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

when Lisa said it was stupid because I wasn’t particularly liked and she suspected not many would turn up. This sparked another barney that bolted onto the previous festering arguments, on the glide path to the end of our pointless marriage.

The long table was all decked out in festive cheer, bottles of wine liberally dotted about, and a champagne reception planned. Only three of my team turned up, and two of them were twenty minutes late. The young waitress standing with the tray of champagne flutes stood with a smirk on her face as it became apparent the vast majority of my guests had snubbed the evening – it was a total embarrassment. My team were probably all down the local pub laughing their heads off.

The young, clean-cut restaurant manager dressed in a sharp Savile Row suit conducted himself with great professionalism but still delighted in presenting me the bill for all twenty-five guests. He explained there’s no allowance for reducing the bill for non-attending guests. It was in the small print apparently – which he calmly highlighted with a yellow marker-pen on my bill – as I recalled accusing him of being a member of the Hitler Youth.

At the time I was furious and, every day for two weeks before the Christmas holidays, I proceeded to make their working lives a living hell. But they weren’t ungrateful as I’d thought at the time. No, they just hated me, and looking back I winced at the memory. My team were right. Back then, I was a complete tosser.

I pulled up outside the partially furnished semi that I’d purchased a couple of months ago. Something had told me not to rent it out, as I felt I might need it someday – that day had arrived. I checked my mirror as Martin pulled up close behind. I jumped out and hopped in the passenger seat of his car, the exact car I’d woken up in five months ago.

“Martin, you need to listen. I own these two houses. The one on the left, number eight, has some furniture so you will be okay in there. The one on the right is a tenant of mine. He’s a good friend, so he can support you as well. Do you understand?”

Martin nodded as he bowed his head and started picking his fingernails.

“Martin, do you understand?”

He shot his head up. “Oh yes, I fricking understand, of course I do! Everything’s so normal … what’s not to understand? Bloody hell, Jason, do I understand? No, of course I don’t bloody understand!” Verbal tirade delivered, he stared back down into his lap.

I leant back in my seat and stared at the roof. Jesus, this was a disaster. I lowered my head and turned to face him. “Martin, sorry mate, but this bit is hugely important. Look at me … Martin … look at me.”

He slowly brought his head up and delivered that vacant, empty stare he’d developed.

“Don, who lives in number ten, knows nothing about where we’ve come from. Only one person knows, and I’ll call him later as we’re going to need his help. But for now, you say nothing. No one can know what we’ve gone through … no one.”

“What have we gone through, Jason? I’m so confused. I … just, I just …” Martin huffed and rubbed his hands up and down the side of his face. “This is nuts.” He shook his head, dropping his eyes and resumed his lap staring and fingernail picking routine.

“Look, mate, we’ve both time-travelled from 2019 to now. Well, I arrived here the day we had the crash. I know that’s ridiculous, but I’ve been living here for five months. It’s very real, mate … very real.”

Martin whipped his head up and glared at me again, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “Fuck off, Jason.”

“Martin, you need me! And I need you to hold your shit together. You can tell me to fuck off as much as you like, but the plain fact is you’re going to have to believe me … that’s it. Right, we need to go into the house and put the fire on as it’ll be freezing in there. First job though … we need to say hello to Don, so no fuck-ups from you. You’re an old friend who needs a place to stay for a while. That’s your story, nice and simple. No more details … you got it?”

“Oh, God. Okay. I must be dreaming. Christ, either that or I’ve gone nuts,” he replied.

His comment made me smile as I hauled my way out of the car. I’d said those very same words over and over five months ago. Don answered the door immediately, as I guessed he would. His snooping skills were second to none, and he would have spotted us as soon as we pulled up.

“Evening, Don. You okay?”

“Yes, son. Who you got ’ere then?”

“Don, this is Martin, Martin, Don.” I gestured my hands back and forth as a way of introduction. Don nodded whilst Martin remained motionless.

“Martin will be staying next door for a while. He’s an old friend in a bit of a jam at the moment.”

“You can say that again,” Martin interjected. His hands shoved in his old parka coat and doing his new usual – staring at the floor.

I shot Martin a look, concerned that he’d forgotten my instruction to keep schtum. “As I was saying, he is in a bit of a jam. It’s all on the Q.T. if you know what I mean?” I tapped the side of my nose to convey this was classified and metaphorically stamped top secret. “Can you keep an eye out and make sure he’s okay? Just to give me a bit of time to get some stuff sorted.”

“Of course, son, no problem.” Don saluted and, for a brief second, he stood to attention. “Look, you coming in? It’s a bit nippy on the doorstep.”

We followed Don in through to the kitchen. Don shuffled his way there,