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

a right tosser, and a miserable one at that!” he batted back at me.

“Yes, okay, Martin, thank you for that. I think we’ve established I wasn’t the nicest person back then. But to be frank, your input to the state of my marriage to Lisa is not really required.” And there was a double meaning to that now. “Anyway, I don’t think your marriage to Caroline was so perfect, do you?”

“What d’you mean? Caroline and I were very happy. She used to tell me all the time that Lisa had been on the phone moaning about you and wished she could find someone else.”

“Well, she did, didn’t she, eh?” I pointed at him, now angry that he had the gall to be so high and mighty.

“You two stop it, stop it!”

We both looked at Jen. She was right, and anyway, why did it matter Lisa and Martin had had a fling? Hell, I didn’t care then, so why did it matter now?

“In your motor-racing book, you’ve written down that one of the drivers dies in March. Is that true?”

“You asking me that question, does that mean you believe me now?”

For a moment, Jenny stared at me, then closed her eyes as I could see the tears welling up, causing her long eyelashes to become moist. She sat back in her chair and breathed heavily.

“Jen?”

She opened her eyes which now had a watery film across them. “Oh, Jason, I don’t know. I want to say yes, but I feel so stupid. My heart wants to believe, but my head is screaming at me that you’re some strange man who I should leave now and have nothing more to do with.”

“Jen, please don’t say that … please.” I wanted to leap across and put my arms around her, but I had Beth nestled on my shoulder. Anyway, I didn’t think she would accept my hug at this precise point.

“Well, Jason, does that racing driver die? Assuming you’re telling the truth for one crazy moment.” She picked at a chip of her red nail varnish on her thumb and bit her bottom lip.

“Yes, Tom Pryce dies in March at the South African Grand Prix. It was a horrific accident which killed one of the marshals as well.”

Jenny sat forward, leaning across the table and pointed a finger at me. “And you're going to let it happen? Why would you just let him die? If you know this, that’s as good as murder!”

“What the hell could I do to stop it?”

“Well, you could phone the authorities or write to him. Do something for Christ’s sake! You’re telling me that two men will be killed, and you do nothing! What kind of man are you, for Christ’s sake?” Bollocking delivered, she sat back folding her arms.

“Jen, listen. I’ve thought about telling someone, but I’ve had this problem before, and I know no one will believe me. You don’t believe me, so who the hell is going to believe it when I write a letter to Tom Pryce saying you're going to die in a few weeks. Think about it … no one … no one will believe that, will they?”

I stood and moved Beth to my other shoulder as my arm started developing pins and needles. Jenny sat with her arms tightly folded with a deep frown across her face, I guess contemplating what I’d said.

“Oh, for fuck sake. This is bloody nuts … fricking nuts,” Martin blurted out, as he jumped up from his chair and strode off into the hall.

“Where you going?”

“For a piss!”

I walked over to the sink, turning and leaning against it as I stared at Jen. I needed her to believe me, almost wishing Tom Pryce died next week and not in March so she could see I was telling the truth. Although not proud of myself wishing a man to die early.

“Yes, I do see that. If you said something about it, no one would believe you. But Jason, two men will die!”

“Look, Jen, I had the same dilemma last September. George and I discussed it for weeks but never came up with a solution. There’s a serial killer in the north of England, and he goes on to be one of the most infamous serial killers of all time. I can’t remember how many women he killed, but the murders started last year and continued until the early ’80s. George and I just couldn’t figure out what to do. I know his name, but not when he kills. To be honest with you, I’m expecting any day now to hear that he’s killed his third victim.”

“What did you do?” her voice had slightly softened.

“I wrote a letter to the police and some newspapers. That may have been a mistake, as the police came to the school yesterday because they’ve traced the typewriter I used to write that letter. Now I’m concerned about what will happen if they can pin it on me.”

Martin padded back into the kitchen and plopped back into his chair. “Pin what on you?”

“I typed a letter last year stating I knew it was Peter Sutcliffe who committed the murders in Yorkshire.”

“Who?”

Jenny shot Martin a look. “Do you know who he is? Jason said he was the most notorious serial killer of all time. I’m a bit surprised if you haven’t heard of him, or is this where your elaborate story starts to fall apart? Perhaps you two forgot to talk this one through!” The softness in her voice had instantly evaporated. Once again, she looked tearful, and I could sense her anger bubbling. Her head was again winning over her heart. “Well, Martin? Don’t just sit there with that gormless expression. Have you heard of this Peter Sutcliffe?”

“Err … nope. No idea what you’re on about.” He opened his hands and raised his eyebrows at me.

“Oh, for fuck sake, Martin!” What d’you mean you never heard of him? The Yorkshire Ripper … everyone’s bloody-well heard of him!” Now he really was pissing me off.

“Oh,