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  A recoiling step back knocked her hip into another table and a smallish unkempt guy whom she’d noticed earlier sitting at it slurred, ‘Washh where you’re puttin’ your ass, lady.’

  Sarah looked at his grey eyes swimming in a sea of alcohol, his slumped shoulders carrying the weight of the world, his tar black fingernails and jacket stained with who knew what – the personification of dejection. ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘You watch yo’ mouth, boy.’ JB slapped his rolled up newspaper on the man’s arm. ‘She don’t have to put up with no slurs from the likes of a damned hobo.’

  That’s rich coming from a sexist racist pig such as yo’self, JB. Sarah wanted to say but of course didn’t.

  The clock above the counter chimed 4.15 and wishing to cut short any retaliation from the little hobo guy, get JB’s order and get the hell out, she said, ‘Your usual burger, Mr JB, sir?’ and flashed him a smile that would have brightened the pits of hell.

  ‘Now that’s the smile I was talkin’ about, purty lady.’ JB grinned. ‘Yup, and a side order of fries, please.’

  He said please? Wonders will never cease. Sarah ran off in the direction of the kitchen. On her return JB tried to get her to ‘set a spell’, but she excused herself saying she had other tables to wait. She preferred him nasty and spiteful to amorous, but now she had no choice but to take more orders and the clock was ticking.

  Upon passing the Little Hobo’s table a while later, Sarah heard the tail end of a nasty exchange between him and JB.

  ‘There ain’t no excuse for being a bum, no matter what hard luck story yo’ peddlin’,’ JB snarled and made ready to leave. ‘And next time you come a stinkin’ my eatin’ place up, I’ll git a few of my friends to make sure you have a bath … in the Alabama River.’

  ‘Think yo’ such a big man, dontcha?’ Little Hobo drained his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  JB thrust his face inches from the other man’s face and growled, ‘That’s ’cos I is a big man, little pecker.’ JB prodded him hard on his right shoulder. ‘And don’t you forgit it.’ Then he raised a hand in Big Josh and Sarah’s direction. ‘See ya’ll later, off to work now.’

  An icy finger drew a length of Sarah’s spine. Off to work. She hoped that the Spindly Ones had secured a Stitch to keep him safe until Rosa Parks got on his bus in the city. Sarah wiped down the table next to Little Hobo’s and shook the finger off. It was 4.50 now and if they hadn’t got someone to take her place it was tough. There was no way she was staying here a moment longer.

  Little Hobo pushed his cup to the edge of the table and stood up. A mask of anger and embarrassment hung on his face and the icy finger found a new target of her abdomen when he mumbled to himself, ‘You’d better watch yo’ back, Mr JB. I’ll show you who’s the bigger man.’ Then he strode purposefully through the door and slammed it behind him.

  An urge to drop everything and run after him was akin to a team of wild horses trampling across Sarah’s consciousness. Again, the thought that a ‘passing the timer’ would be found calmed her a little, but as she watched from the window she saw Little Hobo pick up his pace and then duck down an alley. Oh God. He looked on a mission … and not a good one.

  The clock ticked down the final minutes of the hour. The wet cloth clasped to her chest began to seep through her uniform. Sarah threw it down on the table and raked her hands through her ponytail. Shit … SHIT! What if they haven’t managed to find anyone?

  ‘What’s up, Sarah? Poor dear, you look real agitated,’ Jolene said in her ear. She sounded about as concerned as the breeze.

  ‘I … I have to go.’ Sarah’s brain was fighting with her heart and the heart was winning. She couldn’t leave it to chance, could she? Couldn’t just walk outside and wait to be taken home while Little Hobo might at this moment be …

  ‘Yeah.’ Jolene waggled her head and planted her hands on her waist. ‘Well, I for one will be glad to see the back of yo’ negro loving ass.’

  That choice comment made her mind up. There wasn’t much time and it was now or never. Sarah turned to face Jolene and shoved the flat of her hand hard in her midriff. ‘Out of my way, you nasty piece of work. After today yo’ nice white little world is gonna be rocked forever and I don’t mean by Bill Hayley and his sodding comets!’

