The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (12 page)

‘You know you can’t swim, you little fool!’ she shrieked, cuffing him again. ‘You wait ‘till Mother hears, Will Tomkins. She’ll skin you alive!’

It was only when Will’s squalling had faded that Ralf realised how much trouble he was in. Tank looked like he might be up for a fight but it was King he was really worried about. ‘
They only moved in a week ago,’ the tall boy said softly. ‘How did you know?’ Ralf swallowed. He tried to fob King off with a weak story about having seen Will in the water earlier, but he could tell King didn’t believe him. When he looked round at King’s cronies he realised why alarm bells were ringing. The emotion he could see on all their faces was a simple one – fear.

‘It’s all over now,’ Leo said reasonably. ‘Why don’t we all just leave it?’

Tanked sniggered. ‘Oh, look. It talks!’

Leo tensed but said nothing.

Tank stared at him with open hostility. ‘The Circus is packing up,’ he goaded. ‘Hadn’t you better go home with the rest of the apes?’

Something snapped in Ralf and he leapt forward but Leo grabbed back the punch before he could throw it. ‘Temper! Temper!’ laughed Tank, but King waved him quiet.

‘New friend, Ralf?’

Ralf glared back at him. ‘Yes,’ he said, firmly.

By this time a group of ten or twelve boys had assembled on the bridge arranging themselves into two factions behind Ralf and King. On Ralf’s side were the village boys who’d helped earlier but his group was far smaller – a fact that was not lost on King by the smug look on his face.

‘Is it a fight?’

It was Valen. Ralf fought to suppress a smile as she took up position guarding his left, her fists clenched dangerously. She winked at Tank. ‘All right, Gigantor? In your own time!’

Tank’s face flooded purple and King had to put a restraining hand on his shoulder but there were more kids arriving all the time. A group of four boys sauntered up to stand with King. One of them, a freckled, red-haired youth, calmly folded his blazer, lay it on the wall and began rolling up his sleeves.

‘Tut tut, Ralf,’ he said wagging his finger. ‘It’s School versus Village. You’re on the wrong side of the line, chum.’

‘This has nothing to do with you, Aston,’ Ralf said shakily. ‘It’s between me and King. I’m sure we can – er – sort this out like gentlemen.’

‘I rather doubt that, old bean,’ Aston replied with a smirk. ‘Because you aren’t one.’

‘Send the girls away, Ralf,’ King ordered.

Girls? Ralf glanced to his left and saw Kat Noakes standing calmly next to Valen, her eyes blazing to match her wild hair.

‘Not a chance,’ Valen said softly.

Ralf was close to panic by this time. It was all slipping away from him. He was desperately trying to think of a way out of the nightmare when Tank cracked. He lumbered towards them and threw a flailing roundhouse directly at Leo.

Leo dodged instinctively and drew back his own fist. Valen and the others would have surged forward en masse except for –

‘ENOUGH!’ The voice was loud, powerful and, most importantly, belonged to an adult.

Old Bill Arbuckle was what the books Ralf read would have described as a ‘salty old sea dog’ and he held Leo, dangling on tiptoes by a massive fist, at the scruff of his neck. His two sons were also in the thick of things. Seventeen-year-old Ron had a firm hand on King’s shoulder and Tom, a fifteen year old copy of his brother, was battling to restrain Tank.

‘I said that’s enough!’ Old Bill roared. Tank stopped struggling immediately but looked murderous. All eyes turned to Old Bill. ‘There’s enough fighting goin’ on without this nonsense!’ he shouted. ‘Yer ought t’ be ashamed of yerselfs!’ He held them all in his angry gaze for a second before nodding to Tom who, with visible relief, released the sweating Tank.

‘Get your hands off me, Ron Arbuckle,’ King said through clenched teeth. His face was pink with rage.

Ron grinned. ‘Absolutely Master Julian, sir!’ He tugged his forelock at King and then winked cheerfully as King made a show of straightening his shirt.

‘Now get off home,’ said Old Bill. ‘All o’ yer!’

