Ahead of his Time by Adrian Cousins (children's books read aloud .txt) 📕

Lighting up, he blew smoke out into the court even though some tosser had stuck a no-smoking sign up. Bollocks to that, he would have a smoke if he wanted. Apart from one bloke at the far end, the public gallery was now empty. Paul crossed his legs and studied him. He recognised him but just couldn’t place where from or understand why he was still there. Paul decided to sit and wait and let the other bloke leave first as he wanted to see his face when he turned around.

~

I sat staring out over the emptying court. The drama was now over as the sentencing had been postponed for a week. Only a few court ushers were milling about, but Patrick’s bloody twin brother was still sitting near the exit. He probably kicked the shit out of people daily, so he may well not remember the nose realignment job he gave me last September, but I didn’t want to have to face him. I would just sit here for a few more minutes and, hopefully, he’d have gone. Glancing at my watch, I had a few hours until meeting George. Martin had explicit instructions to stay in the house with the curtains closed. Christ, I hoped he hadn’t done anything stupid today, like tell Don he’s a time-traveller.

I needed to smooth things with Jenny after a particularly woeful performance when trying to explain what was going on after I returned from dropping Martin off last night. It was our first argument since we’d got married, and my claim that I’d worked with Martin in South Africa wasn’t going to hold water for long. It had been relatively easy when I was the only time-traveller as I could manage myself, avoid cock-ups and control the lies. However, I now suspected Martin could prove to be a loose cannon that would blow ship-sinking-sized holes in my life.

Paul Colney was still there behind me, and I could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of my head. Bollocks. I’ll just get up and go. Head down, I bolted for the exit.

“Apple, that’s who you are! That pissing interfering school teacher. Why are you here?” Paul Colney faced me, eyes squinting, making it quite clear he had no intention of letting me pass.

“The name is Apsley, and I suggest you step aside. I want nothing to do with you.” A confident reply, I thought, but I was shitting myself. If he knew that I’d been the one who persuaded Sarah Moore to spill-the-beans about David’s abuse of her, and then I’d purposely let David fall to his death, he’d kill me or have me killed. Either way, I didn’t fancy those scenarios. Paul seemed to weigh up his options. I guess he concluded a courtroom wasn’t the best place for a confrontation so he stepped aside, allowing me to quickly make my exit.

God, I was knackered. I’d hardly slept a wink last night as I desperately tried to work out what I needed to do. Any sensible solution eluded me of how I could protect my life, this new wonderful life I now had. I think I eventually drifted off to sleep just as I conjured up the brilliant idea of burying Martin under the patio. However, I realised I’d borrowed that idea from Brookside, a soap I seemed to be fixated with as a teenager. I could even remember the characters and the storyline, which spookily involved a father abusing his stepdaughter called Beth. I’d heard that before! Anyway, a sodding good job I had today off as controlling a classroom of thirty kids was hard enough and nigh-on-impossible with no sleep.

With a couple of hours to kill before getting over to Don’s, I took a trip to Coreys Mill Motors. In front of the Portakabin sales office, in pole position, was a red Hillman Hunter. A Deal-Of-The-Week sign slapped across the window stated it was six-months-old, low mileage and a fiver short of six-hundred quid. I was giving it the once-over when the salesman approached.

“Af’noon sir, lovely little motor this one. Only one lady owner who’s had it from new. She only used it to nip up to the local shops, so it’s practically as good as new. You fancy a test drive? I can grab the keys, and we can take it for a quick spin if you like?”

“No, thanks. Although I’m trying to persuade my wife to replace her Viva, which she seems overly attached to. This has four doors, and I see it has rear seatbelts fitted as well.”

“Yeah, it’s got all the modern features. Ha, why the old-girl who had it, had rear-seatbelts fitted, hell knows, but don’t let that put you off … it’s a great car.

I shot him a disbelieving look. Was I hearing him correctly? I wanted the seatbelts, and this guy saw them as a negative.

A few weeks ago, I’d tried to buy child safety seats. Although in this era, they appeared not to be a safety feature that anyone believed were necessary. The sales assistant in Halfords, a small shop in the town centre, had looked at me strangely when I enquired if they stocked them. I recall him returning from the stock room with a wire child seat that could be strapped to a bicycle. When I pointed this out to him, he gestured around, and said – “As you can see, this is a cycle shop, sir.” How the hell was I supposed to know that? In my day, I remembered Halfords sold car stuff as well. But the thought of Christopher rolling around the back seat and Beth in her Moses basket, both ready to be catapulted through the windscreen of Jenny’s car, terrified me.

“Mr Apsley, talk of the devil and there you are.” The sales manager had poked his head out of the Portakabin door.”

“Hello, Mr Thacker. Good to see you again.”

“You interested in the Hunter?