Chapter 9: Out Of Time

Russ let himself back into the house and crept to the foot of the stairs. Time for an hour's blessed rest before going to meet Ethel again. He was absolutely shattered. Delia had been virtually insatiable. How insatiable, he didn't know: he had lost count after seven times.

Without even removing his tracksuit, he rolled into bed and fell asleep instantly.

What was that?

He sat up, disoriented. Silence. That was it. The church bells had stopped suddenly and woken him. Peace, perfect peace. Sunday morning.

Sunday!

Eleven o' clock!

He was late for Ethel. Already an hour late, and counting. Seventy-something years and an hour late. He blundered out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Even a shower failed to revive him, although it removed most of the sensory reminders of the night before. Out into the bedroom, clothes, jeans, sweater. The bed reeked of Delia - at second hand. His track suit smelled like the morning after an orgy. Reasonably enough.

He grabbed great-grandpop's coat, let himself out and roared away up the road in his car.

There was a card pinned to the shop door. One of the shop's business cards, a message from Ethel scrawled on the back:

'R

You remember my address? You know the name of the street. It is number 23. See you there.

Love, E'

So she had been here, and waited as long as she could, then gone home to wait there. He knew how to find the street, by retracing the route they had taken the previous weekend after the car trip. Clever girl, she had realised that her entire street was made up of identical little houses. He would never have remembered the number. Imagine knocking on every door in the street, asking for Ethel. Bad idea, Russell.

He unpinned the card and set off down the sloping cobbles. The nanny was plodding up the middle of the street, without her pram this time. She half smiled at him, shyly, when he wished her good-day.

At the bottom of the street he had to turn left and go through the market. Past the church, along an alley, turn right and Bob's your uncle. He glanced back up Archdeacon Street. The nanny was just disappearing into a house at the the top, and looking back over her shoulder at him.

Feeling a little pleased but a little foolish, Russ looked at the number on Ethel's card, Number 23, same as Claire's age, then tucked it into his coat pocket and swung left down the narrow passage leading to the market square. It was a tight squeeze: there was a van parked at the end of the passage. Probably not too many people came this way at the weekend, so the van wasn't really causing an obstruction. He squeezed past it, brushed the dust off his coat ... and froze in his tracks.

Look at the van. Look at it, Russell.

An ordinary unlettered white Ford Transit panel van, long wheelbase, twin rear wheels.

An ordinary 1994 Transit.

The two cards were still in his coat pocket. He dragged them out. The original one, with a few pencil figures in one corner. The second one with Ethel's writing and a pinhole at the top.

Back past the van, and up the alley to the bottom end of Archdeacon Street. Russ pulled out the two cards and held them in his hand, gazing up at the cast-iron street sign. Or where it ought to be. Nothing happened. He tried again, clutching his original card between shaking fingers. Again with Ethel's card. His heart was thumping in his chest, there was a sour taste in his throat as he retraced his steps along the alley between the leaning red brick walls to the street where his car was parked.

Where was it?

The phone box in the market square had been out of order. The one by the station worked, but the number just rang and rang. Claire still not back from her girlfriend's? Surely, it must be nearly one o' clock! There was still credit on the pay-phone. Quickly, fingers trembling, he tapped out Delia's number.

A long pause.

"Hello, six-oh-four-three-eight-seven?" A husky, breathless voice.

"Sally!"

"Hello? Russ? Is that you? My God, what's happened?"

"My car's been stolen. I was on my way back to see Ethel, but something's gone wrong with ... with the gateway or whatever you call it... ?"

"But this is Sunday! Russ! What's gone wrong?"

"The gateway? The time thing?"

"I know what you mean, but it's been..."

"And I found myself back where I started. So I went back to the car, and it was gone."

"Of course it's gone. Where are you now?"

"At the station. I haven't called the police yet. I tried Claire. No answer. Isn't she back yet?"

"Back? From where? Claire's here. She's been here ever since you..."

"What do you mean, of course my car's gone... ?"

"It's here. The police brought it back on Friday! After they'd finished all their forensic stuff."

Oh, my God!

"Russ? You still there?"

"Yes."

"Don't go away. I'll get Mum to come and pick you up. I'm coming too. And Claire, I suppose," she added very much as an afterthought.

"I can't wait here. I have to get back to Ethel..."

"You can't do that, you'll screw things up, you..."

"I have to see her. She's been waiting hours..."

"Russ! Think about it!"

He stopped dead. Sally was almost sobbing on the other end of the phone. She took a deep breath and carried on.

"You can't go back, not until we've sorted out what's happened. I'll help you work it out. Trust me..."

