Paralysis Paradox (Time Travel Through Past Lives Adventure Series Book 1) (6 page)

Frankie was bounding along like a deer. He did a face plant at one point when he must have got his foot stuck in a rabbit hole that was hidden by the snow.

‘You twat!’ I laughed, hoping he’d hurt himself, but he simply got up and brushed the snow off his clothes.

‘Watch out!’ Frankie shouted. ‘You’re heading straight for the pond!’

I stopped, suddenly afraid. He was right. It was somewhere by these fir trees. I had once seen a videotape where a boy fell through the ice in a river, and you could see him being swept along by the current, hammering on the ice above him in terror, until he froze or drowned, whichever came first. Giving the whole area a wide berth, I made my way to the pale blue electricity pylon where the Mad Hatter hung out.

We’d never seen him wear a hat, but he was mad in a wacky way: hence my nickname for him. Actually, I knew exactly who he was, but it was a secret I kept for Tom Blake, our chauffeur. The Mad Hatter was Tom’s father, but for some reason, Tom did not want anyone to know he was there, so I never told a soul, not even Dad. The Mad Hatter lived with Tom and Tom’s wife, our housekeeper, in their cottage on the estate but spent most of his time in a little shack he had made out of cardboard boxes and old bits of corrugated iron under this pylon. No one ever went to Tom’s cottage, so no one knew about him, and nobody ever came out to this bit of the estate. Vera stuck to the garden, and Dad never even made it that far; the dining room was the furthest he got from his study.

We had to fight through the undergrowth around the pylon, including brambles and a rhododendron bush. I looked up and could see that there was not a single icicle hanging down from the pylon. It didn’t even look wet. As I got closer I could hear a slight buzzing from it, which should have been a clear warning not to touch it, but as usual I couldn’t resist; I unclothed my hand and touched it as if patting a horse’s neck. I expected it to be warm, but it was freezing cold, just like everything else out here.

‘Hello!’ I called. ‘Anyone there?’

‘Aha! It be you!’ The old man clambered out from his makeshift shelter with a tin of cat food in his hand. ‘I was just having my elevenses. Do you want some?’ He thrust the can in my face, and I could see a fork sticking out from it. It smelt utterly gross.

‘No thanks,’ I replied. He was wiping his mouth with a filthy old handkerchief. Quite frankly, he looked like a scarecrow. His trousers were too baggy for him, so he held them up by a piece of rope tied round his waist, and he had an old green cardigan over his shirt that was full of holes. No coat, no hat. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘No, I never be cold, Missy, I be used to cold, you see! Not like in the Sharashka, no, not the Sharashka.’ He shook his head solemnly and then grinned at me and took another mouthful of cat food. ‘I saws you nearly fell into Bouncing Pond. You’d be a goner if you fell in there, you would. Ought to be careful in this snow, Missy.’

‘Why do you call it Bouncing Pond?’ My curiosity got the better of me.

‘Bounce, bounce, bang! That’s how it went. I never sees it, I was always inside working, but I hears it. Everyone hears it but says nothing, mustn’t say nothing!’ His eyes narrowed, and he waggled the fork around to illustrate this point. ‘Even now, mustn’t say nothing. No!’

‘That’s rubbish, Mister,’ Frankie interrupted. ‘Everyone knows it was a stray bomb from the blitz. There were lots of bombs round here from the Second World War. Vicky found one last year, didn’t you, Vicky?’

There had been many bombs dropped in this area in the War, this was true. In fact I can remember playing round the large crater in Oxshot woods. When I was little, my mum would set out a picnic, and I would just run faster and faster till I fell over and rolled down. But the bomb I found last summer was an incendiary device, with a timer attached. I’d already told just about everyone I had met that day, that I’d found a bomb and the bomb squad were in our garden. My father took me aside later and explained that people would become very afraid if they knew the truth. He told me that there were bad people in this country who didn’t believe in the state and sought a return to bourgeois rule. I’d told everyone since, that it was from the Second World War, although I knew otherwise. I ignored Frankie’s comment, not wanting to share my story and happy to leave the lie out there.

