Chapter 49
The Police, Someone Found, Someone Lost
At this point I’m hoping you’re asking yourselves what happened next? I mean, I know that you know that I’ve had an incredible adventure and that I’ve seen some horrific things. All this and I end up with a little grey girl from 1946 as well! If that’s not enough, she’s Bethany Taylor-Hall’s Grandmother! I mean, the name didn’t even sound Jewish.
Now, how did I explain that one?
The truth is I didn’t.
Although we were wired and tired from our experiences we both found it difficult to get any rest. To make matters worse, when we finally struggled to fidgety sleep, Dad burst in.
It was 7.30.
The look on his face was one of complete shock and horror. Rosie was terrified and Dad just couldn’t get over her colour, the way she was dressed and the state we were both in. Obviously I didn’t tell Dad the whole truth. I mean, who’d believe that I’d been travelling backwards and forwards through time and managed to stop another invasion by Adolf Hitler? Not many people. And certainly not my Dad. So I told him the simple truth, that Rosie was a ghost or something and belonged in 1946.
Dad didn’t buy it. In fact he called the police and Rosie was taken away by two men in plain clothes and a policewoman. At this point I was worried that I might get charged for abduction or worse.
The day after Rosie was taken by the police I was taken in for questioning.
The police weren’t as nasty as I’ve seen on the TV. In fact they were quite polite. The middle-aged man asking me questions bought me a can of coke and some chocolate and told me that I’d nothing to worry about, told me that Rosie had told them everything. This worried me silly but I stuck to the story that I’d told Dad, that Rosie was some sort of ghost from 1946. The middle-aged man nodded as I spoke but he didn’t write anything down. Later I was given an examination by a doctor. When he’d finished he mumbled to several plain clothes policemen whilst looking over the tops of bits of paper at me. If I didn’t trust doctors before I certainly didn’t now.
Later Dad came to collect me and that was the last I saw of the police station.
After a few days I was allowed to visit Rosie in St Mary’s hospital. I never thought I’d see that place again. You know how I feel about hospitals. But Rosie was being kept in isolation and the rooms that she had were comfortable and Rosie seemed happy. She had been thoroughly checked by the doctors and nurses, questioned by important men and women in suits and had even been filmed. Rosie said she was amazed by all the gadgets in the 21st Century, fascinated by all the bleeps and buzzes, the bright lights at night, the machines, the endless cars passing underneath her window, the speed of it all.
I couldn’t see it.
By the way, Rosie did tell me that she had told them everything – cupboards, Germans, J-Sphere – the whole lot. Why they didn’t question me again I’ll never understand.
Maybe the police and the men in suits and ties knew enough already.
It was a few days after that visit that Dad had a telephone call from the hospital. The woman on the other end wanted to speak to me. A soft voice said that Rosie was asking for me and would I like to visit her again. Because of what had happened I often spent a lot of time alone in my bedroom. Kyle had moved and Rosie’s Grand-daughter was busy with boys. If Rosie was to visit for a bit, I really didn’t know how we were going to keep them apart. I was worried about the consequences for the future and I didn’t want to think about it.
But, the truth was, Rosie had become important to me.
So I said yes to the woman with the soft voice.
Lately I had been thinking about Lizzie and the Raynor family back in 1946. There had been no contact from them at all. It was as if some wire had been cut. Our lines dead. There had been the odd dream and some garbled words heard late at night but I put that down to my ‘special powers’. These things were no surprise now. But I heard nothing that remotely sounded like the voices of the family I had got to know so well.
It was on that second visit to Rosie that I suddenly started to think about the old man who had been on Waltham Ward when we had come to visit Mum in hospital, the old man who had always seemed fascinated by me, who kept staring and smiling, smiling and staring. I don’t know why but I had a sudden urge to go and see him and to check if he was OK.
I told Dad that I wanted to go and say hello to Karen the nurse and left him and Rosie watching TV. Waltham Ward was easy to find and Karen wasn’t on duty. This time a male nurse looked up from the paperwork he was filling in.
“Can I help you son?”
I was feeling nervous and I didn’t understand why. I was peering curiously around the ward as I answered him. “I’ve come to visit and old man.”
When I looked at the nurse he had a smile. “Well, take your pick. There’s hundreds of them in ‘ere!”
I smiled back but it didn’t help that gnawing, nagging feeling. It was like that nervous excitement you get before you go on stage in front of people.
“It’s someone in particular,” I said, “someone who used to be in a bed…” - I pointed to where he used to be - “…over there.”
The nurse squinted through thick rimmed glasses to where I had pointed. In the old man’s bed now was a middle-aged woman, fast asleep with her mouth wide open and the magazine she had been reading dropped to her chest. The nurse looked at me and turned down the corners of his mouth. “Whoever he was he’s not here now.”
I was lucky. The nurse saw how confused and anxious I was so he asked me to sit next to him at his little counter and explain. I told him about Mum, her illness and the names of the other nurses that I knew. But I lied about the reasons for wanting to know the old man’s name. I just said he was friendly and always had a smile which was true. The nurse’s name was Peter. As I listened to him talk I realised that he had a slight accent.
“Polish,” Peter explained. “I was born in Poland. Been over here for…let’s see…something like ten years.”
"Have you heard of a place called Gros-Tychow?" I asked Peter, out of the blue.
"In Poland?"
"Yeah."
Peter shrugged. "Can't say I have. Why?"
"It doesn't matter. Just a thought." Then, thinking about Rosie and the strange new world she found herself in, I asked Peter what his home was like.
“Well, I can’t remember much about Poland now,” he answered whilst looking at the list of previous patients on Waltham Ward. “I guess I miss my family though. You know, aunts and uncles.”
I didn’t know how much you could miss someone. Well, not really. I missed Kyle and Beth and other friends – and I really missed Lizzie – but I didn’t know what it was to really miss someone, in that ‘grown-up’ way.
Then my mind zoomed forward in time and I tried to imagine a world without my Mum. This was someone who I was really going to miss and, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t imagine a world without her.
I gave up trying. The real thing would happen soon enough. So I just nodded at Peter and pretended to scan the list of names and the comments different nurses and doctors had made in different boxes next to their names. Then a female nurse fetched up at the counter, said hello to me and Peter.
“A new friend?” she asked with a smile, and Peter explained.
“You’re in luck, young man,” said the female nurse coming round to our side of the counter and pulling up a chair, “because you don’t remember me. But I remember you.”
I looked at her in surprise. The female nurse was thin, had quite a few wrinkles which made her look older than Mum or Dad. She had streaked hair tied into a pony-tail, wore studs in her ears that sparkled and round framed glasses that reflected the hospital lights. She had a name-tag that read Judy.
“You’re Mrs Webster’s little boy, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question. Judy knew exactly who I was so I nodded. “Yes. I am. It’s Webber, though. Jay Webber.”
Judy adjus
ted her glasses and looked closely at the list of names in front of Peter. “How is your mum?”
“OK,” I lied because I knew, like Judy knew, that she wasn’t well at all.
Judy didn’t dwell on Mum’s illness, she just moved on. That’s good because if there’s one thing I hate it’s people who are too over-sympathetic. It makes me uncomfortable because I don’t really want to talk about Mum’s illness and the D Word.
“So, you must be looking,” Judy mumbled slowly to herself as a ringed finger followed the names down the page, “…to find…”
Faded pink nail varnish tapped on the black ink of two words that made up a name and I strained forward to read.
And there it was.
In black and white.
ERNEST RAYNOR