The crowd dispersed quickly, Tank and Aston leading the way. Valen gave a quick nod, ‘I’d better get back,’ then slipped away quietly with Kat and the others. Ralf looked helplessly at King for some sign that things were not as bad as they appeared. But they were. King turned swiftly but shot a venomous look back over his shoulder.

‘Stay away from me after this, Osborne!’ he spat as he stalked away.

There was a stunned silence for a second or two after which Old Bill seemed to remember he still had hold of Leo.

‘I ain’t seen you afore, have I lad?’ he queried as he set him down.

Leo shook his head, anticipating awkward questions and embarrassment.

‘Actually, Mr Arbuckle,’ Ralf cut in. ‘I need to talk to you about that.’ He handed
over Brindle’s letter and explained. ‘So, Leo’s been billeted with you, you see.’

The Arbuckles had wind brown faces and green eyes, and all of them looked, at this moment, like they’d been slapped in the face with a wet kipper. Old Bill was the first to recover and quickly decided that Leo should be given Michael’s room now that he was doing his military training and wouldn’t be needing it.

‘It idden that tidy in there,’ Old Bill said gruffly. ‘It’ll take a bit o’ work until us can get it ship shape. Walk back wi’ us and we’ll see what us can do.’

Ralf dodged in to his own house to collect Leo’s bag and brought it out on to the cobbles where the Arbuckles were waiting. Young Tom stepped forward to take it. ‘You got anythin’ a bit less bright to wear in here?’ he asked Leo
, dubiously. ‘You stand out like a sore thumb in that rig.’

Leo laughed. ‘It’s all pretty much like this stuff, he said, pulling at his jumper. ‘And, to be honest, I think I stand out a fair bit anyway.’

Bill slapped Leo firmly on the shoulder. ‘You do at that,’ he said smiling.

Soon the group reached the next cottage in the row and Ralf could just make out their conversation over the soft lapping of the sea.

‘Look at that!’ said Ron. He stared up at the slate roof and gave a smart salute. ‘He’s back again!’

There was a glossy magpie on the chimney pot. Old Bill immediately followed his son’s lead and gave
a nod and salute in the bird’s direction.

‘Go on, lad,’ he prompted, looking at Leo, who could only stare back blankly.

‘Give him the salute,’ said Tom, bringing three fingers up flat against his eyebrow in a quick demonstration. ‘It’s for luck!’

‘Oh, right!’ Leo made a sketchy little salute of his own. Tom laughed.

The oldest Arbuckle opened the front door of the cottage then gave Leo’s hair a ruffle. ‘Feels just like lamb’s wool,’ he said to his sons, who were looking at him expectantly. Ralf winced but Old Bill winked at Leo. ‘Must be the devil to keep neat,’ he said and led him inside.

Ralf closed his own door and walked to fill the kettle. He was relieved that the Arbuckles seemed to have taken to Leo and chuckled at the stuff with the magpie. He remembered now how superstitious everyone was here.

There was a tap at the door. When he opened it, Seth darted into the kitchen, looking furtive.

‘I can’t stay long,’ he said. ‘
I told Winters I’d look at the Barrow stuff with him later, but I need to tell you something.’ Seth was pacing the room, picking things up and putting them down again without actually looking at them. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all day and I’m sure I was right earlier,’ he said.

‘About what?’

‘Ambrose showed us The Book, remember?’ He stopped pacing and stared at Ralf, his face grave. ‘The Time Anomaly? He said he didn’t know what had caused it, but he was going to investigate and try to fix it.’

‘So?’ Ralf asked.

‘I think that’s just what he’ll be doing, Wolf.’ Seth glanced up at the kitchen clock. ‘He’s not going to be looking for us. He probably doesn’t even know we’ve gone.’

‘Yes, but he will realise eventually and then he’ll come and get us,’ said Ralf, with more conviction than he felt. ‘He’ll cut a new Time Door if he has to, he can do it, you saw him.’

‘But how will he know where to cut one? Valen was right, you know,’ Seth said wretchedly. ‘He’s not a mind reader. There are millions of different times we could have gone to. How will he know which one we’ve ended up in? And even if by some miracle he does pick the right year, how will he know where we are? It’s a big planet, you know!’