"I have to try again. I've got my card. I'll just walk up there and try again as if nothing had happened."

"You can't. Do you know what date it is?"

"It's Sunday, of course. The town's deserted."

"Russie, darling!" Sally's voice was urgent, pleading. "You've been away three weeks!"

"Three wee... ? Sally, love, don't play games."

"I'm not. I wish I was. Russie. Wait there. Do not call the police. We'll collect you. Please. I love..."

The wavering tone cut her off, mocking him as he rapped at the receiver rest and pushed every button in sight. Then he slammed the phone down with unnecessary force and blundered out of the phone box into the chill wind. He had no more change for another call.

Wait here.

Find Ethel.

Sobbing, he turned away and stumbled drunkenly up the steep roadway from the station. It took half an hour of aimless and frantic searching of the unfamiliar streets just to find the alleyway. And although he approached it half a dozen times, clutching one card or the other or both at the same time. He remained stubbornly where he was. Or when.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"What? Help me? No, I'm all right. I just..."

"You were wandering around, sir. We've been watching you."

Russ turned, saw for the first time the police car. A police woman was sitting inside, talking on the phone. The policeman was young, not confident, out of his depth.

"There's nothing wrong. I was looking for someone..."

The policeman's expression cleared. Looking for sex.

"Does she live up this way, sir?"

"She? Yes, up this way somewhere."

"You'd better come down to the car for a moment, sir. If you don't mind. We just need to make a quick call. Come along, sir. It's warm in the car." He held out a hand to take Russ's arm.

Feeling hopeless, Russ accompanied him down the damp street. A few minutes later, with the surprised police woman comforting him in the back seat as he broke down completely, the car delivered him to the police station.

They found him, of course. Led by Delia, three of the women in Russell's life stormed into the police station to rescue their man. Only Sally knew more than the bare bones of the story, and she was unable to tell what she knew. She stood close by his side while Claire and Delia negotiated the release of the prisoner.

It was dark outside when the formalities were completed to anyone's partial satisfaction.

"You can take him home, but we will be making further enquiries over the next few days."

Don't leave town, Mister.

"We've made up a bed in the spare room for you. The doctor said it's probably best if you don't ... well, if we don't do it for a day or two." Claire fussed around him while Delia made endless cups of coffee for anyone who stood still for more than ten seconds.

"Bugger the doctor! I don't know why I had to see him. And I'm not tired. Why should I want to go to bed at half past five in the evening?"

"Rubbish! You say you haven't been to bed for three weeks. You must be tired."

Russ looked helplessly at Sally, who shook her head quickly and pointed at her watch. There was no way out of it. He had to allow himself to be escorted upstairs to the poky little back bedroom, undressed and put to bed like a toddler.

"Where have you been staying, darling?"

"Nowhere?"

"You must have been somewhere. You haven't been wandering the streets for three weeks." Claire ran her fingers through his hair. "You must have been washing your hair regularly. It feels soft and clean."

"Of course it is. I washed it this morning at home. Before you came home from what's-her-name's place."

"Silly! That was weeks ago. I've been here at Mum's ever since you went missing. Can't you remember anything about it?"

"I can remember everything as if it were yesterday. It was yesterday, that's why!"

"Now, don't get excited, love. You need rest. Maybe it will all come back to you when you wake up. Now, one of us will be here with you in case you wake up and want anything, so you needn't worry about a thing. Just sleep. Sleep."

He sighed hopelessly and closed his eyes. The bed was warm and comfortable. He was tired. Last night had been almost entirely sleepless, thanks to Delia's attentions. Delia had the most amazing powers of recovery for a middle-aged woman. Rushing around like a two-year-old.

Claire had settled down in the chair by the bed, engrossed in the fashion pages of her Sunday magazine. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, seconds later, it was Sally sitting there. She had a book with her, but she wasn't reading. As soon as he opened his eyes, she leaned forward and placed a cool hand on his forehead.

"How's things, Russie?"

"What's the time?" They were whispering.

"Just gone midnight. I've been here since eleven."

"What about school tomorrow?"

"Mum's going to call them in the morning. I insisted on taking my turn sitting with you. We're doing two hours on and four off."

Her fingers twined with his as he reached out. She already had a hankie in her other hand to dry his tears.

"There. Try not to think about it. We'll work it all out."

"I want to talk about it before I forget." He struggled to sit up, and Sally placed a pillow behind his head and carefully closed the door.

"Talk quietly, then. We don't want them coming up."

"I tried again after I called you. Half a dozen times, with both cards."

"Both cards? Both of which cards?"

"My original one, the one that we've always used. And the one Ethel pinned to the door of the shop."