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

any doubt. Every beautiful feature, the smile, the eyes, yes, that baby was without question her son’s daughter.

She hadn’t fully decided what she intended to do about it, but she was just gaining information for now. The more she knew, the better placed she’d be to act when the time came. What she did know, with unquestionable certainty, was her granddaughter belonged to her and not them – whatever any adoption court had ruled.

Deciding she’d seen enough for today, Shirley prepared to drive home as the car heater hadn’t been very effective in stopping her shivers. As she put the car in gear, she spotted an old red Cortina pull onto the drive of number twenty-two. A couple in their sixties walked up to the house and rang the bell. The redhead answered, holding her granddaughter wrapped in a blanket.

Shirley flipped the gear stick back into neutral as she watched them enter the house. Perhaps she’d hang on a bit longer and see who these people were, she thought. She didn’t have to wait long as ten minutes later they all came out. A little boy climbed into the back seat of the Cortina, and the redhead stood with whom Shirley presumed was her husband as they chatted to the older couple for a few minutes.

Now it was all slotting into place. There he was, that school teacher, with the redhead cow holding her granddaughter. Well, that was going to change.

24

24th January 1977

MI6

I picked Martin up at eight. Fortunately, he was ready and waiting, standing outside the house just as he was that day back in August, forty-two years in the future. This time I didn’t moan that he hadn’t walked to the end of the street, nor did he have his head in his phone, scrolling through Facebook as we made our journey to school.

Cuddled up on the sofa, Jenny and I had watched the Grand Prix highlights on Sunday evening. My race prediction was correct and, I knew as every tiny event happened which I could predict, it tugged Jenny closer to believing my story. George and Ivy collected Stephen late afternoon and, after the difficult conversation last Tuesday, Jenny took a moment to talk to George and smooth out their relationship. It was a conversation that I could just tell George was so pleased to have. He’d squeezed my arm and smiled as they left, clearly delighted that Jenny and I were moving in the right direction.

“Right, Martin, here we are. I would imagine the school is pretty much as you will remember it. The sixth form block is missing, but the main building is the same.”

Martin looked out of the windscreen, glancing left and right at his old school. The school he’d left fifteen years ago, twenty-six years in the future.

“You okay?” I asked, as he’d said nothing for almost half a minute.

“Yeah. There’s a lot of kids about.”

“Well, it’s a school, so no shock there,” I chuckled, as I exited the car.

Martin hopped out of the passenger seat and leant across the roof of the car. “Do I have to do this? I just don’t fancy it.”

“Yes, you do! Until we can work out whether we can get you back to 2019, you’re going to have to do something.”

Martin huffed and blew out his cheeks as he looked around to the central courtyard at the hundreds of pupils chatting before the school opened up. “Okay. But as we said on Thursday, I’m going to find out about Mum and make sure she doesn’t have to suffer, even if that means I can’t go back.”

I’d mulled over this dilemma many times since last week. I knew his mother’s attacker – his father – was one of three people. Do I tell Martin, so we can try and stop it from happening? Or do I keep schtum? Thus, avoiding the inevitable clash with my favourite family – the Colneys.

“I’m free until ten, so I can show you around and get you set up for the day,” I said, as we walked towards the stone steps that led up to the entrance.

I turned and noticed Martin had stopped a few feet back as he gawped at a group of senior girls chatting and laughing about thirty feet away. I swivelled and looked at the girls. Facing in our direction, laughing at what her friends had said whilst twiddling her long blonde ponytail around in her hand, was Sarah Moore. I turned back to look at Martin; he was staring straight at her. When I turned back to look at Sarah, she was staring straight at him and smiling.

Oh bollocks.

I bloody knew this was a stupid idea. But as George had said and, let's face it, everything George said was right – I had no bloody choice. I stepped back, grabbed his jacket sleeve and tugged hard, dragging him towards me. Martin continued staring at Sarah and stumbled, which caused Sarah to giggle and blush.

“Martin, come on.” I continued to drag him until we had vaulted up the steps and into the main entrance.

“That was my mum!”

“Yes, it was. Martin, remember what I said. You can’t draw attention to yourself, and you can’t talk to her.”

“She’s beautiful.”

I grabbed his arm again and pulled him to the side of the corridor. “Martin, for fuck sake! She’s your mum, and she’s sixteen!” I delivered firmly but in hushed tones as the pupils were filing in through the main entrance like a swarm of rabid locusts.

“You bollocking adults as well as us lot, Mr Apsley? Reckon this Acting Deputy Head stuff has gone to your head,” said Steve Warrington, a senior boy, tramping into school with a group of lads and closely followed by the girls Sarah was with. Of course, this caused a burst of laughter.

“No cheek from you, Warrington,” I boomed.

“Sorry, sir,” Steve threw back over his shoulder. The girls giggled, and Sarah had another good gawp at her thirty-one-year-old son.

I bundled Martin into the school