The Accidental Time Traveller (13 page)

It was half past three in the afternoon, and already it was starting to get dark. Of course, it was going to the caravan site that was freaking me out, but the dark didn’t exactly help. “It’s a long way,” I said, dragging my heels. “It’ll take ages. And it’s going to be dark soon. Like, really dark.”

But Agatha was striding ahead next to Will, along the gritted pavement that headed out of Peebles. Robbie and I looked at each other, frowned, and followed them. “I think she’s really old,” Will was telling Agatha. “My gran says she’s about ninety-five.”

Agatha was nodding her head. Boy could she walk fast when she wanted to. I was practically having to run to keep up. “As I am going home soon,” Agatha announced, to all of us, “it wouldna feel proper to leave without bidding her farewell. I have also happily made your acquaintance,” she smiled at the three of us, “but Agnes is the only girl I have made a friend of in the future.”

We were hurrying past the sign that said

The garage was in sight. Its bright neon sign blazed in the dim December afternoon. Agatha, I noticed, wasn’t doing as much gazing around as usual. Maybe she was getting used to bungalows and streetlights and cars and buses, or maybe she was in a terrible hurry?

“Slow down,” I said, panting. It wasn’t that I was knackered, but we were practically at the creepy caravan site. Robbie wasn’t looking too happy either. I could see him fiddling with his phone, like he was about to tell his mum to come and pick him up.

“Right, well, we’re here,” Will said, and he wasn’t sounding too ecstatic either. “Um, I think there’s a way in over there.” He pointed to the car wash.

Me and Robbie stared at him. “Behind it,” Will explained and led the way.

Agatha hurried by his side and me and Robbie followed, our shoulders bumping up against each other. “If things get nasty,” Robbie whispered, “I’ll phone the police.”

Agatha looked back, waving for us to hurry up. Keeping close together we slipped round behind the car wash and suddenly there it was. The place looked like a tip. One streetlight shone down on three caravans, two old vans and a broken-down rusty sports car. It wasn’t what you’d call a holiday caravan site. It was more like a dump. The snow was slushy, but I could see someone had made a snowman. It had a brown woolly hat on. I recognised that hat. I was pretty sure the fiddle player had worn it.

A light glowed at the window of one caravan. The
other two caravans were in darkness. “Why do they live here?” Robbie hissed in my ear. He sounded seriously worried. “Like, why would anybody want to live here?”

Will shrugged. I was going to say something about homeless people, when suddenly music floated out into the air. “It’s him and his fiddle,” Will whispered. “Listen!”

We did. Agatha, Will, me and Robbie just stood still and listened. We looked like statues, or people under a spell. The fiddle music floated around and around us. “It is wondrous,” Agatha said, “Mother used to love that tune.”

“Agnes!” Her dad stopped playing the music. Now I could make him out. He was a dark shadow sitting on the caravan step. “Agnes, come out here.” He didn’t sound as worried as he had the day before. “I think it’s your friends from school.”

I heard some voices inside the caravan. Agnes appeared on the caravan step. Because everything was pretty dark I couldn’t make out faces clearly, but I guessed Agnes was probably looking pretty embarrassed. “Dear Agnes,” Agatha called out, “Oh, dearest Agnes,” and dashed towards her. Agnes’ dad shuffled out the way and
disappeared
back into the caravan. I watched as Agatha hugged her like a long lost sister. “I couldna let myself go without bidding yea farewell.”

Me, Will and Robbie just stood outside, not knowing what to do or where to go.

“Agnes?” A woman called from inside the caravan. This must be her granny, I thought. “Bring them in,”
the old woman shouted. “I’ll put on the kettle, and maybe we’ve a biscuit kicking about somewhere. Don’t just stand there, lassie, invite them in!”

That is how me and Will and Robbie got ourselves invited into Agnes’s caravan. By the time we all filed in, there were seven of us. “Well, isn’t this a party,” the old woman said. She was fishing about in a cupboard looking for cups. She didn’t look ninety-five.

“Take a seat, if you can find one,” Agnes’s dad said. Agnes looked delighted and ashamed, all at the same time. Sometimes she couldn’t stop smiling and sometimes she jumped up and brushed crumbs away or plumped up a cushion. Her dad just sat in the corner putting waxy stuff on his fiddle bow. There was something cosy about the caravan, even though it was a bit dirty and a bit messy and a bit crowded. Robbie wouldn’t lean back on the chair and I knew he was still fiddling with his phone inside his pocket. But Will was pretty cool. Agnes’s dad started playing the fiddle again and Agnes sang along with him. Will played a drum that the old woman gave him and Agatha just looked delighted. It was like a little party.

The old woman found a packet of shortbread and passed them around. I saw Robbie examining his. “Just eat it,” I whispered, when everyone else was singing. “It’s not going to kill you.” And he did, and he started to loosen up, and next thing me and him were shaking a jar of lentils each.

