Step Back in Time (11 page)

‘Ah, that’ll never happen,’ Sean says. ‘How would you record pictures and sound together?’

‘They do at the cinema,’ Sally mumbles while chewing. ‘How do they do that?’

‘What would be really cool,’ I say, thinking I’ll play with them a bit more, ‘would be if you could pause live TV and rewind it in case you missed something, or if your phone rang in the middle of a programme.’

They all turn to look at me now.

‘I think you’ve been spending too much time breathing in all the incense they burn in that shop of yours, Jo-Jo,’ Penny says, raising one of her pencilled-on eyebrows. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me we’ll have hundreds of channels instead of just the three to choose from. There was some lunatic babbling on about that happening in the future in a magazine I was reading in the hairdresser’s one day.’

Penny seemed to read a lot in magazines at the hairdresser’s… I open my mouth to respond, but decide to leave it. ‘Yeah, it’ll never happen. Bit like us having a female prime minister,’ I grin as I leave the room, and go and re-boil the kettle for my gourmet dinner.

The next morning I wake up to
Starsky and Hutch
’s David Soul smirking down at me from the wall next to my bed.

‘Aargh!’ I cry, covering my face with the sheet again. ‘Stop staring at me!’

But seeing him reminds me of Harry, and our few minutes together on the swings yesterday.

I wonder if he was OK after I left the park? I didn’t see him again last night because we were kept busy all evening with the neighbourhood meeting for the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. An eclectic mix of the many residents of the street had all packed into the small church hall to finalise preparations for our own celebrations. We were having a street party – like so many communities had done in 1977, and the majority of the evening seemed to have been taken up deciding who was bringing what type of sandwich, and which type of cake. The residents were also trying to get a band to play some music during the festivities “to keep the younger ones amused”, but weren’t having much luck in persuading anyone to come along and play on what little budget they could muster.

I felt genuine empathy for the younger members of the audience – obviously forced to attend by well-meaning parents, they all looked thoroughly fed up during the evening; not only due to the fact that they were spending their night in a drab church hall discussing cakes and bunting, but at the thought of the actual Silver Jubilee festivities themselves. My own mother was a very active and keen member of the Women’s Institute, and in my younger days, when my older sisters weren’t available to babysit me, I’d been dragged along to many a church hall meeting, where I’d been forced into selling jumble or partaking in some random craft activity. So I could genuinely feel their pain at being forced to sit through this.

I peel back the sheet while at the same time trying to avert my eyes from Sylvester Stallone’s exposed chest. Rocky was a fine figure of a man back here in 1977, but I really didn’t need to see this much of him first thing in the morning!

I go over to my window and pull my curtains back. Right, let’s see what today brings forth. And whatever else happens I
must
get over to George’s shop.

After breakfast, which I’m pleased to find doesn’t consist of re-hydrated noodles, but Cornflakes, Rice Krispies and toast, Penny takes the twins to school while I head off to work.

During the course of breakfast I managed to find out, with a few carefully worded questions, exactly where the holistic shop I worked in was situated – on the King’s Road, not that far, luckily, from George’s record shop. So as soon as I got a chance today I knew exactly where I’d be headed.

Ellie and I get off the bus at the top of the King’s Road. Today Ellie is dressed more soberly than her Bay City Rollers tartan of yesterday, but she’s still sporting high fashion – a purple catsuit and black platform boots – to work in the boutique where she has a part-time job.

Apparently we both left school without really knowing what we wanted to do, and while we await the fate of our O-levels, we’ve both managed to find part-time jobs for the summer. It’s amazing what information you can discover in the course of conversation without actually asking direct questions. I’m starting to become quite good at it.

‘See ya later, then,’ Ellie says, opening the door of the boutique she works in. ‘Dunno what time me lunch will be, but I can meet ya if ya like?’

‘No!’ I reply a bit too sharply. ‘I mean, I know I’m on a late lunch today, so there’s not much point in you trying.’ I just have to see George alone.

‘Ah, OK then,’ Ellie says, not appearing to notice anything strange in my behaviour. ‘See ya at home time then. Have a good day!’

I leave Ellie and walk down the road towards the shop I’m supposed to work in. I know it’s called Tranquillity, and I don’t have to go too far before I stumble across it, more by accident than expert detective work. It’s a funny little place, quite hidden away amongst all the other shops lining this side of the street. Its tiny window display has Buddha statues, dreamcatchers, crystals and meditation tools crammed into it. I’m used to seeing odd little shops like this scattered about back in 2013 – holistic healing and alternative health is quite the norm by then, but I’m guessing that back here in 1977 it’s still looked on as a quirky oddity.