‘I’m sure there must be some way –’ Ralf ventured. As usual, he was having trouble getting his head round what Seth was saying.

‘No! There isn’t! Don’t you see? By coming here we’ve thrown everything off course! We’ve replaced our 1939 selves and in doing so we’ve created a parallel universe. Time’s off track. It’s branched off in a different direction. We, the versions of us that are on this timeline, we’re stuck here! I’m not sure Ambrose would be able to get us if he even knew where to look.’

‘I – I don’t –’ Ralf started but Seth, close to panic, gripped him by the arm.

‘Wolf, I don’t think we’re ever going home!’

CHAPTER NINE

Secrets and Shadows

Ralf woke in darkness. He sat up suddenly, cracked his head on something hard and grunted in pain. Someone rustled about over to his right and a blonde woman, in a flowered apron, removed the blackout from the window and the room was flooded with light.

‘Mum?’ he croaked, confused.

The woman turned sharply, frowning, and came to sit on the side of the bed.

‘You really were fast asleep, weren’t you?’ she smiled, sadly. ‘It’s me, Hilda.’

Ralf blinked to try to get rid of the prickling sensation behind his eyes. For a second Hilda had looked just like his mother, but now she was close up he saw her eyes were different, her lips not quite as full, and he remembered where he was.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I…’

‘Are you all right? You didn’t knock your head again did you?’ Hilda reached forward to feel his scalp for lumps but he flinched away, unnerved by the show of affection.

‘Have you and King been fighting?’ she asked concerned. ‘I saw him last evening and he wouldn’t look me in the eye.’

‘It’s nothing. A stupid argument. It’ll blow over,’ he said, fervently hoping this was true. He had enough to think about without having to worry about getting beaten up.

Hilda ruffled his already tousled hair. ‘Come on. Get dressed. We’ve got to go soon.’ She patted his hand and went out of the low door.

After she’d gone, Ralf took a minute to consider things. He was in a narrow bed under the sloping eaves of a low ceiling – which explained what he’d bumped his head on a minute ago – and was facing a wooden table and chair and a small set of shelves, laden with books. He pulled back the blankets and got groggily to his feet. Bright gold sun streamed through a tiny taped window in triangular shafts and Ralf staggered over to look outside.

There was an irregular shoreline, a thin strip of pebbled beach and a sparkling expanse of open water. In the distance was the harbour, a grey stone wall cutting into the blue, behind which Ralf could see the tops of masts and pennants fluttering. He didn’t bother to pinch himself. He was beginning to feel like it was his previous life with Gloria that had been a dream. This was the reality.

If Seth were right, this would be his only reality now. He opened the window and took a deep breath of sea air.

Last night Seth’s prediction had shaken him but this morning, looking at the crystal blue sea and cloudless sky, things didn’t seem half so bad. He could think of worse places to be stranded.

‘Ralf!’ Hilda’s call from downstairs made him jump. ‘Are you dressed yet?’

‘N – Nearly!’

He looked frantically round for his jeans but, of course, did not find them. Instead, on the chair were the patched navy shorts and cotton shirt. He stripped off the pyjamas he’d dragged on the previous night and slid into the clothes, giggling nervously at the madness of it all and the awfulness of the underpants. Before going downstairs, he paused at the mirror hanging on the back of the door. The face staring back at him, mouth open in awed surprise, was undoubtedly the face of Ralf Osborne – it just wasn’t the face he was used to. It was, somehow, more him than him.

Suddenly, the details of this life came back to him in a rush of pictures and emotions and he knew. He knew everything.

This Ralf was also an orphan but he had no mad Great Aunt Gloria, he had a normal and exceptionally nice close family. As he clumped down the narrow stairs everything delighted him. The pictures on the wall, the creaky banister, the chipped paintwork all held memories. If Seth was right, this was his life now – and it was already looking a lot better than his life in the future.

And so it was that sixty years before his future self was even born, before his parents were even twinkles in their parents’ eyes, Ralf Osborne found himself in a Kent fishing village, going downstairs to breakfast with a sister he didn’t know he had. He didn’t care that it didn’t make any sense. This was a chance. A chance of a new life. A better life, even. His heart was so full he thought it would burst.

