Chapter 3: Where Did You Get That Hat?

"It's no use, Russell. I don't believe you!" Ethel had put down her cup with a clatter and carried the tray into the kitchen. It had been almost a week, and the time had dragged as Russ had been almost aching for another glimpse of her. The opportunity came when he arranged a shopping expedition for Claire and her mother. He had made an excuse and left Claire and her mother at the entrance to the market square.

"I know an old second-hand bookshop down this way," he had told them, anxious to get away. "Let's meet up back at the car in an hour, okay?"

"As long as you're not going to be late, dear. And don't get lost!"

He almost had. From this direction, on foot, everything was completely the wrong way round. It was only when he found himself going down an alleyway between two leaning walls that he turned, retraced his steps, and came to a halt in front of a slightly familiar building. Almost without realising, he had found himself holding the business card between his fingers.

"Could that be it! Could it be something to do with the card?" He'd slipped the card carefully back in his pocket and strode confidently up Archdeacon Street.

Ethel had been overjoyed. She had invited him into the back room for tea. She even produced a cream cake.

"I always treat myself to a cake on Saturdays. They do such lovely ones at Sowerby's in the High Street. Look, Herbert will be here in ten minutes, and it's my lunch time. It's stopped raining, shall we go for a stroll?"

"A stroll? You mean outside?"

"No, not outside, we'll just walk round and round the shop! Of course I mean outside, silly!"

"I don't know what will happen if we leave the shop."

"Happen? What could possibly happen? I won't carry you off anywhere and lock you in a tall tower on a hilltop."

That sounded like a pity. "No, I mean, you know what I was saying about ... where I come from? I don't know what would happen if we went outside. If we left the shop, or just this street... ?"

"It's no use, Russell. I don't believe you!" Ethel put down her cup with a clatter and carried the tray into the kitchen. Wow, talk about déjà vu! She came back out into the room. "Come on, put your coat on, and get your hat! As soon as Herbert gets here, we're going for a walk, and there's an end to it!"

Russ stood up defensively. "I haven't got a hat. I never wear one."

"Nonsense! You're not taking me out without a hat. People would talk. You shall borrow Herbert's, when he arrives. In fact..." she peered up the steps as the doorbell tinkled " ... there he is now."

Herbert was not, surprisingly, an stooped and elderly great-uncle. He was a skinny but handsome youth of about sixteen. He wore a brown suit, substantial brown boots and a flat cap of quite extraordinary circumference.

"You are to lend Russell your cap, Herbert," announced Ethel sternly. "We are going for a walk."

"Yes, sir. Certainly, Miss Ethel." He took the cap off, instantly looking considerably smaller.

"I can't wear this!" Russ studied the cap with extreme doubt.

"Why not? It's a jolly good cap. And we are certainly not going out without it."

"I don't need one. It's really warm out."

"You are not escorting me down the street half naked!"

Herbert gasped, turned scarlet and hung his head. "Ooh, Miss Ethel! How could you?"

Even Ethel seemed a little overcome by her own forwardness. She went pink and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, pretending to blow her nose. Russell tried the cap on. It sat on his head like an oversized pizza, heavy with Herbert's hair oil. At least, nobody would recognise him like this. God forbid that they should bump into Claire and her mother.

"You're ready, then? Oh, yes. Most dashing! Come along, dear. Herbert! Mind the store. We will be no more than an hour."

Nothing happened. They emerged from the shop into the daylight, and turned automatically downhill. Archdeacon Street was empty as usual, but at least it was still there, and so was Ethel, clinging to his arm and striding out at his side. "There, you see? Nothing happened to you. Here we are, outside. I said you were a complete fraud. Mister Mystery Man! I'll wager you don't even know your way around Staunchbury."

They had reached the end of the street. Here was the alleyway between the leaning brick walls. He toyed with a half-baked scheme to wrench his arm free, to dash down the alley and escape in his car, then he realised that today his car was in the multi-storey car park in the town centre, in the opposite direction.

And Ethel turned left, toward the town centre. At any moment, they would come out of this narrow footpath beside the church, and they would be in the market square, bustling with Saturday shoppers. Full of Claire and her mother.

"I love the town on market day. It feels as if it hasn't changed for a hundred years." She took a deep breath. The air did seem extra fresh this morning. "I feel as if I am likely to meet people around the market who were shopping here back in Queen Victoria's day. That's Victoria, not Elizabeth," she added with a sly glance.

And at that moment, they reached the market square.

Russ was spared his worst fear, that of meeting Claire and her mother. It was replaced by an even worse one, if that were possible. Where was he? Or when was he? If he became stuck in this place, or this time, how would he get back?

Meanwhile he knew only too well when he was. A single-decker bus wheezed past and accelerated slowly up the main street with a moan from its gearbox and transmission. Horses nodded at their nosebags, tied to the cast iron railings round the market square. There were gleaming vintage cars, elaborately painted vans, uneconomically small lorries; all parked haphazardly among the horse carts and drays. They emerged behind the market stalls, the gaily striped awnings glittering in the fresh crisp sunshine. Ignore the vehicles - and what would they be worth if he could take them home with him - and he could be in the present time. Vegetables, fruit, antiques, clothes, books, what have you? Unchanging. So were the people, within certain limits imposed by their dress. He need have no concern for his appearance in Herbert's cap. Half the male population was wearing one. The other half wore smart hats, the sort of thing of which Ethel would approve in a walking companion.

But she seemed well content with his companionship just as he was. She held his arm and guided him through the crowds, pointing things out with girlish delight. Ethel was such fun, somehow. So innocent. Like Sally, in some ways, and yet at the same time completely a woman. She pulled him to a halt in front of a man selling plates, cups and saucers. The same sort of salesman you saw these days, bashing the items together: clashing plates into piles in his hand, "not ten shillings, not five shillings, not two shillings, not even one shilling!" A crowd had gathered. "Ooooh!" Triumphantly, "Not ninepence! Six pence is all I am asking, yes, madam, and you, madam, another over here, young Arthur..."

"They never drop any, do they."

"They probably wouldn't break if they did!"

They strolled on in companionable silence, and stopped in front of a stall filled with old gramophone records. Except they were new ones.

"Oh, Russ, look!"

Russell looked. It was a goldmine. A veritable goldmine. And all he had on him was a handful of coppers. Ethel had a record in her hands. "This one. I've never seen any by him. I don't think they've even got these in New York."

Russell handed over the money and watched Ethel's face as the stallholder slipped the record into a paper bag. "Careful with it, sir! Bless you, sir."

"No, give it to the lady."

"For me?"

Her lips were eager and hot on his cheek. He felt himself going red. Thank God for Herbert's cap.

Ethel was red-faced, too. "My goodness, what a brazen hussy I am! A scarlet woman. What can have possessed me?"