“That’s a poor man’s percussion,” Agnes’s dad said, and laughed.

And for about an hour, in the cosy wee caravan, we
had a ceilidh. That’s what Agnes’s gran called it. She hummed along and drank about three cups of tea. Over the rim of her tea-cup she was often staring at Agatha.

It was Robbie – typical – who broke up the party. “I have to go,” he said, standing up and looking at me and Will like we should go too.

“A song from Agatha first,” Agnes said, waving for Robbie to sit down again.

“Mother’s favourite song then,” said Agatha. She stood up, closed her eyes and sang. Agnes’s dad, who I’d learnt by this point was called Michael, played along with her. It was an old Scottish ballad about a swan flying over a frozen loch, and half the words I didn’t understand but the way Agatha sang it was beautiful.

“Lovely! Oh, just lovely.” Agnes’s gran thought so too. A tear trickled down her face. “It was my own mother’s favourite song,” she said, once Agatha finished, “and I havna heard it in years.” The old woman looked at Agatha then reached over and took her hand. “Thank you,” she said, nodding her head, “thank you.”

I got that strange prickle up my spine again. I looked at Agatha. I looked at Agnes. I looked at the old woman. And I understood something that Agatha had probably known all along.

“You ok?” Robbie nudged me.

“Yeah.” I shook my head. I thought if I stood up I might fall down. I could see Agnes was shaking out a blanket. The candles had burned down. The old woman was yawning, though it was only about six o’clock. Michael was draining the dregs from his
tea-cup. 
Will was putting his cup into a basin.

“Agatha can sleep here tonight,” Agnes said. “I’ve made rabbit stew. She can have some.”

“That will indeed be scrummy,” Agatha said, already unlacing her boots.

I wanted to say, What about the den? But it sounded silly. What did I think? That Agatha Black would live forever in our den? So I just smiled at her. “Night then, Agatha,” I said.

“Good night to you, Saul,” she said. “Sleep soundly.”

After we’d said goodnight to everybody, me, Will and Robbie left the caravan site and went back round by the car wash and through the garage. Like I said, it was only about six o’clock but it felt much later.

“She isn’t ninety-five,” Robbie said when we were back on the road. “Not even anywhere near it.”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t look ill,” I added.

“It wasn’t as bad in there as what you would expect, eh?” Robbie said.

“Actually,” Will said, “I wouldn’t mind living in a caravan like that.” We stomped on, kicking up snow and bumping into each other.

“It’s not as good as Pisa though.” Robbie stopped and looked at us both. “Is it?”

Me and Will agreed, even though the caravan was cosy, it wasn’t as good as Pisa.

We stomped on a bit more and soon reached the street corner. This was where we went off in different directions. But nobody was rushing away. We lingered by the low stone wall of a house that had a sign in the garden telling Santa to stop here.

“Only five days till Christmas.” Robbie punched the air. “Can’t wait.”

“Totally.” Will smacked his hands together to keep warm.

“Which means,” Robbie said, elbowing me in the ribs, “it’s just one day till 21st December. Remember Saul? You can’t go leaving Agatha in our den forever, or in that caravan. You said you’d get her back.” Now he patted me on the shoulder. “You scared Crow off. That’s ace.”

“Yeah, totally ace,” added Will.

“So,” Robbie went on, “getting Agatha home should be a cinch.”

My gang was looking at me like I was some kind of hero. Crow had given me a wide berth earlier that day, like he was scared of me. I really had scared him off. It
was
ace. They were right. “I’m working on it,” I said, grinning. “Meanwhile, any idea where I could get some gold?” They frowned. “Pure gold,” I added. “It’s got to be pure.”

“Oh, hang on.” Robbie started patting his pockets. “Think I’ve got a few bars stacked away somewhere.”

Will giggled. “Or we could break into Edinburgh Castle and nick the Crown Jewels.”

“Yeah, good plan,” I said. “Any other brilliant ideas?”

They were trying to work out if I was joking or not. I could tell by the way Robbie chewed the inside of his cheek and Will scratched his nose. I lowered my voice. “It’s for protection. Agatha’s dad didn’t give her enough gold. That’s why she got lost. I’ve got everything else to get her back home, but I need gold.”

“The dentist!” Will beamed. “She could get her tooth filled while she’s here, and the dentist can give her a gold filling.”

“Na,” Robbie said dismissively, “dentists charge a fortune for gold fillings.”

We took his word for it. I had been secretly hoping Robbie would come up with the gold, but even he, it seemed, wasn’t that rich. “Sorry mate,” he said. “I mean, if I find some kicking about, I’ll sling it your way, ok, Saul?” He winked at me and laughed.