‘Everything is fine,’ he told himself. ‘Act normal. Keep your head down and don’t draw attention to yourself.’ But he broke this promise within a minute of being in the kitchen.

Hilda, rosy-faced from the heat of the stove, ladled steaming porridge into a bowl and poured Ralf a cup of tea. He watched her butter the end of a large loaf and then cut him a thick slice to go with his tea. She worked quickly washing the porridge pot and wiping the stove with the deft efficiency she’d learned as cook to the Kingston-Hawke family. Ralf grimaced at the thought. He didn’t like the idea of her having to wait on King.

‘Porridge is fab,’ he said through a mouthful. Hilda looked at him quizzically. How did he usually talk to her he wondered? ‘Anything from Niall?’ he asked.

A cup clattered in the sink. ‘He only started his army training yesterday! What are you expecting him to tell you?’

‘I’m sorry, Hilda.’ Ralf shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  ‘I… it’s just… it’s just freaky him not being here, that’s all.’

‘Freaky?’ Hilda tilted her head, puzzled. ‘Why are you talking like that?’ she asked.

‘Eh?’

‘Don’t you ‘eh?’ me!’ she said. ‘And to think I was worried when you started up at that school, you’d start giving yourself airs. I didn’t realise you’d actually forget how to use the King’s English altogether!’

‘Sorry.’ He pushed his bowl to one side and picked up the bread and butter.

‘Come on,’ said Hilda. ‘You can eat that on the way to church.’

‘Am I coming with you?’

Hilda gave him a sideways glance as she pinned on a felt hat. ‘Of course you’re coming! In less than an hour we could be at war! This is important, Ralf. Its history in the making and your brother, heaven protect him, will be in the thick of it.’

  A few minutes later Ralf was clumping down the cobbled sea road in freshly polished boots. Hilda set a brisk pace and he struggled to keep up with her whilst his eyes took in everything around him.

‘The Muntons are still here then,’ tutted Hilda. ‘They’ll find a way to keep themselves safe, I’ll warrant.’ He followed her gaze to see the tiny figures of Gadd and Oyler moving on their boat in the distant harbour. The faint cry of gulls mingled with the clink of rigging and Ralf stopped walking to watch the two men unload crates from the hold of
The Lot's Lady
onto a waiting handcart.

‘Hurry up, Ralf,’ Hilda scolded. ‘Anyone would think you’d never seen them before!’ But Ralf couldn’t help dawdling. What were the Muntons doing working so early on a Sunday morning? That didn’t fit with his memory of them at all.

By the time they’d crossed the Village Green, the church bells were ringing and anxious looking villagers were starting to stream through the open doors.             

First came the Kingston-Hawkes. King’s father, a retired Major-General, walked along ramrod straight, his quiet wife at his side. They were closely followed by Gloria, in a sombre little hat and smart suit, and King who gave Ralf one cold blank stare then turned away. Behind them were staff from
Hawkes Manor and then the rest of the villagers. The Hatchers, in their Sunday best, walked either side of Valen who, to her obvious dismay, was wearing a pale blue flowered dress and knee socks (Ralf smiled at her but she scowled back at him). Brindle was there too, looking very different from the previous day, her beady eyes shining and her face flushed with excitement. She’d even swopped her overalls for a moss green dress. The dress, coupled with her red hair and florid complexion made her look strikingly like a stuffed olive and Ralf had to turn away to stop himself from sniggering. 

Gordon Kemp, the baker, his plump wife and children came next, then Frank Duke and the Tomkins family. The Boarders from Ralf’s sch
ool followed with Winters and Weedy Green, a rodent of a man who was the St. Crispin’s chaplain and teacher of Scripture. Then came scrubbed fishermen and weathered farm folk with the Sedleys, their seventeen-year-old son Walter, and an excitable Alfie bouncing along right at the back.