‘Hi,’ I call as I push the door open and a bell rings – just like in George’s shop.

‘Good morning, Jo-Jo,’ floats a voice from the back of the shop. ‘How are you today?’

‘Fine, thank you,’ I reply, following the voice to its owner.

‘Good, I’m pleased to hear it.’ An elderly lady wearing a kaftan, several strings of beads and a peace symbol around her neck is sitting at the back of the shop. ‘Put the kettle on, love, will you?’ she asks. ‘Old Rita here is parched.’

‘Sure.’ I look around for the kettle and see it standing in a tiny kitchen just behind where the woman sits, sorting some coloured candles.

I fill the kettle while I watch her surreptitiously from behind. She must be about seventy, I guess, but she has a thick lustrous mane of long grey hair tied loosely in a plait that hangs down the length of her back.

Aware I’m watching her, she turns around.

‘Are you OK, Jo-Jo, love?’ she asks. ‘You seem a bit jumpy this morning.’

‘Yes… yes, I’m fine,’ I try and reassure her. ‘Just too much caffeine, probably. Shouldn’t have stopped for that venti cappuccino on the way here!’
Damn!
I chide myself, turning my head away,
I must be more careful!

Hesitantly I look back at her to see if she’s noticed. Her deep blue eyes flicker momentarily, but she makes no comment and carries on with what she’s doing, carefully sorting the coloured candles into individual boxes.

‘So,’ I say, hurriedly changing the subject. ‘What should I do today?’

‘We’ll just do what we normally do, shall we, sweetie? Muddle along and see where the day takes us,’ she says, looking up and smiling at me. ‘That’s the best way, I’ve always found.’

‘Sure,’ I agree, to be amiable. Really, running a successful company takes organisation and planning, not simply ‘muddling along’. I should know. But who am I to argue. I’m not even supposed to be here.

Surprisingly, the morning goes incredibly quickly, and there’s a steady stream of customers into Rita’s little shop. They range from aging hippies looking a bit like Rita with long grey hair either tied back in plaits or wildly cascading around their frail bodies, to young free spirits looking to find spiritual enlightenment in the products Rita keeps in her shop. But when Rita finally says it’s time for my lunch break, I can’t get out of there fast enough.

‘Say hello to George for me,’ she says, placing some joss sticks in a jar on the counter.

‘Yes, I will!’ I call back as I’m exiting the shop.

Wait, I think, pausing on the doorstep for a moment. How does she know where I’m going? I didn’t say. I look back at Rita, but she just smiles serenely.

I don’t have time to worry about that now, I think, leaving the shop and sprinting along the pavement towards Groovy Records, praying that George is open today.
Hurrah, you are!
I celebrate silently as I push open the door and the bell rings above my head.

‘George!’ I call, wincing as a barrage of heavy punk music assaults my ears. As I enter the shop I glance at the familiar surroundings. The sunflowers are in their usual spot and the wooden clock ticks steadily away, even though I can’t actually hear it today. There are a few new posters up replacing the framed photos of the sixties, but it’s still Groovy Records. ‘George, are you here?’ I call again.

‘No, but I am,’ Harry says as the music ceases and he appears from the back of the shop.

‘What – what are
you
doing here?’ I stutter.

‘Work here, don’t I?’ Harry says, curling up his lip. ‘What else would I be doing?’

‘But where’s George?’

‘On his lunch break, why?’

‘I just needed to see him, that’s all.’ I stare hard at a poster of Freddie Mercury and Queen on the wall in front of me and try not to look too disappointed. Then I glance at Harry again. ‘He lets you work here like that?’ I look up at his hair; he’s so tall it almost touches the ceiling of the little shop, like a big blue brush sweeping for cobwebs.

‘He wasn’t best pleased when I came in this morning looking like this, no.’

‘I bet. So, was everything OK after I left the park last night? With the others, I mean?’

‘Ask a lot of questions these days, don’t you?’ Harry says, folding his white arms across his ripped, sleeveless black T-shirt. I notice he has quite well-toned biceps.

‘Perhaps. I just wanted to know you were all right.’

Harry shrugs. ‘Yeah, why shouldn’t I be?’

Gosh, he was being particularly awkward today. ‘It’s just things were getting a bit heated, and I thought it might be best if I said what I did and just left.’

‘I’m here in one piece, ain’t I?’ Harry shrugs. ‘What’s up, Jo-Jo? Bit late to be worried about me, isn’t it?’

He’s a teenager, Jo-Jo, I remind myself. Try and remember what it feels like to have hormones surging through you, tipping you off kilter all the time.