‘Young man.’ The Mad Hatter drew himself up imperiously, jabbing his finger at Frankie. ‘I have taken
the oath
and know things I must take to my grave!’

I kind of wanted to know what he was talking about, but I also knew that half of what he said was the ravings of an old lunatic, so even if I did press him further, he’d probably just respond with more riddles. It was time to change the topic of conversation.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye. I’m going back to school this afternoon.’

‘Oh, don’t goes!’ he begged, suddenly forlorn. ‘I’ve got more to show you! Looky here,’ and he dragged me over to a point a few metres away from his shelter. Kicking back the fresh snow, he uncovered a large rusty manhole cover.

‘I think that’s a drain,’ I said patiently.

‘No! No, it ain’t a drain.’ Scooping off the snow with his hands, he revealed brickwork around the edges. ‘It just popped out of the ground. Well, help me then!’

I crouched down, and together we lifted the cover away. It took all our strength, with Frankie hopping around next to us, shouting encouragement. As soon as it was off, I dropped to my knees and peered in. The weak winter sunlight was barely sufficient to reveal a rusty metal ladder descending into the darkness below. We couldn’t tell how far the hole went—it simply faded into black. I took a small coin out of my pocket and dropped it in. After a second we heard a clink as it hit something hard. I looked quizzically at the Mad Hatter.

‘What’s down there, Mr Blake?’

He didn’t answer, just stared into the hole, his expression difficult to fathom. I could tell he knew something about this place.

‘Well, I’m going to explore,’ I decided.

‘There be a lighter in my shack,’ said the old man. ‘Go and get it, boy!’

Frankie darted off into the shack as I took off my heavy coat and hung it on the rhododendron bush. Frankie came running back with a lighter. With it I started to climb down the steps until I was surrounded by the gloom, the small flame hardly punctuating the darkness. I was nearly at the bottom and could make out the start of a tunnel when I heard the Mad Hatter shouting overhead.

‘It’s ya mum, Marj!’

‘My mum, what do you mean? Where?’ I asked, confused.

‘On the walkie-talkie, shall I drop it down?’

I went to respond with a sarcastic yes, but stopped myself when I remembered that the Mad Hatter might actually do it.

‘Erm, no! I’ll be up in a minute!’ I shouted as the lighter burnt my thumb and I dropped it.

As I climbed up in the dark, I wondered how I was going to explain to Vera why an old man answered my call, but by the time I got to the top, the phone was lying on the ground, and the old man and Frankie were sharing a cigarette and sniggering. They looked like guilty kids.

‘Sorry, Missy, ya mum hung up. She got very uppity ’bout me answering your walkie-talkie, so I explained that you were indisposed and were having to go in the bushes!’

Shaking my head, I picked up my phone and wiped away the mud before checking that there was no one waiting on the line. If it had been my father I would have been upset, but as it must have been Vera, I was actually rather glad that they had been so rude.

‘You said Marj called,’ I said.

‘Who’s Marj?’ asked the Mad Hatter. ‘I said Missy.’

‘No, I distinctly heard you say Marj—Marj was my mum’s name. My real mum, but was she calling or were you calling me Marj?’

‘It was your mum, and I said Missy,’ he spat.

This conversation was going nowhere. I looked at my watch and realised that I had only half an hour till lunch. I guess my packing earlier had taken longer than I’d thought. Absentmindedly, I noticed my hands were covered in damp, brown rust.

‘I have to go, guys. It must have been my evil stepmum who called, so you will have only wound her up more!’

‘Oh, she said she was your mum?’ The Mad Hatter looked perplexed, as I donned my gloves.

‘That would be hard—she’s been dead ten years! Anyway, don’t go down there without me, promise?’ At my instruction, Frankie’s eyes shifted away, and the Mad Hatter whistled, pretending to be even madder than he already was. ‘I mean it!’

‘Tell ya whats: we won’t go down as long as you speak no words to no one.’

‘Deal,’ I said, as I started running back along the path we had laid in the snow.

I looked back and watched the old man put his finger against his lips as if to say ‘Shh’ again.
Don’t worry: I will not speak of this or Bouncing Pond,
I thought. No one would believe me anyway; they would all think I’m as mad as the man who takes calls for me from my dead mum or calls me by her name!