  Jolene said something like, ‘Oomph’ and was sent sprawling into the next table and onto the lap of a very surprised customer. A clatter of crockery followed soon after and as Sarah steamed out of the door, she heard bellowing from the lungs of Big Josh, ‘SARAH, GODDAMIT! YOU’RE FIRED!’

  Being fired seemed the least of her worries as she sped across the street and down the alley that Little Hobo had taken. Though it was a fine and fairly warm winter’s day, the alley was gloomy, flanked by dumpsters and dustbins – no trash cans, funny how her language tuned in and out to American English – and the damp, moss-patterned walls running at either side seem to close in on her.

  What was that? She stopped and cocked her head to one side. Apart from the rustle of a sleek black rat in a newspaper near her feet there was nothing. Sarah stiffened, stamped her foot and the creature scuttled away. Lucky she wasn’t the screaming type or the whole of Montgomery would be alerted to her presence. Moving as quickly as she could without making a clatter in her flat plastic shoes, she stopped at the corner and peered around it at yet another alleyway twinned with the one she’d just traversed.

  The thought of her unborn twins made her stop and take stock. This was crazy. It must be only just after 5 p.m. … she could run back and—

  ‘You just try it, you little bastard, and I’ll knock you to the pearly gates!’

  Oh my God, that’s JB’s voice. Sarah slunk along the alley and hid behind a particularly large dumpster full of what smelled like rotting cabbage. Holding her nose she peered round it and her breath caught in her throat.

  In the backyard of what looked to be a greengrocers, judging from the wooden crates strewn around, Little Hobo crouched commando style and moved crablike from side to side about three feet in front of the hulking figure of JB. In his right hand Little Hobo held a flick knife, while his left taunted JB with a gimmee gesture. JB was crouched a little too, had his shirtsleeves rolled up and arms stretched out in front, hands quivering as if he were about to grab Little Hobo and pull his neck.

  Sarah released her breath slowly and tried to stop her sledgehammer heart from breaking through her chest. What the hell could she do to help JB? She didn’t particularly want to help the nasty vicious scumbag, but if Little Hobo somehow managed to kill him, then everything would go tits up with the bus boycott and the rest would be history – a nervous tic tugged at the corner of her mouth – but not as we know it, Jim. Gawd, surreal thoughts were a trademark of hers when she was in a tight spot.

  His back to her, Little Hobo did the crab dance again, and JB, his arms still stretched, open and closed his fingers, almost ready to pounce. It struck her that they looked a little like a lobster and crab performing a mating ritual. Hmm, but then crabs and lobsters don’t mate you dumbkopf! Oh come on, Sarah, concentrate, you need to stop this!

  What she needed was some kind of a weapon to clonk Little Hobo over the head with … and then an idea came to her courtesy of another black rat clambering into a trash can a few steps back into the alley.

  Blimey the trash can lid was weightier than she expected. Sarah set it back on the ground to get a better grip on the greasy rim. She had one chance at this and if she dropped it on her foot that would be it. One, two, three steps … and then she was out in the yard, the lid hefted above her head.

  Upon seeing her a flicker of triumph passed through JB’s eyes but he skilfully kept his face deadpan. He smiled coldly at Little Hobo. ‘Come on then, you little shit, I ain’t got all day.’

  Little Hobo lunged at JB and simultaneously Sarah lunged at Little Hobo, bringing the lid down on his head with a resounding thunk! Little Hobo sank to his knees and then toppled over onto his side like a
puppet cut from its strings.

  ‘You sweet thing!’ JB yelled, grabbing her and swinging her round. ‘And what you doin’ creepin’ round the alleyways? ’Taint no place for a lady?’

  ‘Set me down, JB, I need to check I ain’t killed him!’

  JB set her down and hooked the toe of his boot under Little Hobo’s back. Little Hobo rolled over and lay still. ‘You ain’t killed him, and that’s a shame. He’s jest out cold.’

  Sarah eyed the trash can lid still rocking slightly from side to side on the ground and felt like swinging it a second time, this one would be aimed square in the face of the smug- faced bastard before her. And right now as he leered at her, eyes bright with adrenalin, she felt like killing him.

