The Accidental Time Traveller (27 page)

‘Is he? Well I’d like to tell him just what I think of him and his crackpot outdated ideas. Everyone knows that women are better drivers than men, much safer, fewer accidents, not so reckless. Just ask the insurance companies. They’re no fools. They’ll tell you …’

‘OK, OK,’ laughed Billy, getting up to hand me a piece of paper with the details. ‘Somehow I thought you’d feel like that.’

‘Honestly, he must be living in the dark ages,’ I rattled on, well and truly on my soap box now. ‘I mean even in the 1950s. Weren’t women driving during the war? They drove cars and buses and lorries then, didn’t they? If they’re good enough to do it during the war …’

I stopped. Billy was standing close to me holding a finger to his mouth for silence. Then he leant forward and put his finger gently to my lips instead. His eyes held mine for one, two, three seconds. I didn’t dare move, didn’t want it to stop. We were standing so close, it would have been so easy to kiss him. His eyes looked as if he wanted to kiss me …

But he suddenly turned away, went back to his desk and, without looking up, said, ‘He’s due at ten o’clock. I’ve booked a photographer.’ He shuffled the papers on his desk for a bit, then glanced up at me. I was still standing where he had left me, clutching the piece of paper in my hand.

‘You can drive, of course?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Since I was seventeen. Passed first time. Bought my own car soon afterwards. No accidents, no speeding tickets, no insurance claims.’

‘I thought that’s how it would be,’ he said, looking at me and smiling, almost to himself. ‘I thought it would be.’

With that, Alan came in scrunching up a piece of copy paper and muttering about people changing their minds. It looked as though he was going to have to re-write a story. He booted the ball of paper towards the basket, but Billy suddenly leapt on it and booted it back. As I picked up my bag again and set out for the driving test centre, the two of them were replaying the Cup Final across the newsroom. I ran down the crowded wooden stairs and out into the spring sunshine, with my hand on my lips, remembering Billy’s touch, the expression in his eyes …

At the new driving test centre, Sir Howard Castleton was ushered away by his flunkies as soon as he’d made his short and boring speech, so I didn’t get a chance to interview him.

But it didn’t matter – because Billy had wanted to kiss me. I almost sang it to myself. Billy had wanted to kiss me. He had leant forward, touched my lips, and that look … I dragged myself back to work. Concentrate, girl. Concentrate.

The chief examiner said he was pretty sure that, actually, a greater number of women than men passed their driving test first time. He could give me the figures, if I liked.

‘Women drivers are the best,’ the story would write itself, though I doubted it would do much to stop the flood of women driver jokes.

Billy had wanted to kiss me. I knew he had wanted to kiss me. I couldn’t get the thought or the memory out of my head. Billy …

‘Want a lift back?’ asked George.

‘What? Oh yes please. Thanks.’ I got into the van still in a dream. But then we were just getting going when I suddenly spotted the window display in the Home and Colonial. It couldn’t be, could it? It was.

‘Hang on a minute, George,’ I said, ‘I’ve just got to go in here.’ In the centre of the window was a wonky-looking pyramid made up of bottles of washing-up liquid. Washing-up liquid? Yup. Squeezy had arrived. I dashed inside and joined the queue.

When I came back and clambered triumphantly into the van with two bottles of washing-up liquid, George asked me how things were going at home.

‘Peggy’s mum looking forward to being a granny then is she?’

‘Not with undiluted joy, no.’

‘Is it safe for me to pop around and see Peggy yet?’

‘If you take your tin helmet and body armour. But on the basis that you can’t make things worse, you might as well. Peggy needs cheering up and I know she likes you.’

‘Does she? Does she really?’ George seemed quite excited.

‘Well I think so. Anyway, you saved her life. She’s got to like you.’

I went back up into the office, wondering whether Billy would be there, wondering if he would look at me in the magical way again, wondering if he would say anything …

But the newsroom was empty apart from Marje at her desk in her little cloud of smoke. She looked up from the notes she was scribbling and, waving the smoke away from her eyes, asked suddenly, ‘Did your friend sort out her little problem?’

‘Yes, well no, well, she’s decided to go ahead and have the baby. Might even be keeping it.’