***

Taking off my hat, gloves, coat, and boots, I could hear voices in the dining room and the sound of laughter. I headed towards the door but heard footsteps running after me.

‘You can’t go in like that, Miss Vicky,’ said an out-of-breath Jane. ‘Come on.’

She led me into the cloakroom, scrubbed my hands like I was a child and ran her fingers through my hair like a comb to tidy it. Looking in the mirror, I could see that my tights had rust all down them, so I quickly took them off and handed them to her.

‘Well don’t just stand there; you’ll need to get rid of them—I can’t have Vera finding them and moaning to Dad!’ I smiled as I issued her orders, keen for her not to cry again.

She nodded and ran off to the domestics’ quarters, as I approached and pushed open the heavy drawing room door. I strode in, beaming.

‘Hello, Dad. So sorry I’m a bit late.’

‘Darling! You remember Uncle Josef, don’t you? This is his son, Andreas, and this,’ he said, pointing to a wizened old man in the corner, ‘is our esteemed colleague, Herr Dr Konrad Schmidt.’ I didn’t remember Uncle Josef, but I pretended that I did to please Dad. George, my friend in Charlie’s life’s surname was Schmidt and I wondered if they were related. I could hardly ask if he knew someone from 1911. Though, he did look old enough.

‘Hello, Uncle Josef, how nice to see you again!’ I shook his hand politely. He was about Dad’s age, balding, and wore thick, black-rimmed glasses like they wore in the 1960s. He winked at me, which disconcerted me, and I found myself wiping my hand on my skirt. I then turned to Andreas, tall and blond, who smiled at me disarmingly. I shook his hand too and tried not to blush. How could I have such a creepy looking uncle, but such a hot cousin? Finally, I turned to Herr Dr Konrad Schmidt.

‘How do you do, Herr Dr Schmidt,’ I said.

‘Konrad, please,’ he said, showing yellow teeth. He gripped my hand too tightly and appraised me, his eyes narrow and glittering. I tried to pull my hand away, but he would not release it. ‘What a lovely daughter you have, Milo,’ he said to my father, never taking his eyes from my face as I yanked my hand free.

I sat down, and a plate of lasagne with Brussels sprouts was put in front of me instantly. I looked around and could see that everyone else had already finished. I bit into an overcooked sprout as I stole a glance at Konrad. He had to be seriously old. He was almost skeletal, with his skin stretched like parchment across his face. It made my stomach turn, only I must have shown it as I could sense Vera staring at me disapprovingly.

‘I’m sorry my friend was so rude on the phone, Vera,’ I said, feeling that I should somehow apologise.

‘I have
no idea what
you’re talking about, Vicky! By the way, did you know that Andreas is a helicopter pilot?’

‘Wow!’ I was genuinely impressed. ‘Did you fly here?’

‘No.’ He laughed. ‘I fly large military helicopters.’

‘You could have landed here, though,’ I said. ‘Helicopters have landed here before. Or you could have landed at
Wisley Airfield
—it’s only on the other side of the A3.’

Andreas looked surprised. ‘Is there an airfield so close?’

There was a moment’s silence. Uncle Josef dabbed his mouth with his napkin. ‘You should forget you heard that, Andreas. Such information will not be useful to you.’

Everyone seemed fixated on his or her finished plates. Clearly I had said something
inappropriate
. ‘What’s the matter? Everyone knows about Wisley!’

‘Not everyone, Vicky,’ said Dad, embarrassed.

Several seconds passed.

‘Andreas is serving in Afghanistan at the moment,’ Josef then said.

‘That must be exciting for you,’ I said politely, wishing I could impress him and think of something witty or smart.

‘Of course. Also dangerous. I have already been shot down.’ My eyes widened as I reappraised him, taking in his broad shoulders and chiselled jaw.

‘The boy’s a fool,’ said Konrad, pushing his empty plate away. ‘If he wants to die out there, undiscovered in pieces, spread for aeons over the sands of the desert, then let him. I merely wish to protect the secrets that help keep us all safe.’ He waved his hand about disparagingly. ‘As long as he insists on serving on the front line, we will have to protect him from knowing too much.’