with each passing moment.

Steeling myself, I lowered my eyes to the floor, tracing the pattern on the carpet with my toes and counting each breath, before I lifted my gaze. I gasped.

The impossible had happened. Standing before me was the boy of my dreams.

He smiled, his dark brown eyes crinkling at the corners in a way I remembered, and he repeated my name warmly, as if committing it to memory.

I stared hard at him, searching his face for some sign of recognition.
Do you know me?

‘Nice to meet you, Abbie,’ he said. He didn’t have that strong, eighteenth-century English accent, but he had the same smooth voice. The way he had said my name made my spine tingle.

I stared at him, stunned. It took me a second to reply. ‘Sure.’

Meredith shot me another annoyed look.

‘Maybe you two will have classes together,’ Valerie said.

A cool wind whipped past me and I shivered, the back of my neck prickling. Peering closely at him, trying not to stare
too
much, I assessed this Marcus Knight. Unlike me, he didn’t seem at all fazed by my appearance in his life. He also didn’t seem to notice my gothic attire, which usually set people on edge straight away.

How are you even possible?
I wanted to ask.

Meredith and I stayed only a little while longer, Meredith obviously anxious to get me out of the house since all I could do was stare at Marcus Knight and barely say a word.

‘He’s cute,’ Meredith observed over dinner at
Delilah’s
.

I shoved gnocchi in my mouth and shrugged, avoiding a reply. My head was still whirling as I tried to make sense of this senselessness. People from the past don’t just reappear, do they? I mean, obviously I did, but I was the only one. I’d never met anyone else before. What were the odds? Of all the millions of people ever born, what were the chances that someone I’d met in England in the nineteenth century would reappear here, in this small Midwest town, two centuries later?

‘Perhaps you two could be friends?’ I heard Meredith say through the fogginess in my brain.

I blinked, clearing my thoughts and returning to the present. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not? He’s cute, nice enough, and lives next door.’

‘So?’

‘So why wouldn’t you want to be friends with him?’ Meredith insisted.

‘I already
have
friends.’

Meredith looked as if she was considering my statement. My friends numbered two, Beth and Laura, who were the only other students at Brookdale High who embraced goth subculture—Laura sometimes a little too much. It wasn’t a wide circle of friends, and I didn’t even bother with Facebook, but they were true friends. Plus, there was Simone at the library; I counted her as a friend.

‘Well, you can have more friends,’ Meredith said eventually. ‘Besides, he’s new. You could do something nice and help him fit in.’

I grimaced. Hanging around
me
would do nothing for his popularity other than ruin it. This much I knew for a fact—even the geeky kids stayed away from me. I was the equivalent of social suicide. There was no way Marcus Knight would want to be anywhere near me once he learned that.

No, I decided firmly, ‘friends’ was something I and Marcus Knight would never be. Not in this world, at least.

1806

Penelope considered the image on the canvas before her. A pair of eyes. She knew once she added the grey, the tear-shaped pupils, and the reflections of light, they would take on a completely different appearance.

They would be cold and hard. The eyes of the rider on the hill.

She was pleased with her work. Having seen the man for only a matter of minutes, his eyes for just a few seconds, she’d somehow managed to capture them perfectly.

A breeze blew against the back of her neck and she shivered, moving to close the attic window. Dusk had descended, bathing the fields in a blanket of orange and pink, and she paused, her fingers resting lightly on the sill, to stare up the hill towards Broadhurst Manor.

She couldn’t see the Manor as it was beyond her line of sight, but she knew it was there. It was always there, like a rock or an ancient tree, part of the enduring landscape. The Manor gave her a sense of belonging, even though she didn’t live there, a sense of being a part of this world, a part of Broadhurst.