DRIFTERS Ch 1

 DRIFTERS

 by Richard Banks

Chapter 1                                       

Don’t ask me why she left. I thought we were good. OK, so we had the occasional fall-out, who doesn’t, just the normal sort of stuff, nothing terminal. One day everything’s fine, the next you arrive home and she’s gone. No goodbye note, nothing. So you phone the police to report her missing.      

      “Did she pack a suitcase?” they ask.

      “Yes,” I say.

      “Then that’s her choice. Nothing we can do.”

      Next day I phone the bank she works for, except that she doesn’t. No one there has ever heard of her. Pay a guy I know to do some digging. Same result. No one called Cassandra Goodyear exists, or if they do they don’t have a birth certificate or pay tax.

      “End of story,” says the guy. “This lady doesn’t want to be found. Get over her.”             

      Three months later and she seems like a dream, perhaps she was a dream. Then the world goes crazy, she phones, leaves a message on voice mail. Can I meet her in Broad Street across the road from the café? She isn’t sure what it’s called, only that it has a neon light in the window that flashes pink and blue.

      So here I am racing across town trying to get to Broad Street by five-thirty. I arrive on time but she’s not there. When was she ever on time? Snow’s falling and I’m regretting we’re not meeting in the café. Ten minutes later it’s getting dark and snowflakes the size of fifty pence pieces are turning everything white, including me. That’s when the dog starts barking and she finally shows up.      

      Didn’t see the connection at first. I mean dogs often bark, sometimes at the moon, sometimes just for the hell of it. Life’s too short to be wondering why each time. Anyway the dog was a side show, the focus of my attention was on Cassie, on her face. She’s smiling, like she’s glad to see me.

      “Hi,” I say.

      I wait for her to say something. Instead she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me like she means it. Some of the snow on my head falls down onto hers. She laughs.

      “Where the hell have you been?” I ask. I’m glad to see her but angry at the same time. I need an explanation and it had better be good.

      “Sorry George, I know I should have left you a note but there wasn’t time. Hardly had time to pack. Anyway I knew you wouldn’t miss me for a couple of days.”

      “Okay,” I say, “I’ll let you off the couple of days. No problem. None at all. Just satisfy my curiosity about the rest of the time. It’s been three months Cassie, where have you been?”

      She looks bewildered, dazed. “What’s the date?” she whispers.

      She can’t be serious, I think, but she is.

      “It’s the eleventh of February. You left on November fourth last year. That’s fourteen weeks and five days. Shall we start with week one?”

      “It’s complicated,” she says. “Have I ever told you about space-time continuums?”

      This is a question deserving an angry response, but I say nothing. I don’t even raise an eyebrow. My silence makes her nervous. She takes a deep breath.

      “George you deserve a really good explanation and I really wish I had one, but as I say it’s complicated. If you want to know what’s happened, you’ll need to speak to a really brainy person like Aunt Lucy.”

      “Then why don’t we go and see her,” I say. “As long as she talks in sentences that make sense I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

      Cassie goes quiet. She’s in a corner and she knows it. It’s time to put up or shut up. She puts up.

      “Okay George if you really want to meet Aunt Lucy that’s what we’ll do.”

      She grabs my hand and pulls me along the pavement towards a telephone box. We go in. She dials a number, twenty digits at least and replaces the receiver.

      “We’re in luck,” she says. “Transmission ends in ten minutes, we’re out in two.”

      “Shouldn’t we be strapped in?” I ask. I’m being sarcastic, of course. Normally she’s sarcastic back but today she’s not taking the bait.

      “George, please be quiet and do what you’re told.” She unwraps a toffee and presses it into my mouth. “Now close your eyes, suck the toffee and try not to fall over when things start shaking.”

      And start shaking they do. It’s like the most gut wrenching fairground ride that’s ever been invented. If I could scream I would, but my head is fast spinning like it’s no longer attached to my neck. I prepare to die, then the shaking stops. Cassie says I can open my eyes. I do. We’re in a box but it’s not a telephone box. I should be wondering what kind of a box it is, but I’m past caring – all that matters is that it’s not a coffin. There’s a metal bar. Cassie pushes down on it, the door opens and a dog barks.

      Outside is a place I don’t recognise. It’s nearly dark and gas lights on wrought iron lamp posts are giving out a dim, yellow glow. Across the road is a café, not unlike the one in Broad Street. An old car that should be in the London to Brighton rally pulls up on the cobbles outside. The driver takes something into the café, comes out, drives off.

      I’m thinking that this must be a film set or an historical re-enactment. I tell myself that it’s not for real, but deep down I know it is. It’s weird and getting weirder. A man in a silver jump suit and shoes that glow in the dark is running down the street. He stops outside the cafe, peers in the window and waves furiously at someone inside. He shouts, something about being back, but no one’s taking any notice.

      “What’s that all about?” I mutter.

      Cassie sighs. “George, even if I could explain, you wouldn’t believe me. Let’s go and find Aunt Lucy.”

 

Chapter 2

 

What happens next? Would anyone like to have a go at writing chapter 2?  1,000 - 1,500 words.

 

Copyright Richard Banks