‘Mmm,’ more scribbling, then, ‘Is Peggy coming back to work soon?’

‘No, no I don’t think so. I think …’

The official line was that she was on sick leave.

‘She was quite close to Henfield, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word. Henfield’s secretaries have a habit of leaving suddenly. She should have known. Silly girl.’

‘You can’t blame her!’ I said indignantly. ‘Henfield was her boss, older. He shouldn’t have led her astray, abused his authority.’

‘Henfield is a great editor but a swine of a man. She is old enough to know what she was doing,’ said Marje, stubbing out her cigarette and heading down to the subs’ room. I shrugged. It wasn’t worth arguing about any more.

When I got home from work George was there, sitting at the kitchen table with Peggy, having a cup of tea. He was there to watch my great washing-up liquid demonstration.

‘See. One squeeze and it gets everything nice and clean. No rubbing bits of green soap or using washing powder. Simple, isn’t it?’

Mrs Brown eyed it all very suspiciously, but later, after she’d done the tea things she came out into the kitchen and said, ‘Well it works. I’ll grant you that. Very clever, but I bet it costs a lot.’

‘No matter, Mrs Brown,’ I said, feeling like Lady Bountiful. ‘I promise you that as long as I’m staying here, I will buy the washing-up liquid. Anything to make life easier.’

‘Oh well, very nice I’m sure,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Another cup of tea, George?’

George was very soon quite a regular visitor. He even started helping Janice with her homework. Very knowledgeable about history he was, said it had always been a hobby of his.

But while the atmosphere at home was gradually getting a little easier it still wasn’t exactly a laugh a minute. I escaped when I could. I went to a jazz club with Phil. It was very smoky, in a cellar that seemed to smell of damp, and seemed to be full of teachers from the boys’ grammar school. I didn’t think I liked jazz, but I enjoyed the evening there. I drank whisky and ginger and felt quite mellow.

I even went to the theatre on press tickets.

‘Anyone want to go to the Hippodrome?’ asked Billy one morning, waving a set of tickets in the air. ‘Normal reviewer can’t do it. It’s a thriller. Any takers?’

‘I’ll have them,’ I said – it had to be better than sitting in at the Browns’. Phil was doing nights again. ‘Do you think Carol would like to come?’

Billy looked surprised for a moment. ‘Carol? To the theatre? Yes. I’m sure she would. I’ll ask her and let you know tomorrow. I expect her mum will keep an eye on the kids.’

‘Tell her to come early.’

I’d been looking out for her shabby brown coat and so I didn’t recognise Carol when she arrived at the Hippodrome. She was wearing a boxy jacket and a pencil skirt.

‘Gosh, don’t you look smart!’ I said and then worried that I might seem condescending.

‘Are they all right? I made them myself and I’m not sure about the jacket. Billy said reviewers always get the best seats so I thought I’d better look a bit posh,’ she said. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been to the theatre, proper theatre that is, not just the pantomime.’

‘Come on. We’ve got time for a drink.’

Up in the circle bar hardly anyone had arrived yet so I was served quickly. ‘Gin and tonic,’ I said to Carol, as I brought them over to the table. ‘Is that all right?’

‘Smashing,’ she said, she lifted the glass and breathed in the fumes of the gin. It was so like Caz I had the most dreadful ache for my own life, my real life. For a moment the yearning was a sharp physical pain – that longing to be in a bar with Caz having a good gossip over a bottle of Chablis at the end of the day. Oh God, how I missed it. I missed it so much. I felt tears coming. I blinked quickly.

‘Strong isn’t it?’ said Carol, happily knocking back the gin.

‘I’ll just get us another. Before the rush,’ I said. ‘On expenses,’ I added so that she would enjoy it even more and not feel obliged to offer to pay. When I came back with them – doubles again – Carol nudged me and nodded towards a woman just coming in. She was removing a beautifully-cut jacket to show a fitted dress with a boat neckline that showed her shoulders and elegant neck to best advantage.

‘What a corker!’ whispered Carol. ‘Not like her.’ She pointed towards a well-upholstered matron, corseted so tightly that she was already having to use her programme to fan her glowing face.