As the bells pealed their final note Reverend Denning bade them sit while he adjusted the wireless that sat incongruously on a table in front of the altar. An expectant, uneasy silence grew but was suddenly cut by a commotion at the back of the church. Ralf turned to see an ancient, human scarecrow shuffle in to stand ragged and mouldy in the doorway, his black eyes blinking. Urk Fitch, the recluse who owned Merle Farm, glared at the wireless as if it were about to leap off the table and bite him and Ralf found himself shuddering inexplicably as he turned back to face the front.

Ralf shifted uncomfortably as the familiar voice of the Prime Minister began speaking. He’d heard Chamberlain’s speech before in school, how must it be for all the others to hear it for the first time?

“I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.”

In the pause that followed, Ralf stole a quick glance at Hilda. Her lips were set in a grim line and her hand grasped the pew in front.

“I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.”

There were gasps from some in the church. The door banged once more and Ralf, and half the congregation, turned to see Urk Fitch, having heard the worst, disappear through it. All eyes snapped back to the front. They listened to the rest of the speech in shocked silence then the vicar switched off the wireless.

‘Let us pray,’ Denning said gravely.  A lone fly buzzed lazily past Ralf to settle on the pew on front of him and he waved it away with his hymnal.

There was a soft murmur and a shuffling of feet as people dropped to their knees but Ralf was not listening because directly in front of him a silent but rather furious battle was going on. Another fly was droning round the Kemps and all three of their children were trying unsuccessfully to swot at it. Eventually, he eldest boy picked up a hymnal and thwacked it on to the back of the pew, missing the fly but causing the whole row to shudder. His father, crimson faced with embarrassment and exertion, finally managed to wrestle the book from his son’s hands. He gave the vicar a sheepish smile.

There followed several notices about meetings and Air Raid Duties but Ralf was only half listening. The Kemps seemed to have lost the plot altogether and the muffled snorts of the youngest girl were making it difficult for Ralf to concentrate. Abruptly, he had something else to think about though and nearly cried out in pain and surprise when Leo jabbed him sharply in the ribs.

‘Look!’ Leo whispered, jabbing him again. ‘The flies!’

Mesmerised, Ralf watched a fly drone around the Reverend’s head and yet another alight on his hand. The vicar flapped his arms irritably. Three more flies were circling above the altar now and there were low murmurs amongst the congregation but Denning ignored them. The whispers increased in volume but the vicar pressed on manfully, going for a big finish. 

‘Mr Chamberlain has just told us of his faith in the people of this great nation,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘And I share his conviction
“that you will all play your part with calmness and courage”
’

It was then that the screaming began.

Suddenly there were flies everywhere in a black, droning mass above heads, crawling on surfaces and hurtling towards faces. It wasn’t quite a swarm of biblical proportions but it was still pretty big. The people of King’s Hadow broke and ran. Some of the fishermen employed language more suited to their boat decks than church and many of the children were crying.

As the side door opened a shaft of sunlight hit one of the grates in the church floor and the source of the epidemic could be seen. It was like something from a horror film, Ralf thought, flies spurted upward from the iron latticework in a steady stream. Ron and Tom Arbuckle prized the grate open and lifted it clear. Ralf watched them recoil as the stench hit them. With astounding fortitude Ron used one arm to cover his face and plunged the other into the hole.

The animal he pulled from the darkness had been dead for several weeks, it might once have been a fox, but now it was unrecognisable – a maggoty, rotting lump of matted flesh. Walter Sedley retched and Hettie Timmins, the waitress at the Post Office Café, fell to the floor with a thump. It was a while before anyone noticed. All eyes followed Ron as, holding the corpse at arm’s length he bolted from the church with a buzzing, black cloud pursuing him. An appalled silence hung in the air.

Gradually, the silence was replaced by a low murmur as villagers ventured back inside and stood talking quietly in huddled groups.

‘Over here!’ a familiar voice called from the front of the church. It was Seth, sitting with a curiously still Mr Winters on the end of a pew. As one, they hurried over.

‘I saw everyone running out!’ said Seth when they got there. ‘And as I came in to find out what was going on…’ His face was white with shock and concern and when they looked at Winters they could see why.