Time After Time

“Come in.”

Hermes ushered them into the sweltering living room.

The inside of the cottage was now very different. The door led into a cosy room filled so filled with objects it more resembled an antiques shop than a living space. Old black and white photographs and oil paintings dotted the walls. A sagging Victorian sofa and several armchairs stood around a roaring fire. On a tiny table was a teapot, five cups and a plate of biscuits. Most noticeable were the clocks. They covered the mantelpiece and filled the walls. In one corner stood a gigantic grandfather clock. A display cabinet leant against the wall, filled with clocks, hourglasses and metronomes.

“Anyone got the time?” Pete asked.

“You are earlier than I expected but there is an assortment of biscuits. Bourbons, custard creams, pink wafers. I have put the kettle on; tea will be a moment.”

An urgent whistling came from the kitchen. Hermes shuffled away, his tatty slippers slapping against the stone floor. Tom and Kate sat on an ancient sofa, stuffing protruding from various rips in the cushions. Pete claimed a luxurious armchair by the fire and perched on the edge, warming his hands.

Soon, the old man returned with a tray full of teacups and a teapot. He set it on a table.

“You can’t rush making a decent cup of tea. The water must be just so. A little too much milk or pouring too early ruins the drink. There you go.”

He handed a cup to Kate first and to the boys. Pete sniffed at it.

“Do you have any PG Tips?”

Hermes lowered himself into another armchair. He held the tea with both hands and sipped with his eyes closed.

Tom and Kate looked at each other.

“Did Mary make it through the portal?” Kate asked.

“Mary is fine, was fine. I taught her for a while, before the outbreak of the Great War. She returned to her own year. She was a significant figure in the suffragette movement. Wrote a few books many feminists still read today. Look them up; they’re good. She was ahead of her time.”

“Is she still alive?” Kate asked.

“I’m afraid not, she died seven years ago. She would have been in her late eighties by now. She visited you before she passed away.”

“Visited me?”

“You won’t remember; it was shortly after you arrived. You were young and confused.”

“I do remember. There were two old ladies, they were kind.”

“That’s right,” said Hermes. “She took Gladys with her. Gladys was one of our finest painters. They were a rather bohemian couple, tucked away in their little cottage. They lived together most of their lives.”

“My sister goes missing tomorrow night,” said Tom. “We need to be there to stop it. I chased someone through the Plantations. It must have been me.”

Hermes nodded.

“You must stay here tonight of course, there’s plenty of room. Tomorrow I’ll get you where you need to be. There are secret paths through Wigan unknown to ordinary mortals. Only a select few possessed of occult knowledge know of them. And taxi drivers. One takes you from Miry Lane to Frog Lane in a matter of minutes.”

“Do you mean near Prescott Street?” Pete asked.

“Prescott Street, that’s the one. You already know it?”

“It is on the A to Z.”

The old man lifted himself out of his chair. It took a real effort Kate and Tom attempted to help but he waved them away. He walked to a small door in a corner of the room, pushed it open and went through, gesturing for them to follow.

On the other side of the door was a luxurious bedroom. Three huge beds were against one wall covered by spotless linen with towels folded at the bottom. A small door led to an en-suite bathroom.

“Make yourselves as comfortable as possible and get plenty of rest tonight. I will knock in the morning when breakfast is ready.”

Tom collapsed exhausted on one of the beds while Pete tried to figure out how to turn on the TV. Kate disappeared into the bathroom to run a bath. Tom closed his eyes intending to rest a little; he listened to the sound of water filling the tub. He thought about Sophie. She would be asleep safe at home in bed across town. He thought about the night she disappeared. Sophie smiling at the tall shadowy figure and walking off together holding hands. He thought about his mum and the night the police had knocked at the door. He had come to the top of the stairs after hearing voices in the hall. It was two police officers; they were leaving. His dad saw them out and as he closed the door, he placed his head against it and gripped the frame. He remained there for several minutes in silence.

Tom crept downstairs. “Dad?” he whispered.

His Dad turned and lifted Tom, hugging him tighter than he ever had before.

“Oh Thomas.”