  ‘You’d better git to work, JB. I’ll call for a doctor.’ Sarah was surprised how calm she sounded.

  ‘First I need a sweet kiss from your purty lips, honey-pie, to send me on my way.’ JB took a step forward.

  ‘One more step and I’ll scream rape.’ Even though her voice was low, Sarah could tell by his shifty eyes that the threat had unsettled him.

  He held his hands up. ‘Jeez hot and cold, eh?’ He gave a wheezy chuckle. ‘Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow, darlin’, and I don’t take no for an answer.’ JB put his jacket on and sauntered off down the alley.

  Sarah leaned against the wall to steady her shaking legs and let out a long sigh of relief. Thank God he was going off to drive that bloody bus. It seemed like she had completed the crazy mission against all odds and a little tickle of victory capered up from her depths. She turned her face up to the sky and took a minute to gather her wits and then looked back to the prone form a few feet away. Okay, now for the doctor. A groan from Little Hobo stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘Hey you, please help me,’ he said with a croak in his voice.

  Cradling Little Hobo’s head in her lap she gingerly touched an egg-sized lump growing at the top of it.

  ‘Ouch!’

  Sarah cringed. ‘Oops, sorry. I’ll run to a phone and get a doctor.’ She made as if to get up.

  ‘I don’t need no doctor, just some water. Did you see what happened?’

  Sarah looked into his kind grey eyes now almost clear of alcohol and realised that beneath the scruffy beard that this guy wasn’t as old as she had originally thought. Early thirties, tops. She shrugged in answer to the question; she could hardly say what really happened, could she? ‘Um … I’ll get you some water.’

  Little Hobo smiled and Sarah realised something else. This guy would be real handsome if he was spruced up. She felt the 1950s Sarah’s heart skip a beat. Now wouldn’t it be good if they had a happy ever after?

  ‘Thanks, um … you been so kind to me and I was rude to you in the diner. I’m sorry for that. What’s yo’ name?’

  ‘Sarah, what’s yo’s?’

  ‘Gary … Gary Owen, like the song.’ He shot her another heart-stopping smile.

  Sarah smiled back and then stopped. His face began to pixilate and morph into someone else’s. Panic prickled through her, accompanied by a floating sensation. What on earth was happening now? It was as though she was being suspended from above looking down onto a prone body, but before she could make out exactly who she was looking at, the hard alley floor gave beneath her knees and she toppled sideways into a soft bouncing … bed? Her vision cleared and with it, the recognition of the face. On the pillow next to her sleeping peacefully was her darling, John. John! Thank God she was home!

  The floating sensation made way for a lead weight in every limb and though she struggled to keep them open, her eyes began to close. With a huge effort she reached out, switched the bedside light off, touched John’s face and then immediately fell into an exhausted and deep sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sliver dawn light trickling through the curtains and onto the pillow next to him was playing tricks with his vision. It must be the ‘twilight’ moment between a dream and wakefulness because he could see Sarah’s sleeping face a few inches from his own. John shut his eyes again and yawned. He had hoped and prayed she’d come back safe to him over the last few days, it was only natural that his brain was projecting his wife sleeping soundly next to him in his first waking moments. But she wasn’t back, was she? No, she’d chosen to ignore everything he’d said, stay in 1955 and go off on a hare-brained life saving mission.

  A movement in the bed next to him popped his eyes open and startled him fully awake. Turning onto his side he looked again and even in the scant light he could see that it was Sarah, one arm thrown over the side of her face, one of her legs tucked over a pillow –the typical Sarah sleeping pose – and from her slightly parted lips, her soft breathing now bordering on a snuffly snore.

  A torrent of love and gratitude flooded his heart and he reached out to take her in his arms but then he stopped. She must be exhausted, she might not take kindly to being woken so early, she could have only just got back for all he knew. Five o’clock in the afternoon in 1955 had turned out to be 11 p.m. here and John had stayed awake waiting, a pent up ball of anxiety until a text from the powers at 1 a.m. had sent him to the whisky bottle and oblivion.

  John. Sorry to say that Sarah missed the deadline. She has decided to take the mission herself and we will endeavour to reward such dedication with a swift and safe return.