‘You know I only said what I did to get you out of a tight spot with your mates.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, of course.’

Some of the hostility drains from Harry’s face, and is replaced with a sense of hope.

‘I see,’ Harry replies, and looks about him shiftily.

What’s he up to now?
 

‘It’s just that I was wondering, Jo-Jo…’

‘Yes?’

He clears his throat. ‘I was wondering if you might like
Star Wars
at all?’

Star Wars
– where was this heading?
‘It’s OK. I’ve seen it a few times, why?’

Harry looks stunned. ‘You’ve been already?’

‘Yeah, why do you ask?’ I think hurriedly. Star Wars – Star Wars
. Is that only just out?

‘It’s just I was going to ask if you’d like to go and see it some time, with me like, but if you’ve already been, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.’ He hurriedly begins rearranging some Rolling Stones records.

Oh boy!
 

‘What I meant was, I’ve seen it
advertised
lots of times and I’ve seen the trailers!’ I improvise. ‘Of course I’d love to go and see it with you.’

Harry swivels around as fast as his DM boots will allow, a broad grin covering his face. ‘Really?’ His voice is an octave higher than it usually is. ‘I mean, that’s cool,’ he says in a gruffer voice.

‘What’s cool?’ The door of the shop opens and George comes through it carrying a couple of paper bags. ‘Jo-Jo! How wonderful to see you again. I knew you’d be back.’

I stare at George. He’s wearing black flared trousers with a thin tan belt, a black T-shirt, and the same tan leather safari jacket he wore in the sixties. His brown hair now hangs messily around his shoulders and he has long sideburns down each cheek with a thick brown moustache to match. He removes his gold aviator-style sunglasses and smiles at me. ‘How have you been?’

I’m not sure if this George is asking about the 1977 me, or the time-travelling one. ‘I’m well, thanks, George.’ I reply cautiously, unable to take my eyes off this new version of him.

‘Did you come in for something in particular?’ he asks, putting the paper bags down on the counter. ‘Only I’m just about to eat my lunch, and you’re welcome to join me if you like – I have plenty.’

‘Thanks, that would be good.’ I glance at Harry.

‘Harry, do you want to take your lunch break now?’ George asks. ‘You won’t eat what I’ve got in here, not enough grease and chip fat.’

‘Have you been to that god-awful veggie place again?’

George nods.

‘Yeah, I’m definitely outta here then,’ Harry says, his indifferent manner returning. ‘Time me, man,’ he says, pointing to the wooden clock behind the counter. ‘I won’t be late. Never am, am I?’ He turns and winks at me. ‘Catch you later, Jo-Jo, and we’ll sort out a date for that… thing.’

‘Sure, Harry,’ I smile, ‘let’s do that.’

Harry and his blue hair disappear out of the door and I’m left with George. I look at him, wondering if I should say anything, but luckily I don’t have to.

‘So, you’re back again, then?’ George asks. ‘You obviously didn’t do everything you needed to in 1963.’

‘Thank goodness you know,’ I sigh with relief. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

‘Of course I know! I remember you back in the sixties – it wasn’t that long ago,’ he winks. ‘So the most important question: have I aged well?’ he asks, holding out the sides of his jacket and posing like a catalogue model.

I have to grin. ‘Yes, you have, actually. You look very… smart!’

George grins. ‘You don’t need to lie. But right now what I’m wearing is considered the height of fashion for men. So, you’re a teenager this time?’

I nod. ‘And it’s not easy. If there’s one time I wouldn’t want to go back to, it’s my teenage years.’

‘Why?’ George asks thoughtfully. ‘Particularly difficult time for you, was it?’

‘No more than most teenagers, I expect. We were travelling a lot back then with my father’s job and we didn’t stay anywhere too long.’

‘So you must have found it difficult to make friends?’

I think about this. ‘Maybe, sometimes I guess. Depends on where we were. I try not to think about it too much, though.’

‘Hmm,’ George nods knowingly.

‘Hmm, what?’

‘Just thinking.’

‘I can see that. Thinking about what?’

‘Why you’re here again.’ He still has the same contemplative look on his face.

‘And?’

‘I’m not sure yet. But I’ll work it out,’ he finishes brightly.

‘Great! So until then?’

‘Just do your best to fit in,’ George says helpfully. ‘Make sure you don’t do anything to upset things in the future too much.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Oh, Jo-Jo,’ George sighs. ‘Do you know nothing of the rules of time travel?’

‘Not really, but I’m having to learn pretty fast.’

‘Let me put the kettle on, make us a nice cup of tea, and I’ll tell you all about it, while we munch on my peanut butter sandwiches and flapjack.’