Just then a woman appeared with bags of shopping then turned into the garden of the house we were standing in front of. She was puffing and panting and we all fell silent and watched her. She put her heavy bags down on the garden path, shook her wrists then waved at us. “And what’s Santa bringing you boys for Christmas, then?”

“A skateboard, a laptop and an iPhone,” said Robbie, reeling off just three things from his list.

“Clothes and stuff,” said Will, “and maybe a camera.”

“Stuff,” I mumbled and waited for her to go in the house. She took a while but soon as I heard the door click, I said, “I think they could be related.”

“Yeah,” Will said, “I worked that out too.”

“Who?” Robbie said. “That woman and Santa?”

Me and Will giggled and both shook our heads. “No. Agatha and Agnes, that’s who.”

“And the granny as well,” Will said. “Maybe even the dad.”

Robbie whistled. “Well, Agatha better get back then, because if she doesn’t make it back…”

“They won’t exist,” Will and me said at the same time.

We were all silent then. A few snowflakes swirled around like tiny ghosts in the streetlight. The Santa
stop here sign was dusted white. Agnes, I thought, was the kind of person who might just disappear and people would say, “Agnes? Who was she?” I shivered.

“I was wondering,” Will said, stamping his feet on the snow, “if Agnes could join our gang?”

“Thought we said three…” Robbie began.

“Yeah,” I cut in, “that was then. Things change.”

“My gran says that’s just what she needs.”

“What?” Robbie said, “a gang?”

Will shook his head. “Friends.”

They both looked at me while I frowned like I was considering it. “Ok,” I said eventually, “I say she can.” And just at that moment the woman in the house must have flicked on her Christmas lights because suddenly the whole place lit up.

The next day was the last day of school! Yeeesssss!

It was also the winter solstice. I knew because Mrs Veitch had gone on about it so much. When I woke up I heard the snow shift on the roof. My first thought was that if the snow melted, Agatha’s snow angel would vanish. My second thought was the history essay – today was the prize ceremony.

But I didn’t have much time to get myself worked up about that because next thing Mum burst into my room, bounced Ellie down on my bed and sighed. “Look after your sister, will you. Make sure she doesn’t roll off the bed. Esme’s been sick all over her cot, and your dad is out and I didn’t sleep a wink. They were crying all night.”

She hurried out, sighing some more. Ellie wasn’t crying now. She was gurgling and chuckling and punching at my head. I bounced her up and down on the bed and she chuckled and made ga-ga noises. “Any idea where I might get my hands on some gold?” I said, rubbing my nose against her tiny smooth nose. She punched me again. I got out of bed, picked her up and showed her the snowman out the window, in the dark pink dawn light. Except the snowman had definitely
got smaller. “It’s turning into a snow baby,” I said. She stopped chuckling and gazed out. We stayed like that, me and my wee sister, silent, watching the snow baby in the garden.

“Ahhhh.” She smiled and reached towards the window pane.

“I know,” I said, “Ahhhh. Snow’s beautiful, Ellie.”

When Mum came into my room ten minutes later to get her, she didn’t mention the history competition. Probably she forgot. Or maybe she’d thought I’d just been joking about doing it. Parents were allowed to come to the Christmas assembly, but I didn’t invite them.

Later, as I slithered along the street on my way to school I smiled to myself, which helped with the butterflies in my chest. “Ahhhh!” I shouted, thinking of Ellie and crunching my feet down into the white packed snow. I took a deep breath. “Right! Last day of school – Ahhhh!”

Once inside I wasn’t so cheerful. I hung about near the back of the school hall. There were a lot of Christmas carols to get through, and the minister came in and spoke about there being no room in the inn. I kept glancing about, looking for Agatha and Agnes but there was no sign of them.

“They’re probably up a tree,” Robbie whispered, nudging me.

Mrs Veitch gave a little talk about the three wise men and how Christmas is a time of giving. I only
started to listen when she said one of the three wise men from the east brought the baby Jesus gold. Robbie heard that too and dug me in the ribs. “You, me and Will,” he whispered. “We’re the three wise men. Pisa’s the stable.”

I tried not to laugh. Especially because just then the head teacher, Mr Wilson with the bushy eyebrows, stood up and scanned the packed hall. My heart thumped. “And now… it is… time,” he said, incredibly slowly, “… to turn our thoughts to this year’s Scottish Borders Young Historian of the Year award.” I looked down at a chewing gum stain on the floor. “I am pleased to say eight pupils from Kingsland entered this year and, I may add, did rather well, too.” Robbie nudged me again. I glanced over my shoulder. The high school had finished up the day before and a few big brothers and sisters had come in and were hanging about at the back of the hall. A few parents had also come in. I recognised Agnes’s grandmother. She waved at me. Maybe she thought Agnes had gone in for the competition.