  Watching her lovely face as she slept, John realised that it wasn’t just fear of disturbing her sleep that prevented him from taking her in his arms. A little boat of annoyance had set sail on the torrent of love and was growing ever nearer on the horizon. Damn her. How could she put her life in jeopardy like that, not to say the twins? Hadn’t she realised he’d be beside himself with worry? Had she learned nothing from the 1928 trip last year? Suddenly wanting to put distance between them he scooted to the side of the bed, slipped his dressing gown on and left the room.

  An email on the laptop told him the whole story, and boy wasn’t Sarah the flavour of the month with her Spindly Ones? How brave, dedicated, selfless she’d been, etc. Worked with her gut instinct … John felt the little boat of annoyance turn into an ocean liner. God, how selfless? He’d say selfish was nearer the mark! Sarah had actively put herself and their unborn babies in harm’s way. His hand shot out and slammed the laptop lid down. He needed coffee and air.

  The reds and golds of autumn predominant on the rolling hills all around was now giving way to the more barren greys and browns of winter. John stood on the decking, pulled his dressing gown closely about his neck and heaved a heavy sigh. He noted that the sigh hung in the cold November air – a physical embodiment of his frustration. A huge gulp of coffee burnt a path down his gullet and fanned out through his chest. The heat failed to warm him, however, as the chill of ocean liner persisted.

  How could Sarah have been so cruel? Two days of hell had left him hollow inside and now he learns that she chose to stay … chose to keep him in turmoil. But then lo’ and behold, she appears peacefully sleeping like an innocent angel.

  The patio door sliding back halted his thoughts and he turned to see Sarah watching him, full of sleep, hair stuck up, bare foot, bundled in his favourite sky-blue dressing gown that brought out the colour of her eyes.

  At the sight of her his ocean liner shrank to boat size again and she stepped out and ran to him, flinging her arms tight around his neck.

  ‘John, oh thank God I’m back. I missed you so much, my darling!’

  Every atom of his being said, hold her, kiss her, tell her that you love her … but quiet anger stiffened his arms and silenced his words.

  She looked up at him, a frown furrowing her brow. ‘John, what’s wrong?’ She rubbed his arms. ‘Hey, sweetheart, you’re freezing, why are you out here on such a cold morning?’

  Holding her firmly at the top of each arm he moved her away from him. ‘Not as cold as you, sweetheart.’ He was gratified to see the sarcasm in his voice put a stop to a half-smile fluttering at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Eh? John, what’s wrong?�
�� She took a step toward him again, but he sidestepped and marched to the house. ‘John, hey come back.’

  ‘Ha! That’s rich, Sarah!’ he flung over his shoulder as he wrenched the door open and flounced into the sitting room. ‘For you to come back, that’s what I have been bloody praying for the last forty-eight hours and what did you do to make it happen, eh? Fuck all, is what!’

  Sarah ran in and managed to stand between him and the door to the kitchen. She held up her hands. ‘Okay, stop right there and sit down and tell me why you’re so angry with me.’

  John sat down on the sofa more from the shake in his legs than because she’d asked him to and yelled, ‘You ask me what’s wrong! You actually have the cheek to ask that? You chose to forego safe passage home to me and instead went off down an alleyway to sort out some knife-wielding drunk, risking your life and our babies’ lives!’

  Sarah’s face blanched and she flopped down on the arm of a chair. ‘God … when you put it like that, I can see why you’re so angry. But I didn’t have time to think properly. My gut feeling knew what Gary intended to do and I was scared there wouldn’t be enough time for a passing the timer to get there.’ She raked her fingers through her tousled hair. ‘Don’t you see, John, the whole Civil Rights Movement, Rosa Parks—’

  ‘Oh, please! What do you want to be? A Super Stitch?’ John registered the anguish and pain on her face but couldn’t help himself. ‘Because I think you really do have a superhero complex – pity you didn’t have a billowing cloak and a mask!’

  She pursed her lips and shook her head in defiance. ‘They might not have found a passing the timer—’

  ‘They would, Sarah. Somebody would have done it! And you were protecting the wrong man anyway! JB was short for James Brace. Not James bleedin’ Blake!’