Soon Carol and I were studying all the people coming in. Here there’d be a dress that Carol thought she could copy, there was someone looking frightful in totally the wrong colour. In the circle bar we had the pick of smalltown fashion to gaze at, and we made the most of it.

‘He’s a bit of all right,’ said Carol suddenly, gazing at an elegant young man who’d come in with an older woman, probably his mother, ‘but no he’s got a moustache. That’s no good. It would tickle, wouldn’t it?’ She started to giggle. It was infectious and as the second bell rang and we went in to find our seats, we were shaking with silent laughter.

In the darkness of the theatre while the bodies piled up on stage, Carol sat forward in her seat, totally absorbed in the action, happy and relaxed. Meanwhile, I thought of Billy and felt guilty and miserable. How could I be a friend to Carol when I wanted Billy so much? True, we hadn’t done anything. But oh how I wanted to. And I was sure that Billy wanted me as much as I wanted him. The incident of the almost-kiss was part of it.

I’d ordered more gin for the interval and we sat giggling in the corner while the well-upholstered matrons glared at us disapprovingly, which, of course, made us giggle even more.

At the end of the evening, as we made our way with the crowds out into the fresh air, Carol was still bubbling away about the play and the people she’d seen.

‘I’ve had a really nice time,’ she said, as we stood at the edge of the town centre where our ways parted. ‘Really nice. I think I might be a bit squiffy.’ She beamed happily. ‘It does me good to get out of the house sometimes and away from the kids – not that I would be without them, of course, but it’s good to have a laugh and a chat. Anyway, perhaps we can have a coffee soon. If my slave-driving husband will let you out. My treat next time.’

‘Great. Yes. Soon,’ I said and managed to smile.

Suddenly I heard footsteps running towards us. I tensed as I turned.

‘Hello girls! Have you had a good evening? Was the play good?’

‘Billy!’ said Caz. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Well, as your ma was babysitting, I made the most of it, finished some work and then went for a drink with the subs. Then I thought I’d find you and walk you home.’

‘Oooh, romantic,’ said Carol. ‘Just like when we were courting.’ She put her arm through his and pulled him towards her. It couldn’t have hurt more if she’d slapped me.

Billy looked at her. ‘Have you been drinking, Carol?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Just a little gin or two with my friend Rosie,’ she said.

‘Just as well I’m here to see you home then,’ he said and although he smiled, somewhere there was an edge, just a little edge of disapproval. He turned to me. ‘Will you be all right, Rosie?’ he asked, politely, courteously, distantly.

‘Yes, of course. Fine. It’s only a step away,’ I answered, flustered, trying to seem cool. I pulled my jacket around me and set off purposefully. At the corner, I looked back. Billy and Carol were arm in arm strolling down the lamplit street. But as I watched, Billy turned. His arm still in Carol’s he looked back at me over his shoulder and kept on looking until the darkness swallowed them up. I ran home.

It was as if Billy was playing a game with me. I often caught him looking at me. He’d be leaning back in his chair trying to think of an intro, and he’d be gazing at me. And I couldn’t work out the expression on his face. At other times he would bounce ideas off me – suggestions for stories, how they could be covered.

‘I like your American way of thinking,’ he would say. ‘It’s different, fresh. Better than sleepy old England, eh?’

Or he’d hand me a story and go out of his way to be helpful, leaning over my desk and scribbling names and addresses of contacts. It was very much the way Will and I worked together. And although I loved the closeness with Billy, the friendlier he was, the harder it was for me to cope. If I got Billy to love me, then what? What about Carol? The kids? There didn’t seem to be any easy solution.

So I did what I always do when things are tricky – I went shopping.

Only there weren’t any shops. There was a tiny Marks and Spencer, which was full of cardigans and underpants and dreary dresses. There was no Top Shop, no Zara, Mango, Monsoon, H&M, Jigsaw, Hobbs, River Island, Next, Principles, Gap, Laura Ashley, no Harvey Nicks, no Primark, no Wallis, Warehouse, French Connection, Karen Millen, Kookai, Oasis, no … well, you get the picture. Which was very bleak.