Ahead of his Time by Adrian Cousins (read novels website .TXT) 📗

with whatever popped into my brain. I should have prepared this speech and practised it, so I was ready to wheel it out when required. However, I never thought it would be needed, so I just carried on blurting out my random thoughts.

“You remember our first night here in this house when you said that Alan was going to see The Clash gig in Islington. I said I loved The Clash, and London Calling was an epic album. That album will be released in a couple of years, but to me, it was old punk before my time. It was just one of the million time-travel cock-ups I’ve made that you never really noticed. Do you remember?”

Jenny didn’t move a muscle and turned up her nose as if George or I had relieved our bowels of unwanted gasses.

With no answer from Jen, I bashed on with my babbling. “You remember before Christmas when you were annoyed that Woollies had sold out of Space Hoppers, and I suggested Amazon might sell them? We then had this big debate about what was Amazon, and I said I’d bumped my head and was talking gibberish.”

Still no movement from Jen, and George was now playing his second symphony via his loose change jingling in his pocket.

“Well, Amazon is the world’s biggest online retailer. You can order what you want on your computer, and they deliver it the next day. You’ll remember when you questioned why I purchased shares in McDonald's restaurants and an American supermarket called Walmart, and I said they were an investment for the kids’ future. You said that no one had ever heard of them and I was wasting money. Those two businesses in thirty years’ time are two of the biggest companies in the world, so the kids will become multimillionaires.”

“What about those pocket computer companies you mentioned, lad?”

“Apple and Microsoft? Yeah, their stock is not available at the moment. I’m not sure when, but it will only be a few years and I’ll invest in them as well.”

I pulled out a chair and took Jenny’s hand in mine as if that act would somehow transfer my knowledge through our skin, and she would believe me – I was becoming desperate. “Christ, Jen, I know how this sounds, but it’s the truth. You’ll see over time as everything I say is going to happen … will happen. It changes nothing about us … nothing.”

Jenny pulled her hand back and turned to face George. “I’m so disappointed in you, George. I just don’t know what you’re playing at, but I had you down as a decent man … how wrong I was!”

“Jenny, lass—”

Jenny turned to me. She wasn’t angry, but disappointment oozed from her. “I’m off to bed. I suggest you sleep on the sofa.” She scraped her chair back and marched out of the kitchen. I sprung up from my chair, causing it to flip back and crash to the floor, whilst George grabbed my wrist and pulled. I glared back at him as he shook his head.

“Sit, lad.”

“Oh, for fuck sake! Can today get any fucking worse?” I blurted, as I buried my head in my hands. On this occasion, which was extremely rare, he didn’t chastise me for my vulgar language.

“Lad, she’s going to need time. You have to understand that what we’ve just told her is hard to take. Remember when you first tried to tell me? I just laughed and thought you were a nutter. We can show her the truth over time … we can.”

I nodded. Of course, George was right, but how long would it take, and would Jenny stick it out whilst I tried to convince her.

“Lad, remind me of some of the events of this year. I’m hoping you can think of some key ones that happen soon. It will really help the lass understand this is all true.”

“Jesus, George, it’s hard to think … this year is the Queen's Jubilee, but everyone knows that. I’ve written down about ten years’ worth of Grand Prix results in case I forget them, but often I refer back and wonder if I’ve got some of them wrong.”

“Well, lad, you’ve got them all right so far.”

“Yes, I have, and I’m totally convinced I have this year’s correct. It’s an easy year to remember as Niki Lauda won the title after his crash last year. I predicted Scheckter winning in Argentina last Sunday and scooped over a grand. The manager at the bookies in the High Street has actually barred me. He said I couldn’t enter his shop again as I’d cost him three and a half thousand pounds in four months. To be honest with you, winning bets at the bookies has become boring because I already know the result. It’s not as if I even need the money, based on the number of diamonds I have stashed in other Jason’s safety deposit box. There’s no fun in it anymore. It’s just a money-making process and, to be honest, it’s a ball-ache going into the shop. It was so much easier when I was able to place the bets online.”

“Online, what’s that, lad?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, George. You remember I said you can access things called websites on your pocket computer, it’s through that.”

“Ah yes, lad, that radio waves thing.”

“Ha, yeah, kind of. Anyway, Reutemann wins next Sunday in the Brazilian Grand Prix, but that’s no great shock. Anyone with an interest in motorsport could predict that, so that’s not going to cut-the-mustard with Jen.”

“Right lad, nothing you can think of in the next week or so?”

“No, George. It’s not easy to recall news items from forty years in the past. Often when I hear a report on the radio I can then piece it together and remember what will happen next, but I would need the prompt first. It’s not as easy as you might think. I mean, apart from the Titanic sinking the year you were born, do you know anything else that happened