I couldn’t see any sign of Agnes though, or Agatha. Up at the front, Mr Wilson was droning on about old buildings in Peebles and the Beltane celebrations and the ancient customs still alive today, such as crowning the Beltane queen. I felt my hopes sink. I hadn’t written anything about that. Then he spoke about the noble stories of Sir Walter Scott and then about the ancient history of Neidpath Castle. I’d forgotten all that too.

“Saul!”

I glanced over my shoulder. Agatha was standing at the back waving at me. She was next to Agnes and
Agnes’s grandmother. Agnes waved too. I nodded at them. Then I heard the door of the assembly hall open and my dad slipped in to stand at the back. He caught my eye and winked. My heart thumped again, hard.

“Your fan club’s arrived,” Robbie whispered in my ear.

Mr Wilson had finally stopped going on about old castles. “Of course, many schools in the Borders took part. I would like to congratulate everyone who made the effort. Well done.” He smiled down on us all. Then he clapped, followed by a ripple of applause. Then he coughed and the applause died away. “Now, I would particularly like to mention the three placed entrants that come from this school. So, without further ado, in tenth place, describing the wonderful history of the mills along the river: Darcy Jenkins, Primary 6.” There was a great round of applause as Darcy was ushered to the platform to receive a prize. It looked like a book.

“In fourth place, describing the history of sport in the Borders, especially rugby, we have, from Primary 5, Eirinn Grant.” Another huge round of applause as a boy, led by his beaming parents, collected his prize. Another book.

“And now, I am very pleased indeed to announce some exciting and gratifying news. The choice, I am told by the judges, was indeed a hard one, because they received so many fascinating essays. But they have awarded first prize to an entry from our very own Kingsland Primary School!”

Robbie poked me in the ribs. I shuffled away from him and stared at the floor. My heart was thumping
like mad. I didn’t want to hope, but I couldn’t help hoping. Will was punching me on the arm and smiling.

“One of our students wrote of life in this very town in times gone by. The essay was written with such freshness that, I quote the judges… ‘We who read it felt ourselves transported back to a time before cars roared through our streets, before electric lights glared day and night, before supermarkets and computer games and even schools and hospitals were taken for granted.’ Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, the first prize of £200 goes to a Primary 7 student…”

Robbie nudged me.

So did Will.

I stared at my shoes.

“Saul Martin!”

“It’s you!” Robbie gasped. “Oh my God, it’s you. I can’t believe it! Go and get it!” I didn’t move. Robbie clapped me on the back then he pushed me forward. So did Will. Other people starting clapping and cheering.

It was Dad who steered me up to the platform. My legs felt wobbly. I don’t know how I managed to walk. Mr Wilson was stretching his big hand towards me and in a total daze I clambered up onto the platform and shook it. Then he handed me the envelope with two hundred pounds cash in it. “Thank you,” I mumbled. I said it again, “thank you.” My hands trembled. I couldn’t believe it. I had won!

Mr Wilson wouldn’t let me jump down off the platform. He handed me a sheet of paper. He patted me on the shoulder. Would I, he said, do them the great honour of reading out my prize-winning essay?

I gazed down. Robbie and Will and Agatha and Agnes had all come to the front. Dad stood next to them giving me the thumbs up. The paper shook in my hands. Everyone was gazing up at me like I was a superstar. I coughed.

“Go on, darling.” That was Mum. Where had she come from?

I stuffed the prize money in my pocket. I took a deep breath. I hoped my voice wasn’t going to wobble. I said…

This essay is by Saul Martin and it is an essay about how life really was for people in Peebles, which is a town in the Scottish borders in the year of 1812.

I paused and looked over the top of the paper. Agatha was gazing up at me. I saw a small tear run down her face. I kept going.

A very important thing to mention is that there were no cars and there were horses and carriages but you had to be rich to have a carriage of your own so basically it meant that in 1812 people walked a lot. They ran too. They could walk and run very fast and keep going for a long time.

I kept reading. I wasn’t nervous anymore. At the end of each sentence I glanced at Agatha. She was gazing up at me, her blue eyes like huge pools. Agnes stood by her side.

They didn’t have oranges unless they were rich, so many children died from the meesles. They didn’t have a cure for it.

Then I paused and looked at Agatha. I was nearly at the end of the essay. Because I knew the last bit by
heart I looked over the top of the paper and spoke the words straight to her.

I hope the people in Peebles had a happy time in the past. They had problems like we do too but basically they loved their home.

“The end,” I added, and I couldn’t stop myself smiling. I had done it, and I could feel that fat envelope heavy in my pocket.

“Bravo!” shouted Agatha and everybody started clapping and cheering again. Agatha was smiling with a tear in her eye. In that moment I knew exactly what I was going to do with the money.