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

“Hello, son. Everything alright?”

“Yes, Don, just come to check up on you-know-who, but thought I’d come and see you first. I know you’re entitled to some answers.”

Don ushered me in through the porch. “Sit yourself down, and I’ll get us a drink.”

I plonked myself down on the sofa whilst Don shuffled off to the kitchen. Christ, I had to get some sleep tonight. I could feel my eyelids drooping and was starting to lose the ability to function.

Don padded his way back with two glasses and that bottle of whisky. Although I often refused drinking at this hour, I was too tired to argue.

“Right, son, get that down you.” He passed me what looked like a triple shot.

Don sunk into the armchair next to the TV, and with a well-practised move, flipped up his legs onto his leatherette pouffe as he sipped his whisky. He stared at me across the top of his glasses but didn’t speak. Where the hell do I start, I thought.

“Don, I’m not sure where to start …”

During my five months living forty years in the past, I’d become creative and cute on my ability to lie, well more to the point withhold the truth. It was a necessary skill that I’d had to master. Five months in, there seemed to be no sign of a reverse time-travel procedure to take me back to 2019, nor did I want that to happen. So I had to be sharp and skilled at keeping my real identity under wraps. As I sat on Don’s sofa, nursing a large whisky with drooping eyes, the problem was those skills were not sharp enough to perform as well as I needed them to.

“Son, take your time. As always, I’m all ears. But remember my boy, nothing you say will be a problem for me. You and your family are the most precious thing in my life. Whatever scrape you may be in, all I’ll do is be here for you.” Don raised his glass and then downed the contents, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat.

“Obviously, you’ve seen the news last night?”

“Of course, son. Bloody unbelievable. And here in Fairfield! Don’t tell me that bloke you have holed up next door has anything to do with that!”

“Oh, no … nothing like that.”

“Thank God for that. Although I said it didn’t matter what scrape you were in, being involved in a bombing would be a bit of a stretch for me to understand.” Don slopped another generous measure of whisky into his glass and waved the bottle at me. I shook my head, declining the offer.

“So, son, who is he next door? And why is your young lady concerned about him?”

“He used to work for me, and he’s just turned up out of the blue. There’re some things in my past that I wanted to keep under wraps, not only from Jenny but everyone … nothing dodgy or criminal … just stuff I want to move on from. Martin is part of that past.” I took a sip of the whisky and set it down on the sideboard next to me, realising drinking when tired was not a good idea. “Jenny is pushing for information, which I understand, but as I said, I would rather keep it in the past. I know that’s not possible with him here … so I suppose I’ll have to talk it through with her.”

Don leant forward and flipped his legs off the pouffe. He held his glass up and pointed at me. “Son, you’re going to have to talk to her. If you say it’s nothing criminal, you’ve nothing to worry about. She loves you, and she’ll take it in her stride. Don’t underestimate that girl. She can cope with your past and move on, far better than you think. You mark my words … d’you hear?”

I nodded, trying to stay awake. “I do. Don … I do.”

“Good. Now I'm not nosing in, but can I help in any way?”

“For the moment, just keep an eye on Martin for me. I’ve got him a job as a caretaker up at the school to start putting his life together.”

“Right, well, as your Chief Intelligence officer, I can inform you that he had two trips out today. He walked out at about ten this morning and came back about forty minutes later. Had a paper folded under his arm, so I assume he nipped up to the newsagents. Then he went out just after three o’clock in the car for about an hour and didn’t come back with any shopping bags, so not sure where he’d been.”

Like an adrenalin shot, this news instantly sparked me awake; now concerned that my newly acquired loose cannon was firing large time-travel-cannon-balls all over 1977 Fairfield town. “Right Don, thank you. I need to go and check up on him.”

“Bring my Yellow Pages when you come back, can you son? You didn’t say what you wanted them for.”

I stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, grabbed the door frame and glanced back at Don. No plausible lie was entering my brain fast enough.

“Son, just bring them back, and tell me when you can … alright?”

“I will, Dad … I will.”

“Good, I’m always here for you my boy. Now off you go and do what you need to do.”

I was so blessed to have Don as my honorary father. He and George were the rocks of my existence, and for sure, I knew how lucky I was to have them as part of my life. Although we’d only known each other for the short time I’d been living in this alternate world, the friendship and trust we’d built were priceless to me. For sure, Don would need answers, and soon. Scooting across to number eight and barrelling through the back door, my immediate concern was what had Martin-cannon-ball-Bretton been up to today.

I found him sat at the kitchen table with his